Page 74 of The Liar

“You must have moved quickly,” I said.

She smirked. “I’ve been known to. Which door is hers?”

I glanced at the number on the two doors nearest us, then jerked my thumb to the left. “That way.”

Portia’s apartment was the second from the end. The door was closed, and when we paused outside, I couldn’t hear anything within.

I reached for the handle, and beside me, Joanna raised her gun.

“Chicago Police Department,” she called. “Open up.”

There was no response.

I turned the handle. To my surprise, it opened. The lock mechanism had been broken, and as I looked inside, my breath caught.

Portia’s apartment had been trashed.

20

JOANNA

“We need to sweep the place.” I scanned the apartment’s interior, noting the smashed vase, flowers on the floor, and overturned cabinet. “Make sure whoever did this is no longer here.”

West stepped closer behind me. “I’ve got you covered.”

I entered the living area, my gun held high, and pivoted, doing a quick visual check of the kitchen where it connected to the living room. I stalked around behind the counter. There were dishes on the floor and the tap was flowing, but there was no sign of anyone present.

I turned off the tap with one hand and strode to one of the two doors attached to the living room. I positioned myself close to the wall and opened the first one. The bathroom was empty, although the contents of the medicine cabinet were strewn on the vanity and floor.

I backed up and tried the next door. It swung open to reveal a bedroom. The bedding had been torn off, the mattress slashed, and the dresser had suffered the same treatment as the medicine cabinet.

A closet stood in the corner. I tilted my head toward itand West nodded. Together, we crossed the room, picking our way around Portia’s belongings. West grabbed the closet door handle, and I stood in front of it, gun raised.

He yanked it open, but there was nothing inside other than a few dresses and an assortment of costumes that must be for Portia’s job at the Red Door.

With a sigh, I lowered the gun. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that we were alone or disappointed not to have discovered someone who could give us answers. I returned to the living room, West on my heels.

“It seems like whoever was here was searching for something,” I said, mentally cataloging the damage. The fact every drawer and cabinet had been opened, and all the cushions slashed, suggested this devastation was methodical rather than the result of rage.

I turned to West. His arms hung at his sides; he looked pale and stricken.

“Perhaps Ortez found out that she was helping me, and he wanted to make sure she didn’t have any evidence of his criminal activities hidden in her apartment.”

I considered this. “It’s possible.”

His lips pressed into a grim line. I could already tell he was blaming himself.

“This isn’t your fault,” I told him. “Portia wanted to find Sasha’s killer. Maybe she nosed around the wrong person.”

He shook his head. “She wouldn’t be wrapped up in any of this if not for me. So yeah, I am to blame.”

I tucked my gun away and placed my hands on his upper arms, waiting until he looked me in the eye. “Even if Portia had never met you, Sasha would still have been gathering information about Ortez’s dealings to further her plans to replace his wife. She would still have been killed, and Portia probably would have tried to find out why.”

He pulled away. “We need to see if there’s anything here that could lead us to her.”

I let him change the subject. After all, he was right. His feelings were important, but they weren’t urgent. Ensuring Portia’s safety was.

“Do you think whoever did this took her?” I asked, looking around. “Or do you think she came home, found the place like this and ran?”

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