Page 17 of Mountain Protector

My hand automatically moves to the small of my back where my Glock is holstered beneath my jacket. Ruby is chattering about Spike needing fresh crickets, oblivious to the danger signals screaming in my head.

I interrupt her mid-sentence, keeping my voice calm but firm. “Get back in the truck, baby.”

She stops talking and her eyes follow my gaze upward. “What is it?”

I step slightly in front of her, creating a barrier between her and the building entrance. “Your bathroom window is open.”

“Maybe I left it open this morning.”

“You didn’t.”

“How would you know?”

“I checked before we left.”

Ruby shifts Spike’s carrier in her arms. “You checked my windows?”

“I check everything. That’s my job.”

A flash of annoyance crosses her face, but it’s quickly replaced by concern as she looks back up at the window.

“You think someone’s in there?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” I gesture toward the parking lot. “Go back to the truck and lock yourself in. I’ll clear the apartment.”

“What? No, I’m coming with you.”

I turn to face her fully, my expression leaving no room for argument.

“No. If someone broke into your place, they might still be there. Go wait in the truck.”

Something in my tone must get through to her. She hesitates, then nods, backing toward my truck with Spike’s carrier clutched to her chest.

“Five minutes. Then I’m coming in.”

“Stay in the truck until I come get you.” I wait until she’s safely locked inside before approaching the building.

I draw my weapon as soon as I’m in the stairwell, moving silently up to the third floor. Ruby’s apartment is at the end of the hall. I listen at the door for a moment. Nothing. Using the key she gave me this morning, I unlock it silently and push the door open, staying to the side.

Fuck.

The place is trashed.

Not the casual disarray of a burglar looking for valuables, but the methodical destruction of someone sending a message. Ruby’s belongings are scattered everywhere. Books pulled from shelves and thrown across the room. Clothing dumped from drawers. Couch cushions slashed open. But it’s the art that tells me this was personal. Ruby’s sketches and paintings have been deliberately torn into pieces.

I clear each room, gun raised, checking closets and under furniture. The bathroom window is indeed open wider than it had been this morning, wet footprints leading from it across the tile floor. They came in through the bathroom, but almost certainly left through the front door. More convenient for carrying anything they took.

Once I’m sure the apartment is empty, I holster my weapon and head back downstairs. Ruby’s face is pressed against the truck window, watching for me. I tap on the glass and she rolls down the window.

“Well?” she demands.

“Someone definitely broke in.”

Her face pales. “How bad?”

“Bad enough that you can’t stay there tonight.”

“I need to see it.” Ruby’s jaw sets in that stubborn line I’m getting too familiar with. “And I need to get some things if I’m staying somewhere else.”

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