Page 22 of Shattered Truth (Off The Grid: FBI #15)

Chapter Thirteen

Haley's stomach twisted with fear as Matt drove to her apartment.

The twenty-minute drive felt like an eternity.

She couldn't stop picturing her apartment torn apart, her private sanctuary violated by someone who wanted to hurt her—someone who had already killed her brother and maybe Sabrina, too.

Her hands were clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone white, and she could feel Matt glancing at her every few seconds as he navigated the familiar streets of her neighborhood.

When they turned onto her street, she could see a single empty patrol car parked in front of her building. No officers in sight.

"They must be upstairs," Matt said as they got out of the car and hurried toward the entrance.

They jogged up the stairs two at a time, and when they reached the second floor, Haley could hear voices.

As they rounded the corner, her heart sank as she looked down the hall.

Her apartment door hung at an odd angle, held in place by only the bottom hinge.

The doorframe was splintered. Wood fragments were scattered across the hallway carpet.

Mrs. Gonzalez was standing nearby talking to one officer, while another headed into her apartment. Tim, a musician, who lived in the apartment on the other side of her, was also there, hovering near his door in shorts and a T-shirt, clearly trying to figure out what was happening.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "It's worse than I thought."

"Haley," Mrs. Gonzalez said. "Thank God you weren't home. I was so worried when I saw the door. I was afraid you were inside."

She drew in a deep breath, giving her neighbor a reassuring smile. "I'm fine. Thank you for calling the police."

Matt flashed his badge to the officer talking to Mrs. Gonzalez. "I'm Special Agent Matt Lawson, FBI."

"Officer Connelly," the older man said, surprise in his eyes. "You live here?"

"I do," she interrupted. "I'm Haley Kenton."

"This break-in is most likely connected to an ongoing federal investigation," Matt said. "I'll be taking it from here."

"Okay, got it. My partner, Officer Cruz, is checking the inside." He'd no sooner finished speaking when Officer Cruz stepped into the hallway.

"All clear," he said.

"FBI is taking over," Officer Connelly told his partner, then turned back to Matt. "We'll let you take it from here. You can finish talking to the witness."

"Thanks," Matt said, turning to Mrs. Gonzalez as the officer left. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Mrs. Gonzalez nodded vigorously. "I was coming back from the market.

I had just gotten to the top of the stairs when I saw a man coming out of Haley's apartment.

He looked like he was running away from something.

He had tools in his hands—a crowbar or something metal.

When he saw me, he pushed past me and knocked me down right there in the hallway.

" She gestured to the area near the stairwell. "Called me a name I won't repeat."

"Can you describe him?" Matt asked.

"White man, maybe five ten, average build. He had brown hair—I could see some of it sticking out from under his hood. He had a beard, kind of scruffy. Dark glasses and one of those black face masks. And gloves—black gloves, like people wear when it's cold. He was very scary looking."

"Did he say anything else?" Matt asked.

"No. He was moving fast."

"Was he carrying anything but a crowbar?"

"Actually, he had a big backpack, too. It was hanging off his shoulder." She paused, looking at Haley with concern. "Are you in trouble, Haley? Don't I always tell you to stop stirring the pot with your news articles?"

Haley gave her a tense smile. "You do. I don't think this is related to that, though."

"Then what's it about?"

"I'm not sure. Thank you again for calling me right away."

"Is there something else I can do? What about your door? You can't stay there with a broken door."

"We'll take care of that," Matt told her. "You can go home."

"All right. You call me or knock on my door if you need anything, Haley."

"I will." As Mrs. Gonzalez moved down the hall, she stepped into her apartment and was shocked at the chaotic scene.

Her living room had been turned upside down.

Couch cushions were slashed open. Books had been swept off shelves, papers strewn everywhere.

In the kitchen, every cabinet door hung open, dishes pulled out and left in haphazard piles.

"He really went at it," Matt observed as he followed her inside.

"My files," she whispered, rushing toward the dining room chair where her files on Landon had been sitting, but they were no longer there.

Her computer was also missing. Everything was gone.

"All my notes, all the copies of police reports, everything about Landon's case is gone, not to mention the research I had on my computer about other stories I've been working on. "

Matt gave her a grim look. "Do you have a backup?"

"For most of my computer files, but not my personal handwritten notes." As she gazed at the rest of Landon's things that were strewn on the floor, she realized that the personal items had held no interest for the burglar. "I'm going to check my bedroom."

She moved into her small bedroom with a sense of dread, and her worst fears were confirmed when she saw that her dresser drawers had been pulled out and overturned, clothes scattered everywhere.

Her mattress had been flipped, her closet ransacked.

But the burglar had missed the hidden compartment in the top of her dresser, which contained her jewelry, passport, birth certificate, and two hundred dollars in cash.

She'd also put the necklace she'd gotten from Landon into the compartment before she'd gone to bed and was thrilled that the last gift her brother had given her was still in her possession.

"Anything missing?" Matt asked from the doorway.

"I'm not sure. He missed this compartment in my dresser with my jewelry, papers, and cash.

I guess that's good, but I can't believe I lost all my files and my computer.

That's going to be expensive to replace.

" She blew out a breath, knowing there was no point in crying over what was already done.

She had most of her work backed up, so that wasn't an issue, and she'd find a way to buy a new computer.

But she still felt a wave of loss for the notes she'd composed after Landon's death.

"I remember almost everything from my investigation into Landon's death, but it still hurts to lose my thoughts from that time. "

"I understand. You have every right to be angry and upset."

"It won't get me anywhere. I don't know what to do now."

"Do you have a building manager?"

"Yes. His number is on the side of my cabinet in the kitchen."

"I'll call him and see if he can get someone out here to fix your door and change the lock. In the meantime, pack a bag. You're not staying here tonight."

"They won't come back. They took what they wanted," she said. "They got everything."

"Not everything," he said, meeting her gaze. "They didn't get you, and I'm going to make sure that doesn't happen."

"I don't want you to stash me in some hotel. I won't feel any safer."

"Until I can figure out a safehouse, I'm taking you to my apartment. I live in a security building. It will work for at least tonight."

She wasn't sure how she felt about going to Matt's place, but it was better than being left in a safehouse with agents she didn't know. Hopefully, it would only be for a night or two.

Thirty minutes later, after throwing clothes into an overnight bag, along with toiletries, her passport, birth certificate, cash, and her jewelry, Matt drove her to his apartment.

When they'd left, the manager was already working with someone to fix her door and locks, so she was happy not to have to leave her apartment open.

Matt's apartment building in Santa Monica was a modern high-rise with a uniformed doorman and the kind of understated luxury that whispered rather than shouted wealth.

After parking in the secure underground garage, they rode the elevator to the twelfth floor.

Matt's unit was at the end of the hall, and stepping into his apartment felt like walking into a showroom at a furniture store.

The open-plan living area featured sleek, stylish furniture in shades of gray and black, with splashes of navy blue in the throw pillows and an area rug.

Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a distant view of the Pacific Ocean, the water glittering in the late afternoon sun.

"Guest room is down the hall," he said, setting her bag down. "Bathroom is right across from it. Make yourself at home. I'm going to check in with my team."

"Thank you," she said, meaning it. "I know this is above and beyond, Matt."

"It's no problem. I want you safe. And where I can keep an eye on you."

She felt a flutter in her chest at his protective tone, but she pushed it aside. This was about the case, nothing more.

While Matt disappeared into what she assumed was his home office, she explored the apartment.

The kitchen was small but efficient, with high-end appliances.

The refrigerator and freezer were surprisingly well-stocked, as were the cabinets and a spice rack.

It was the only room so far that felt like it was used.

The living room had a large flat-screen TV, a leather sofa, and built-in bookshelves that held mostly nonfiction—biographies, true crime, and books about financial fraud. No novels, no poetry, nothing that revealed the man behind the badge.

The sliding glass door led to a small balcony with a bistro table and two chairs. Haley stepped outside, breathing in the ocean air and letting the stress of the day fade. With the water in the distance and the sound of traffic muted by the height of the building, she started to relax.