With that warning, I went to my apartment. Ryder had turned on the lights, so I saw immediately the wreck that had been my living room. Cushions from the sofa were overturned and ripped open, with stuffing strewn everywhere. The sofa had been the first piece of furniture I’d saved for and purchased that wasn’t a thrift-store buy. Ruined.
Horror washed over me as I looked over the rest of the living room.
The small potted plants that I had lovingly nurtured, because I’m not allowed to have animals in the apartment, were smashed on the floor. Shards of colorful pottery mixed with dirt were ground into the rug. DVDs were tossed here and there. Framed prints that had once added warmth and touches of bold color to the walls now had splintered, spiderwebbed glass frames and were askew or even knocked on the floor.
“My bedroom...” I whispered, looking down the hallway. The sound of my breathing was heavy in the stillness of the room. My lungs burned with emotion.
“More of the same.”
“How could this happen? How could no one have seen or heard anything?” It was such a surreal moment. I never would have thought this would happen to me.
“I was out,” he said curtly, “but believe me, I wish I’d been here.” Ryder’s face looked cut from stone. He was angry on my behalf, and that allowed me to take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to find. Somehow I knew he’d been looking out for me at the club again.
The closet and its contents had been thoroughly, rudely, disrespectfully tossed. Clothes were strewn about; my expensive shoes that I leave in boxes for added protection were dumped haphazardly. My most prized drawings, completed on a variety of textured papers, which I’d saved in a cardboard moving box under my bed over many years, were upturned and scattered about the room. Some were even ripped and crumpled, which brought a hot lump of sorrow to my throat. There wasn’t much I was truly proud of, but these fell into that category. I knelt down with shaking hands and tried to gently gather up and stack the pages, placing them back in the moving boxes they had come in.
Most were salvageable, but there was one that was in pieces. As soon as I saw the colors of the ripped bits, my heart hurt. I knew which it was. It was one I kept telling myself I’d one day frame. I’d completed an impressionist image of my mother holding me as a baby in her arms, using watercolors. It was my best work, inspired by one of the only photos my aunt had where my mother actually seemed to be looking at me lovingly, like we were normal. It had taken so long to complete. Would my aunt still have that photograph? Did I have the heart to do it again?
No. I didn’t. It was lost to me forever.
“Why?” I couldn’t help asking in pained disbelief. Tears spilled shamelessly down my cheeks in hot rivulets. “I have nothing worth taking.”
“I’m sorry, Taylor,” Ryder said gruffly, on a knee beside me. He added darkly, “I’m sorry I didn’t walk in on the motherfucker.” He picked up a charcoal drawing I’d done of a big oak tree, a high school art-class assignment I’d kept. Carefully, he placed it in the box with the others I’d saved.
I looked around the rest of my room. My nightstand had been swept clean as though by an angry swipe of a hand across its surface, leaving my alarm clock, books, notes and any jewelry I hadn’t put away smashed against the wall.
My jewelry box!
I tried to find it in the mess, not because I had any valuable jewelry, but because I had some items of sentimental value. After a frantic scan around the floor, I spotted it. Like everything else, it lay damaged, its contents spread like confetti. I started sifting through the debris, picking up and discarding necklaces and bracelets, searching and searching frantically.
I didn’t even know I was murmuring “Where is it, where is it?” until Ryder cupped my arm and gently turned me to face him. His intense, pale gaze caught me, stilling me. I don’t know how he did it, but everything in me paused as his...energy surrounded me. I couldn’t look away. I felt a surge of power that raced through my veins to my mind, and somehow I could feel his need to help me. It struck me as completely strange, but I was feeling too distraught to question.
“Tell me what you’re looking for. Let me help you.”
I nodded, swiping a hand over my cheek. “A picture. A charm bracelet.” It didn’t have valuable stones, so no one could be interested in it.
His eyes caught on something protruding from under a filmy, floral scarf and he picked it up. “Is this the picture?”
I couldn’t help the smile that trembled on my lips or the fresh tears of relief that bubbled over my cheeks once again. It was old and faded. The colors had washed out a great deal, which was why I kept it out of the sun in a special place.
“Yes,” I breathed, and my heart slowed. It was the picture in which my mom and I were at the fair, standing behind one of those goofy mock-up boards where you stick your head in the hole. She was a cow with large milk udders, and I was a fuzzy baby chick. “My mom. It’s my only picture of her.”
I stared at the familiar picture, absently running my finger over the lines of her face. “You look like her.” Ryder studied it impassively. “Where is she?”
I remembered the moment the picture was taken. “I don’t know where she is. Now I just need to find the bracelet. It’s her charm bracelet.”
“Is this it?” He had reached over and flipped the jewelry box right side up to unveil the bracelet. Being heavier than my other jewelry, it hadn’t been flung out.
I hadn’t even looked. I’d been so busy looking through the piles on the floor, I’d missed the most obvious place it could still be. It was tarnished from being set aside so long, but with a good polishing, the silver would shine again. Each charm had a meaning, and my mother had explained each to me patiently that day, that one special day at the fair. I never forgot. It had been, simultaneously, the best and worst day ever.
With a quick survey of the room and glance at his wristwatch, Ryder said, “Taylor, you can’t stay here. Why don’t you come back to my place? Tomorrow we can do what we need to do in here. Do you have renter’s insurance or something like that?”
With a self-deprecating snort, I shook my head. “I figured it was a waste of money, believing it was a long shot that anything like this would happen in a gated building. I thought the money would be put to better use on my day-to-day stuff.”
“It doesn’t look like anything was broken. The lock was picked, not stripped. They were probably trying to keep quiet. We can take a look at replacing it with something stronger in the morning. Maybe call the landlord?”
“I guess I’m supposed to call the police too, but you’re right. Tomorrow is soon enough. I’m too tired right now. Listen, I really want to thank you for helping me out. This has been a nightmare, but having you here has kept me from really flipping out.” It truly had. I could feel myself calming, my tears drying up. This would have been so much worse to go through alone. Added to that, my mom’s stuff was safe.
“I’m glad I was here. We also need to talk, but it’s late.”
“About what?” I put the bracelet on my wrist, carefully, figuring it was the safest place for it.
“Tomorrow.”
“Are you sure? About me staying over? I don’t want to impose.” Our eyes met and held. Whispers of sexual energy suddenly kissed the air.
“I want to make sure you’re safe. You have somewhere else to go?” he asked brusquely.
I thought about the other tenants, and while I was friendly with many of them, I wasn’t wake-them-up-at-three-in-the-morning kind of friendly. Looking around the junk piles that some faceless thug had created in my room, I knew I didn’t want to sleep in my bed. “No.”