The Night in Question. Kelsey Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ “And Gabe is…?”

      “Gabe Langston is a local P.I. and a friend. We met a few years back when Gabe came to Quantico for some training.”

      Kresley closed her eyes and relaxed against the headrest. Other than the single flash of a porthole, nothing else had sparked a memory. They crossed over Charleston Harbor and Sullivan’s Island. Kresley knew that because she could read the road signs. At least she knew she could read. When Matt slowed and turned into a parking lot, there was nothing familiar about the apartment building at the corner of Hartnett Boulevard and Twenty-fifth Avenue. “I live here?”

      “Unit 1B.”

      Matt pulled into a parking spot in front of the apartment. Kresley felt a tickle of uneasiness when she saw the door but nothing felt familiar.

      “I’ll go in with you.”

      Unlatching her seatbelt, she said, “Thank you.”

      They had barely stepped out of the car when a rotund woman with hair dyed a shade of red not known in nature hurried toward Kresley. Matt waited at a distance.

      “You were supposed to come to the office two days ago,” she said, her eyes little more than angry green slits.

      “Because?” Kresley prompted.

      “Because?” she spat. “You’re three months behind on your share of the rent. You promised me you’d have the money to me yesterday. Instead you stayed out all night and half the day today.” The woman was so worked up she punctuated her tirade by shaking her finger in Kresley’s face. “Your roommate paid up. I want your share in a money order. No more rubber checks. Got it?”

      Roommate? Kresley tried to hide her confusion. “Uh, how much do I owe you exactly?”

      “Fifteen hundred plus another seventy-five in late fees.”

      “I seem to have lost my keys,” Kresley said.

      The landlady didn’t appear to be the least bit sympathetic. Digging into the pocket of her housecoat, she yanked out a large ring, flipped through the keys, then removed one and handed it to Kresley. “Add another fifteen on for key replacement.”

      Matt waited until she’d waddled three or four feet back toward the door bearing a bronze plaque announcing Leasing Office before he joined Kresley. “She’s a little ray of sunshine, isn’t she?”

      Kresley unlocked the door to unit 1B and opened it just a crack. Tilting her head back to compensate for his height, she said, “Well, thank you,” and stuck out her right hand.

      Matt chuckled softly. “That was a great kiss-off but if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to take a look around, just to make sure the apartment is secure.”

      Matt came in and the first thing he noticed was a framed photograph of two women on a beach. One was Kresley.

      The other one was Janice.

      Chapter Three

      As Kresley was looking around to see if any of these supposed roommates were home, Matt marched in like some recruit, his attention honed on a photograph on the entertainment center. There was no question. It was Janice. Turning the photo toward Kresley, he asked, “Who is this?”

      As soon as she saw the image, she heard the words in her head again. Trust no one. “I—I don’t know.”

      “Her name is Janice Cross,” Matt said.

      Kresley shook her head.

      He reached her in three long strides. His blue eyes blazed as his fingers closed around her upper arms. “Think! She’s six feet tall, has short brown hair.”

      “I know her,” Kresley managed. “I don’t know how I know her. Or why.”

      “That isn’t very helpful,” Matt said, scowling.

      “I’m doing my best here,” she shot back. “Kendall said my memory would come back in fits and starts so you’ll just have to wait until I have the right fit or the right start. Now, thank you for everything you’ve done.” She went to the door and opened it. “I need to shower and try to figure out where my bank is so I can see if I have enough money in my account to hopefully pay the mean landlady. So, good bye.”

      Grudgingly, Matt left.

      Kresley was glad to be finally alone. She went to the kitchen first, opening the refrigerator to find only a jar of mustard surrounded by a half-dozen Chinese take-out cartons. There were several magnets on the fridge, all for restaurants that delivered.

      The dishes in the dishwasher were clean and the place was tidy. She went down the hallway and found the first bedroom. In one bedroom, she picked a pair of size-ten panties off the floor. No way they belonged to her. Going to the closet, she found half the clothes were size ten; the others were a size six. Several gowns hung in the back, all with the expensive, exclusive label, Gianni.

      Going to the second bedroom, she picked up a pillow and sniffed the faint scent of perfume. That didn’t send a cascade of memories flooding back, either. She was so frustrated. Clearly there were other women sharing the apartment with her. If just one of her roommates came back, she could maybe get some answers to her questions. Opening the closet in this room revealed size twos and size fours. The size-two slacks were too long to be Kresley’s, and, like the other closet, there were several Gianni gowns—these were a size two.

      Of all the clothing, the size fours were the most conservative and the most casual. The kind of thing you’d expect a graduate student to wear. Like me?

      She decided this must be her bedroom. One she shared with a size two woman. All she saw was white furniture and girl stuff. Lots of pink things. Lots of lime green. A treadmill sat in the corner. Instead of its intended use, it was covered with blouses, dresses and slacks waiting to be ironed. There was a weight set as well as a kickboxing book on one side of the room. Kresley checked the treadmill clothes. Size two. By default, that made Kresley the kickboxer. There was a message board on the back of the door, but it had been wiped clean, leaving only hints of what had been written there. Two words, one started with the letter O maybe? Or D? Then what looked like a phone number since there were ten numbers beneath the top line. Too faint to make out.

      Her search of the living room, dining room and computer nook also yielded nothing unique or special. It was a nice apartment. The only thing that was missing were her roommates. Her first instinct was to call and report them missing, but she didn’t really know if they were missing. They could be on vacation, out shopping, spending the day at the beach—anything was possible. But the prickling sensation on the back of her neck told her something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

      Then she realized what was missing. There wasn’t much in the way of personal items. No credit cards, no driver’s licenses, no catalogs, no junk mail. And no telephone. Not a single landline.

      “Maybe we all used cell phones,” Kresley said aloud. She added that to her list of things she needed to figure out.

      There was a laptop in the small alcove. She powered it on and it asked for a password. Kresley’s frustration level went up several notches. If it was her computer—which was only twenty-five percent possible—then the password was probably something she’d remember СКАЧАТЬ