She closed the door behind her then leaned her back against it, glancing around. The air was musty. Dust lay on the surface of the bureau sitting near the door. She glanced around and her heart fell to her toes. Her apartment was trashed. Couch cushions were tossed, drawers emptied on the ground. Nothing was as she’d left it. Whoever had searched her apartment, Houston PD or the FBI, maybe both, had left no stone or pillow unturned. “What a mess.” After days in custody, she’d finally been released on her own recognizance, even though David Satterly still swore up and down she’d been a part of the robbery, that she’d recruited him. The prosecutor hadn’t bought his story and instead had offered her immunity from prosecution for her testimony. A bad cop was more newsworthy than a greedy bank teller. Colt was sure she’d be cleared in the end. Once all the facts were sorted out. Colt. She sighed. He’d been a rock—hiring the best attorney money could buy, hovering every time she was led away for questioning.
