Washington, D.C. She had been robbed. Georgie stood perfectly still in the entry of her one-bedroom apartment on I Street in the heart of the Foggy Bottom district of the capital. Only her eyes moved, darting everywhere at once as alarms went off in her brain. Her apartment had been tossed. Books felled from shelves lay scattered like broken-winged birds on the floor. Every drawer she could see from where she stood had been pulled open and left hanging. Every surface had been cleared of the things that made her apartment home. The cold trickle of fear that began somewhere south of her eyes gathered energy as it splashed through her body. Get out! She didn’t second-guess her lizard-brain reaction. She dumped her luggage at her feet even as she reached for the front door and backed out onto the landing. “I want to report a robbery.” Her hand holding her cell phone shook. “My apartment’s been robbed.” “Is this a robbery or a burglary, ma’am?” “What are you talking about?
