She turned the faucet off and wrapped a towel around her wet body, a matching one around her hair. “Ben, is that you?” Silence. “Slater?” More sharply. She stood frozen, listening for the sounds of movement from the small living room which led down a short hall and into the bathroom and bedroom where she waited, her hand on the door knob. Nothing. Had she been mistaken? Was she just edgy from the late night and the grisly investigation? She eased the bedroom door open and glanced down the dark hallway to the dim lights she’d left on in the living room. She should’ve given Slater the key, she realized, instead of leaving the door unlocked. Damn, she knew better. She lived in a ground-level apartment, more accessible to intruders than a second-floor one. Idiot. Tiptoeing into the kitchen, she peered around the corner. No one there, but the front door stood slightly ajar. The swooshing of her blood roared in her ears. She was positive she’d closed it. Had the wind – ? For the first time since she’d worked in law enforcement, she wished she carried a gun.
