Flashback (Kendra Michaels #11)

Kendra shrugged. “Still no telling if it’s anything worthwhile.”

“We’ll know soon enough.” Marlee checked the time on her phone screen. “Listen, we lost time waiting for Detective Perry to get here. I’m afraid you’re going to have to go to Sloane’s place by yourself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sorry. I have a business dinner, and the client is only in town this one night.” Marlee fished the key from her pocket and handed it to her. It was attached to a penguin-shaped keychain. “You can give this back to me later. There’s an alarm there, but I left it off in case the police want to go back in. If Paula trusted you, I can trust you. If you have any questions, call me. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you, Kendra. Please let me know if you find anything.”

“I will.”

Kendra drove to Golden Hill, a downtown neighborhood that possessed a decidedly artsy vibe. Within easy walking distance of the Gaslamp district and Balboa Park, the community featured several recording studios and art galleries. It was also home to one of her favorite restaurants, the Turf Supper Club, where she and her friends often gathered around an indoor cooking pit, grilled their own steaks, and consumed craft cocktails.

Kendra almost laughed when she realized that Sloane’s address was a building she’d noticed many times since its groundbreaking two years before. The six-story structure was constructed to look like an old factory that had been repurposed to hold a collection of artist’s lofts. The design was obviously in the interest of attracting hipster tenants who populated the area. It was marketed as studio space, but the sidewalk signs also noted that the units were zoned for residential use.

Kendra took the large industrial elevator to the fifth floor, amazed at the extent to which the builders made the new structure appear to be over a century old. Unbelievable. It was almost like a Disneyland attraction.

Kendra exited the elevator and found Sloane’s unit at the end of the hallway. She inserted the key, entered, and locked the door behind her. It was a spacious apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows, wood floors, and exposed ceiling pipes and HVAC ducts that continued the industrial theme. The lights of the city sparkled outside, and the lack of any window treatments gave her the feeling of being in a fishbowl.

Kendra looked at the artwork on the walls. They were modern mixed-media pieces that combined oils with time-lapse photography, and all appeared to be Sloane’s work. Very impressive.

A purse and keys were on the kitchen counter. Kendra assumed Sloane’s phone had been taken by the police in the hope of gleaning some useful info from it.

Kendra looked in the bedroom and bathrooms, and saw little of interest except indications that Sloane was dating two men and possibly one woman. None probably knew about the others, judging by her elaborate attempts to hide certain toiletries in the back shelves of her linen closet.

All in all, the place had a more relaxed and easier vibe than her sister’s house, better decorated and arranged for entertainment and relaxation. But still no indication of what had happened to her. And, as far as Kendra could tell, no hidden bloody weapons.

Thump.

The sound came from the front door.

She listened. Someone was working on the lock. After a few seconds, the lock was thrown, and the door swung open.

Footsteps. A man, probably, with long strong strides. A cop? A boyfriend of Sloane’s?

She called out. “Hello?”

The footsteps stopped.

“Hello?” she repeated.

All the unit’s lights shut off.

What the hell…? She reached for the bedroom lamp and hit the switch. Nothing. The main power breakers must have been thrown.

She heard the rustling of fabric in the next room. The intruder was taking pains to be quiet out there. She could play that game. She slipped out of her shoes and inched toward the doorway. She reached for a Salvador Dalí bust she’d remembered seeing on a low shelf.

Damn, it was lighter than it looked. Couldn’t inflict too much damage with this thing. Maybe if she—

BAMM!

The bedroom door flew into her and knocked her off her feet. Before she could regain her footing, a strong pair of hands gripped her back jacket collar and tossed her into the living room.

Ouch.

“Find anything?” The intruder spoke in a low rasp. “Did you?”