Paws off the Boss, Casey Griffin [ereader for textbooks TXT] 📗

Piper’s apartment door gaped, the frame cracked where someone had pried the lock free. Scratches, maybe from a crowbar, marred the plastic coating. It looked so violent and wrong. Her life had turned upside down that weekend, but this was different. This was her home, her place of solitude. It was supposed to feel safe. Now it felt violated.

Colin sensed something was amiss and struggled in her arms. Numbly, she set him down. She was also dimly aware that Aiden was on the phone with the cops, but her focus remained on the wreckage in front of her. She only had to take a couple of steps into the aged apartment to see the kitchen and living room, or at least what had once resembled them.

The mismatched Ikea table and chairs were overturned, and most of the legs had been busted off. Cupboard doors hung at angles from their hinges, and dish fragments decorated the floor like mosaic artwork. It looked like the fridge had vomited its contents on the kitchen floor—not that there’d been much more than condiments inside it.

Piper’s gaze moved across the room, taking in the things that were hers but now felt like a stranger’s. She gaped at the living room. Stuffing spewed from several knife gashes in her floral, secondhand sofa; the drapes had received a drastic trim; and a table leg had found its way through her small TV screen—not that it mattered, since the cable company had already canceled her service. New mystery stains marred the dingy carpet, which wasn’t much of a loss; it hadn’t been great to begin with. There were shredded books, diced houseplants, and overturned furniture everywhere.

Piper turned away, unable to take stock anymore. It was pointless; nothing had gone untouched.

Aiden ended the call and reached out to place a comforting hand on the back of Piper’s neck. But she didn’t cry. She didn’t gasp and swear. She just exhaled and leaned against the wall, resigned to the continuing saga of destruction.

“The cops were already called,” Aiden said. “They’re almost here.”

“Sorry the place is such a mess,” she told him. “I gave the maid a day off.”

A bubble of laughter floated up to Piper’s lips, and she had to clamp them down to hold it back. She wondered if it was the stress, combined with the lack of sleep. Maybe this could all be just a big hallucination. She could be losing her mind. One could only hope, right?

At least Aiden didn’t see what my place was like before, she told herself. Maybe he’d assume it looked like crap because of the ransacking. In reality, though, it was a dump either way. A giggle popped out before she could stop it. She ran a hand through her hair, feeling like she could laugh and cry at the same time.

They waited silently in the hall until the cops arrived. She answered the usual questions, the who, what, where, when, and why. If only she knew who the “who” was. Another hour passed before the identification unit started poking around her stuff, observing the state of her junk, lifting things with pens, taking photos.

Her mind raced in wild, not completely rational, directions. Oh, no. They’ll find my stash of vibrators.

But she figured they’d seen worse stuff than that. Besides, she had more important things to worry about besides her toy stash.

“Why would someone do this?” she asked Aiden, not really expecting an answer. “What would someone have to gain from ruining my cheap junk?” Junk it might have been, but it was her junk, selected and arranged specifically to form a home, her home. And as cheap as it might have been, it’s not like she had the money to replace it.

“It could be the same person who’s targeting the rescue center,” he said. “Or Barney Miller, if he’s not one and the same.”

“Or Laura.” She glanced at him sidelong. “Or your PA, Tamara.”

“Not that again. Tamara wouldn’t, couldn’t, do something like this.”

“You just haven’t seen the real her,” she muttered.

“Look, all I’m saying is that it has to be connected. It’s not a coincidence.”

“Either that or I’m the unluckiest person I know.”

“I’m not kidding.” Aiden gripped her by the shoulders. “I’m worried about you. Someone is out to get you. This is serious.”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?”

“You’re staying with me tonight,” he said firmly.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, her heart skipped a beat. That would be one way to get her mind off things.

“It’s going to be much longer than just a night.” A male voice came from the stairwell behind them.

Piper spun to find her landlord’s beer belly poking through the entry into the hallway, like he was going to give birth to a beach ball at any minute. He scowled at the state of her apartment.

“Steve. Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll get this cleaned up.”

“You’re damn right you will. And you’ve got three days to do it.” He used the back of his hand to wipe a bead of sweat off his face.

“Three days? Until what?”

“Until you’re out of here.” He jabbed a finger at her. “Consider this a notice of eviction.”

She scowled at the short man. “Eviction? Steve, you can’t mean it. This wasn’t my fault.”

Aiden straightened his tie like a boxer would slip on his gloves, preparing for a fight. “You can’t evict her because someone broke into her apartment. If anything, your building’s poor security features led to the destruction of her property.”

“Right.” Piper placed a hand on her hip. “What he said.”

Steve snorted. “You mean the destruction of my property.”

“This is my home. My stuff. Or it was,” she amended lamely.

“It’s only your home as long as you pay for it.” Sighing, he pulled off his bifocals and cleaned them on his stained polo shirt. When he put them back on, it was like he could see something other than red. “You haven’t paid up for the month, Piper. I can’t let you live here for free.”

Aiden’s head swiveled to her.

Her cheeks flared hot, but she pretended like she hadn’t noticed. “Look, I’m sorry. I was trying to scrape by until payday, and then I got really busy.” Which was a gross understatement.

She dug into her purse, fishing for the check Aiden wrote her on Friday for walking Sophie. Whipping it out, she waved it in the air. “Look. See? Here’s my paycheck. I can sign it over to you right now.”

Ducking under the police tape, she rifled through the pile of clutter on the tiles from the overturned junk drawer. When she found a pen, she signed the check over to Steve on the back of a frying pan. One cop barked at her to get out of the crime scene. But she was beyond caring at this point.

“Here.” She slipped back into