Free The Kill Order by Robin Burcell Page B

like a tornado had swept through. “I don’t believe this. Pearson said he was on my side. You heard him. And this ? What the hell?”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “The goddamned mess in my apartment. That’s what. ”
    “Calm down—”
    “Calm down? Did you know about this? That they were going to toss my apartment like I’m some goddamned drug dealer?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Well. Glad we got that cleared up.” She disconnected, threw the phone on the counter, then stood there, feeling the urge to drop a match to everything and let it all burn. This was Griffin’s fault.
    Everything was his fault.
    Well screw him. And everyone who worked with him.
    It took her several minutes before she could even think about what to do. She had two choices, she figured. Pack a suitcase and stay in a hotel, or start cleaning.
    She was too mad to get behind the wheel, so she chose the latter, and began in the kitchen, scooping the dry cereal into the garbage, along with the empty boxes. Every dish they touched, she put in the dishwasher or stacked in the sink, feeling as though all of it was contaminated. By the time she had the kitchen nearly cleaned, the dishwasher running, there was a knock at the door.
    She stalked over, looked out the peephole, saw it was Scotty, and opened it. “I can’t believe you even have the nerve to come over here.”
    “Nerve? No one tossed your apartment, Syd. They simply went through your computer, making sure there was nothing on it. I swear.”
    “Really?” She held the door wide, motioned him to enter. “See for yourself. Oh, and FYI? The kitchen didn’t look this good when I got here. I only just now finished cleaning it.”
    He walked in, glanced over, then continued on into the living room, where there wasn’t much to mess up, other than couch cushions and pillows, and where the furniture clearly had been moved, as though someone had been looking beneath it.
    “The bedrooms and bathroom,” she said, then stood there, waiting, while he looked.
    He returned a moment later. “Sydney. I swear I didn’t know.”
    “Yeah? Well that makes me feel a hell of a lot better. Not .”
    He took out his phone, made a call. “It’s Ryan,” he said. “What the hell did you do at Sydney’s place . . . ? That right? It’s completely tossed. As in every room . . .”
    And as she listened, she realized he was telling the truth. He had not been aware they were going to toss the place. In fact, the look on his face when he ended the call confirmed it. What he said next, however, completely unnerved her.
    “They swear the only thing they did was a cursory search after they looked at your computers.”
    “Then who did this?”
    “That’s just it. They don’t know.”

11

    ATLAS (Alliance for Threat Level Assessment and Security)
    U.S. Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
    I t was well after six P.M. by the time Griffin left for his office—once Marc finally relieved him at Lisette’s apartment where they were keeping Piper. They’d soon be making plans to place her in witness protection, but until then, Lisette and Marc were her babysitters.
    McNiel wasn’t in, and Griffin hoped he’d left for the day, knowing that anything his boss would have to say to him was not going to be good. He checked his voice mail, hoping that Sydney had finally returned one of his calls. There were no messages from her. After one more try on her cell phone, he telephoned Tex, needing to hear at least one friendly voice that evening.
    Tex was still in California, waiting on evidence in the South San Francisco killing that might lead to who had gone after the hard drive. “Hate to break it to you, Griff. It’s possible she’s not picking up because Carillo may have already called her. At least that’s the only reason I can think of. Let’s just say he wasn’t real happy when I left him.”
    “You told him what was going on?”
    “He guessed. He did, however, promise not to say anything directly