Free On The Rocks by Sable Jordan Page B

mean old-school price. Well outside of what a college
student working a waitressing gig could afford —by, like, a
million… or two— but nothing compared to the peace of mind that
came with knowing she slept soundly each night, even if he
didn’t.
    Phil recalled Zlata’s face when he’d helped
her move in. Eyes wide, a slight smile on her mouth as she went
from room to room. Unlike the outside, everything inside was modern
and upgraded, from the floors to the ceiling fixtures. She couldn’t
believe he’d rented her such a nice place.
    So he left out the fact that her name was on
the deed.
    Avoiding the main street, Phil went to the
back and peeked into the garage. Empty. Then through the garden and
to the back door. He pressed his ear to the wood. Pulled a key he
shouldn’t have from his jacket pocket and let himself in, quietly
closing the door behind him.
    Standing stock still, he let his senses
adjust.
    Silence.
    Darkness.
    Faintest little chill in the air.
    She wasn’t here.
    If something had happened to her, if someone
had—
    Heat raced up the back of his neck,
splashing red behind his eyes. Phil forced down a deep breath to
pull away from that violent spiral. Because if something happened
to Zlata, someone was gonna get dead.
    And Phil was gonna enjoy it.
    Monaco in forty-eight then.
    Good thing Xander gave him that wiggle room.
He had no choice but to stick around to make sure he didn’t end up
with a murder rap.
    On light feet he moved through the darkness,
striding across the wood floors of the kitchen. Cold coffee in the
carafe on the counter. One mug in the sink. From this morning or
weeks ago? No way to tell.
    The informal dining table looked like it was
staged for Home and Garden, with plates on chargers and a
vase filled with flowers that were starting to go limp. A few more
paces put him in the living room. He skirted the leather couch set
and glanced at the magazines resting neatly on the coffee table: CODE , Hacker’s Monthly, PC Gamer . At the
entertainment center, he splayed his palm on the back of the
flatscreen and got frigid plastic and icy metal for his
trouble.
    Second story was more of the nobody’s home.
Both bedrooms here were empty, apart from a printer box in one of
the closets. Same as the day he’d moved her in. He’d thought she’d
get a roommate by now but she was still flying solo. That shouldn’t
have been a comfort.
    So he wouldn’t let it be.
    Top floor: master bedroom and bath. He
started with the latter and got more pristine cleanliness. Only a
hair tie and her brush on the edge of the basin. A dark towel hung
behind the door. Bone dry. Shower stall didn’t have a drop in
it.
    He came to her bedroom and hesitated.
Instead of going in, he observed from the doorway. The window was
slightly cracked, and the blinds were open. The ambient glow from a
streetlight filtered through the slats, slathering everything in a
pale blue tint. Her bed was made, the top edge of the sheets
flipped back over the dark comforter. Pillows canted against the
wall-mounted leather headboard.
    Funny, he didn’t remember the bed being so
big when he’d bought it. Zlata probably looked tiny in the thing,
drowning in those sheets.
    Plenty of space for one more…
    Phil zipped his eyes to the floor and back
on task.
    No clothes scattered about. The place barely
looked lived in let alone like a college kid’s house. No pictures
on the walls. No posters. No knick-knacks.
    No clue as to how much time had passed since
she’d last been here. If not for the pinpoint of light flashing
from the desk, there’d be no activity in the place at all.
    He stepped into her room, and the oddest
sensation crashed over him. He didn’t belong here. In her personal
space. But he needed to know she was okay. He went to her desk
where a notepad was beside her laptop. Using his phone’s display,
he read the name written there. Bartel. A number followed.
    He snapped a picture.
    Just as he reached for the laptop,