“What happened?” Zach asked softly.
“Gwen was loaded. Insisted on going into Cayenne’s. She made a scene. Crawled all over some guy, asked Darren how he liked it.”
“Darren?”
“That’s his name. Darren Lacoste.”
“How’d he react?”
“Had her thrown out. On her birthday.”
“That’s cold,” Zach murmured.
“It fits, though. The guy’s a complete dick. Sorry, but it’s true. Arrogant. Controlling. Thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips.”
“Your friends, when was the last time they saw her?”
“They dropped her off at our apartment around three A.M. Like I said, she was totally baked, but they made certain she got into the apartment.”
“And they haven’t spoken to her since.”
“No.”
“Did you speak to her over the weekend?”
She shook her head. “I texted her happy birthday and posted on her Facebook wall.”
“She didn’t respond?”
She shook her head. “But I didn’t expect her to.”
Zach looked at Mick. “I think we should take a look at the apartment.”
She agreed, and twenty minutes later Nora unlocked the apartment door and ushered them inside. Halfway across the threshold, Zach froze. The same energy that’d clung to Angel Gomez’s ID rippled along his nerve endings.
Why here? he wondered, thoughts racing. What did this scene have to do with Angel Gomez?
“Zach?”
Mick was frowning at him. He fought to center himself, clear away the chaotic thoughts. Stepping fully into the apartment, he closed the door behind them.
Nora Camden cleared her throat. “This is the living room. Kitchen’s that way.” She pointed toward a doorway to their left. “There’re two bedrooms and two bathrooms. Mine’s the one in back. Hers is right off the hall.”
“Thanks, Nora,” Micki said softly. “Is this the way the place looked when you got home yesterday?”
“Pretty much.”
“Mind if we take a look?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Go for it.”
They started in the kitchen. A few dishes in the sink. Half full coffee pot.
“The birthday cake’s in the fridge.”
Zach opened the refrigerator. Sure enough, the bakery box sat on the top shelf of the refrigerator, untouched cake inside.
“It’s her favorite kind,” Nora offered voice small.
“We’ll figure this out,” Zach said softly. “Don’t worry.”
He turned, moved his gaze over the kitchen, stopping on a yellow and white toothbrush on the counter beside the sink. “That yours?”
Camden looked at it, face turning chalky white. “Gwen’s.”
“You don’t look so good, Nora.”
“It’s the—” She paused, visibly pulling herself together. “In the morning, Gwen brushes her teeth at the sink here. While the coffee brews. At night, she brushes in the hall bathroom.”
“She’s pretty consistent about that routine?”
“It never varies.”
Which meant the last time Gwen Miller was here, it was morning. Question was, which morning?
Zach crossed to the sink, reached for the brush, stopping before making contact. It wasn’t the source of the energy. In fact, the kitchen felt relatively neutral compared with the front room. His skin wasn’t crawling the way it had been when he first stepped into the apartment.
The source of the energy didn’t pass through this room.
To test the theory, he stepped back into the living room. Sure enough, the popping along his nerves endings returned along with the hum in his head.
“Let’s check out her bedroom,” Mick said.
He nodded and followed her down the hallway. The closer he got to the bedroom, the louder and angrier the energy became.
They stopped outside the closed door. He drew in a deep breath and followed Mick inside. A big mess. Looked like a feminine tornado had struck—clothes and shoes scattered about, lotions, perfumes cosmetics. Bed unmade.
But not the energy. Not like it had been in the hall.
He frowned.
“What?” Mick asked.
He shook his head and stepped back into the hall. Directly across from him was another closed door. He looked at Nora, hovering at the end of the hallway. “What’s in there?”
“Gwen’s bathroom.”
“Have you been in there since you got home?”
She went white. “I peeked inside. It looked the way it always does.” She moved her gaze between them. “Why?”
Zach didn’t answer. Queasy, growing light-headed, he crossed to the door. He suspected what would come at him when he walked into the room. He worked to prepare himself for it.
But nothing could have. The energy was raw. Angry. It hit him with the force of a wrecking ball. He braced himself with a hand to the vanity counter.
Mick seemed not to notice. She slipped past him; easing the door shut behind. She stopped, caught her breath. “What the hell is that?”