The Pretend Boyfriend novel Chapter 69

Her heart is beating in her throat, and she tries to swallow it. Her palms are sweaty in their gloves.

No one is around on the corridor. There are about five apartments on the floor, and no sounds are to be heard - no yelling, no shouting, not even the low hum of an activated TV. Steeling herself (you can do this, it's for Brian), Sam inserts a key in the door lock of Apartment 501. It doesn't fit. Damn it, you didn't get it cut right. Her hand trembling badly, she tries another. It slides in - a perfect fit.

Shit. Now she really has to go through with it.

She twists the knob gently. The door opens without a sound. Her heart is hammering so hard against her ribs that she is sure the entire apartment block would wake up from whatever they are (soundlessly) doing and come out from their abodes to check.

Of course you have to do it yourself. Mr. Hot Shot PI is not going to get his hands dirty. You can hire someone, but you daren't take the risk in case he doesn't know what he's looking for. Brian has too much at stake.

Well, Brian doesn't know about this and she isn't sure that she will find ... well, something. Anything to suggest that Brian had been set up. Anything at all.

What's more, she doesn't have much time. Delilah will be back from her yoga class by eleven.

Shit.

Sam closes the door behind her. A lighted lamp on a stand is the only light-giving source in the apartment. She reaches for the switches, and floods with the apartment with incandescent light.

Shit. The windows are open. She's such an amateur. Anyway, there are no apartment blocks facing this unit, so with any luck, no one would report the lights of Apartment 501 being on. Besides, Sam isn't planning to steal anything. She's merely having a look around. The camera strap cuts into the back of her neck.

A soft whirring sound arrests her. She looks up in suspicion. Is it her imagination? There's nothing mounted on the ceiling. No surveillance cameras.

Gawd, how is she going to do this if she's so easily spooked?

She begins a search before she can lose her bladder control. She hopes she's not going to have to need to use the toilet.

There's nothing in the simple living room. She rifles through some drawers, but there are only magazines and books stacked inside. The whole apartment is as neat as a neat freak's paradise. Sam sees a laptop bag - probably one Delilah has brought back from her office - and unzips it.

A Dell computer nests inside. Fat lot of good trying to hack into an office computer. There are several documents inside, but they are clinical trial protocols. Sam flips through them. Nothing about an experimental drug called CKZ2486. Unless, of course, it already has a name.

Damn.

But wait a minute. She takes out the second key, the one she has tried earlier. This one fits into the knob. With trepidation, Sam turns it.

It hits her immediately like a punch to the stomach. A large corkboard fills the entire façade of one wall. It is pinned with dozens of photos of Brian. No. Not dozens. Hundreds, literally, in all shapes and sizes. And not only photos, but newspaper articles.

Write-ups on the rape case.

Sam is floored. Why would a rape victim have hundreds of Internet downloaded photographs of her rapist?

Her gloved hands shaking, she starts to snap the montage from all angles, making sure she captures everything on her digital camera.

Back in her apartment, Sam prints out everything on her data card. The photos are sprawled across the expanse of her living room floor like a carpet of decorative art. Only it's Brian, Brian everywhere. Brian in a Gucci suit at a fundraiser, looking extremely dapper and handsome. Brian at a benefit. Brian at the Clio Awards.