Eleven stories above 62nd Street, Alex unlocked her apartment door and then stepped aside. Special Agent Ramirez drew his weapon and entered. She waited in the corridor.
Ramirez threw on the light, stopped, and listened. He went to the bedroom and looked. No one. He checked the closets. He returned to the living room, moved swiftly through the dining and kitchen area, then moved to the extra bedroom that Alex used as a study and guest room.
He checked every closet and any other place someone might be hiding. He looked for any signs of tampering or disruption. He saw none. It was a quick eyeball search, but he was good at it. He placed his gun back in its holster and went back to the front door.
“All clear,” he said. “Welcome home.”
Alex and Special Agent MacPhail stepped in. MacPhail looked toward the window. “Nice view of Manhattan,” he said, “but I need to drop the blinds. Can never be too sure.”
Alex had too much reading to keep her mind off work, but at least the ride home had relaxed her. “Right,” she muttered. Then, “Hey,” Alex said, “those blinds are tricky. I’ll get them.”
“No, no,” MacPhail said. “You stay back. I’ll get them.”
She put down her purse and her laptop. She cut off MacPhail and walked to the window.