MACEY

Samantha did not smile. Not even a little. She brushed right past me into the apartment as if she owned the place. Her steps were purposeful, her eyes sharp, scanning every corner of my living room. She checked the kitchen. The hallway. She even peeked into my bedroom like she was auditioning for some detective drama on Netflix.

“Uh, hi?” I said, raising a brow as I shut the door.

She turned back slowly, arms crossed, her glare sharp enough to slice through me. “Did you have ...