"Federal officer, just open it." I didn't care if I needed a warrant to get into Alex Krycek's apartment, his manager wasn't smart enough to know that. The woman rushed to unlock the door, eyes wide as they flickered from my badge to my face. The door swung open as I entered, weapon raised, eyes flickering across the scene.
If he had lived here, he was gone. The place was sterile, bare, a single chair, a single television, a kitchen that likely had never been used for anything more than take out. Angrily I kicked at the door to a bedroom with nothing more than an air mattress in it. Even the clothes, neatly pressed suits had been left behind.
He was gone, rabbited somewhere. Son-of-a-bitch!
"Has something happened to Mr. Krycek?" The middle-aged woman's large eyes blinked widely at the empty room, resting on my quickly darkening face.
"Not yet it hasn't," I growled cryptically, slamming down a plastic baggie filled with the remains and butts from the ashtray in the fleet car I'd let Krycek use that afternoon. Just in case he returned, I thought, then he could know that stupid Mulder had finally caught on to the treacherous bastard. "I can't guarantee that will be the case when I finally find him."