27. Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Seven
Lorenzo
The sight of the two police cars parked in front of Donna's building does nothing to improve the temper I have been carrying since she called me.
I park behind them, get out, and look up toward the second-floor windows. From the street, nothing appears unusual. There is no shattered glass, no obvious damage, nothing to suggest that someone entered her office and went through everything she keeps there.
That almost makes it worse.
Whoever did this knew how to get in quietly, knew what they were looking for, and knew enough about Donna to come here in the first place.
One of my people is already inside the building when I enter.
He is positioned near the end of the hallway, close enough to intervene if necessary without getting in the way of the officers taking Donna’s statement.
He acknowledges me with a slight nod, and I return it before walking toward her open door.
I see the damage before I see her.
Drawers have been pulled open, papers are scattered across the floor, and her chair has been pushed across the room. Several cabinet doors stand open along the wall, and the filing cabinet has clearly been searched.
Then Donna steps into view beside one of the officers.
A tiny bit of my anger washes away into relief. But not enough of it.
She is clearly angry, judging by the set of her mouth and the way she is holding herself.
Mocha sits beside her while she answers questions. He looks calm, but his attention keeps moving around the room, tracking the multiple new people in it.
Donna glances toward the door and sees me.
Her eyes narrow immediately.
I know that look well enough by now to understand exactly what it means: Later.
Fine.
I can wait until the police leave, even if patience is currently requiring more effort than I care to admit.
I move farther into the office and stop near the wall while one officer continues taking notes.
“When did you leave yesterday?”
“Late afternoon.”
“And everything was secure when you left?”
“Yes.”
“You locked the door?”
“Yes.”
“No damage when you arrived this morning?”
“Nothing obvious. The lock worked normally.”
The officer makes another note.
My attention shifts toward the door.
Donna already told me the lock had not been visibly damaged, but seeing it for myself makes the situation more troubling. There are no scratches around the mechanism, no splintering near the frame, nothing that suggests someone forced their way inside.
Whoever entered either knew how to bypass the lock or had enough skill to leave almost nothing behind.
I look around the room again while the officer asks another question.
“Anything missing?”
“No.”
“Electronics?”
“I take my laptop home every night. Everything else is still here.”
“Cash?”
“I keep a small amount in one of the drawers. It's still there.”
The officer glances around the office.
“So whoever came in may have been looking for documents.”
“That’s my assumption.”
Of course it is.
Donna has already reached the same conclusion I did within seconds of seeing the room.
The officer continues through the report while I make myself remain where I am. This is her office, her statement, and she is perfectly capable of handling the police without me stepping in simply because I am angry.
Then I hear him ask, “You entered before calling us?”
“Yes.”
My attention snaps back to her.
Donna catches my expression before I say a word.
Her eyes flick toward me briefly, and I know from the slight tightening around them that she is already anticipating this argument too.
“I realized something was wrong before I went inside,” she tells the officer. “I drew my weapon and cleared the office.”
“You have a firearm?”
“Yes.”
“Licensed?”
“Yes.”
The officer writes it down.
I say nothing, although silence does not mean approval.
She cleared the office herself.
Of course she did.
Donna trained with the FBI. She knows how to handle a weapon, how to enter a potentially dangerous situation.
I know all of that.
I also know I would have preferred her to remain in the hallway until someone else arrived.
The officer finishes asking questions, gives her the report information, and tells her what to expect next. Donna thanks him and walks both officers to the door while I remain where I am.
Donna closes the door behind them, and the moment the latch clicks, she turns toward me.
“Before you start—”
“You went inside alone.”
Her expression flattens.
“I knew you were going to start there.”
“You went inside alone.”
“I had Mocha.”
I glance toward him.
Mocha looks back at me as though he expects to be consulted.
“That does not improve the situation.”
“He is deeply offended.”
“I am sure he will survive.”
Donna exhales and walks past me toward the desk, bending to collect several papers from the floor.
I let her move while I finally take the time to examine the office properly.
The mess is more extensive than it appeared from the doorway. Whoever came inside opened nearly everything they could reasonably search: desk drawers, storage cabinets, files, even the compartment beneath the counter.
I cross toward the filing cabinet.
“They spent more time here.”
Donna straightens with several papers in her hands.
“Mocha thought so too.”
I look at her.
“He kept going back to it. Whoever was in here left more scent around the filing cabinet than anywhere else.”
“They were looking for your case material.”
“That’s what I think.”
“You keep it here?”
“No.”
The relief that comes with her answer is immediate, and judging by the look she gives me, obvious.
“Relax. I’m not stupid.”
“I have never thought you were.”
“You occasionally act like it.”
“Not once,” I say, daring her to argue.
But she knows she can't.
I pull open one of the filing cabinet drawers and glance inside. Invoices, administrative paperwork, routine records. Nothing connected to the investigation.
Whoever came here searching for information on Rachel, Harbor Peak, or Lakeview Logistics found very little for their trouble.
That should make me feel better.
Somehow, it does not.
The important part is that they knew to look.
I close the drawer and turn toward Donna.
“Your house was hit too.”
She stops gathering papers.
For the first time since I arrived, her anger shifts into something else.
“What?”
“I had my people check it after you told me you thought someone might have gone there.”
She puts the papers down on the desk.
“And?”
“You were right.”
Her jaw tightens.
“How bad?”
“Similar to this.”
Donna closes her eyes briefly, and I know exactly what she is picturing because I have been thinking about the same thing since my people called me.
All her personal things in her bedroom, her kitchen, scattered across the floor. Someone looking through the drawers where she keeps her clothes, under her bed, in her closet.
I have spent enough time there now that I know the layout without thinking about it. I know where she keeps the coffee, where Mocha usually settles, which cabinet contains the glasses, where her clothes are, where she leaves her things at night.
The thought of some stranger walking through those rooms and putting their hands on what belongs to her sends another wave of anger through me.
My hands curl before I force them loose again.
Donna reaches for her phone.
“Did they take anything?”
“Nothing obvious.”
“Security system?”
“Bypassed.”
Her head comes up.
“Bypassed?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“We are still working that out.”
She looks around the office again, but the reaction I expect never comes.
There is no panic.
No visible fear.
Instead, her attention sharpens.
Her eyes move from the filing cabinet to the desk, then toward her laptop bag, and I can almost follow the direction of her thoughts as she begins turning both break-ins into information.
It reassures me that she's not scared.
It also irritates me.
“You are taking this remarkably well.”
She looks at me.
“I’m pissed.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Because all I could think of was, what if you had been home last night?”
She huffs out her breath. “Then at least I would know who did this.”
Anger surges through me, but my voice is deadly calm. “Oh, is that all?”
It should have been a warning to her.
She plants one hand on her hip and continues looking at the mess. “I’m just saying I would have had a better chance of figuring out who they were.”
“That is precisely what I am talking about.”
She finally looks at me, as if realizing for the first time that I'm angry. “What?”
“You are standing in the middle of an office someone tore apart, after finding out they did the same thing to your house, and your first instinct is to complain that you missed the opportunity to catch them yourself.”
Her brows draw together. “I know how to handle myself.”
“Damn it, Donna.” I continue in a string of curses in Italian.
“Don't curse at me,” she says, but I'm nowhere near done.
“Don't curse at you? Then what is there for me to do when you're so hard-headed?”
“I’m hard-headed?” she says incredulously. “Me? I'm not the one keeping secrets.”
“Don't change the subject,” I say, my accent thickening in my irritation. “This is about you and your tendency to run headfirst into danger.”
“I've been handling myself just fine for a long time, thank you very much,” she says.
“Handling yourself?” I repeat. “You call this handling yourself?” I gesture at the office around me. “You could have walked in on someone still inside your house. You could have walked in here this morning and found them waiting for you.”
“And I could have been hit by a bus crossing the street,” she retorts.
“Don't be ridiculous.”
“You're the one being ridiculous,” she snaps. “If I had walked in here this morning and found someone waiting for me, I would have handled it."
"That's the problem," I say, raising my voice.
“I'm not some damsel in distress, Lorenzo—”
“Madonna santa, che donna testarda. Testarda, cocciuta, impossibile—”
Her eyes narrow, and she steps forward to drill her finger into my chest. “I said don't curse at me.”
“I am not finished.” I drag a hand through my hair and switch back to English. “You are stubborn, impossible, and entirely too convinced that being capable means nothing bad can happen to you.”
“I know bad things can happen to me. You want me to run and hide? Is that what you want? You want me to call you, and wait for my knight in shining armor to come save me?”
She drills her finger into my chest again. “That's not who I am. I've never been that person. And I'm not suddenly going to become that person just because we're sleeping together, and if you think—"
I grab her arms and drag her up to her toes, so we're eye to eye. “Sleeping together? Avevo ragione, sei proprio stupida.”
Her jaw drops. “Did you just call me stupid? Who the hell do you thin—"
“Sì, sei stupida,” I say with a little shake. “This isn't because we're sleeping together. I love you.”
Her eyes widen, and before she can answer, I drag her against me and take her mouth in a hard, passionate kiss.
“Donna stupida,” I murmur against her lips. “I love you.”
She melts into the kiss, her hands curling into the front of my shirt. Her lips soften under mine, and she sighs as I sweep my tongue into her mouth to dance with hers.
The kiss goes on until we're both breathless. I pull back, resting my forehead against hers.
“I love you,” I say again. “I’m in love with you. And I almost lost my mind when they told me your house was hit. And then you said you walked into your office alone, and I just… lost my mind.”
A faint smile touches her lips. “I’m sorry your mind is so fragile.”
I let out a rough laugh. “Donna.”
“I don’t need you to protect me, Lorenzo,” she says, her hands sliding up my chest to wrap around my neck.
“I know you don’t.” I rest my hands on her hips. “But I'm going to do it anyway.”
"And I'm not going to hide," she says. "So we're just going to have to figure out how to meet in the middle."
"Meet in the middle." I blow out a breath. "I've never done that before."
A wicked smile spreads across her face. "I know. Your 'middle' is usually the other person giving in and making them think it was their idea."
My lips twitch. "It is an effective strategy." I pull her tighter against me. "But I will try."
"You'd do that for me?" she teases, her eyes dancing.
"Sì." I kiss the tip of her nose. "Because I love you, you stubborn witch."
"Good," she says, her smile softening. "Because I love you, too."
My breath hitches. "You do?"
“Yes.” She tightens her arms around my neck. “So I guess that makes us both a little stupid.”
I kiss her again, slower this time, deeper, pouring all the fear, anger, and love I felt this morning into it.
When I finally pull away, we're both breathing a little heavily.
“We need to talk.”
“I know.” She pulls back, her expression serious. “About Lakeview.”
Still holding her, I look around the office at the open drawers, scattered paperwork, and the door someone managed to enter without leaving obvious damage.
“But not here.”