“Did they steal anything?”
“No.” I knew that because I had nothing valuable worth stealing, other than the watch.
“You said they ruined your clothes. How?”
I blinked. “How? Are you serious right now?”
Lucien took another step forward. Enough to crowd me and remind me that while he wasn’t the largest man I’d ever met, he didn’t need to be. He radiated danger like other people radiated body heat.
“Answer the question, Isadora,” he said, his voice deceptively calm.
I sighed. “They slashed it all.”
His expression didn’t change, but I felt a coldness spread through him.
“Did they do anything else? Mark the bar at all?”
I shook my head.
“Did you pick up any scents?”
“No. But Thorne has been going a little wild with lavender and herb satchels. I can’t smell anything in my bar right now.”
Why was he even asking these questions? He should know the damage the bar sustained—or didn’t sustain—seeing as he was responsible, right?
“How did they get in?” he demanded.
“The front door, I presume. It was unlocked when Thorne and I returned. But…” I paused.
“But what?”
I sighed. “I’m positive I locked it before we went out.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. I don’t make a habit of leaving my doors unlocked.”
“Do you have magical wards?”
I frowned. “No. Of course not.” I’d only been here for two days. Who could put up wards in that time?
“So, easily opened then.” He stared at me silently, his eyes watching like he was calculating things I could never understand. “Who else knew you’d be out today?”
“No one, Lucien! I don’t know anyone here, remember? The only people I have met are you, your sisters, and Thorne. It’s a rather small pool of suspects. You’re the only one with the motive, the gall, and the resources to pull something like this.”
Tension spiked in the room. It was small, but I caught the twitch of muscle at his temple and the way his fingers flexed against his thigh.
“I don’t play those types of games,” he finally said.
“Right.” I folded my arms.
He finally closed the full distance between us. Suddenly, he was close enough that I could smell what remained of his cologne—rich and dry. Something expensive that made my throat tighten for reasons I couldn’t name.
“I would never touch your things,” he said. “And I certainly wouldn’t send someone else to do it for me.”
I laughed. “What, too insecure to outsource your tantrums?”
“Because I don’t dirty my hands with cowardice.”
