Look under your porch later, boss.
I shake my head. I’ll give it to Gigi. She deserves it after the hell that man put her through.
We think we have a lead, boss.
I type back:Good whatever it takes. He needs to be where the light can’t reach.
Shoving the phone back into my coat pocket, my thoughts drift to Madeline. Elio had to tell her what’s going on. She must be hiding him somewhere.
The bell chimes and the doors open to reveal Dominic’s sign: Cartieri Investigations. I step out into the hallway.
I try to push away the anxious feeling in my stomach. I haven’t heard from Dominic in a day. Yesterday during my time in the hospital I had called and texted his phone multiple times with no response. I know he has been working on different cases, but he always responds back. Now a day later I still haven’t heard from him.
It’s too quiet.
Opening the door, I step into the waiting room and stop.
The place is empty. The secretary’s desk is untouched. The computer is turned off. There is no paperwork spread out, even her half-drunk ice coffee is absent.
It’s past ten and it looks like no one is here.
A prickle of uneasiness slithers down my spine.
“Dominic,” I call.
No answer.
I walk over to the door to his private office.
I tap on the frosted glass with my acrylic nails. “Dominic!”
No response.
My heart hammers in my chest as I wrap my fingers around the handle and push down. The door moves back and chaos meets my eyes.
Dominic’s type A office looks like it’s been burglarized.
A floor lamp lays sideways and two of the chairs in front of his desk are turned over. The filing drawers are all open with papers hanging out, and folders scattered on the floor.
However, my heart almost stops beating when I see Dominic slumped over his desk.
“Dominic!” I rush to his side fearing the worst. Pressing my two fingers against his neck, I’m relieved to feel his pulse steady and strong.
His face is turned sideways with his cheek pressed against his forearm. Moving my fingers through his disheveled hair, I find trails of dried blood. Redness stains his temple, right cheek, and there’s a small cut above his right eye.
“Dominic!” I rub his back, trying to wake him. I don’t want another person I care about to end up in the hospital.
His shoulders twitch and a groan escapes his lips. “Cipi?”
“I’m here, Amore,” I whisper.
One eye cracks open, “What the hell happened…?”
“You’re okay. You got hit,” I help him sit up in the chair.
He blinks again and shifts his weight. His limbs are sluggish like he’s moving through molasses. Wincing, he brings his hand to his head, fingers grazing the gash. He feels the blood.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “What the fuck.”
