Page 221 of Lorenzo

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.”