Page 63 of Somewhere in the Sunset

“Weston,” she gasps, and she runs to me. She throws herself into my arms and I gather her into my embrace. I have a job to get done and I know Bill is watching, but Gracie needs my comfort first. She presses her face into my uniform and murmurs, “I didn’t think it’d be you who showed up, but I’msoglad it is. I’m so scared.”

My hands on her waist, I pull back and examine every inch of her. All I see is fear in her blue eyes. “Are you harmed in any way? Are you hurt?”

“No. No,” she splutters, shaking her head and clutching my arms. “I’m just scared, Weston.”

“You called and said there was a break-in? Tell me exactly what’s happened.”

Gracie casts a fearful glance at the open door of her apartment. “I just got home from another class with the driving instructor and the door was wide open .?.?.Look.”

“Okay, stay right here with Bill,” I command, exchanging a quick nod of confirmation with Bill. “I’ll take a look.”

I pry my arms out of Gracie’s death grip and fix her with a reassuring look as I move toward her apartment. Honestly, I don’t know what I’m expecting here. Has she been robbed? She does keep a lot of expensive cameras and computer equipment in the apartment, and I’ve noticed most of her clothesdohave designer labels. She’s a prime target for criminals looking for easy goods to shift to make a quick buck.

My hand resting on my duty belt, I peer around the door.

The apartment is trashed. Absolutely raided.

I step one foot over the threshold, but my adrenaline is pumping. Gracie told dispatch the scene was secure, but is it?

“Gracie,” I call out to her. “Have you actually been inside and looked around?”

“No,” she admits.

Fuck.I hate securing the scene. The likelihood of the perpetrator hiding out at the scene of their crime is very slim, but it happens. There’s always the rare chance of someone charging at me from their hiding spot in the corner of a room, wielding a weapon and determined to flee.

I ease inside the apartment, my hand resting on my holster for my firearm, ready to brandish it at any moment. The blinds have been torn down from the windows, the couch cushions have been knifed open, the huge TV has a gaping crater in the center of it. Scattered across the floor are the twenty-four roses I bought Gracie a week ago.

I kneel down, my head still on a swivel as I scan my surroundings, and pick up one of the roses from the ground. The bud is flattened, the petals torn. It’s like it’s been stomped on. I grit my teeth and toss it away.

The kitchen cupboards are flung open, but the contents seem untouched. The refrigerator, however, is a different story. Fresh groceries are smeared across the floor, and I wrinkle my nose at the sight of raw chicken touching the tiles.

Burglars don’t usually search through the fridge.

I cross to the master bedroom, keeping my back shielded against a wall at all times as I scope out the room. It’s clear in here, too, but Gracie’s clothes are strewn all over the bed and floor. On the dresser, there’s a jewelry box. I flip it open and further confusion settles over me. It’s full of watches, earrings, bracelets, necklaces. Jewelry isalwaysstolen. Why hasn’t this been touched?

“Everything all good in there, Reed?” Bill calls into the apartment from outside in the hall.

“Working on it!”

I secure the bathroom, then move on to the second bedroom that’s been converted into an office. As I poke my head around the door, I feel my shoulders sink. I take my hand off my holster and scratch my temple. There’s definitely no one in the apartment, but God, I’m confused. The computers and cameras are all still here, but damaged. There’s a crack on the desktop screen. A laptop lies face-down on the ground. One camera is smashed into pieces.

This isn’t a burglary.

As I head back out into the hall, I scrutinize the apartment door. Completely untouched, the lock intact.

This isn’t even a break-in.

“Well?” Gracie whispers, her lower lip trembling and her eyes wide. Bill also awaits my verdict on the scene, but I just shake my head.

“This wasn’t a break-in,” I say, hands on my hips. “It also doesn’t appear to be a burglary, but Gracie, I’ll need you to do a full inventory check for me, okay?”

“Nothing’s taken?” she squeaks, equally as confused as I am.

“No. It seems personal. And it seems like they had a key.” I suck in a breath, because I can tell by the look in her terrified eyes that she hasn’t yet considered what I’m about to propose. Domestic disputes are the calls I handle the most, and destruction of property is commonplace. “When did you last talk to Luca, Gracie?”

Gracie’s brows rise. “You think Luca did this?”

“Fill me in, please,” Bill says, clearing his throat. “Who is Luca?”

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