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  If they did, she couldn't blame them. Work, dog shows, and hanging out with Carla didn't really make for a very exciting life. When she divorced Roger, she had promised herself she'd start going out more. She was a little tired of being boring little Cassidy.

  Even with the somewhat depressing thoughts swirling through her mind, she was still hopeful about Roddy. Mike would find Roddy. Somehow she just felt it.

  Strangely, for the first time since Roddy had been taken, she felt like she could actually sleep. Stripping down, she crawled under the covers. Nodding off almost immediately, she dreamed of sexy hazel eyes.

  An hour later, her phone rang, waking her. She groaned, then reached over to pick it up from the nightstand. Seeing it was Marla, she picked it up.

  A few minutes later, frowning, she set the phone down. Marla was canceling her interview for tonight. She'd been absolutely frantic. Her mother was being admitted to the hospital. Poor Marla, she thought, frowning. Hopefully everything would be okay.

  Chapter Three

  Interesting, Mike thought, as he read Cassidy's text message. Marla Francis, the handler, had canceled their meeting. Cassidy seemed to think she wasn't a suspect. He didn't necessarily agree with that particular line of thinking though. He quickly responded to let her know he'd gotten the text.

  Taking another sip of his fourth cup of coffee since he'd arrived, he tried to refocus his thoughts. Marla. She was definitely a suspect. Though, the more research he did, the less likely it seemed. Marla had a pretty good gig. A few days of showing the dog and she earned a few hundred bucks, plus expenses. When the dog won, and it often did, then her pay day increased significantly.

  The only one who wasn't a suspect was Cassidy at this point. He'd considered that option too, of course. She had nothing to gain and everything to lose. He could still see that stricken look in her eyes when she'd explained herself.

  Setting thoughts of Cassidy aside, he refocused on the suspect list. He ran a quick background check on Marla. She was squeaky clean with the exception of a moving violation when she was twenty. Not much of a shock there, though, he reasoned.

  He was beginning to lean more and more toward the ex. The background check on him had yielded some interesting results. Roger Millman had been married three times by age thirty-four. He had assault and battery charges, domestic violence, an arrest for missed child support payments, and a plethora of other theft related charges. Additionally, he had an outstanding warrant for failing to appear in court. That could be really useful.

  This guy was a piece of work. He'd be shocked if Cassidy knew about any of this stuff. This trash had beat up on more than one of his wives. He hoped to hell the poor kids never had to see that. He knew from his own personal experience how that could fuck someone up.

  Tom Diamond was a drunk. An angry drunk. When Mike had been old enough to realize where the bruises came from on his mother's arms and face, he'd tried to goad his father into hitting him instead. That had worked with way too much success.

  His uncle had finally clued into it after a few years during one of his infrequent visits. He'd beaten the crap out of his brother and forced him into rehab. When it hadn't taken, he'd convinced Mike’s mother to leave.

  They'd moved to Toronto and had lived with his Uncle Rick for years while his mother had gone back to college. She'd gotten her degree as a teacher and moved them out by the time he'd reached high school. Now his mother taught English to a group of very rambunctious middle school children. She had once been too afraid to stand up for herself. Now, she took no shit from anyone.

  When his uncle mentioned the possibility of Cassidy's ex getting physical with her, he knew this little trip down memory lane was on the way. His mother's was a success story if there ever was one. He could only hope that these women, Cassidy included, would fare the same.

  The second wife, Monica Pierpont lived in Quebec. He'd try her first since she was on the east coast. Maybe he'd get lucky and actually be able to speak to her. Only one way to find out, he mused. Locating a phone number for Monica Pierpont with surprising ease, he dialed.

  Almost an hour later, his ears still ringing, Mike finally hung up. That was a woman scorned if he'd ever heard it. She'd railed on for the longest time about the fact that he'd knocked her up, married her, beaten her while she was pregnant, then cleaned out their checking account and left.

  He'd paid no child support and had no contact with his child or her since she'd signed the divorce papers. Roger Millman was a piece of trash. Stealing a dog would be well within his boundaries.

  In addition to the rage, his ex-wife had also been really useful. Roger hadn't been working over the last few years. Monica had been able to share that he had worked as a landscaper for a golf course before.

  No longer having a wife or show dog to support him would definitely lead a man to get a new job. With it being spring, the golf courses would be opening back up soon. He had a place to start looking now since Roger had abandoned his last known address.

  Mike worked his way down the very short list, dialing each of the country clubs in the area. After the third call, he struck gold. Hidden Pines Country Club. He was passed around to a few different people but eventually he talked to one pissed off crew leader name Bert. Apparently, Roger hadn't shown up for the last two days. Hadn't called to quit, either.

  He'd introduced himself in the guise that he was Rogers's buddy, so Bert wasn't too friendly. Mike acted shocked by the news. Bert basically told him to tell Roger he wouldn't be seeing his last check until he returned the work shirts.

  It had been a stroke of luck, knowing Roger had just stopped showing up. It furthered his opinion that Roger was involved. On the down side, there'd be no way to find him since he was off the grid at the moment. Something would shake loose, though. It always did.

  In the meantime, he would be able to grab a quick lunch and then start canvassing Cassidy's neighborhood. The area she lived in was pretty populated. It would stand to reason that someone saw something.

  * * * *

  By the time he had managed to canvas the neighborhood, it was almost after seven and dark. He'd learned zilch from the neighbors other than the fact that Cassidy was quiet and kept to herself. They'd all been sad to hear her dog had been stolen, though.

  It was unfortunate he wouldn't be able to get a great look around the doors and windows. He suspected he wouldn't find much there anyway. The more he thought about it, the more he leaned toward Roger.

  When he reached Cassidy's house, he stopped for a moment. It was a cute house. Nothing ostentatious. There was a garden in the front, or there would be when things started to bloom again. Surprisingly, he could see her here. She fit.

  He shook his head. He didn't even know why he was thinking about her. She was just a client. He was looking for her giant lion dog. That was it. Resolutely, he walked up the sidewalk and rang the bell.

  Cassidy answered a moment later, her eyes hopeful. Unfortunately, all he had to share were some disjointed facts and a reaffirmation of her earlier theory. “Any word?”

  “I wish I had more constructive news,” he said, frowning.

  “Well, come inside. Tell me anyway.” She waved him in. “Did you want a drink?”

  Mike considered, and then said, “Water would be nice.” He watched the sway of her hips as she left the room. He knew it was inappropriate, but he couldn't help himself. She was impeccably put together.

  “Here you go,” she said, passing him a cold bottle of water.

  He cracked the lid and said, “Well, I've done a lot of digging today. I found out quite a bit about your ex. You seemed to think that was the place to start, and frankly, I agreed. He's a real dirtbag, Cassidy. Three ex-wives including you, a kid he doesn't support. He was physically abusive with both of his exes.”

  She noticeably paled. “I'm number three? And he has a child? How could I have been married to him and not known any of this?”

  “I'm sorry. That's not all I found,
but I thought you should know about that. You made the right call, dropping that loser. I know it's not my place to say, but... that's never stopped me before.”

  She gave him a wan smile and murmured, “I just bet it doesn't.”

  He could pretend she'd meant it as a compliment, right? Instead of dwelling on it, he said, “I managed to find out he once worked at a golf course from one of the ex-wives. That gave me a lead as far as a job went. I narrowed it down to Hidden Pines, but he suddenly stopped showing up the other day. His supervisor was none too pleased about that.”

  Her eyes widened and she asked, “How will we find him? Work was the only lead you had, right?”

  His gaze was steady when he said, “Something will shake loose. It always does. He's off the grid now, but if he's planning on showing the dog, he's going to have to register him at some point. Roddy won't be worth nearly enough of a payday if he just sells him.”

  She took a deep breath and agreed. “You're right. We'll find my baby.”

  “I'm going to come tomorrow when it's light out and take a look around the doors and windows, see if there's anything the cops missed. It doesn't sound like they took anything too seriously. I'd do it tonight, but it's dark. You gonna be around?”

  “Nothing else to do,” she said softly.

  “We'll find him,” Mike promised. “We'll keep looking until we find him.”

  Chapter Four

  Cassidy woke up feeling hopeful. He'd been an ass when they'd first met, but Mike had more than made up for it since then. He seemed to genuinely believe they'd find her dog. She had to believe that then, too, right?

  After breakfast, she decided she'd tackle the mounting pile of mail. It had been days since she'd done anything but toss it on the desk with a cursory glance. As she pored through it a small blank envelope caught her attention. There was something hard inside. Her heart in her throat, she carefully tore it open and read.

  A ransom note. It was printed from a regular printer on plain copy paper. Her hand shook as she read.

  Thirty thousand in cash. Place it in locker 467R at the Toronto Coach Terminal and then call (416) 555-0157 to let me know when it's been done. You have until Friday at 9pm. No cops or the dog dies!!!

  A sob caught in her throat as she turned over the envelope to dump the metal out. In her palm laid a key and Roddy's dog tags. Her poor baby! She had almost gotten him killed inadvertently by not checking the mail. Thank God today was only Thursday. Hands shaking, she texted Mike. He would know what to do.

  She could certainly come up with thirty thousand dollars. She had more than that squirreled away in her savings account. Thank God she'd never let Roger know she even had it. He'd have tried to take that too. And he was threatening to hurt her dog. When she found him, he'd pay.

  Her phone buzzed back. She briefly read and then let out a sigh of relief. Mike was on his way. If anything happened to her poor baby, she'd be heartbroken. Would Roger really hurt Roddy? God, she hoped not.

  Finally, she gave in to the tears that were threatening. She sobbed until she could hardly breathe. She had barely managed to mop her face by the time that Mike arrived.

  He took one look at her and then pulled her into his arms for a much needed hug. Poor Mike, he just let her cry all over him. He did nothing but steer her to the couch and rub a comforting hand over her back. When a new wave of tears hit, he stroked a hand through her curls and said, “It'll be okay. We'll find him.”

  “But, I— I…” She tried to speak, but the words came out as a stutter.

  “Deep breaths, Cassidy. Roddy will be okay. We're going to find him.”

  “I almost got him hurt because I didn't bother to check my mail. I've probably had this for days,” she said, sobbing against his shirt.

  “Shh.” He stroked a hand over her hair.

  Eventually, when she was able to breathe again, she leaned back, absolutely mortified. Face flaming, she apologized. “Jesus. Mike. I am so sorry. That was clearly not in your job description.”

  In response, he reached out and wiped a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Think nothing of it. It's completely normal to be upset.”

  Incredibly embarrassed, she ignored his statement and said, “Seriously. I'm so sorry.”

  “Stop,” Mike commanded. “You clearly needed a hug. I got to hold a beautiful woman. Everyone wins. Now show me the letter.”

  Cassidy stood up and headed toward the kitchen, not allowing herself to think too long about his comment. Mike found her beautiful? Right now she looked like a red, snotty mess. She was certain of it.

  She passed him the letter and watched him frown as he read it. “I've got a couple of ideas,” he said.

  “Okay. Would you mind if I hopped in the shower before we talked about that. I wanna clean up. I'm a mess right now,” she said, gesturing to her face.

  Mike watched her for a moment and then said, “Take your time. I'm going to check the doors and windows. I doubt I'll find anything, but better to be safe than sorry. Which is your room?”

  Confused, she pointed.

  He explained. “I'll check that one when you're done. Just come and find me.”

  “Okay,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

  He waved her off and said, “Don't mention it.”

  She tried to put his words out of her mind, but if questioned, she'd have to admit it prompted her to put on a little powder and lip gloss after her shower. Then she had combed her hair until it fell in damp, crinkly waves.

  When Cassidy eventually emerged from the bedroom, she found the living room empty. She went in search of Mike and eventually found him outside. He was squatted on her back patio, near the back door. He grumbled, “Your locks suck, Cassidy. I recommend changing them immediately. I don't see signs of forced entry, but I could break into your house with a pocket knife as it is.”

  “A pocket knife?” she asked, shocked.

  “Yeah, watch,” he said, gesturing at the doorknob. With three jiggles of his pocket knife under the edge of the handle it popped free in his hand.

  “Holy shit,” she said, blanching. “I need to call a locksmith.”

  “Don't do that,” he cautioned. “They'll just charge you four hundred bucks to replace your doorknobs. Let me go pick them up and I'll install them.”

  “You really don't have to do that,” she whispered. “I can have someone—”

  “I just broke your doorknob,” he said, interrupting her. “I can go and get the parts and have it installed in less than an hour. I've got a friend checking on the cell phone. If we can track it, then we may be able to figure out where Roddy is. The other option is to pay the ransom if you're able and then track them back to where they're keeping the dog. There's a chance you might lose the ransom, so that's last resort. I don't know what else to do. We've got no leads and a tight deadline.”

  She nodded and said, “It's money I won from showing Roddy, anyway. If I lose the ransom, I lose the ransom. I just want my boy back.”

  “I know you do,” he said, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. “I'm gonna run to the hardware store and get you some new locks. I'll be back in a little while. Call me if anything comes up.”

  When he left, she locked the front door after him. Not that it would help anything. He'd popped her doorknob off the outside of her back door with a freaking pocket knife. Talk about unsafe! Maybe she'd ask him to take a look at the windows too. She hated to be a bother, though.

  As promised, he was back within about twenty minutes with a somber look on his face. “My friend had no luck tracing the cell. It was a burner phone.” At her vaguely confused face, he explained. “A throw away. Disposable. He said he'd give me a call if it turned on.”

  “I'll call my bank and find what I need to do to make a large withdrawal while you fix the knobs. Thank you for that, by the way.”

  “You're welcome,” he said, giving her that panty-melting grin of his again.

  “Let me know what I owe you for that.”
r />   He waved her off with a frown and moved toward the back door.

  It was surprisingly easy, she discovered, to randomly take out thirty thousand dollars from her bank. She needed to present two forms of ID and it would be done in ten minutes. She found Mike as he was installing the handle on her front door. While he worked, she explained the process to him.

  They both agreed that while it wasn't the first thing they wanted to do, she should probably withdraw the money just in case the cell phone never popped on for long enough to track it.

  Once the doorknobs were installed, he gave her the new keys and said, “These are better. You can't pop them off with a pocket knife. The others were loose.”

  “Thank you again. Do you think you could give me your thoughts on the windows too?”

  She had a few different types of windows in the house. He suggested she replace the older ones with something more secure, but told her the newer ones were good. When they got to the larger windows in the bedroom, he said, “Cassidy, you’re not using the built-in safety lock.”

  She squinted and asked, “Where? I don't see a safety.”

  “Up here, on top.” He pointed to the small latch.

  “I didn't even see that,” she admitted. “I'm a little short.” Stretching, she tried to reach, but only managed to stumble. Mike caught her.

  For the second time today, she found herself in his arms. She wasn't so sure she wanted to back away this time, either. Maybe it was time to do a little bit of living.

  “Cassidy,” he said softly, his eyes resting on her mouth. “You're emotional and I don't want to take advantage.”

  “I'm not,” she countered. “I know precisely what I'm doing.”

  Chapter Five