afternoon. I’m Sergeant Moore and this is Officer Fernandez. You must be Chelsea,” said the older officer. “I’m sorry this has happened and I know you probably want to get things cleaned up as soon as possible, so—”
“Frankly, I don’t give two hoots about the mess right now,” Chelsea interrupted. “Ask me what you need to and then tell me you can help me find my dog,”
“Your dog’s missing?” questioned Sergeant Moore.
She nodded.
“And—” Officer Fernandez gestured toward the notebook in her hand “—is that a list of the things that were taken?”
“That’s just it.” Chelsea glanced down at the notebook as if she’d forgotten she was holding it. “I don’t think anything was.”
Officer Fernandez frowned. “Except the dog?”
Shock flashed in Chelsea’s eyes. “You think they stole Muffin? I just imagined he got scared and ran away.”
She sank down onto the sofa and Callum found himself crossing the room to sit beside her. He glared at the young cop.
The older one offered Chelsea a sympathetic smile. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. I’ll ask you a few questions and we’ll go from there.”
“Okay,” Chelsea whispered, her voice shaky.
The sergeant ran through the usual questions—how long Chelsea had been out of the house, what time she came home, had she touched anything, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Callum could see her getting more and more agitated as the questions became more and more repetitive.
“Do you think they could have been looking for something?”
She quirked an eyebrow at the cops. “I earn an honest living, but I haven’t got any family jewels lying around if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
Callum couldn’t help but smile at her sass.
“Okay. And what do you do for a living?” asked the tall, young cop. The way he spoke made it sound as if Chelsea was the one who’d committed a crime and Callum fought the urge to say so.
“I’m a breakup expert,” she said, in much the same manner she might say she were a hairdresser or a nurse.
Like Callum had done earlier that day, the officers raised their eyebrows and adopted mutual expressions of confusion at this reply.
Chelsea offered a short explanation. “I break up with other people’s partners, via phone, email or in person, so they don’t have to do it themselves. But I really don’t see what my career has to do with this.”
“Hmm...” Sergeant Moore pondered. “Could any of these men you’ve broken up with bear a grudge? Could they want to hurt you like you hurt them?”
“First,” she said, her eyes sparking, “it’s not just men I dump, and second, I am good at what I do. So no, I think that is a highly unlikely possibility. Are we almost finished? While we’re sitting here, none of us are out there looking for my dog. What exactly are you going to do to try to find Muffin? Can you register him as missing?”
Officer Fernandez smirked and spoke in a patronizing tone. “Missing dogs aren’t actually our area of expertise. I suggest—”
“But,” interrupted his superior, “as Muffin may have been stolen he is our responsibility. I assure you we will do our best to find him and return him to you and get to the bottom of all this.” He gestured around him at the mess.
“Thank you,” Chelsea said, standing. She saw the two men to the door and then grabbed a ball cap off a hook on the wall near the door. It appeared to be the only thing in the whole place left untouched. She tugged it down onto her head and was about to step through the front door when she turned back, as if suddenly remembering him.
“And thank you for everything too, Callum,” she said. “You’ve been beyond generous with your help and if there’s anything I can ever do to you to repay the favor...”
“Forget it.” He waved his hand. “You going out looking for Muffin again?” Stupid question.
“Yes. I want to have a thorough search of the neighborhood on foot before it gets dark.”
“I’d offer to help,” he said, “but someone should stay here and wait for the security guys instead.”
Her face fell and it was obvious she hadn’t given one thought to her unsecured house. “Oh. No, you don’t have to do that,” she said quickly. “You’ve helped enough already.”
Damn straight he had and he couldn’t really explain why he’d offered, but neither could he just walk away. He liked animals as much as the next guy, but he’d never seen anyone quite so distraught over a dog as Chelsea appeared to be. She really shouldn’t leave her house unattended the way it was or someone might come in and loot the place. “My conscience says otherwise. Now go find Muffin. Unless you don’t trust me.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t trust anyone, but I also care little about the contents of this house.” And with that, she turned on her heels and hurried down the front steps, the sight of her cute ass in her tight business trousers making his gut clench.
Alone and cursing his red blood cells, Callum called his sister again and told her he’d be out longer than he’d first imagined. Although he heard the curiosity in her voice, she didn’t pry and for that he was thankful.
His life had suddenly become very complicated, and he wasn’t sure he could explain everything that had happened today even to himself.
Callum glanced at his watch, hoping the security company he’d called wouldn’t be too long, and then once again looked around the cottage-sized house surveying the mess. The cops had done their thing—although he didn’t think they were taking this burglary as seriously as they should be—so he could start the cleanup without fear of disturbing evidence. Although this wasn’t his house, he’d never been the type of guy to sit around and twiddle his thumbs. Putting his phone and keys down on the kitchen counter, Callum pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, wondering where to start. Not wanting to overstep the mark by rifling through Chelsea’s possessions, he chose to begin with gathering up the broken glass and other damaged goods.
He found plastic trash bags in a drawer in the kitchen and a vacuum in the cupboard in the hallway. Taking his time not to throw out anything that looked important or of sentimental value, he went through the house collecting the big bits of unsalvageable debris. On the kitchen table were a few pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He glanced down and saw hundreds of other tiny pieces scattered on the floor. Collecting them back up into the box took a while and he hoped he’d found them all. Next he righted the furniture that had been upturned in the invasion and put the pieces of her computer back on her desk. As he did so, his gaze caught on a photo—miraculously it didn’t appear to be a victim of the carnage—and he realized something that had been bugging him about Chelsea’s home since he stepped inside. The one-and-only photo Chelsea had on display was of an old man sitting in a tattered armchair with a teenage
