Page 5 of Hot for Hostage

Again.

They advised us to put up missing dog signs, post online, and check other shelters in the area. When Officer Jake Murdock offered to take me out to dinner so we could discuss strategies to find Bear, I almost socked him in his pretty little face. He spent more time flirting with me than he ever did helping.

All I cared about was getting Bear back.

Luckily, I knew exactly who’d taken him, and they would pay.

The only problem was I had no idea how to find them.

Keeping a skeleton staff on-site, the rest of the volunteers and I took to the streets. We were each armed with a roll of tape and a stack ofMissing Dogflyers that showcased Bear’sadorable snout. Mr. Sanders assigned us each different sections of the neighborhood, and I drove my car about ten blocks away.

After hitting a few of the small shops, I marched up to my favorite ice cream parlor. The Sprinkled Scoop’s familiar yellow door was heavy, and I squeezed inside before seeing the owner—Bruno—was already helping two customers at the register.

Shivering from the cool air, I pulled on the hem of my short pink overalls and debated waiting outside in the summer heat. But I sucked it up and got in line behind them with my stack of flyers.

My gaze drifted over the glass display while I waited, checking for any new flavors since yesterday.

“You sell ice cream. What could you possibly need more room for?” one customer asked Bruno, and the casual note of command in his voice had goose bumps popping up along my arms. Or maybe it was the air-conditioning? I peeked at the stranger from under my lashes. He wore a nice suit, while his friend had on dark jeans and a black jacket. Both were tall, well-groomed, and held themselves like they owned the room. I felt like a mangy mutt next to them. “All the product fits here.”

“If I expand into the empty space next door, there’ll be room for customers to sit at tables instead of just the counter,” Bruno explained. “Room for more prep space and flavors. And who knows, maybe I could start offering gelato?”

My ears perked up. If Bruno was expanding the parlor, maybe he could add a little corner with dog beds and finally allow canine customers inside.

“You’re thinking of expanding?” I asked in excitement, unable to keep quiet. “That’s a great idea.”

All three men fell silent, and it hit me just how serious the vibe in the place was. It bordered on…dangerous.

I gulped.

Both tall men in front of me went still, and Bruno leaned to the side until he could see me behind them.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer.” He ran a hand over the top of his bald head. “You’re here early today. The usual two scoops?”

I managed a small smile, but now wasn’t the time to indulge in one of my favorite treats. Finding Bear was my priority.

Since it didn’t seem like the two men were about to order anytime soon, I carefully stepped around them and sidled up to the counter. “Excuse me, sirs. I’ll be quick. I’m actually here on official business today, Bruno.”

His eyebrow rose, and he glanced over my head before answering. “Business? Tell me more.”

I took one of Bear’s flyers off the stack and showed it to him. “There’s a dog missing from the shelter—it’s a long story—and I’m hanging these up in the local shops. Do you mind if I tape one in front of your register?”

“Be my guest, and sorry to hear about the pup,” he said. “Mrs. Applebaum was in here earlier and asked when you’re baking more of those treats.”

My gaze darted to the empty treat bowl I’d set up next to his register, and my lips parted. “I just dropped them off yesterday. They’re already gone?”

“Your treats always go fast. The dogs love them.” He shrugged, and I might’ve preened a little at the praise as I tore off a piece of tape. “She asked if it was a new recipe.”

“It was!” I beamed, momentarily distracted from my mission. “I tried sweet potato this time, but it’s always tricky to?—”

One of the men cleared their throat behind me. “Bruno, as charming as this is, I have a meeting to get to. Can we get back to the reason you called?”

I snapped my mouth shut at his sharp tone and wrinkled my nose. Talk about rude.

Bruno winced like he’d been told off by a schoolteacher. “You’re right. Sorry, Mr. Reed.”

I jerked at his words, and my hand froze with the flyer halfway to the counter.

… Mr. Reed?

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