Page 1 of Saving Her Heart
Chapter 1
Kendall
The morning sun reflects off the pool at Hibiscus Point Condominiums, turning the water into liquid gold. I adjust my sunglasses and check my watch—6:47 AM. Perfect. I have exactly thirteen minutes before my first property walkthrough, enough time to review the maintenance reports that came in overnight.
My phone buzzes against the marble countertop of the poolside office. Three new complaints. I scroll through them quickly, sorting them by what needs handling first.
Unit 412: Suspicious odor from hallway.
Unit 318: Noise violation, third floor.
Unit 320: Strange sounds, possible animal?
That last one makes me pause. Mrs. Parsons in 320 has been... different lately. Last week, the elderly woman called maintenance because she couldn't find her keys, only to discover she'd been trying to unlock her door with her car keys. The week before, she'd reported her deceased husband Harold for playing his music too loud at 2 AM.
I tuck the phone into my blazer pocket and stand, smoothing invisible wrinkles from my pencil skirt. Time to investigate before the HOA president arrives for our monthly inspection. Valerie Thornfield has the personality of a paper cut and twice the sting—the last thing I need is ammunition for another one of her campaigns to get rid of me. I've been here three years, and each month she tries to find something to complain about to the board, yet they love me and all I've done to improve this complex.
The elevator ride to the third floor gives me thirty seconds to review my rules. Three simple guidelines have kept my professional life spotless and my personal life... well, that's irrelevant because I don't have one.
Rule one: Never let emotion override logic.
Rule two: Control what you can, accept what you can't.
Rule three: Never, ever trust someone who's already proven they'll leave.
The elevator dings softly as I reach the third floor. The hallway stretches ahead, all hardwood flooring and tasteful sconces, the understated luxury that justifies the astronomical HOA fees the residents pay each month. Everything appears normal until I hear it—a sound that definitely doesn't belong in a pet-free building.
"Maaaaaah."
I freeze. That can't be what it sounds like.
"Maaaaaah."
The sound comes again, distinctly from unit 320. My stomach drops somewhere around my knock-off designer heels. I knock on Mrs. Parsons' door—three firm taps, not too loud.
"Mrs. Parsons? It's Kendall Greene from building management."
Shuffling sounds come from inside, followed by what sounds suspiciously like hooves on hardwood. The door opens sixinches, held by the security chain, and Mrs. Parsons' face appears in the gap. Her silver hair is pinned in neat curls, but her pale blue eyes hold that unfocused quality I've been noticing more often.
"Oh, hello dear. Is it time for Harold's medicine already?"
"Mrs. Parsons, Harold..." I start gently, but another "maaah" interrupts me. "Mrs. Parsons, do you have an animal in your apartment?"
The elderly woman's face brightens. "Oh yes! Gertie's such a comfort. Harold brought her home yesterday. Said I needed company while he's at work."
My mind races. Harold Parsons has been dead for eighteen months. "Mrs. Parsons, I need to come in and check on something. It's important."
"Of course, dear. Gertie loves visitors."
The door closes, the chain rattles, and then it swings open fully. I step inside and immediately wish I hadn't.
A small brown and white goat stands in the middle of Mrs. Parsons' pristine living room, contentedly chewing on what looks like a very expensive throw pillow. The coffee table has been pushed against the wall, and there are suspicious dark-brown pellets scattered across the Persian rug.
"Mrs. Parsons," I say slowly, maintaining my professional composure despite the absurdity of the situation, "this is a goat."
"Yes, dear. A Nigerian Dwarf. Gertie's a therapy animal. Harold got all the paperwork." Mrs. Parsons shuffles to an antique secretary desk and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. "See? It's all official."
I examine the document. It's a receipt from "Bob's Feed and Seed" for one female baby goat, not exactly the therapy animal certification that would be required to override the building's strict no-pet policy. Not that any certification would allow a goat in a luxury condominium.
