The entire commercial property is owned by friends of my buddy Leo Hawk. Leo’s wife Lia owns the very place we’re headed.

  “What is this?” Ms. Mangione covers her overdrawn lips with her hands. “How adorable!”

  I activate the automatic entry, then step aside to let the lady through. The sounds of happy barking and some not-so-happy growling greet us as we enter the doggie day care and grooming facility.

  An enormous man is behind the counter, huffing and looking at a mounted iPad like the thing is toxic.

  “Tiny?” I ask, confused at seeing him here. “Where’s Lia?”

  The man’s nickname is perfectly suited to his far-from-tiny size. He’s the president of the Disciples motorcycle club, and with his leather vest and short-sleeve Harley T-shirt underneath, he is literally the last person I expect to see working behind the counter. Except his expression right now truly does give off mad dog vibes.

  Tiny grunts before he flicks a quick glance at me, then Ms. Mangione, and then he ambles to his feet. “Arrow.” He says my nickname like he’s pissed, but then he softens his tone. “And, ma’am.” There is something weird about the way he says that.

  I look over at my potential client to see her making the strangest sort of fluttery eye movements at Tiny. “I’m Marla,” she drawls, extending a hand across the counter. “Marla Mangione. And you are?”

  “My friends call me Tiny,” he says, shaking her hand. “That’s what you should call me.”

  Marla laughs like that’s the most hilarious thing she’s ever heard, and I quickly realize that I’ve definitely lost this client to this place. Which, I guess, is what I was hoping for anyway.

  “Tiny,” I explain, “Ms. Mangione is having an issue with her current dog walker.”

  “That so?” he asks, lowering a brow. “What’s the problem? Somebody givin’ you a hard time?”

  Before Ms. Mangione can answer, a squealing sound comes from behind the counter.

  “Up! Up!”

  Tiny holds up a finger. “Excuse me, ma’am. My daughter owns this shop here, and her babysitter called in sick today. I’m watching my grandson for a couple hours.” Tiny bends down and opens his arms.

  Then I watch what’s left of Marla Mangione’s composure melt away like a dairy freeze in the Florida sun.

  “Who do we have here?” she asks.

  While Tiny introduces his grandson River, Lia comes running in from the back room where she handles the grooming, her hair tied up under a cap, wearing a simple branded blue smock over her clothes.

  “I heard my baby.” As Lia hustles through the store, a dozen dogs follow her like she’s their leader, especially Lia’s own dogs—the trio of small dogs she calls her girl crew and her most recent rescue, a male pitty named Mikey. She laughs and looks down at the pups trailing her heels. “Not you, babies. My baby River.” Lia cocks her head at her father, who is bouncing eighteen-month-old River on a knee. “You guys good, Dad?”

  Tiny looks like he’s better than good. His cheeks are red, and he’s blowing raspberries at his grandson like it’s his job. Marla Mangione is clutching her enormous knock-off designer purse in her hands and watching the whole scene with a look of rapt adoration.

  “Lia,” I say, clearing my throat. “This is Marla Mangione. She may need a new…”

  But it’s obvious no more introductions are needed. Tiny and Marla are talking over the counter about kids and dogs, and Lia crosses her arms over her chest with a look of giddy fascination at her father and son.

  “Nice meeting you, Ms. Mangione,” I say and turn to leave.

  I’m not part of the MC, never have been, so I’m used to feeling like I’m on the outside looking in. They’ve got it from here, and I left my shop unlocked. We have plenty of cameras and security, but I may as well get back.

  Besides, business has been so slow lately, I don’t have much more than a badly out-of-date laptop in the place. My business makes an incredibly disappointing mark.

  Satisfied that Marla’s dog-walking situation didn’t require a PI as much as a new doggie day care, I turn and head out.

  “Arrow!”

  I turn back to see Lia give me a sly smile.

  “Thanks, bud.” She nods at Marla. “Appreciate the referral.”

  I nod, then wave a wordless goodbye to Tiny. When I first came back to town, I had a little bit of a flirtation going on with Lia. I mean, who could resist her? She’s got that hippie, free-spirited vibe, banging curves, and a personality that doesn’t quit. She was living with my buddy Tim’s little brother, Leo, but it turned out they were more than just roommates. The former roommates-with-benefits are now parents to little River, and I’m happy to have a friend in Leo, who’s in the MC.

  But friend is a loose term. I’m not part of anything like these guys are. No real family. All my friends are like family to me, but most of them have their own demons. Or, like Leo and Tim, have a club or kids or other demands on their lives.

  At least I have a business. It ain’t much, but it’s all mine. As I head back for another afternoon of doomscrolling my client list and bank account, a familiar motorcycle is rolling into the lot.

  “Yo.” I nod at my buddy Leo and slow my steps as he parks his bike in front of his auto shop.

  “Hey, bud.” He lifts his chin toward my office. “You workin’ or playin’?”

  “Wishing I had work, man, but I just sent a client over to your girl. Lady needs a dog walker, not a PI.”

  Leo yanks off his sunglasses and claps me on the shoulder with one hand. In the other, he’s carrying a kiddie meal from a local fast-food place. “Thanks. Maybe you should learn to shampoo dogs.”

  I pretend to throw a punch at my buddy’s gut, but I laugh it off. “Kid’s getting big,” I tell him, motioning toward the doggie day care. “Looks like he’s having fun with Gramps in there.”

  Leo chuckles and scrubs a hand over his chin. “I know, right? The kid’s got the appetite of a teenager and is just as stubborn. Lia’s begging me to give him a brother or sister, but…” He yanks on the door of the shop where he works with his brother, Tim. “I’m going to need more business too if I’m going to feed more mouths.”

  “Let’s grab dinner soon, yeah?” I ask.

  “Definitely,” Leo calls behind him as he heads toward his wife’s place.

  If I know Leo, definitely means someday, and despite his best intentions, someday isn’t likely to happen any time soon. Between his club brothers, his business, and his family, the guy doesn’t get a lot of free time.

  But it’s all good. I’ve got my own shit to face. If I can’t find some more clients who can actually afford to pay me, I’ll be giving notice on my lease and moving on.

  I yank open the door to my office and breathe a sigh of relief that the scent of Ms. Marla Mangione has been blown away, thanks to the sturdy efforts of my window-mounted AC. I have just stepped foot inside the small lobby when a voice comes out of nowhere.

  “Excuse me? I didn’t want to startle you. There was no one at the front desk…”

  I almost lurch out of my boots at the woman’s voice. She’s standing off to one side, hidden from view of the street. I look her over, then look behind me. She’s alone and looks nervous, scared even.

  “Yeah, I’m, uh, short a receptionist at the moment.”

  That’s a mostly true statement. I never had a receptionist, but I optimistically bought the extra furniture when I signed the lease. Too bad I have more optimism than clients.

  I close the exterior door to keep the heat of the afternoon out where it belongs, trying not to glare at the woman in my office. She’s young, I’d guess, but not much younger than me. Early twenties. She’s dressed in super-short white shorts that cling to a deliciously rounded ass. The tank top she’s wearing hugs her flat belly, and her tits are on the smaller size but perfectly shaped. Her legs are long, tanned, and toned, and a sandy blond braid falls to the middle of her back.

  But it’s the backpack slung over both shoulders that makes her look like a college kid. Maybe it’s just what she uses as a purse, but the way she’s ducking her shoulders means either that backpack is really freaking heavy or she’s trying to hide or make herself harder to see. It would be impossible to miss a woman who looks like that, so I’m guessing she’s loaded down with textbooks or something. But why exactly she’s standing in my office is the bigger question.

  “Are you looking for a PI?” I ask on a frown. As pretty as she is to look at, I need to make a few calls to my buddies at a couple of insurance companies that hire me for surveillance. It’s been a while since I had any corporate work, and unfortunately, part of this job is networking. If I’m lucky, I’ll score a suspected workers’ comp fraud case this week. Just one of those would keep the lights on for…fuck. At least a little while longer.

  The woman doesn’t answer my question but shuffles from flip-flop to flip-flop.

  I head toward my office and wave for her to follow me. “Why don’t you have a seat? Tell me how I can help.”

  She glances nervously toward the door, as if she’s afraid to trust me. I’ve learned a lot about body language in my years as a bond agent and even more since I’ve been working as a private investigator. Whatever’s brought the girl in here, she’s genuinely uncomfortable.

  “Why don’t we talk out here?” I motion toward the never-used guest chair in front of the reception desk.

  There’s really no need for us to meet in my office. It’s all the same anyway. There’s nothing on my desk but an underused laptop. Out here, there’s a big, blocky desk calendar that’s four months out of date. I never meet with people out here, so while the girl pulls out a chair and sits across from me, I tear off the sheets and crumple them up, then stuff them in the empty bin beside the desk.

  With that done, I lean back in the seat and look through the empty desk drawers for a pen. Shit, there’s nothing in here. Instead of taking notes or completing an intake form, I’ll have to sit here and just listen, which is probably going to make her feel even more awkward.

  “Let me grab a pen,” I say, jumping up from behind the desk. “You want a water or something?” Her obvious discomfort is starting to make me feel sweaty, so I pop open the tiny fridge beside my desk and grab two bottles of cold water. Then I snag a pen from the top of my desk and an unused pad of lined paper.

  When I head back into the tiny lobby space, the blond woman is squinting at me, twisting around in her seat to look me over. She’s still got the backpack over her shoulders and has her ass perched on the edge of the chair like any minute she might change her mind and run out of here.

  “Here you go,” I say, setting the water bottle on the desk in front of her. I drop the notepad on my side of the desk, tuck the pen behind my ear, uncap my water, and take a big swallow.

  Much better.

  When I sit back down, she still hasn’t said anything, so I give her a look. “So, you know I’m a private investigator, right? Are you looking to hire someone?”

  She glances back at the door as if checking the sign to be sure she’s in the right place. “What about security?” she asks. “Do you also offer security services?”

  I take another quick swig of ice-cold water and nod. “Yeah, I do.” I narrow my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “Why don’t we start with the basics? I’m Josh, but people call me Arrow. And your name is?”

  She looks at my crossed arms, then extends her hand. “Anne Hancock, but people call me Annie.”

  I can see that the white polish on the hand she holds out to me is far from fresh. The chips left on her nails look old, like she hasn’t had them done in weeks.

  She’s waiting for me to shake her hand, but the pale blue of her eyes is so unusual, so stunning against her tanned skin, I feel a buzz of attraction all the way down to my balls. Touching her may not be the best idea, but I can’t exactly refuse to shake the woman’s hand. I clasp her hand quickly and then release.

  “Nice to meet you, Annie,” I say. “What brings you in today?” I try to sound a little more formal, taking a professional approach with my brain while my body is having a far less professional reaction to Annie Hancock.

  What she says next, though, shifts the mood in the room immediately. “I…I think I am in some kind of trouble. But I’m not sure.”

  “You think you’re in trouble?” I echo, scribbling absolute nonsense on my legal pad, just to give me something to focus on that’s not the long lines of Annie Hancock’s neck. “So, what’s going on?”

  She swallows hard, and I see her look at the bottle of water like it might be poisoned. She picks it up carefully and gently twists the cap, not strong enough to break the safety seal, though. She’s tugging it just lightly enough to ensure that the water is, in fact, sealed and hasn’t been tampered with.

  Something deep in my gut reacts immediately. Whatever is going on for this girl, she’s afraid. She’s hyperaware of her surroundings. Checking that a bottle of water hasn’t been tampered with. While I wasn’t too concerned that Ms. Mangione’s dog walker was really trying to poison her with cheesecake, whatever is going on with Annie Hancock feels real and serious.

  I don’t know this woman, but I want to know just what happened to make her so terrified for her safety that she’s checking the caps on bottled water.

  “Let’s cut to it,” I say gruffly, anxious to get to her story. “Did something happen? Do you think you’re in danger?”

  She presses her full lips together and looks down at her hands. She’s fiddling with the cap on the water bottle, but she hasn’t taken a sip yet. Suddenly, I’m worried, angry, and almost out of patience.

  “Look,” I say, lifting my brows and pointing at the water. “You’re safe with me, Annie. I haven’t tampered with the water bottle. I’ll pour some into a cup and drink it myself if it’ll make you feel better. Now, if you’re thirsty, go ahead and take a sip so you can get on with it. Because unless I know nothing about reading people, you’re scared shitless about something. Something big enough to bring you into my office. And I’d really like to figure out if I can do anything to help you.”

  A flush blooms like a cloud from her perfect cleavage up along her collarbone. She lowers her eyes and sighs. “You’re not like the others,” she murmurs, a slight smile lightening her dark expression.

  “The others?” I ask.

  She nods. “You’re the third stop I’ve made today. The other investigators weren’t so caring.”

  Well, that’s a first. Even when I do my job and catch the cheating spouses in the act or grab evidence that can help an insurance carrier deny a fraudulent claim, I’m not often given a warm handshake and a hearty thank-you. I’ve been called every insult in the book at least a hundred times, and usually the insults are smothered in curses.

  As I look over Annie, I can only imagine what the other PIs put her through. “Lemme guess,” I say, snorting air and trying not to swear. “They didn’t ask any questions but wanted an up-front deposit for their time, plus expenses. That, or they tried to hit on you and told you it was all in your head.”

  She looks me in the eye, strength in her gaze. “Yeah. You’re exactly right. But you seem…different.”

  I may not have earned her trust yet, but after she says the words, she takes a long sip of water. I watch the tiny hairs on her arms lift up and her nipples peak hard against her tank.

  “So,” I say roughly, clearing my throat and tearing my eyes from her cleavage. “I’m here to listen. Maybe even help. What’s the problem? Jealous boyfriend? Roommate trouble?”

  She sets the water down and scoots the chair a little closer to the desk. “No, no, nothing like that. I think…” She smooths her hands along her hair. The stray loose strands stick in place, giving me a perfect view of her face as she says, “I think maybe someone wants to blackmail me.”

  After years of working with people from the darkest corners, I am hardly surprised by much. But I am skeptical. I’ve managed to stay in business because people do shady, shady shit. They steal from one another, they lie… Even blood. Families turn on one another for the stupidest fucking reasons. But so far, all I have is a scared-looking woman and a name. I’m going to need a hell of a lot more to know whether I’m talking to a client or wasting my time.

  “So, tell me,” I press. “Do you have enemies? Somebody you crossed?”

  She shakes her head. “That’s just the thing. My life is boring. I don’t know why anyone would want to do this to me.” She bites down on her lower lip, as if she’s hesitating to tell me the whole story.

  “Do what to you, Annie?” I ask. “Look, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. Even if you do tell me everything, this might be a police matter. But you’ve got to give me details. Even if it’s uncomfortable. You wouldn’t be the first person to send pictures of an intimate nature to someone and later regret it. Am I right? Is it something like that?”

  To my shock, she laughs. A light, free-sounding laugh that brightens her entire face. “God, no.” She shakes her head. “My father is a lawyer, and I’m twenty-five, Mr. Arrow. I know better than to send naked pictures of myself to people I date.”

  The thought of her posing for pictures like that brings another blast of very unprofessional feelings, so I picture pouring that bottle of ice water over my head and cooling myself the fuck off. “Okay, great,” I say. “So, what details can you share about what’s going on?”

  She grows serious, worrying that lip again between her teeth, then shrugs the backpack off her shoulder. She sets the thing in her lap and, finally, starts talking. “I’m a grad student,” she explains as she works the zipper open. “I wasn’t supposed to go to grad school, but about two months ago, my dad told me he didn’t want me working in his office anymore. He wanted me to pursue my dreams.” She laughs, but the sound is flat, not joyful. “He’s never supported my dreams of being an artist before, which was why I was working for him in the first place.”

  I nod, watching as she reaches a hand inside her backpack. I study her carefully, curious for a second as to whether she’s got a weapon in there.