A Dog and a Diamond (2 page)

“Dammit.” He patted his trouser pocket to check for his keys, then without another thought jogged around the back to his own parked car. Wondering what had come over him but unable to stop himself, Callum started his SUV and screeched after her, narrowly missing a whiskey barrel in his haste. He caught up just as she was turning onto the road in the direction of Bend, the nearest city to Jewell Rock.

As he drove focused on the car in front, he called his sister on speaker phone.

“Good afternoon, McKinnel's Distillery, Sophie speaking. How may I help you?”

“It's me,” he barked. “Look, I've had to go out. Can you handle my calls for the next hour or so?”

“Out?” Sophie's disbelief came across loud and clear. “Out where?”

“Never mind. Something's come up. Call me if there's an emergency.”

“I may be young and I may be a woman, but I'm more than capable of holding the fort for a couple of hours. Enjoy your mystery rendezvous.”

He snorted. Hah! If only she knew what he was really up to. “Thanks, Soph. I owe you one,” he said as the traffic lights in front turned amber. Breakup girl zoomed through and, determined not to lose her, Callum pushed down on the accelerator and just scraped through the intersection before the light went red. He checked the rearview mirror in case there were cops, then let out a puff of breath. He could just imagine the look on a police officer's face while they asked him why he'd gone through a red light. Admitting to stalking the car in front could get him into all kinds of trouble and his father would turn in his grave if he garnered any bad publicity that could sully the McKinnel name.

As they drove past the boundaries of town and headed onto the highway toward Bend, Callum glanced at his fuel gauge, hoping he had enough gas to get to wherever she was going. Thankfully it was near full. He supposed he should call Bailey, if only to clarify that the woman he was currently trailing wasn't some kind of lunatic. She'd seemed legitimate but one couldn't be too careful these days.

Bailey
always
answered her phone but today the number went straight to voice mail. “Hi there, you've reached Bailey Sawyer, event planner extraordinaire—leave a message and I'll get back to you soon. Bye.”

“Bailey, what the hell is going on? Call me.”

He'd been acting on some sort of adrenaline until now, but as he followed the little red car, navigating the country roads between Jewell Rock and Bend, realization dawned on him. What would he tell his mother if his relationship with Bailey had actually ended? She'd been so pleased when he and her best friend's daughter had announced their engagement...and annoyed that they'd taken years to get to the stage of almost tying the knot. This, so soon after the loss of her husband, would devastate her. Anger surged inside him at Bailey and he almost missed the moment when breakup girl turned down a street on the outskirts of Bend.

He slammed on the brakes and swerved to follow. He'd been a teenager with a brand-new license the last time he'd driven this recklessly and he was out of practice. About three minutes later, she swung into the driveway of a little house that looked in dire need of renovation.

Callum parked on the street out the front. Should he confront her now or wait until she was done with the next lucky recipient of her “work”? He waited and watched a moment, but when he saw her unlock the front door and go straight inside instead, he realized she must live here.

In that case...
He climbed out of his SUV and beeped it locked, all psyched up to confront her, to demand more of an explanation. And, if he were honest, to tell her what he really thought of her career choice. But his bluster cooled the moment he stepped into her doorway. Either her housekeeping skills were dismal, or while she'd been delivering him the breakup speech, some scumbag had broken into her house. The smashed glass panes on her door indicated the latter.

Standing in the middle of the disarray, she bent down, grabbed some kind of vase off the floor and then spun around and held it as if she were about to hurl it at him. “Stay right there!”

He froze and held his hands up in surrender.

Recognition dawned in her eyes. “You! What are you doing here?”

“I...um...” For once in his life he was lost for words. Now didn't seem the time to pay out on her.

“Never mind.” She shook her head, threw the vase onto the couch and headed down a hallway, wailing “Muffin, Muffin!” as she went.

Frowning, Callum stepped inside and surveyed the mess. Whoever had done this had left no stone unturned. What a violation. He dug his cell out of his pocket, about to call the police when she returned.

“Muffin's gone.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“What?”

“My dog,” she sobbed, rushing past him back outside. “Muffin! Muffin!” She continued shouting that one word as she frantically searched her front yard.

He stepped onto the porch. What kind of mess had he gotten himself into? If he were sensible, he'd head back to the SUV, climb inside and phone this in to the police on his way back to the distillery. But what kind of guy would leave a woman alone in a situation like this?

“Hey!” he called, still having no clue of her name. “What's Muffin look like? I'll help you look.”

She froze a moment, looking at him as if she couldn't tell if he meant it or not, then said, “He's a golden cocker spaniel. About this high—” she gestured to just above her knee “—he's wearing a red collar with a gold heart ID tag on it and he has a lot of fur.”

“Okay. Got it.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket. “I'll have a quick drive around, why don't you go check if any of the neighbors have seen him?” She appeared more worried about the dog than the house and the culprit was probably long gone, so he decided to focus on the mutt first, as well.

“Thank you.” Her voice was choked as she rushed over to the house on her right.

Callum jogged back to his SUV, climbed in and, shaking his head, turned the key in the ignition. When he'd woken up that morning he'd been engaged and planning a wedding, now it appeared he was single and looking for a stranger's dog. What crazy thing could happen next?

Chapter Two

“D
id you find him?” Chelsea asked as half an hour later Callum climbed out of the SUV he'd just parked behind her car.

He shook his head. “I'm sorry.” He sounded genuinely so and a prick of guilt jabbed her heart that she'd dumped him without hanging around to offer support. The services of The Breakup Girl
included counseling of the dumpee and it wasn't unusual for her to spend up to an hour with the brokenhearted after she'd done the main part of her job. She let her clients' exes pour out their hearts to her, and by the time she'd finished, most of them had decided getting shafted was the best thing that had ever happened to them. As her old friend Rosie often said, some people could cook soufflés that didn't flop in the middle, some people could play a musical instrument and Chelsea's talents lay in the art of dumping people. But she'd failed dismally in being a professional where Callum was concerned; being in the confined space of his office had flummoxed her.

And instead, here he was helping
her
.

“I guess you didn't either,” he said as he walked toward her.

She shook her head, sniffing as the tears threatened to fall again. She hated crying and rarely did so—especially in front of other people—it made her feel weak. But there was only one thing in the world that truly mattered to her and that was Muffin, so these were exceptional circumstances. How would she survive if he didn't come back?

“Let's get you inside,” Callum said. And before she realized what was happening, she felt his arm close around her shoulders as he ushered her toward her front door. He was so warm, so solid, and she had a crazy urge to lean into him but instead she pulled away and headed inside, conscious of him following behind her. Chelsea was unsure why he was hanging around, but not in the head space to question. She'd barely noticed the mess the first time—so focused on Muffin—but now she hardly recognized her home. Living alone it was easy to keep things tidy as she liked them, but her little house looked as if she'd moved in a year ago, emptied everything she'd owned onto the floor and left it there.

“I don't understand what they were looking for,” she said, surveying the mess. It would take her days to clean this up, but her first priority was finding Muffin.

Callum came up behind her. “Probably just kids, but either way, we should call the police before you move anything.”

“I need to do up some notices about Muffin and hang them around the neighborhood.” She glanced over at her little desk—or rather where her little desk was usually set up in the corner—and promptly burst into tears. They hadn't taken her laptop or her printer but the desk had been upturned, her laptop looked to be broken in two and her printer lay in a number of smashed up pieces.

Callum cursed as he followed her gaze. Two seconds later he was right beside her. “Here.” He offered her a crisp white handkerchief. She took it, surprised—she didn't know men still carried such things.

“Thank you,” she whispered and then used it to wipe her eyes.

As if a mind reader, he said, “My mom makes me carry it. She says you never know when you'll need one and I'd never admit it to her, but it does come in handy every now and then.”

She almost smiled. “I'm Chelsea Porter, by the way. And tell your mom thanks.”

“I will. I'd tell you my name but I think you already know it. Can I fix you a drink? A coffee or maybe something stronger? I'd offer you a whiskey but I left in a bit of a hurry and didn't bring any.”

Wasn't she supposed to be the one offering him a drink? She shook her head. “Thanks, but all I care about right now is finding Muffin.”

And she didn't drink—not that he needed to know that.

“I know you're concerned about your dog,” he said, his tone soft and understanding, “so let me call this in to the cops and then I'll help you work out what to do about Muffin.”

She sniffed and looked up at him properly. Lord, he was delicious, but she didn't even know him. “You're being very kind to me, considering...considering what I did to you.”

He shrugged. “I have two little sisters. I'm used to female hysterics.”

She noticed he made no comment on his now
ex
-fiancée. “I can guarantee I'm not usually like this.”

His lips curled up at the edges and she couldn't help but smile a little too. “Besides, my mom would have my guts for garters if I left you alone to deal with this.”

“I like the sound of your mom.”

“She's not bad. But if you'd prefer, I could call a friend to come and be with you.”

She
should
tell him that he could go and she would call a friend herself, but the truth was she hadn't made any real friends in her time in Bend. Acquaintances yes, but no one she'd call on in an emergency, and however pathetic it made her, she didn't want to be left alone right now. This burglary had shaken her up, reminded her that no matter how hard she worked to achieve the things she wanted, she still didn't have complete control over her life. “I haven't been in town long enough to make many friends.” Then she added, “But you don't have to babysit me. I'm a big girl.”

“You
are
tall,” he said. “I haven't met many women who are up to my chin without wearing heels, but I wouldn't call you big.”

He'd noticed she was wearing flats? She couldn't help being impressed—in her experience most men noticed nothing unless it was naked—and also a little flattered. Which was ridiculous. He'd just been dumped by his fiancée and Chelsea's priority right now was finding Muffin. Her heart rate quickened again and she swallowed, trying to halt another wave of tears.

“But,” he continued, hopefully oblivious to her thoughts, “you shouldn't have to deal with this alone. Let me call the police and then we'll work out what to do next.” Without another word, he stepped back outside onto her porch and a few moments later she heard his illegally sexy voice on the phone.

She sighed and flopped down onto the sofa, unable to believe this had happened. It felt surreal—Callum whom she'd only just met here helping her, yet Muffin achingly absent. Since she rescued Muffin from a shelter almost three years ago, he'd always, without fail, met her at the door with his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out when she'd returned home. It was true what they said about no one loving you quite as much as a dog did; she'd never had anyone who even came close.

She'd tried to make this house a home by filling it with bright cushions, bookshelves, funky ornaments and life-affirming, happy quotes, but without Muffin, it felt empty.

“A patrol unit will be here as soon as they can,” Callum said, coming back into the room.

“Oh, thank you.”

He sat down on the other end of the sofa and her belly did a little flip at his proximity. She hadn't had a man in her house for... Well, not since she'd moved to Bend actually.

“Now,” he continued, not at all affected by
her
proximity to him, “the police suggested you make a list of what's been taken for when they arrive. They don't want you to move or touch anything, if possible. While you do that, I'm going to call the local vets and animal shelters and give them Muffin's description. Have you got a photo?”

“Um...” She nodded and gazed around the mess, looking for her framed photos, but in the end, gave up and dragged out her cell. “Here,” she said after a few seconds of scrolling through photos. The majority of her photos were selfies of herself and Muffin—walking in the park, chilling on the couch—but she didn't want to show Callum those photos. Eventually she found one of Muffin standing on the front porch looking out onto the street at something. It was one of the rare moments that her hyperactive dog had stood still.

“He's a cutie.” Callum took her phone to look at the photo and his fingers brushed against hers in the exchange. Something warm and tingly curled low in her belly but she tried not to show it on her face.

“He is.” She sighed. “I guess I'll go make that list.”

* * *

The first call Callum made was to a local security firm, asking them to stop by Chelsea's house ASAP to fix her windows and change her locks. He hoped she had insurance to cover this disaster, but if not, he'd foot the bill—call it his good deed for the day. Then, he called every refuge and vet clinic he could find on the internet in the vicinity of Bend, leaving his cell number as a contact because, as he realized when speaking to the first place, he had no idea what Chelsea's was. Besides, he guessed her contact details were on Muffin's collar, so if anyone found him, they'd likely call her first anyway.

As he was disconnecting the final call, a police patrol car rolled to a stop on the curb. He shoved his cell in his pocket and went over to meet the cops.

“You call in a burglary?” asked cop numero uno as the two officers climbed out of the car.

“Yes, I did,” he said, trying not to smirk as he eyed the pair who were each other's opposites in almost every possible way. One was short and fat with gray hair and smile lines around his eyes. The other was tall and thin, looked like he'd gotten his police badge from the toy section in Kmart and wore a scowl on his face as if a mere neighborhood burglary wasn't at all the excitement he'd hoped for when he'd signed up.

“Your place?” asked the young guy.

“No,” Callum explained as he led them through the sparse front yard to the house. “It's owned by Chelsea Porter. She's a...” What the heck was she besides a woman who'd walked into his workplace and dropped a bombshell on his world? Or what should feel like a bombshell but after the initial shock didn't make him feel anything much more than annoyed. At Bailey, not Chelsea. “She's a friend,” he concluded, deciding the officer didn't need to know their exact relationship as it had no bearing on the case.

They stepped in through the front door to find Chelsea staring at the mess in the living room, a notebook in her hand, a pen caught between her lips and a frown on her face. Even with this expression, she was gorgeous, and the fact he could think such thoughts made him wonder if perhaps he owed Bailey a favor. While he loved her—they'd known each other since they were in diapers and had a lot of fun together—he couldn't deny he'd gotten engaged to show his dad he could settle down. Also because he wanted a family and was traditional in the sense that he believed children should be raised within a marriage. He didn't believe in the type of love his mom and sisters gushed about while watching sappy made-for-television movies, but he did believe any relationship could work if you put in the hard yards.

“Jeez, what a freaking mess,” commented the younger man, echoing Callum's thoughts as the two officers surveyed the crime scene.

Chelsea looked up and took the pen out of her mouth.

“Good 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—”