K 9 missing person, p.1
K-9 Missing Person, page 1
“In the worst-case scenario, violence erupts and somebody else gets killed.
“I don’t need to remind you that the ambassador’s thugs shot at us.”
“Do you think they’d hurt Mom?” Mallory asked.
A long moment of silence stretched between them. In a quiet voice, he said, “Yes.”
Deep in her gut, she knew he was right. Her mother could be killed. She clenched her fingers into fists, holding on to fragile hope. Sensing her distress, Elvis poked his nose between the front seats and bumped her elbow. She loosened her hand to stroke the soft fur on his head. The warm friendliness comforted her, though she was far from calm.
From the moment her mother went missing, Mallory feared dire consequences, even before she knew the whole story. “What can we do?”
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but we should call the police.”
But she couldn’t betray Mom’s confidence, couldn’t be the person to send her to prison. “Before we call in the cops, we have to find her.”
K-9 Missing Person
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Cassie Miles
For all the fantastic, talented K-9 dogs. And, as always, for Rick.
Cassie Miles, a USA TODAY bestselling author, lived in Colorado for many years and has now moved to Oregon. Her home is an hour from the rugged Pacific Ocean and an hour from the Cascade Mountains—the best of both worlds—not to mention the incredible restaurants in Portland and award-winning wineries in the Willamette Valley. She’s looking forward to exploring the Pacific Northwest and finding mysterious new settings for Harlequin Intrigue romances.
Books by Cassie Miles
Harlequin Intrigue
Mountain Retreat
Colorado Wildfire
Mountain Bodyguard
Mountain Shelter
Mountain Blizzard
Frozen Memories
The Girl Who Wouldn’t Stay Dead
The Girl Who Couldn’t Forget
The Final Secret
Witness on the Run
Cold Case Colorado
Find Me
Gaslighted in Colorado
Escape from Ice Mountain
Shallow Grave
K-9 Hunter
K-9 Missing Person
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Mallory Greenfield—Part owner of Reflections, an art gallery near Aspen, she’s devastated by the disappearance of her mom.
Shane Reilly—Former award-winning skier, he’s started a new career as a private investigator and is hired by Mallory.
Elvis—The black Labrador retriever with an Elvis-like sneer is K-9 trained for search and rescue in the mountains and as an attack dog.
Gloria Greenfield—Mallory’s mom.
Amber DeSilva—Mallory’s sister, whom Mallory has never met before.
Conrad Burdock—He’s searching for Gloria but wants to find the fabulous blue diamond he suspects she has with her.
Felix Komenda—An artist from Sierra Leone who knows Gloria and raised Amber.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Excerpt from Conard County: Murderous Intent by Rachel Lee
Chapter One
At the base of a seven-hundred-foot granite cliff, Shane Reilly adjusted his sunglasses and stared at the rock climbers from the Aspen/Pitkin County Search and Rescue team as they made their descent. On the way down, they scrutinized every inch, looking for a scrap of material, a blood smear, a hair clip—anything, any trace of the woman who had gone missing four days ago.
To get to this position at the foot of the cliff, Shane had driven down a steep one-lane service road. His assignment was to search this wide flat canyon where a scrawny creek wound through leafless shrubs, scruffy pines, rocks and patches of October snow that glittered like diamonds in the afternoon sunlight. If the missing woman had dared to hike through this desolate terrain, she must have been desperate to make her getaway. If she’d fallen...he was looking for a dead body.
Head tilted back, he studied the jagged rock face and mentally mapped the route he would have taken if he’d been hired by a group for a day of extreme skiing in the areas outside the groomed slopes. A decade ago, when he was still in his teens, Shane loved being dropped by helicopter into uncharted mountain territory and maneuvering his way down. Then he turned pro and had to be more careful. Skiing had been his life. Until the crash.
He lowered his gaze. The rugged territory had already been surveyed by drones. This effort was a more detailed search—the specialty of Shane’s partner, Elvis. The seventy-two-pound, black Labrador retriever kept his tail in the air and his nose to the ground, moving purposefully, searching. His sense of smell, which was ten thousand times more effective than a human, alerted him to the presence of skittering voles as well as elk, coyote and mountain lion. Layers and layers of scent. Using a T-shirt that belonged to the missing woman, Elvis could track her through an old-growth forest or across the Colorado high plains. With minimal instruction from Shane, the Lab had divided the wide ravine into quadrants as soon as they arrived. So far, Elvis hadn’t shown any indication of a find.
“How are you doing?” Shane glanced over his shoulder to his backpack, where he carried a water jug and collapsible bowl for Elvis. All that sniffing could be dehydrating. “Thirsty?”
Without pausing, Elvis chuffed impatiently as if to say, “Hey, I’m working here.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t mind me. I’m just the guy who buys that pricey kibble you like.”
Shane always talked to his Lab and, frankly, wouldn’t have been too shocked if the dog answered back. Elvis had been his best friend since they were introduced at the physical therapy clinic after the skiing accident. The doctors had told Shane he might never walk again, but Elvis—his assigned service dog—never gave up on him.
When Shane strode out the door from rehab, he brought Elvis with him. For the past two years, they’d undergone SAR training together. Shane had started skiing again. Not professionally, just for fun. And he’d opened his own business. Most of the time, life was good.
Elvis raised his head, went into high alert and shook all over. His feet scrambled in the gravelly dirt, and he bounded toward the cliff face. At the edge of a tall arched boulder, he sat and froze in place, which was his signal for a find.
Shane dashed toward Elvis. Was this the missing woman or something else? If the dog had sensed danger, he would have been in attack mode. This find was probably harmless. Nonetheless, Shane was glad for the Glock 17 in the holster clipped to his belt. He drew his weapon. Couldn’t ignore the possibility that the woman who had disappeared might have been kidnapped.
Gun in hand, he stopped beside Elvis. “Heel.”
The black Lab stood at his left hip, ready and waiting for the next command from Shane, the alpha of their little pack.
“Whoever is behind that rock, step out,” Shane said. “Show me your hands.”
The woman who emerged with hands raised had long blond hair cascading past her shoulders almost to her waist. Even though she wore jeans and an oversize flannel shirt, she looked like an angel. Thank you, Elvis, for finding her.
Shane peeled off his Ray-Bans and asked, “Who are you?”
“Mallory Greenfield. The person you’re looking for is my mother, Gloria.”
Though she spoke clearly, he barely made sense of her words. Consumed by inappropriate desire, he yearned to tangle his fingers in those silky blond strands and kiss those full pink lips. Get a grip, Shaney boy. Been too long since you’ve had a date. “Why were you hiding in the rocks?”
“I didn’t want to disturb your search. I’m wearing Mom’s shirt, and I thought your dog might smell it.”
“Which he did.” He holstered his Glock. “You can put your hands down.”
“Thanks.” She jammed her fists into her pockets and frowned.
She was still beautiful, but her unhappiness disturbed him. “What’s wrong?”
She glared, and he realized what a dumb question that was. Of course, she was upset. Her mother was missing. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m Shane Reilly.” He reached down and patted the Lab. “This is Elvis.”
“Why do you call him Elvis?”
“For one thing, he ain’t nothing but a hound dog.” Shane tried on a disarming grin. “And take a look at his mouth.”
She leaned close to study the handsome dog’s upper left lip. Elvis the dog mimicked the sexy sneer of his rock star namesake. Mallory looked from the Lab to Shane and back. Then, she gave an enthusiastic laugh that made the world seem brighter. “Does he sing?”
Shane gave a c ommand that wasn’t in the regular training manual. “Give us a song. And-a-one-and-a-two-and-a—”
Elvis tilted his head back and yipped.
Mallory applauded. Her scowl was gone. “Can I pet him?”
“He’ll be disappointed if you don’t.”
After a few gentle pats on his round noggin and scratching under his chin, she fondled his floppy ears, then stroked from head to tail. She hugged Elvis, and he gave a happy murmur in the back of his throat. Some dogs have all the luck.
Without letting go of her new best friend, she glanced up. “I’ve heard of you, Shane Reilly. You were a pro skier, competed in the Olympics in downhill and slalom.”
“And now, I’m retired.”
“What do you do?”
“For one thing, I volunteer with Search and Rescue. Me and Elvis are getting pretty good at SAR.” He gazed into her wide-set eyes, which were an incredible shade of turquoise blue. “And I’m a full-time licensed private investigator.”
“Really?”
“Elvis was learning how to be a crime solver, and I figured I should do the same. Plus my father and brother are cops in Denver.”
“Why didn’t you join them?”
“I wanted to have free time for skiing, and you’d be surprised by how many people in Aspen need my services.”
She stood, looked him up and down and stuck out her hand. “You’re hired, Shane. I want you and Elvis to find my mom.”
He grasped her small delicate hand in his and lightly squeezed. “Where do we start?”
“She left a note.”
“What did it say?”
She reclaimed her hand and dashed a tear off her cheek. “It said, I’ll be back.”
Not much to work with, but he’d do anything to find Gloria Greenfield and bring a smile to Mallory’s beautiful face.
* * *
TWO AND A half days later at the bitter edge of dawn, Mallory turned off her alarm before the buzzer sounded. She’d barely slept. Her mom was still missing. During the past six days, her mood had alternated between elation when a clue arose to panic when she feared Gloria was gone forever, and then to despair and exhaustion. Where the hell has she gone?
In thick wool socks, Mallory padded to her bedroom window and threw open the curtains. Snow battered the beveled panes. This marked the first real storm of the season, a cause for celebration in Aspen where the fiscal well-being of the town meant at least twenty-five inches of base and a fresh supply of champagne powder. Mallory’s fortunes weren’t directly tied to the weather, but her business also depended on tourists and skiers. She was a part owner of Reflections, an art gallery and coffee shop perched at the edge of the cliff where she’d met Shane and Elvis at the bottom. Though Gloria had founded the gallery, she delegated much of the responsibility to Mallory.
For the past several months, Reflections hadn’t been doing well. They’d barely survived the COVID shutdown and were still struggling toward recovery, relying mostly on the sale of baked goods, coffee and tea. Though tempted to close the doors and devote herself 24/7 to searching for her mother, Mallory suspected that would be signing a death warrant for Reflections. She couldn’t take time off for grief. People depended on her, and the business wasn’t going to run itself.
After a quick shower, she plaited her hair into a long braid, tossed on her clothes, shoved her feet into snow boots and donned her parka, hat and gloves. She lived close enough to the gallery that she was able to slog through the knee-high drifts and unlock the rear door. In the mudroom outside the kitchen, she changed from her boots into green slip-resistant clogs, and then she started the early morning prep work—mixing, kneading and proofing the dough for fresh breads and pastries. With muffins and scones in the oven, she took a caffeine break and pushed through the swinging kitchen door into the coffee shop adjoining the gallery.
Sipping her favorite dark roast brew, she peered through a window at the unabated snowfall on the sculpture garden at the edge of the cliff. Was her mother out there, freezing and lost? Suffering from a delusion? Hiding from someone or something that would do her harm? Mallory pinched her lips together to hold back a sob but couldn’t stop her tears. Don’t give up. She had to keep believing that Gloria would come home safe and sound. Living without her was unthinkable.
Given her mom’s eccentric and unpredictable nature, her disappearance could be based on a whim or a half-baked scheme. That was Uncle Walter’s opinion. Not really a relative, Walter Pulaski had been in Mallory’s life for as long as she could remember. Not only was he internationally known as a sculptor who worked primarily in marble from a local quarry, but he also provided Mallory with grandfatherly guidance, ranging from bedtime fables to advice on creating wood carvings of forest creatures and totem poles. The end products were inexpensive and sold well. Not that Mallory considered whittling to be a viable career.
Walter hadn’t known where Gloria went. Nor had any of her other friends, employees or ex-boyfriends. Everyone had said, “You know Gloria. She’ll turn up.”
Mallory wasn’t so sure.
She glanced down at her cell phone. Call Shane. She’d begun to look forward to their frequent talks and seeing the singing dog with the Elvis sneer. Right now, she wanted reassurance, needed to talk to a kind-hearted, understanding person. She flashed on a mental picture of Shane, who was big—about six feet two inches—and comforting. His sun-streaked brown hair fell across his tanned forehead. He had stubble on his chin. When he grinned, dimples bracketed his mouth. Call him. It was after seven o’clock, not too early.
She tapped his number on speed dial, and he answered immediately in a clear, wide-awake voice. “Are you at work?”
“Where else would I be at dawn?”
“You might find this strange, but there are people who actually sleep until eight. Sometimes even later.”
“Mom always says there’s plenty of time to rest when you’re dead.” Not dead, oh, please, not dead. Another spurt of tears spilled down her cheeks. “This weather has me worried.”
“I understand,” he said. “You’re right to worry. But I got to tell you, I love snow.”
Of course, he did. He used to be a pro skier. Before they’d officially met, she’d seen him on the slopes and admired his form. He looked good on skis and even better close up. His hair was perpetually rumpled but not messy. Thick black lashes circled his caramel-brown eyes. Thinking of him gave her a much-needed distraction. “Can you come over today?”
“How about now? I bet you’ve got fresh muffins in the oven.”
“Now is fine.” Better than she’d hoped for, but she didn’t want to come right out and tell him that she was smitten. There were already enough complications to deal with. “And why are you awake at this ungodly hour?”
“Doing cyber research on your mom. It’s two hours later in NYC.”
“Why are you researching New York?”
“An art connection to your gallery. I’m always working. A great PI never sleeps.” He paused for effect. “Just ask Elvis.”
At the sound of his name, the Lab gave a bark.
Shane responded, “That’s right, isn’t it? You’re a great detective.”
Mallory imagined the dog spinning in a circle, chasing his tail and wiggling his hindquarters. “Be sure to bring him along.”
“You hear that, buddy? She can’t help falling in love with you.”
She groaned at the song reference. “Come to the kitchen door. It’s unlocked.”
As soon as she disconnected the call, she stared at the silent phone and wished she’d hear from her mom. The only texts she’d gotten this morning were from employees who would be late. On a typical weekday, at least one of the bakers would have shown up by now. Not that she needed help. The gallery and coffee shop didn’t open until ten o’clock, and the monster snowfall would keep people away. Despite the need for paying customers, she hoped for a quiet day. No sooner had that thought registered in her brain than she heard loud thuds. Someone was pounding on the hand-carved doors at the entrance. A woman called out, demanding to be let in.
Mallory pocketed her phone, got to her feet and clomped across the gray-and-brown travertine tiles that reminded her of river rocks. She patted her cheeks, erasing every trace of moisture. Why had this person—this woman—come here? Did she have something to do with Gloria? Oh, God, I hope so. About time she’d catch a break.
