“Is everything okay?”

A small, curly haired, brown dog barks and jumps, his nails scratching my unprotected calves. It’s the weekend, and my shorts and running shoes offer no protection from the yapper.

“Trace, down.”

The little dog disregards her command, so I bend down and offer my hand. The barking ceases as the tip of his nose wiggles while he sniffs.

“How’d you know it was me?”

She lives in an exposed house on what I imagine is a busy intersection during most of the day, and she didn’t check the peephole.

“I—”

“What would you have done if I charged in?”

She closes the door and twists the lock. “If you must know, I saw you through the window as I approached the door. Is everything okay? Or is early morning coffee delivery a standard service for Arrow consultants? Sort of like tire replacement?”

“Sullivan’s PR person has been effective at getting the word out. Sophia’s disappearance is in USA Today, and it’s all over the news. And he released your name as a consultant on the case.”

“Oh.” Alex glances back out the window. “What made him change his mind about the press?”

“Our lack of next steps.”

“Why mention me? Is that standard?”

“I asked him that exact question, and he said his PR person said it emphasizes he’s using all resources, including private means, to locate his daughter. He ultimately agreed to it because he assumed it would help your career.”

“He’s not wrong.” Her brow furrows, and I wonder if she is worried about a media storm. We’ve already received a few media inquiries at Arrow, all messages left overnight.

“Well, I wanted to give you a heads-up.” The dog is calmer, so I rise from my crouched position.

“You could have texted me.” She tilts her head and narrows her eyes. Her body language is clear. She’s not buying my story.

“Yes, but that would have made coffee delivery challenging. Uber Eats isn’t available this early.”

Her tank top clings to her breasts, and the thin material does little to hide the perky nipples. An untied silk robe hangs loosely from her shoulders, and her pajama shorts expose those long, sexy legs. Thick cream socks cover her feet and rise to her defined calves. Her Saturday morning outfit is both adorable and sexy, a combination I didn’t know existed.

“Have you eaten breakfast?” she asks.

“I had a shake. I take it you don’t need the coffee?”

“I’ll take it. Come on back.”

“This is a cute place.” I’m not a fan of the lemon yellow on the outside, but inside, the off-white stucco walls and large windows frame a welcoming warmth. A lumpy, well-worn sofa and low coffee table sit across from the windows looking out on the street. Brightly colored paintings hang on the walls. Potted plants crowd the corners and tabletops.

“Thanks. I moved in less than six months ago.” I follow her through a doorway, ducking to avoid hitting my head on the low archway, into a narrow kitchen with white-painted cabinets and a wide porcelain sink centered below a window. Through the window, you can see the driveway, a car, a wooden fence, and her neighbor’s house, but the fence blocks any view into the house next door. A side door next to the refrigerator provides one of two entrance points. A small, ineffective brass lock sits above the doorknob. “Soon, I plan to paint the outside. It’s a small bungalow, but it’s perfect for one person. And I can walk to State Street.”