He was one hundred percent right. “And here I was, getting all excited about my plan to text you cute dog pictures twice a day.”

“Start doing that and I’ll have to get a new number.” Then he was gone.

Luke was tough, but she was an expert on tough cases. He did not scare her. And no doubt, she did not scare him. Which was to her advantage.

Luke would never guess that he’d just met his match.

CHAPTER THREE

The next morning, Finley settled at her round kitchen table with the exact birthday breakfast her father had made for her so many times. Vegan buttermilk pancakes. Two strawberries sliced to look like rosebuds. Hot tea. Glass of icy lemon water.

For the first many years after she’d founded Furry Tails, she’d worked whenever duty called. She’d spent weekends dashing around Georgia and beyond to rescue abused and abandoned animals. Eventually, she realized that if she wanted to sustain her job over the long haul, she’d need to set boundaries and rely on the help of others a few days a week so that she could unplug from the constant stream of entreaties.

Nowadays, she typically slept late on Saturday mornings. But on this particular morning, the questions drifting through her mind had woken her early. What was inside the envelope? If the hunt led her to something valuable, what could that something be? Why had her father told Luke the hunt might be dangerous? The man who’d spent his life protecting her wouldn’t endanger her. She couldn’t imagine why his last words to Luke had indicated that he’d done just that.

She placed a lavender cloth napkin in her lap and doctored her pancakes with plant-based butter and maple syrup. A few minutes ago, she’d retrieved her father’s clue from the spot where she’d hidden it after her conversation with Luke on Wednesday. At present, it rested on the table next to her place setting.

“Wish you were here, Dad. Cheers.” She raised her mug and imagined him clinking his mug to hers. This breakfast belonged to the two of them. Her dad and her. After a sip of tea, she took a bite of pancake. Then nibbled a strawberry.

Her father was the eldest of two sons who’d been raised by farmers outside of Hartwell, Georgia. When he’d graduated high school, there’d been no discussion of higher education. There’d only been the necessity of working the family land. He’d done just that until the age of twenty-four, when he’d been drafted into the Vietnam War. After serving two years, he returned home in the late sixties and went to work for the railroad.