LITMIR.BIZ

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hated to empty her savings account, especially since she’d gotten so close to having enough to open her own business, she didn’t see that she had a choice.

      Not if she wanted to stay free long enough to find out who really had kidnapped or killed Eldridge Colton.

      * * *

      If the day got any worse, Cord Maxwell figured he’d have to close up the office and go home. Not only had he failed to turn up a single lead on his missing niece, Renee, but after he paid the electric bill, he wouldn’t have too much leftover for food.

      “Maybe you’ll have to start sharing your dog food with me,” he told Truman, the mangy mutt he’d rescued from the Kaufman County shelter a year ago. In pure Truman form, the skinny dog didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

      Earlier today, when Cord had taken Truman for his midmorning walk, some snooty woman in designer clothes had sniffed and called Truman ugly. It had taken every bit of restraint Cord possessed not to tell her off. Instead, he’d managed a mild “Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder, now isn’t it?” Then, unable to resist a scornful sweeping glance that hopefully told her he found her lacking, he led Truman away. Cord couldn’t understand how anyone couldn’t see the beauty in Truman’s caramel-colored eyes and jaunty plumed tail.

      At least he had a forty-pound bag of Truman’s favorite lamb-and-rice dog food. Cord would go hungry if he had to, but his dog would always be fed.

      Money again. Everything circled back around to that. He’d been in tight spots before and made it through by using credit cards to fill in the gaps. If he had to, he’d do that again.

      Except for the one debt that required cash. Today he had to go visit Lorraine Berens, the once-wealthy widow his father had scammed out of money. He’d gone to her upon learning what his father had done and sworn to make it right. But this time, instead of making his usual payment of restitution, he’d have to explain his sad financial situation and promise to make it up to her as soon as he could.

      Without any real work looming on the horizon, he wasn’t actually sure when that would be. He’d been so consumed with his search for Renee that he’d turned down too many jobs without thinking of the consequences.

      Sinking down into his worn leather desk chair, he stared at the too-silent phone and willed it to ring. If only Renee would call and let him know she was all right. At least maybe then he could stop his gut from constantly churning.

      Renee had been a surly sixteen-year-old when she’d come to live with him after the death of both her parents in a drunk driving accident. Her mother, Denice, had always been a hard partier, which had gotten worse when she’d married Joshua Barnes, who played bass guitar in a band. She’d quit when she’d gotten pregnant, but by the time Renee turned two, Denice had gone right back to her old ways. Cord rarely heard from her. She’d been driving drunk when she’d caused the accident that had killed her and Joshua and left a rebellious teenager an orphan.

      Cord had tried—he really had—but he’d had no idea how to be a father to a sixteen-year-old who thought she was too cool for him and his life in a boring small town. His attempts at setting boundaries and rules had come too little too late and were laughed at and scorned.

      For two years, every time they’d argued, Renee had told him she couldn’t wait until she turned eighteen. She’d given him plenty of warning, he’d give her that. But still, he’d been surprised as hell when he’d come home from work to find her meager belongings had vanished, along with her.

      In that instant, he’d seen her future. He’d tried to help his older sister, but failed. He couldn’t let her daughter down. He had to find Renee and save her from herself.

      Looking around the small, wood-paneled office from where he operated his business, he knew he’d risk everything he had to accomplish that.

      He could almost see Sam shaking his head. Sam Ater had started S.A. Enterprises, Private Investigation and Fugitive Recovery. Years ago, when Cord had been assigned to him on a high school internship, Sam had taught the teenager everything there was to know. Cord would forever be grateful for Sam, who’d seen something in an insecure, poor teenager back in the day. Sam had taken Cord in and taught him the business. Unlike many of his classmates, Cord hadn’t the funds or the desire to go to college. The military held no appeal, either, but thanks to Sam, none of that mattered. Once Cord graduated, Sam had offered him a job.

      Cord had a place to go after high school. Sam had not only given him a job, but a lifelong career.

      Cord had gotten licensed and found his true vocation. He’d enjoyed going to work every single day. The business Sam had built, a respected fugitive recovery agency as well as private investigation firm, was an operation that not only operated within the law, but had an 89 percent success rate, something that placed them in the top tier of their industry.

      The two men had formed a team. Cord had considered Sam a friend as well as his boss.

      Sam had passed away a couple years ago from lung cancer, shortly before Renee had arrived. It had been a quick death, two weeks after he’d been diagnosed.

      Somehow Cord kept the business running and had been there, helping his friend as much as he was able. The day Sam died, Cord had closed S.A. Enterprises and gone fishing, since he’d promised Sam he would. Well, more beer drinking than fishing, though he’d kept a pole in the water. He’d mourned Sam out at the lake, saluted him and the moon with a beer can, and returned to work the next day sober, sad and hungover.

      Sam left everything to Cord. Cord had been honored, realizing he’d had mighty big boots to fill.

      Thinking of his old friend brought back the sense of loss. He had to wonder, what would Sam think if he could see him now?

      While Sam would never have suspected Cord would let the finances get this bad, Cord knew the old man would have understood Cord’s need to find the runaway teen. Both men knew firsthand the kind of evil that walked in the world.

      Still, if he didn’t want to lose the business Sam had spent years building, Cord needed to figure out a way to keep it running while he searched for his niece.

      Sighing, he leafed through his notebook and reviewed all the places Renee wasn’t. He always kept meticulous notes.

      The names and phone numbers of the jobs he’d turned away were in a manila folder on the corner of his desk. He couldn’t say how many times he’d eyed the damn thing and thought about opening it. Maybe one or two of them might still need his services. Though he’d bet they’d all hired somebody else. The problem was, he needed a fairly quick and simple job that wouldn’t interfere with his search for Renee.

      He grabbed a can of diet cola from the mini-fridge and popped the top. Taking a long swig, he knew he’d better get out of the office and take another shot at locating Renee. He’d broaden his horizons this time. Since he’d already checked all over town, he’d head toward Dallas. Since Dallas was a big city, the sheer size and number of suburbs would complicate things. He figured he’d search suburb by suburb first, hoping Renee had found a waitressing job in one of the smaller communities.

      The front door opened, hinges squeaking. Though Sam had always kept them oiled with WD-40, Cord had stopped after Sam died. He actually liked the sound. He figured it let him know when someone entered or left the office.

      A well-dressed man stepped inside. His business suit looked custom-made and expensive, just like the ostrich skin cowboy boots he wore on his feet.

      “Cord Maxwell?” the man asked, glancing around the sparsely furnished room. “I’m—”

      “I know who you are.” Cord got to his feet, taking one more swing of his Coke before placing it on his desk. “Fowler Colton, CEO of Colton Incorporated and Eldridge Colton’s oldest son.”

      Fowler nodded, no doubt accustomed to being recognized. He took another step closer, his carefully blank expression revealing both nothing and too much. “I’d like to hire your services.”

      Surprised, especially

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