It took me less than thirty minutes to shower and get ready to meet Mrs. Coogs about Brent. It felt wrong to be so excited about someone going missing, but I needed the money. There was also the constant reminder that if I planned to make this PI business my career-which I did-I'd have to get used to making money off the backs of cheaters and other malcontents.

Good thing I lived in Pelican Bay where they ran rampant.

I tied my blonde hair back into a loose bun at the bottom of my neck as I slipped on my shoes. The best part of letting my hair grow out included no longer needing to use a flat iron to get it bone straight. The weight of my hair alone did it. It also allowed me to tie it up and hopefully still look professional.

Rather than a cat riding a pizza shirt like I'd worn the day before, I donned a simple black long sleeve thermal shirt, dark wash jeans, and a buffalo plaid button down-unbuttoned-underneath my coat. The basement apartment was cold. Pelican Bay was cold. The whole damn state was freezing in January. I couldn't handle it any longer.

I'd done a great job not looking into my small living room in case Broadrick somehow set up shop while I'd been sleeping, but once I hazarded a glance on the way out, I found the space empty. And for whatever reason, my traitorous heart clenched at him not being there. What kind of deranged woman was disappointed that her stalker ex-boyfriend hadn't snuck into her apartment while she slept?

After I found Brent and cashed my job-well-done check, we were going to have a chat. My heart and me. Not Broadrick. I had no plans to see him again. Ever.

I turned the door handle slowly so it wouldn't creak and peeked out into the laundry area of the basement. Even if the thought of never getting to sniff his neck while I ran my tongue over his stubbled chin made fresh tears form in the corners of my eyes, he had to go. I'd spent six long months getting over the jerk who dumped me, and I didn't plan to fall back into my pit of despair.

The washer tumbled with a fresh load from one resident, but unlike the landlord, they hadn't stayed to monitor things. Definitely the third-floor residents. The stay-at-home mom was always too busy to hang out in the basement. She had a toddler to chase.

I side stepped up the stairs so they wouldn't alert anyone on the main level of my presence and then literally tiptoed out the back door, closing it softly until I had to strain to hear the latch click. The bitter icy wind of Pelican Bay swept across my back, forcing me to zip my coat up to my chin. All that work on the outfit, yet no one would see it.

Pity.

It's why I normally wore pizza cat shirts.

My car barely had time to warm up, even with the superior engine, before I stopped in Mrs. Coogs' driveway for a moment, giving myself a pep talk. Who cared that Broadrick dumped me or my mother said I couldn't be a PI? They were wrong. I'd walk in there and fuck shit up.

Or well... Find Brent.

Even with Britney and "Work Bitch" floating out of the car speakers, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread from my spine as I sat in the warming vehicle. More than just not wanting to deal with the cold was keeping me tucked safely inside.

Still, I couldn't live in my car, and that's what I'd have to do if I didn't get out there and kick ass, like I'd just promised I would. To help calm my nerves, I ripped off the top of an old cupcake box sitting in the passenger seat-cupcakes already eaten-and made a quick list.

I always felt better with a list.

Find Brent

Cash Check

Pay Rent

Good enough for one day. I kept the pen, finding my small lined book for notes in my purse, and dropped the box list in the middle console. Time to check off number one.

I huddled into the collar of my coat and stood at the Coogs' front door, knocking.

Mrs. Coogs said Brent had only been missing for two hours when she called. Not long enough for the local police to start a search. The police wouldn't even take a missing person's report until twenty-four hours had passed. It gave me twenty-one and a half hours after I subtracted the time for my shower.

Totally doable.

Steps behind the front door rattled the window frame, and I stepped back as the door opened. Right into a small snowbank from where someone hadn't shoveled the snow all the way off the porch. Great. I hadn't waterproofed my new Uggs. Now I'd have snowlines.

Somehow, I found the courage to wear a smile when Mrs. Coogs opened the door. It dropped after my first look at my newest client. The redness in her eyes matched her nose as she whipped a Kleenex across it and sniffled. She had to be at least eighty years old if I could use the light blue with polka dots muumuu as an age calculation tool.

"You finally made it," she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the house.

There went my satisfaction with getting ready so quickly. "I drove straight here. Can you tell me about Brent? We don't want to waste any time, Mrs. Coogs." No point in giving the cops an opportunity to hunt his ass down first.

She nodded, and I followed her into the living room-a small space set right off the front door. "Please, call me Phyllis. Let's sit."

She took a seat in a wooden glider, and I crossed the brown shag carpet to sit on the matching brown couch. Definitely had a theme going in her space.

"Tell me about Brent," I said, as I found a comfortable spot on the couch. It took some time as a coil kept poking me in the ass until I leaned enough to my right side to take the pressure off that section of couch.

"I don't know what to say. He's the love of my life." She sniffled and crossed her legs in her chair, only to immediately uncross them.

I scanned the room, not finding what I wanted. "Do you have a picture of him? That's normally a good place to start. Then we can go over his favorite hangouts."