Page 129 of Love to Loathe Him

He looks down at a clipboard. “We’ve been hired for the advanced search service for a missing ‘Winnie,’” he says, his tone so professional it feels like I’m about to be briefed on a top-secret government mission.

I frown, my brain trying to process the absurdity of the situation. Advanced search and rescue service? Like some kind of cat-finding SWAT team?

He shows me a badge, as if that’s supposed to mean something to me.

“We aren’t usually hired until the animal is missing for a few days,” he says, his voice way too cheery for the situation at hand. “People usually wait because of the cost.”

And there it is. The scam. I knew it was coming. “Oh yeah?” I say, crossing my arms “How much does it cost?”

When they drop the price bomb, Lizzie and I look at each other in shock, our jaws practically hitting the floor.

“How dare you!” I explode. “Get off my property. Shame on you for scamming people. And six of you? Come on, mate, this is ridiculous. What, did you bring a cat psychic too?”

Sam looks at me like I’ve just accused him of murder. “This isn’t a scam, madam,” he says, drawing himself up to his full height, which isn’t much taller than me. “We are a legitimate, reputable agency. The top animal search agency in England.” He puffs out his chest, which makes theAnimal Rescue Englandlogo on his polo shirt stretch comically. “We’ve rescued everything from parrots to pythons.” He taps his clipboard for emphasis. “Besides, it’s already paid for.”

I blink, my anger momentarily derailed. “What?”

He glances down at his clipboard. “Erm . . . by a Mr. Liam McLaren?” He pauses, looking at me with uncertainty. “Do youwant to cancel the service? You won’t get a refund at this stage, I’m afraid.”

My heart stops. Like, completely stops. Cardiac arrest, right on my doorstep.

Liam paid for a pet detective service?

“Ohhhh,” Lizzie swoons.

“We’ve already deployed the drones,” Sam says.

Oh my god. There are actual drones scouring the skies for my cat. I’m living in an episode ofBlack Mirror.

I feel a sudden rush of emotion, a wave of gratitude and relief and something else, something warm and fluttery that I don’t want to put a name to.

Liam. He did this for me. Despite everything, despite the meeting and the deal.

He cares. He can say what he wants, but he cares about me. The man deployed a fucking army to find my cat. I feel like crying all over again, but this time it’s not because of Winnie.

I send him a text, a simple thank-you with a kiss, just as the pet detectives step into my flat.

I eye the hound warily, taking in her massive size and muscular build. She looks like a German Shepherd on steroids, the kind of dog you’d expect to see chasing down criminals in a gritty cop drama, not sniffing out a slightly overweight house cat. “Winnie’s not going to like her,” I say.

“Don’t worry, she’s on her leash and very friendly,” Pet Detective #3 says, giving the dog a pat on her meaty head.

I nod, not entirely convinced. “What’s her name?” I ask, morbidly curious.

“Fluffy,” he says, completely straight-faced.

An hour later, I’m wearing a path into the living room carpet with all my pacing, while Lizzie sits stiffly on the couch, her eyes flicking to the window as if Winnie might suddenly appear with a suitcase and aWhat happens in Vegas, stays in VegasT-shirt.

The pet detectives gave us strict instructions to stay put, just in case Winnie decides to stroll back home like nothing ever happened.

Outside, my front garden looks like it’s been taken over by a full-on command center, complete with laptops, antennas, and a bunch of serious-looking people. The neighbors must think there’s a drug bust going down. Or worse, they’re filming a reality show about middle-aged women and their unhealthy obsession with cats.

“Try to relax, Gem,” Lizzie says softly.

I let out a shaky laugh and pause my pacing for a moment. “Yeah, at least we’ve got the best in the business on the case. Better than us wandering the streets aimlessly, calling Winnie’s name like a couple of idiots. These guys have an actual strategy.”

We catch each other’s eyes, and despite the knot of worry tightening in my chest, we both manage to laugh.

“Hey,” Lizzie suddenly says, her gaze shifting past me to the window. A smirk tugs at her lips. “There’s a new pet detective on the scene. And he’s hot.”