Lost but not Forgotten. Roz Fox Denny

      MITCH GLIDED to a halt. He held the powerful spotlight aloft and went back over a section of trees where he thought he’d seen an outline of something. A person.

      “Damn, Trooper,” he said aloud to a big-footed Alsatian pup Ethan had presented him with that very day at suppertime. “Instead of chasing phantom shadows, we ought to be tailing the car that left squirrel marks so close to my corral it scared the living daylights out of my best broodmare.”

      Mitch, alerted to trouble outside by his new dog, hadn’t been quick enough to record the dark sedan’s license plate. “Just as well,” he grumbled sourly. “I’d wring their bloody necks if Pretty Baby foals early. Then I’d be viewing the county’s big jail from the inside out rather than the other way around.”

      The pup had begun to whine and lick his hand. Mitch tugged absently at the dog’s soft, gold-brown ears. All but smiling, the puppy flopped down on the passenger seat and laid his chin on his new master’s knee.

      “Good boy,” Mitch murmured automatically. Off and on during his recovery at Ethan and Regan’s home, he had mentioned maybe purchasing a trained police dog like Ethan’s Taz. It had been the type of remark one made off the cuff. Mitch was stunned when Ethan showed up at his door tonight—with the pup, a month’s worth of food and a bloodline certificate from a Dutch breeder.

      Although he had to admit his friend’s timing had been suspect. Not that Ethan had come right out and said a dog would give Mitch something to think about other than the woman—the stranger—who’d caught his interest today at Flo’s. Mitch doubted Ethan had any idea how transparent he was. His old partner probably had to twist arms to take delivery of a pup so fast. The gift was a thoughtful gesture, as Mitch had been restless and at loose ends since the accident.

      He’d never owned a dog, so he couldn’t help wondering if he’d be good at caring for one. Taz went everywhere with Ethan. A dog would be great company.

      “Shoot.” Snapping off the spotlight, he heaved a sigh. “There’s nothing out there, fella. I’ll run on out to the highway, but I’m afraid I lost any chance of catching our joyriders. I’d hazard a guess it was kids out for a spin in daddy’s wheels. That how you see it, Trooper?”

      Raising his head a fraction, the pup yipped sharply.

      Mitch chuckled and tossed the spotlight into the back seat. “I see definite benefits to having a pal who always agrees with me.” As his smile faded, Mitch eased off the emergency brake. “If we’d been together a little longer, buddy, I might’ve sent you out to check those bushes. I can’t shake the notion that what I saw was a person hiding there.” Mitch gnawed his upper lip and released it as he peered hard into the deepening shadows. Ethan had told him he was obsessed with the idea that the owner of the suitcase would show up one day to claim its sad contents. Mitch supposed he was. He sighed again as he pulled up to the highway and sat with the car idling.

      Not detecting any sign of headlights in either direction, Mitch shut off the Corvette’s lights and rummaged under his seat for a regular flashlight. Climbing from the car, he attached Trooper’s leash. Together, they sauntered back along the lane. When they reached the place where Mitch thought he’d seen a silhouette, he went over the fence. Sure enough, the dog picked up on a scent that had him going crazy. The pup growled so loudly, Mitch knelt down beneath the old mesquite tree to get a clearer look. Thanks to recent rains, the ground shaded by the branches was still soft.

      Footprints.

      As far as Mitch could tell, considering the less-than-perfect conditions for gathering evidence, what they had here was a single set of prints. Made by a small boot. And the person had stuck around for a while. Unlike in the dusty lane, the soil remained moist enough to show that the wearer of those boots had probably climbed the fence and secluded himself for a time. Several sets of the same tracks crisscrossed, indicating the person had been jumpy, too.

      Standing there, Mitch had a strong sense that if he’d explored the area when he’d first stopped he might have solved the mystery of the abandoned suitcase.

      He felt a sensation he couldn’t identify. An unnerving impression that somehow time was running out. Whether for him or the person who’d been hiding here, he wasn’t sure.

      The uneasy feeling plagued him throughout the night. For that reason, he decided to stay home for a few days. With Trooper, he’d patrol the lane at sporadic intervals.

      BACK AT HER APARTMENT, Gillian shucked off her black clothing. The bottoms of her jeans were filthy. Her shirt was littered with twigs and cactus quills, and the soles of her boots were caked with sand. The mess she left didn’t stop her from pacing around her bedroom while she mulled over her options.

      In truth they were few. Suppose she decided to pull up stakes and flee, which good sense begged her to do? Money was her biggest stumbling block.

      She had not one solid reason to doubt that Mitch Valetti was tied to the men in the blue car. Yet, throughout the return to her apartment, doubts invaded her head and lodged there. It was a huge stretch of the imagination to think that a group of men who did their dirty work in New Orleans would have a Desert City, Arizona, cop in their pocket. How could they possibly have known that this town was where she’d accidentally run out of funds? They couldn’t, she told herself.

      On the other hand, Gillian would be first to admit that nothing in this entire debacle made sense. At first, while hiding in the dingy border town, she hadn’t been able to fathom how Daryl—shy, bookish, slightly out of step with the world Daryl—had hooked up with crooks in the first place. Eventually she’d decided he probably hadn’t been the one to make contact. More than likely they’d found him. The fact that Daryl was a conscientious, hardworking CPA would have targeted him as the perfect patsy for men walking on the wrong side of the law.

      Gillian flopped down on her bed. None of this rambling provided solutions to her dilemma. However, she continued to believe that the men who’d taken advantage of Daryl weren’t the type to buddy up to an honest cop. Now the question of the hour—was Mitch Valetti an honest cop? Correction—an honest ex-cop? Everything in her screamed yes. The God’s truth—she didn’t know.

      So, was she willing to take a chance on her intuition?

      Before the night erupted into a bright, sunny day, Gillian resorted to playing eenie, meenie, miney, mo. In choosing mo, she elected to stay where she was in the vicinity of an active, bustling police station.

      Two could play the game of snoop. It should be easy to subtly pump Mitch’s friends who ate at the café. Plus, he might keep trying to get her to go out with him. That didn’t mean she had to see him outside the café. If he had something up his sleeve, sooner or later he’d have to show his hand.

      Feeling better for having come to a decision, Gillian arrived for the early shift at work exhausted but with a plan in mind.

      Too bad Mitch Valetti didn’t cooperate. Not only didn’t he come in to eat that day, neither did he appear the next day. Or the day after that.

      Christy Jones came in every noon hour for lunch, acting as if Gillian were personally responsible for Mitch’s truancy. Gillian thought it more likely that Christy’s husband, Royce, was the one deterring Mitch. Royce and company stopped in for food and coffee at varying hours, clearly hoping to catch Christy with Mitch.

      “Where’s Mitch been keeping himself?” Flo asked Ethan Knight on the fourth day of Mitch’s absence.

      Gillian slowed her pace and perked up her ears. It almost seemed as if Ethan aimed his reply at her, along with a triumphant smirk. “Regan and I bought him a pup from the same breeder who sold me Taz. Pups are a lot like kids. You can’t just take off on a whim and leave them home alone.”

      Flo grunted. “You tie Taz to one of the trees out front while you eat. Can’t Mitch do the same?”

      “Gee, Flo. Does Bert know you’re hankering after another man?”

      As Gillian worked at a nearby table, she recognized Ethan’s attempt