Page 12 of My Favorite Kidnapper

“Thanks, Pumpkin. Sorry to have interrupted the, ah, honeymoon. Don’t tell your father. He’ll kill me.”

“More champagne tonight would keep my lips sealed.”

“I can do that.”

“Do you have enough pull to get extra of the cookies they leave at night? I really love those.”

The guests received a small plate of cookies each night for a snack. They were always a favorite. Given Carolina’s sweet tooth, it didn’t surprise me she liked that perk.

“I’ll do my best.”

I hung up and texted Jordan the manager, instructing him to increase the number of fresh-baked cookies at night. And to add cold milk to the tray. Carolina always loved milk with her cookies.

Given the information she’d provided, it was the least I could do.

Then I made another call, requesting the information I wanted.

“Twenty-four hours,” I instructed.

“I’ll try,” Arnie replied. “Not much time.”

“I’ll pay double.”

“Consider it done.”

I hung up, pleased.

By tomorrow, I would know everything I needed to know about my little bee and how to find her.

I had a feeling she wouldn’t be as pleased to see me as I was to see her.

Chapter Four

DANTE

I had the file in eighteen hours. When Arnie texted me at six a.m., I was already awake and working. I was always working. He came to my condo with the file and left, his wallet substantially heavier.

I poured another cup of coffee and opened the file, unable to wait another moment. My body was almost vibrating with anxiety, my fingers trembling as I opened the thin file. Arnie had grimaced when he’d handed it to me.

“Not much to report on, Dante. This woman lives a pretty simple life. Aside from drowning in debt, not much interesting about her.”

That was where he was wrong. I found her fascinating.

I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t understand it.

I wasn’t given to flights of fancy. I worked hard. I enjoyed the luxuries my world afforded me. Fast cars, nice houses. Good wine and rich food. The occasional companion to quench other needs. I fulfilled every desire.

But the intensity of what I felt for this small stranger was shocking. A craving I couldn’t satisfy. It was constant. I needed more. I had to find her and figure it out. I was certain once I solved the mystery of her attraction, it would fade.

It always did.

I stared at the file, scanning the documents. Only four pages, it didn’t take long.

Brianna Michaels was twenty-six. Twelve years younger than me. An orphan. An only child. Aged out of the foster system, having lived in at least a dozen homes.

She lived in a crummy basement apartment in a questionable area of Toronto. Worked an endless string of part-time jobs and was obviously not afraid of hard work. Her grades were excellent, indicating intelligence. From what I could gather, she had some business, graphic design, and culinary courses under her belt. She’d worked at Piece of Cake for years. Arnie was correct; her student debts were high. She’d worked full time for a few years to help put herself through school, but with the cost of living in Toronto on her own, she had still racked up a lot of debt. I ran a finger over my lips, pausing to take a sip of coffee. I didn’t know for certain, but it looked as if she had been searching for her passion. Given the intricate cake art I had seen, I would say she’d found it. But that would be a niche market, and she would require a lot of money to start up and maintain her business while she built her reputation. I flipped through her finances again, noting the larger purchases were all supplies for her cake baking. I frowned at the bank deposits she made, wondering how she made ends meet. I ran a finger down a column, recalling Carolina’s remarks about her boss charging her for usage of the oven and freezer. Her small pay deposits indicated how much she was charged if I was correlating the numbers properly.

I drained my coffee and turned to the last page. I had her address, her cell number, her credit history. Everything. But none of it gave me insight into her.