Page 53 of My Favorite Kidnapper

She had barely said yes before I grabbed one, biting down. Soft and chewy. Rich and dense. Cinnamon, sugar, and the perfect cookie, all rolled into one. I groaned at the taste. Chewed and swallowed. Reached for another one.

Brianna set down the plate as I devoured the next piece of perfection, and she slid a glass of milk in front of me. I lost count of the number of cookies I ate, opening my eyes to look at Brianna. She seemed shocked, and I realized I had eaten a lot of cookies. Probably more than I thought. “Tell me there were a dozen on that plate.”

“Sixteen.”

I had eaten six cookies. In a row.

“That was impressive,” she muttered.

“Those were amazing.”

The timer went off, and she pulled another tray out of the oven. “Hopefully these will last you until tomorrow.”

I took another one, biting down. “You let me relive a little piece of my childhood,” I told her. “Thank you.”

She picked one up, studying it, then bit down, chewing slowly. “Thirty seconds less next time. I have to get used to your oven.”

“They’re perfect to me.”

She smiled. “Good. I can practice until the cake supplies come in.”

“Yes. Yes, you can.”

I watched her efficiently put the cookies into a container, wash the cookie sheet and slide it back into the oven to dry. The rest of the kitchen was spotless. She smiled at me. “Don’t eat them all, Dante. You’ll be sick.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She walked past me. “I’m going to bed.”

I caught her hand. “Thank you, Little Bee. I mean it. They’re great.”

“Do they count as one of the sixty?”

I felt a flutter of something at her question, but I nodded. “Yes, if you want.”

A strange look passed over her face. “Good night, Dante.”

I pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “Good night, Little Bee.”

I watched her walk away, feeling strangely morose. Her cookies no longer held any appeal for me, and I put on the lid and locked up the patio doors. I noted the clouds gathering and wondered if the rain would fall in the night.

We needed a good storm to clear the air.

And I wasn’t sure I was just talking about the weather.

Chapter Thirteen

BRIANNA

I woke up, startled. It took me a moment to realize a storm was raging outside and my patio door had opened and was banging in the wind. I jumped out of bed and grabbed the door handle, shutting and locking it. I peered outside. It was raining hard, the thunder rolling low and angry, the lightning illuminating the sky in jagged shards of electricity.

My heart was beating fast from the scare, and I turned back to the bed and frowned. Roomba wasn’t on the mattress. Storms didn’t usually bother her, but perhaps the sound of the door hitting the frame had startled her. I turned on the light, peering under the bed, but she wasn’t there. I looked everywhere in the room but couldn’t find her. She always slept beside me at night. I sat down, racking my brain, suddenly worried. Had she been beside me when I went to bed? My mind had been so consumed with Dante, the way he made me feel, and what was happening between us, I hadn’t noticed.

I had a horrible thought. What if she was still outside? Had Dante shut the patio doors, not knowing she wasn’t in the house?

I jumped off the bed and headed downstairs, the marble cold under my feet. I checked the living area and the kitchen, looking everywhere, but she never appeared. I opened the patio doors, peering into the darkness and rain, and called for Roomba, raising my voice to be heard over the rain. If she was outside, she would be wet and cold. Probably scared. Perhaps too scared to come to the sound of my voice.

I went outside, immediately soaked by the pelting rain. I called loudly and searched, panicked. What if she had run? Would she be lost? Were there any wild animals here? I had never asked Dante that. I felt the tears fill my eyes, and I called again, my imagination working overtime.