Almost Lost. Блейк Пирс

would be arriving home late, she decided to get a start on supper. She had a very limited repertoire of dishes, but there was a kitchen shelf full of recipe books.

      Cassie chose the one on family dinners. She’d assumed it was Ryan’s book but was surprised to find a handwritten message on the first page—Happy Birthday Trish.

      So this was Trish’s book. It must have been gifted to her by a friend; perhaps a friend who didn’t realize Ryan did most of the cooking. At any rate, she hadn’t taken it with her.

      Cassie’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud knocking on the front door.

      She hurried to answer it.

      A man in black leathers was standing outside. A large motorbike was parked on the sidewalk behind him.

      As soon as Cassie opened the door, he stepped forward so he was halfway in, and very much in her space. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark spiky hair and a mustache. She sensed a low level of aggression in the way he pushed inside and his expression as he looked down at her.

      She stepped back, flustered by his invading presence. She wished she had put the inside chain on the door before opening it, but she hadn’t thought it necessary in this small, quiet village.

      “This the Ellis residence?” the man asked.

      “Yes, it is,” Cassie said, wondering what this was all about.

      “Mr. Ryan Ellis in today?”

      “No, he’s at work. Can I help you?”

      Cassie was panicking inwardly. For her own safety, she should have said Ryan had gone next door for a minute. She didn’t know who this man was. He was pushy and entitled, and this was not how a delivery person would interact with a customer.

      “And you are?” The man smiled slightly, leaning a hand on the doorframe.

      “I’m the au pair,” Cassie said defensively, remembering too late she should have said she was a family friend.

      “Ah, so he’s hired you? He’s paying you, eh? Where you from? The States?”

      Cassie felt breathless. She hadn’t expected this at all, and thought immediately of the deported waitress that the tearoom manager had spoken about yesterday.

      She didn’t answer him. Instead, she repeated, “How can I help you?”

      She hoped he couldn’t sense how frightened he was.

      “I’ve got a special delivery for Mr. Ryan Ellis.”

      The man handed her a large manila envelope with Ryan’s name and address handwritten on it.

      She placed it on the hall table and he passed her a clipboard.

      “Sign here. Your full name, time of delivery, and your phone number.”

      So it was just a delivery after all. Cassie felt relieved, but she wasn’t going to relax until this creepy guy was out of the door.

      “And your passport, please.”

      “My what?”

      She stared at him in horror.

      “I have to photograph it. If you don’t mind.”

      His tone of voice told her that he didn’t care if she minded. He leaned against the wall and checked his watch.

      Cassie felt thoroughly flustered. What was this all about? She dreaded it was some sort of illegal worker clampdown.

      She couldn’t tell him to get out, although she wanted to. Was photographing this document even legal, or an infringement of her rights? It felt like an attempt at intimidation, but she couldn’t think of a way out without landing herself in even bigger trouble.

      “Would you wait outside while I fetch it?” she asked.

      He took his time moving onto the porch. Arms folded and that half smile on his round, pale face, he stood and watched.

      She closed the front door, wishing she didn’t have to open it again, and rushed to her bedroom to get her passport, with its incriminating visitor’s visa.

      Then she went back, opened the door, and handed it to him.