Zach picked up the newspaper and focused on the article, trying to keep his expression rigid, give nothing away. Not easy, since most of the information he read surprised the hell out of him. The elderly heiress had kept her fortune a secret, leaving a trust fund in her animals’ names. A nurse who’d cared for Ellie Parham in her final years had been tasked with minding the ridiculously rich cat and dog.
He guessed the reason Hannah Dawson was here was because she’d become a target for every wacko and get-rich schemer in the region. Her coming to their agency today seemed like an awfully big coincidence, though. How much did she know? What had the old woman told her?
“If you don’t mind my asking, Miss Dawson, why did you choose our firm?” He watched her expression for a nonverbal giveaway.
“I recognized your name. From your TV show,” she clarified, although it wasn’t necessary.
A surprising demographic of people watched reality television—especially the true crime channel that had aired The Psychic Detective until its cancellation six years ago. That this woman had seen his show both surprised and pissed him off. He didn’t like to be reminded of his past.
Shit.
Ten million dollars. Left to a cat and dog. How could he not want a slice of that? There was a past due notice for the office’s lease sitting on his desk right now that could be taken care of by the end of the week with profit from a client like Hannah. He could stop losing sleep for worry of not making payroll.
His mama’s voice whispered through his mind in a childhood memory from Sunday school. Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap, Zachary.
If Hannah Dawson figured out the connection between them, she might pull her business, maybe file a lawsuit against him, expose the psychic detective for the sham he’d been. That was a headache he didn’t need. The smart thing would be to refer her to another agency and cut ties now.
No.
They needed the money too much. It was a risk he’d have to take.
Zach held the folded newspaper up with one hand. “So you’re the unnamed nurse mentioned in this article?” His glance fell to the pink carrier beside her. “And this is the richest cat and dog in America?”
“I think they might be the richest cat and dog in the world, but who knows?” She flashed an endearing smile as her fingers brushed through the dog’s mane of fur. “In her will, Miss Parham named me as their caregiver and also left me a considerable amount of money. She knew I would take care of them—or die trying. It’s that die trying part I’m a little worried about.”
Zachary stood and perched on the edge of his desk before leaning forward. “I’m listening.”
She took a deep breath. “Ellie passed away about nine months ago, but the newspaper didn’t pick up on her will until four weeks ago. Some baseball player died, and a reporter came across Ellie’s records in probate while researching that man’s wealth. Anyway, people started calling Ellie’s number and showing up at her place, looking for a handout, so I moved. Yesterday someone broke into my new house and tried to kidnap the boys. That person—”
He held up a hand. “The boys?”
“Sorry. That’s what I call the cat and dog.” She gave her dog a pat on the head before resting her hands in her lap. “Anyway, the person probably would’ve succeeded, but Costello is…quite heavy for such a short dog. Plus, he can be aggressive when he realizes something is wrong. He bit a piece of the man’s pants off before I grabbed my baseball bat and chased the guy away.”
“I see.” She was beautiful and gutsy. He liked that. “How do you know they were there for the cat and dog?”
Her fingers tugged and pulled at each other. “He’d left a ransom note on the table. It said I would be contacted about paying one million to get the animals back alive.” Her eyes glistened, but she blinked away the tears. “I called the police after making sure the boys were safe.”
He frowned. “What’d they say?”
She shrugged. “Not much. I overheard one of the officers saying to the other one, ‘What’s the big deal? Nothing was taken. It’s just a cat and dog. We’ve got better things to do with our time.’”
He rubbed at the tight muscles in his neck.
“Can you help me, Mr. Collins?”
Good question. Could he?
Hannah eased back in her chair and watched Zachary Collins closely, but if this sexy-as-sin man had known her late employer, he was doing a fine job of not giving the fact away.
His face still scrunched, he stood up and moved back to his chair. “Collins Security specializes in helping people safeguard their home. I can get one of my people to come out to your place, arrange an alarm system and teach you some safety precautions.”
Don’t roll your eyes. Don’t. Do. It. I mean, really. As if she hadn’t already tried all of that. “I came to your firm because I’m looking for more help than that.” She bit her lip. “And because I would like to hire your services as a psychic.”
There it was. The woman who thought all that supernatural mumbo jumbo was baloney wanted to hire a freaking psychic.
Good grief, had it really come to this?
She expected him to ask, “Why?” but Zachary simply sat back in his chair, rested one ankle on his opposite knee and created a triangle with his fingers. His penetrating gaze never wavered from hers.
“You want me to communicate with the animals?”
A rush of air escaped her lungs. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, wondering if she should tell him everything or stick to the story she’d rehearsed on the way over here. “Like I said, I’m familiar with the show you did several years ago, and even though your website didn’t advertise your services as a psychic, I thought —”
“—that I could get inside their heads and tell you what they want from you? Are they happy? That kind of thing?” Not exactly, but she would use the excuse. Hannah nodded.
Lord, she almost hoped he wasn’t psychic, or else he’d see right through her and know exactly why she was here.
Ellie’s attorney had relayed to Hannah a cryptic message from the will. These animals are the key to my past. Only they know the truth. When you’re ready to hear it, they’ll tell you.
O-kay. Tell her what? Better yet, tell her how?
Mixed in with the instructions Ellie had left for Hannah had also been a brief scribbled note and a clipped article from a magazine. When I die, hire this man to help you. The torn and tattered old article had been a brief story previewing an upcoming season of The Psychic Detective. A publicity shot of Zachary Collins with his thick, dark hair, square-jawed masculinity, and eyes so blue they’d reminded her of the Georgia sky on a sunny day had taken up most of the page. His charisma in print had packed such a wallop, it was easy to understand why the man had been cast in his own TV show. Who the heck cared if he was psychic or a detective? The man was gorgeous.
Hannah had assumed he was only an actor, but Zachary Collins was a legit investigator. His website announced he’d opened an agency in Atlanta a little over five years ago. Licensed, bonded, and he’d come highly recommended by the Georgia Board of Private Detectives and Security Agencies when she’d called this morning.
Okay. Psychic plus detective. Hannah wasn’t stupid. Ellie had obviously thought this guy could communicate with Abbott and Costello