Hero's Journey by J. J. Cook, Joyce Lavene, Jim Lavene

we’d take care of it.”
    â€œYou are beyond a doubt the worst heiress I’ve ever known.” He laughed. “What good is money if you don’t spend it in the right places?”
    That made Stella angry. The Irish blood in her seemed to have that effect too. “I thought you hated the Carsons because they had money?”
    â€œNo. I hate them because of what they
do
with the money.”
    Stella turned off her phone, put it in her pocket, and started the Harley. She was in no mood for one of his Carson lectures.
    She was back up at the cabin in no time. The porch light was on and the front door opened as she approached.
    â€œWell? Any luck?” Eric asked as soon as she stepped foot in the kitchen.
    â€œNo. And John can’t find Patrick.” She sank down on the brown leather chair. “I guess you were right about him.”
    â€œBelieve me, it gives me no pleasure in this case. He could leave with Hero. We’d never see him again.”
    â€œI’ve thought of that. I don’t know what else to do. I guess we’ll keep looking. I’m tired, and tomorrow is going to be a long day sifting through what’s left of the Loflin house. I’m going to bed.”
    Eric sniffed. “You smell like wine. Were you drinking before you came back?”
    â€œYes. Ben plied me with gallons of wine and tried to convince me to take over his vast pepper empire.” She yawned. “Good night, Eric.”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Stella was up early the next morning. She was in a better mood too. Good thing because Eric had been on the Internet all night looking up articles about dogs being kidnapped and how they were found.
    He told her all about it as she spread peanut butter on toast and popped open a Coke.
    â€œSome dogs have come back to their owners ten years after they were kidnapped,” he said. “Hero could still come back on his own.”
    â€œI guess we have to assume whoever has him isn’t giving him the opportunity.” She ate her breakfast standing by the counter in the kitchen.
    â€œWhoever?” Eric looked up at her. “You mean Patrick Dorner. I think we’ve got enough evidence to convict him. Call Walt. Ask him what he thinks.”
    Stella brushed crumbs from her hands and finished her Coke. “I don’t have time for that today. The sooner I get into the debris, the sooner I’ll be done and the Loflins can have their lives back. I can’t do anything about Hero today. We’ll have to hope the police catch the person responsible and bring him home. That’s the best I can do.”
    She gathered together latex gloves, flashlight batteries, and face masks for the group who wanted to go with her to the house. She knew there were some supplies at the firehouse but she wasn’t sure if they were enough. She wanted all the volunteers to be prepared.
    â€œI guess I’ll stay here.” Eric shoved his fist into the side of the cabin. “I never felt like a prisoner until you came. Now all I can think about is being able to help out. I thought my days of doing that, or even thinking about it, were over.”
    Stella had put one hand on the counter to balance herself. Eric’s wall punch—even though his fist went through the timbers—was enough to make her feel as though there was a minor earthquake.
    â€œI’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you involved.”
    â€œAt least before you found what was left of me I could go down to the firehouse. This way, it’s me, the TV, and the Internet. It’s not much of an afterlife. I want to help look for Hero. I want to catch Patrick Dorner. I want to ride to an emergency call again in the engine.”
    She hated his anguish. She went to where he was sitting at the table by the laptop and tried to hug him. It wasn’t her thing but everyone else seemed to like it.
    She knew he could be as solid as he chose to be. He’d been