The Johnstone's mansion was two times bigger than the Hopkins'.

Upon arrival, Sinclair felt as if he was walking into a mountain. A mountain full of rich people. The inside of the mansion smelled like something called caviar – as confirmed by Rosy – and wine. A great big chandelier lit up every inch of the massive downstairs living room though all of the furniture had been removed to host a crowd of rich people with too much time on their hands.

The men wore black tailored suits, which Sinclair found boring and repetitive. It was the ladies that he liked to look at. Their choice of fabric was beyond interesting. At some point, a woman's dress had even gone over his head and swept him about ten feet across the hall before it peeled off. Nothing could be more frightening even though the dress had smelled like something he could sniff for as long as his nose worked.

As the evening party began, he met two other dogs, both of whom were longtime friends with Rosy, and Bruce the pitbull, who turned out to be a lot friendlier and sillier than Harry had made him seem. For the first half of the night, he received satisfying head scratches and belly rubs from nearly every attendee, especially the females who found him super adorable; he met the Prestons, the Woods and the Millers, and even reserved Mr Aaron Brooks with his intimidating blue eyes.

Everywhere he jumped, he met a treat in different kinds.

In spite of his freedom to prance about as much as he pleased, he stayed close to Rosy because she knew her way around better and took him to meet all the good people who had scratched him and called him cute. He did find it surprising that Honey and Prim brought him to the party albeit Leah's absence.

The other dogs – Charming, Maxie, Rudi and Bruce – were a lot nice than Harry, but he did notice that they usually made fun of his size and the fact that the sound of ruffling clothes often startled him. That part put a dent in his good time. Also, regardless of the obvious fact that Bruce and Rudi were only slightly taller than he was, Maxie let them hang with the big dogs, possibly because he was the newbie. Even Rosy often left him by himself to spend long minutes with them.

Whilst the humans did their rounds of applause for reasons he did not know, he spotted Rosy scurrying over from the other end of the living room.

"Come say hello to Nicholas, Sinclair." She urged excitedly. "He's finally gotten off his video games. Quick, before he remembers he needs it to breathe!"

He tromped behind her toward a boy in a loose t-shirt and black trousers, his hands deep inside the chocolate fountain. Rosy's bark drew his attention away. When he turned, Sinclair thought he looked like a younger version of Joey in spite of his obvious boyish features.

"Oh, there you are, Rosy!" He exclaimed, half kneeling and instantly noticed Sinclair. "Got a new friend, I see. Wait, is this Leah's dog that Joey was telling me about? Hm, he's cute alright. What his name again?"

He put his hand to his lips then remembered that it was still coated in chocolate and held it out. "Wanna help wipe this off, buddies?"

"Come on, it's chocolate." Rosy encouraged, going over to stand near Nicholas's left hand.

"I've never had chocolate before." Sinclair mentioned warily.

Rosy laughed. "It's delicious, I promise. That's why Nick had both hands in the fountain."

Judging from the way she almost bit off the boy's hand, Sinclair decided to give it a try. After the second lick, he lost track of how many times his tongue swiped up and down before Nick's right hand quickly became spotless. Every trace of chocolate was gone. Nicholas stood up and thanked them before walking away.

"Told ya." Rosy giggled. "Want some more?"

Sinclair was itching to jump at the fountain as it trickled with reddish brown goodness. "Yes, please."

"Might take a while, but I'll sure get you more. Wait here."

He watched Rosy disappear through the flood of fabrics in pursuit of Nicholas, wondering how she would communicate to him that she wanted more chocolate when she caught up and how long it would take.

With a wistful sigh at the trickling fountain, he sauntered away to search for something he could stick his nose into in the meantime.

The grand living room hall had two branching hallways; one that led through to the exit and back into the kitchen area and another that went deeper into the mansion, perhaps to ground floor bedrooms. Having being shooed out of the kitchen a few times earlier, Sinclair turned his aim to the second hallway. It would be improper to go up the stairs so he bounded through the dimly lit passage, gawking at whatever he could that he planned to ask Rosy about later on. Only that night she had taught him more than thirty new words to describe human belongings and behaviours. Apparently, the white stationary things outside of the Hopkins mansion were called statues.

Why anyone would make a bunch of frozen people and keep them outside their house come rain or sunshine was disturbing and mysterious to a dog's mind.

Regardless, Sinclair couldn't help that he thought those statues did make the yard look less empty and a bit welcoming. But only during the day. He'd seen them once at night and all the hair on his coat stood on ends for what seemed like forever because he feared they would come to life all of a sudden and start tramping about the yard, like guards on patrol. Thankfully, they hadn't, and he swore to never look at the statues in the dark again.

Soft conversation made him look onward. It wasn't usual to hear people talking since that was all they had done since the night began, but the unexpected mention of Mrs Hopkins's name in a low tone was what truly caught his attention. Since he concluded that the chatters were probably day time staff of the Hopkins, he halted to listen to them. And also, his size made it so that nobody saw a dog rooted in the middle of a dim hallway.

"You're sure?" The first asked in a quiet voice. From their black suits, Sinclair guessed they were all men – four in total.

"Very." Another responded. "Our contact said they'll be away for two days. We can breeze in and out before anyone notices."

"And the layout?" The first questioned, again.

One of them pulled out a piece of rolled up paper from the inside of his suit jacket. "Front door to the back; every window, every hall and passage. There won't be no setbacks. This'll be the cleanest job we've ever done in years."

It dawned easily on Sinclair that the men were talking about robbery. They were going to rob the Hopkins mansion. His insides quivered with fear.

Who were they?

They looked as normal as every other guest present. Also, he doubted now that they were day staff of the Hopkins. He couldn't recognize one face.

"Don't count your goddamn chickens before they hatch, Mickey." The first man snapped. "Have we ever dealt with an infant before? The little screamer could wake the entire neighborhood before we're out the front door."

Sinclair felt cold creep up his legs so much that he shivered. Leah. They meant Leah. They were going to kidnap Leah. Fear gave no space for anger to rise in him, but he felt it nohow. The nerve of those suit wearing butt sniffers!

"Our contact says the baby's real sick and asleep half the time." A different man piped in. "We're quiet enough and we could smuggle her right out without sparing a stir."

"I bet these dumb ATMs would dole out the money the moment they hear their kid's at gunpoint." The second speaker sniggered.

"Eight million dollars is no joke, Foster." The first laughed.

Still shivering, Sinclair moved away from sight to conceal himself under a well polished, wooden table with upholstered legs.

"What's our clocking?" Their leader inquired, checking his watch.

"10pm, tomorrow night. Thirty minutes tops to get the kid and head for the truck."

"Keep your collars up, boys." The leader chuckled. "The best heist is about to go off."

Even long after they had gone, Sinclair could barely will himself to get out from under the table. He stayed there, shaking from nose to tail, until he felt sick to his stomach. The sweetness of chocolate in his system turned bitter and threatened to flood out of his mouth anytime soon. He tried to process all he had overheard in the correct order.

Prim and Honey out of town – robbers in the house at 10 o'clock – Leah kidnapped.

Who, in their right senses, would tip off bad men on how to infiltrate a man's house and steal his baby in exchange for money?

Sinclair's thoughts ran faster than he could, putting together all the possible culprits. It could be a day staff, a cleaner, one of the Hopkins neighbor's who were jealous of them, or. . .

His breath caught. Ms Wickleworth. At first sight, he had suspected something seriously off about her; that sickly sweet smile of hers and innocent granny look on her face. He wanted to poop all over it. The nerve of her to attempt such a foul, abominable act on her first day of work. Was that the sole reason she had replaced Matilde?

Who else to have complete access to Leah if not her own nanny?

"Sinclair!" Rosy's voice called from the doorway to the hall, almost separating his ears from his head. She ran further in and spotted him under the table. A small laugh came out of her. "Were you playing hide and seek all by yourself?"

"N-N-No." He stuttered.

She inched closer. "Are you alright? You seem a little shaky there."

He gulped, suddenly unsure of whether he could trust her with all he had just heard. It could be the Johnstones plotting against Leah. One could never tell. But then again, who else would believe him? He was not exactly in the position to run up to Prim and bark a few hundred times without looking crazy.

"I need to tell you something, Rosy."

"Okay, but come out from under that table first."

He obliged and allowed her lead him to a different corner then retold all that the men had discussed. Rosy's eyes were as big as his oat bowl by the time he finished the story.

"Oh no, oh, how awful!" She exclaimed, shaking her head repeatedly. "What could we do?! Oh, poor Leah! We can't let them take her. We have to do something quick."

"What can we do?" Sinclair shrugged morosely. His heart was already broken. "We're just dogs. I couldn't protect Leah even if I tried."

"We could tell Maxie." She suggested, her eyes glinting with hope. "He'll know what to do."

"I don't think we should tell anyone else, Rosy." He sighed.

She looked shocked. "Why not? Are we just gonna sit back and let those bad men take Leah away?"

"No, but we can't trust anyone right now, okay? It's too dangerous to try. I only told you because I think you're smart and you'd help me out. If we told Maxie, it might just come across as a disturbance in the end. It's not like any of us can actually talk to these people."

Rosy grunted in frustration. "You're right. But we need to figure something out quickly. When did you say they were going to come again?"

"Tomorrow at ten o'clock." The very thought brought back shivers to Sinclair. He tried not to think of the horrifying conversation.

"Oh, everyone would be fast asleep by then." Rosy reasoned worriedly. "There'd be absolutely no way to alert attention. Oh, this is awful, horrible, terrifying. We must try something Sinclair, before ten o'clock tomorrow evening. We just can't let Leah be taken away, we can't."

"I know, Rosy, I know. I wish I knew what to do right away, but I can't think straight. I'm frightened for Leah, and what's worse, I'm gonna be there when they come for her."

Rosy almost jumped at him. "You have to protect her, Sinclair. No matter the cost, you have to try. I know you can do it."

"I'm a six-month old puppy, Rosy." He expressed. "What could I do against four giant men with guns?"

Rosy gasped aloud in fright. "Guns?"

"Yeah. They said they had guns."

The next minute Rosy sank limply on her side on the rug. Sinclair rushed to her.

"Are you alright?"

She whimpered, panting softly. "I'm gonna be sick." Her big eyes looked up at him. "If the Hopkins don't have the money to pay the ransom, those men are gonna hurt Leah, Sinclair." Her voice dropped lower, laced with a heavy sob. "That's what the guns are for."