The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  This time the fear isn’t for me or my men. I don’t care about my own life in this moment.

  I care about the little girl waiting in her cabin. Waiting for her daddy to return. My little girl. I’d do anything not to leave her. Even beg for my life, although I don’t think it would bend the bastard.

  Maybe the truth will.

  “It’s too late,” I rasp through bile and fear. “They know it’s you. I found the brick.” I reach shakily into my pocket and pull out one of the white boxes. “Put the extinguisher down, mate. You hit me again, and it’s murder. You’ll never run far enough. Be smart. Pink Pearl doesn’t want bad publicity. They’ll cut a deal. Just put it down.”

  Merullo’s eyes flick from my face to the white box in my hand. “You fuck,” he repeats.

  I tuck the box back into my pocket and hold my hand out placatingly. “Put the extinguisher down. Let’s call Ed Isaak. We can work this out.”

  Merullo’s nostrils flare. He takes a slightly different grip on the extinguisher before he snaps it at my face. I throw my arm up to deflect the blow, but still feel the lightning strike again inside my head before everything goes dark.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Emily

  Daddy’s late.

  I’ve been waiting on the floor of my room, naked except for the cute, striped thigh-highs he likes so much, since five twenty-eight. I’ve been waiting to hear the click that means he’s unlocked his side of the connecting door. Waiting while my nose twitches from the dust in the carpet. Waiting until my knees and hips ache.

  I’ve been waiting too long.

  Logan’s always on time. He wouldn’t be late for this, would he? He told me he’d be back at five thirty for the last edging scene. Despite how well our last scene went, I’m a little anxious about this one—it feels so important that it goes right—and the waiting is making my anxiety mount. He wouldn’t keep me waiting just to make me anxious, would he?

  I turn my head to look at the clock on my bedside table, but I can’t see it from where I am at the bottom of the bed. Damn.

  I put my head back down between my arms and tell myself to be patient. Daddy’s coming. If he was going to be really late, he’d text me. Although I can’t see my phone, which is beside the stupid clock, I’d hear the text notification. Which I haven’t. I need to be patient. My submission is what’s important, not my little discomforts. Daddy wants me to be ready and waiting. I want him to come in and find me in position and start the scene smiling and calling me his good girl.

  I wait. Knees and hips aching. Nose tickling.

  I finally sneeze and lose patience. There’s nothing sexy about this and it’s not cool for Daddy to make me wait so long. I climb up off the floor and look at the clock.

  5:47 p.m.

  I grab my phone. No messages. No way would Logan be seventeen minutes late without telling me.

  Something’s wrong.

  I try the connecting door. It’s still locked on his side. I knock, and knock, and knock. No answer.

  Gritting my teeth at the thought of what trouble this might get me into, I call Daddy’s phone. Please don’t let him be in the middle of an important interview. I’ll die if I embarrass him again.

  His phone rings six time before it goes to voicemail.

  No, Daddy wouldn’t ignore me. Not when he’s late. Even if he was super busy.

  Unless he’s hurt.

  That’s silly thinking. Logan’s a big, strong man. He was in the military. He can take care of himself.

  He’s seventeen minutes late. Nineteen minutes now.

  I call him again. Six rings and voicemail.

  Daddy, where are you?

  This is all wrong. I can feel it. I don’t always trust my gut-feelings. I was wrong about Ashley. For freaking years. But I can feel this in my tummy. All the way down to my bones, actually. Something’s wrong. I know it.

  Clutching my phone, I run the few steps to the dresser and throw on the first clothes I lay my hands on.

  Once I’m dressed, I do something I should never do. Daddy wouldn’t do it to me. I’m going to be so embarrassed if he’s in his room and occupied with something important. He’s going to punish me, really punish me. I shiver with indecision before I stiffen my spine. I’ll take it. Something’s wrong. Daddy’s in trouble. I open my phone, thumb to my apps and open the phone tracking app I bought when my mother developed dementia. She left the house several times without telling anyone where she was going, got confused, and couldn’t find her way home. But she always took her phone with her.

  I key in Logan’s number. The app cycles. And cycles. And cycles. Maybe it doesn’t work outside the U.S.? I never checked if the app was international. Oh, sweet Lord, how will I find him if it’s not?

  I knock on the adjoining door again while the blue whizzy thing goes round and round. No answer. My knuckles sting from all the knocking.

  Twenty-two minutes. Something’s so wrong. Am I being stupid? Am I overreacting? My hateful internal voice hisses that I am. Logan doesn’t have to account to me for his every minute.

  A drop falls and splats on my phone screen. I wipe the tear away and GPS coordinates pop up under my thumb.

  I have no idea what they mean. How do GPS coordinates translate into a location on a ship? At home, the app gave me a street address. Dear God, how do I find him?

  I grab my room key, shove my feet into Keds, and run out the door.

  I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know how to find Chief Licence or the captain. She said if I needed anything, I should come to her, but how do I find her?

  No one is where they should be. The lounges are all full of passengers watching the storm lash the windows but no crew. Where are they?

  I finally remember the desk at the far end of the Lido restaurant. There’s always been a white-uniformed purser standing there while we’ve been eating. Will someone be there now? I hope so. It’s the only place I can think of.

  Getting to the Lido restaurant is its own challenge, since they’ve closed the pool deck, but I finally stand in front of the uniformed man, pleading, tears dripping off my chin. Whatever pathetic picture I make, it gets everyone’s attention. Within a minute, a nice lady in a Pink Pearl polo shirt has her arm around me and is telling me everything will be okay. She’s trying to get me to drink from a bottle of water, when Chief Licence appears at a run.

  He takes me away from the nice lady and holds my shoulders while he listens to my barely-coherent explanation. He nods briskly and escorts me away from the purser’s station, through a maze of corridors, to a door I’m not allowed to go through, where he leaves me with strict instructions not to panic.

  While I wait, I call Daddy, text him. Each time the call goes to voicemail, each time the text shows as delivered but not read, it gets harder for me to breathe.

  The door opens and Captain Lopez steps out. She puts her hand under my chin. When she holds my eyes for a long moment, I feel the warm tide of her power. More like Gabriela’s than Logan’s, but it has the same strong current as Daddy’s. It backs my panic up a step. Allows a little more air into my lungs.

  She takes my phone from my hand and tucks it into her pocket before she puts her thumb on my wrist and rubs. I stare at her in surprise.

  “I saw Logan doing this with you,” she says. “I want you to breathe slowly, Emily, in and out, for five breaths.”

  “Bu-bu-but,” I blubber.

  “I will help you find Logan, Emily. First, we need to get you squared away. Five breaths. In and out.”

  When I’ve taken the five breaths, and the high humming in my ears that’s telling me I’m about to pass out drops to a hiss, I blurt out why I’m so frightened. Captain Lopez’s dark eyes—as dark as Logan’s and with no emotion in them, oh, Lordy, what if she doesn’t believe me?—flick over my face.

  “I understand,” she says. “Logan seems very reliable and you’re right to be worried that he’s so late. Carey said you had a way to find his phone. Let
’s find his phone, and with any luck, we’ll find the man himself. Keep breathing, in and out. Do you want me to keep hold of your wrist?”

  I shake my head. Only Logan should touch me, although I am very grateful to her for halting my panic.

  “Stay relaxed, Emily,” she tells me. “You’ve done the right thing. Let’s find him.”

  I nod and show her how to use the app on my phone. She doesn’t take me into the control room. I guess passengers aren’t allowed. But after another minute—and why is everything taking so long?!—she returns with the two officers and a very expensive-looking tablet.

  “Room nine oh four,” one of the white-suited officers says.

  The captain gives a brisk nod and sets off, with me trailing her long strides. Every corridor seems to stretch for ten miles and our destination is at the other end of the ship: past the Pink Pearl Spa, which seems to be shut, through a door marked “Staff Only” that the captain opens with a card on a lanyard around her neck, through another corridor, this one ugly with gray paint, down four doors to Room 904, which won’t open to the captain’s card.

  When she jiggles the handle, it comes off in her hand.

  “Kick it in,” Captain Lopez says grimly to one of the officers who accompanied us from the bridge.

  I back up against the wall and try to breathe, breathe, breathe. Logan’s phone is on the other side of that door. Please let it be with him. Please let him be okay, just locked in. Please, please, please.

  The captain moves away from the door after giving the order and crowds me down the corridor, away from the door.

  It takes both officers, and many kicks, before the door finally bends. Each kick makes me hold my breath. Each time they try the door and can’t force the lock, the humming in my ears gains an octave. I want to be first through that door when it opens, but the captain holds me back.

  “Emily, your safety is my priority, too,” she says as I push against the restraining bar of her arm.

  What does she think is beyond that door?

  Finally, finally, it yields.

  “Captain, he’s in here!”

  “Tyrrell, all clear?” Captain Lopez asks.

  “Yes, ma’am, all clear.”

  She releases me and I rush around her, through the door, into a huge storeroom. There are aisles of shelving and boxes and, oh, no, lying among a tumble of boxes, Logan, face-down on the floor.

  There’s blood pooled around his head, spiking his hair, smearing his face. His eyes are closed. Oh, no. No, no, no. I push around the officer and shove aside two boxes and drop to my knees next to him. The screams from the little part of my brain, daddydaddydaddy, block out everything else.

  “Tyrrell, call the medical center and tell them we have an injured guest. Head trauma. We need a backboard and neck brace,” the captain says coolly, stepping around me. “Emily, I know you’re scared but please don’t try to move him. He’s breathing. Can you see that?”

  Now that she says it, I can. I lay a tentative hand on his back and feel the shallow rise and fall of his ribs under my palm. His wolfy-daddy heat still radiates off him and I huddle closer to him.

  “Tyrrell, with me. Johnson, stay with Mr. Logan and Ms. Martin until the medical team arrives,” Captain Lopez says. “Emily, look at me.”

  I tear my eyes away from Logan’s bloodied face, lift my head, and meet her sharp eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The medical team will be here shortly. They will assess whether we can treat him here or whether he needs to be taken to a hospital. I promise, he’ll get the best care. Do you want to stay with him or return to his cabin and pack his things?”

  “Stay with him, please, ma’am.”

  “That’s fine, Emily. I want you to stay calm and keep breathing. If you start feeling panicked again, I want you to say ‘Nautilus’ to Mr. Johnson here. He’ll help you calm down. Johnson, use the pressure points in Ms. Martin’s wrists to allay a panic attack. Call me if she begins to hyperventilate.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain,” the officer says.

  I don’t feel panicked. Nothing like I did when I was waiting for Chief Licence. Or that horrible time in the bathroom. Instead, an icy calm has settled over me. I found my daddy. He’s breathing. I’m allowed to stay with him. For right now, that’s all that matters.

  “Oh,” the captain says, as though she’s just remembered something. She draws my phone out of her pocket and hands it to me. “I think you have a message.”

  I keep one hand on Logan’s back while I check my phone. There’s a text from Niall.

  Is Logan with you? He didn’t check in. He’s not answering his phone.

  Has Daddy been checking in with Niall? He didn’t tell me, but it’s so Daddy. Oh, Daddy, please be okay.

  I text back.

  Logan’s hurt.

  His response is instant.

  I’m on my way.

  I look up at the captain, who has lingered, her eyes on me. “Ma’am, our friend Niall is on the way to help.”

  She nods. “That’s fine. I’ll make sure he gets here. Johnson will call me if you need me, Emily.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She reaches out and rests her hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad we found him, Emily. You did the right thing, coming to me.”

  Her praise warms me a little more. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

  She nods and pats my shoulder before she beckons to Officer Tyrrell and stalks out.

  Niall arrives a few seconds before the three-person medical team. He gathers me up off the floor, pulls me back a few steps so the doctor, nurse and paramedic can work on Logan, and holds me tight against him.

  “Emily, I’m verra sorry Logan’s been hurt.” His brogue is as thick as molasses. “I’ll stay with yeh, doan worry. Yer nae alone.”

  I look up at him and the calm that’s blanketed me melts away. I start to shake. Niall hugs me tighter. His warmth isn’t the same as Logan’s. His scent is different. I appreciate him holding me, but he’s not Logan. I need Daddy.

  “How did you know where to find us?” I ask, my voice tiny in my own ears.

  “Logan told me where he was goin’. He’s verra careful, yer daddy.”

  I nod. He is. Careful and wonderful and I need him so much.

  I try to stay calm and breathe slowly, the way the captain told me, while I watch the medical team work on Logan. They buckle a stiff cervical collar around his neck before they roll him onto a backboard and strap him down. His eyelids never flicker while they move him. Under his tan, he’s so pale he looks gray.

  “Why isn’t he waking up?” I whisper to Niall.

  “The doctor will tell us in a tick, doan worry.”

  But the doctor doesn’t say anything. He keeps working, lifting Logan’s eyelids and shining a little penlight into Logan’s eyes. He takes off Logan’s shoes and runs his thumbs up the soles of Logan’s feet. I don’t understand what Daddy’s feet have to do with anything. All the blood’s on his head.

  What the nurse is doing makes more sense. She sponges the blood off Logan’s face. Once she has him cleaned up, she presses gauze pads against the right side of his forehead, then begins wrapping his head with more gauze. It looks like she’s mummifying him, which would make me laugh, if he was awake.

  Daddy, please, please, wake up.

  Finally, the doctor rises, brushes off his pants, and walks over to me. “Are you Emily Martin?”

  I nod and Niall releases me enough to shake the doctor’s hand before winding me tight against his chest again.

  “Mr. Logan has been hit in the head multiple times with a heavy object. He has a depressed skull fracture and a concussion. I’m concerned there may be bleeding in his brain. I can’t treat this here and recommend he be moved to a hospital immediately. Do you know if he has medical insurance?”

  I don’t. He never mentioned it. I shake my head.

  “He doesn’t have insurance or you don’t know?” The doctor asks.

  “I don
’t know.” It comes out as a squeak.

  “I’m sure he’d have insurance,” Niall says.

  “If he has insurance, I’d recommend he be airlifted to Scripps La Jolla in San Diego. They have an excellent neurology department. If he doesn’t have insurance, then he’ll need to be treated in Mazatlán. Mexican hospitals require payment up front.”

  “I’ll pay,” I say.

  “Ms. Martin,” the doctor begins.

  I shake my head firmly, finding strength in the thought that, at last, this is something I can do.

  “I want him airlifted to San Diego. I want him to have the best treatment. I’ll pay.”

  “Are you sure? This is tens of thousands of dollars we’re talking about if he’s uninsured.”

  I have no idea if Logan’s insured or not. He’s self-employed, the same as I am. My insurance sucks. It doesn’t matter. I’ll sell my house, everything I own, if I have to. The only thing that matters is Daddy getting the best treatment.

  “I’ll pay. Please, what do I need to do?”

  The doctor waves a hand. “We’ll contact the air ambulance, but I urge you to find out if he’s insured first. The insurance company may not reimburse the flight if they don’t pre-authorize it.”

  I look up at Niall. “He kept his important papers in his room safe. He told me the combination, but I don’t have a key to his room.”

  Niall nods. “I’ll take care of it. What’s the code?”

  I tell him and expect him to leave. Instead, he whips out his phone and types into it rapidly before he slides his arms back around me.

  “Shaan’ll get into his room,” Niall tells me. “I’m stayin’ with yeh. Yer not alone. We’ll deal with this together.”

  * * *

  Niall stays with me, all through the second longest day of my life. The longest was the day I left Ash, after discovering that he’d given me chlamydia, with nowhere to go and no future. That was a day I thought would never end.

  But it did, finally, when I fell asleep on Gracie’s couch. This one does, too, at four in the morning when the neurosurgeon at Scripps La Jolla tells us that Logan’s surgery has been successful. They’re keeping him in the ICU for the rest of the night while they work on reducing the swelling of his brain. But in the morning, he’ll be moved into critical care, where I can see him. I cry in Niall’s arms after the doctor leaves, just like I cried in Gracie’s the day I left Ash. It’s cold comfort. Niall’s not the man I want holding me any more than Gracie was. But I’m grateful for it.