The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  As dawn starts to illuminate the huge foyer, I find myself with Niall at the reception desk of a Marriott that Niall, or Shaan, or Vashi, or someone, has booked while I’ve cried and paced. I’m startled when Niall collects only one key from the front desk and takes me up to the room. When I see that it only has one king bed, I begin to shake.

  Niall takes my shoulders in his hands.

  “Emily, I wouldna leave anyone alone after the day yeh’ve had, much less a baby gurl. I’m staying. If yeh wan me to sleep on the floor, I will, but I’m not leaving yeh alone.”

  I feel myself start to fracture. “I need Daddy’s permission. It-it’s in our contract.”

  He wraps his arms around me while I try not to scream. I can’t get Daddy’s permission. I may never be able to get Daddy’s permission again.

  Niall hugs me, murmuring soothingly. “I promise yeh the first thing we’ll do when Logan wakes is get his permission. He’ll understand, Emmy. I promise, it’ll be ah’right.”

  I cling to his words as I cling to his big, solid form. “Thank you so much for everything, Master Niall.”

  “Good gurl.” He strokes my hair. “Go wash up and get ready for bed. We’ll sleep in our clothes tonight. Shaan and Vashi’ll be here tomorrow with the luggage.”

  I nod numbly. He’s helped me so much today. He’s barely left my side. He’s supported me through every moment. Somehow, he convinced the air ambulance people to let us ride in the helicopter with Logan for the long, bumpy flight to San Diego, after my pleas and tears fell on deaf ears. He got someone to bring us sandwiches when I panicked at the idea of leaving the waiting area while Logan was still in surgery. He even got a portable charger for my phone when the battery ran down from all the calls I was making. Now, he’s arranged this place for us to sleep. I have no idea how to thank him.

  I wash my face and brush my teeth with my finger. My toothbrush is still somewhere on the Pacific Ocean and the Marriott’s complementary cluster of soaps, shampoos, and lotions doesn’t include one. As I mechanically scrub the hours of stress, fear, and upset tummy off my teeth, I go over the phone calls I’ve made, trying to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.

  Logan made it easy for me. Along with the gun, baton, passport, and laptop that Shaan found in his safe, there were three, printed pages of instructions for me in the event of his incapacitation or death.

  My daddy thinks of everything.

  I made the calls he told me to make: his insurance company, his sister, his business partner, his club, and, of course, Miranda. I followed his instructions to the letter. With the exception of Miranda, every call went the way his instructions said they would go.

  The insurance company accepted a code from Daddy’s instructions, which activated me as a named party on his policy, allowing the insurance company to deal with me rather than his next of kin. That’s something I never would have thought to do. Logan’s foresight left me sobbing silently while Niall hugged me like his arm was the only thing keeping me in one piece.

  The insurance agent authorized the air ambulance, without any argument, although he spent a lot of time telling me about Logan’s co-pay and deductible, which, like mine, are horrific. I might have to sell my house after all. But, as Niall’s told me a hundred times, that’s a worry for another day. The insurance agent also faxed a medical power of attorney to the hospital so that they would deal with me, too.

  His sister, Lizbeth, cried, as he predicted. She said she’d be on the next flight when I couldn’t tell her anything more than he was in surgery. Logan’s instruction said to tell her to stay home and take care of her girls. Lizabeth sobbed even harder when she said she would.

  His business partner, Manny, was stoic and said that he’d take care of everything in New York until Logan got better. I thanked him and gave him all the contact numbers I could think of, the hospital and mine and Niall’s. I promised I’d call as soon as I had any more news.

  Daddy didn’t predict who his club would send to help me, only that they’d send someone. The receptionist put me through to Mistress Maude when I gave the receptionist another code from Daddy’s instructions. After a moment’s silence, Maude made a quip about the hardness of Logan’s head, before she asked if I’d prefer to have Master Javier or Master Ryan come to take care of me. I said I’d be okay without anyone because Master Niall was with me, which Daddy couldn’t have anticipated. Maude humphed and said she’d be on the next flight. Even though I’ve only met Mistress Maude once, the night of my first date with Daddy, that made me feel better than any other call.

  The last call was Miranda. No surprise, that was the hardest call. Even though I’ve never spoken to her before, she knew who I was. She immediately made me feel that Logan’s injury was somehow my fault, that I couldn’t be trusted to negotiate the best care for him, and that he’d never recover unless she was at his bedside. She said she’d be on the next flight, too. Unsurprisingly, that didn’t make me feel any better, but other than forbidding her to come, which I didn’t think she’d listen to anyway, there really wasn’t much I could say to stop her.

  Niall hugged me for a long time after I hung up.

  He hugs me for a long time before I fall asleep, too, even though I’m so exhausted I should be out as soon as my head hits the pillow. Finally, I curl away from him and stick my thumb in my mouth. Niall strokes my hair but doesn’t say anything, for which I’m grateful. When my thumb comforts me enough, I fall asleep.

  * * *

  When I wake, there’s a log around my waist. It’s not the right log. It’s too heavy, too thickly muscled, and it smells wrong, like floor cleaner and patchouli. It’s not a great combo, but I probably stink after yesterday, too. Thankfully, there’s no log anywhere else, and when I slide out from under Niall’s arm, he lets me go.

  I’ve only slept a few hours, and my reflection in the bathroom mirror tells me I look as bad as I feel, but I can’t sleep anymore. I need to get back to the hospital to see if Logan’s woken up.

  Without a change of clothes or a toothbrush, all I can do is wash with the hotel soap. The hotel’s combo shampoo/conditioner is going to turn my hair into a frizzy fright, but it can’t be helped. At least I smell a little better. My shirt and jean shorts are unpleasantly stiff and sticky when I put them back on. I wish I’d chosen my clothes more carefully yesterday because they’re not up to twenty-four hours continuous wear, but they’re all I have until I’m reunited with my luggage. I resign myself to looking like a circus clown when Miranda arrives. That she’ll be off a trans-Atlantic flight is a slight comfort. I bet she’ll still be perfectly groomed.

  I roll my eyes at my reflection and trudge out into the bedroom.

  Master Niall is sitting on the edge of the bed, texting, but he looks up and gives me a tired smile when I emerge from the bathroom. He holds his arm out. I sink onto the bed next to him and let him hug me.

  “Shaan and Vashi’ll be here a little after noon. D’yeh want some breakfast before we go to the hospital?”

  I shake my head. I can’t even contemplate eating.

  “I won’t force yeh to eat before we see Logan, but yeh will eat at least two meals t’day, Emily,” he says, giving me a stern look.

  Pushy Dom. I don’t object. I can’t imagine anyone taking as good care of me as Niall has. I know Logan would have done the same thing if the tables were turned, but that doesn’t lessen how grateful I am to Niall. “Yes, sir.”

  “Ah’right. Cab’s on the way. We’ll check out and yeh’ll spend the night at ours t’night.”

  I don’t remember where Niall, Shaan, and Vashi live. Vashi mentioned it, I think. Every thought beyond seeing Logan has gone straight out of my head.

  “C’mon, storeen, let’s get yeh to yer daddy. It’ll be ah’right.”

  He’s promised me that a hundred times. Maybe two hundred. Maybe a thousand. I’ve lost count. It doesn’t matter how often Niall says it. Until I see Logan awake, until he can talk to me and I know he’s okay, no o
ne’s assurances mean anything and nothing else matters.

  Niall keeps up a one-sided conversation as we check out, find our cab, and wind our way through the beige and white corridors to the critical care waiting room. A nurse behind a glass window takes our names and consults her computer screen.

  “James Logan hasn’t been moved up from the ICU yet,” she tells us.

  Fear makes my knees so weak, I have to grip the ledge of the window to remain upright. Niall slides his arm around me and pulls me tight to his side.

  “Is he worse?” I ask, forcing each word around the broken glass filling my throat.

  “I’ll have a doctor come speak to you, if you’ll take a seat?” She gives us a wide, fake smile that has me clutching at Niall as he steers me to a row of plastic chairs.

  Niall rubs my back as we sit and wait. No doctor comes for what feels like forever, but it’s only fifteen minutes by the clock on the wall, which must be broken. It’s at least five years, while my eyes prickle and my palms grow clammy and my head pounds.

  Finally, a woman in blue, surgical scrubs sits down next to me. “Emily Martin?”

  I nod.

  “I’m Dr. Lacey. I assisted with James’s surgery and I’ll be his treating physician until he’s released.”

  “Is he-he’s going to be released?”

  “Yes, in a few days. His surgery was successful as Dr. Watts told you last night. He regained consciousness this morning but he’s very disoriented and aggressive, so he’s been restrained. It can be distressing to see a loved one restrained, so I’m not allowing him visitors while he’s in the ICU. This kind of disorientation usually passes within a couple of hours. Once it does, I’ll have him brought up and you can see him.”

  Restrained? Oh, no.

  “Is he speaking?” I ask.

  “Yes. He knows who he is and that he’s been injured. He’s asked to speak with you and a number of other people.”

  “Can he have his phone?” I ask.

  “Not while he’s restrained.”

  Daddy, poor Daddy. He’ll be going crazy.

  “Is there any way I can see him? He might, um, he might be aggressive because he’s worried about me.”

  “He has asked about you a number of times. He seems very concerned about your safety.” The doctor’s dark eyes flick from my face to Niall’s arm around my shoulders. “Are you in any danger, Miss Martin?”

  “Me? Oh, no. Logan’s just very protective of me.”

  Dr. Lacey nods. “Do you think seeing you will calm him down?”

  “Yes.” Please, God, let seeing me calm him down. I can’t stand the idea of Logan being hurt and restrained.

  “Have you ever seen anyone restrained before?”

  More often than I could possibly explain to this woman.

  Beside me, Niall grunts. “She’ll be fine. She’s a tough little ‘un.”

  I stretch my arm around Niall’s broad back and give him a squeeze.

  “Okay. Miss Martin, if you’ll come with me?”

  I give Niall a grateful smile. When he releases me, I shiver at the loss of his warmth, even though the whole hospital is warmer than an August day back in Syracuse. I haven’t been able to get warm since I saw my daddy lying on the floor in a puddle of his own blood.

  I wrap my arms around myself and follow Dr. Lacey through the beige and white corridors. As she leads me down two flights of stairs, I feel like I’m descending into a prison. Is this where they’re keeping my daddy?

  The corridors are quiet. Occasionally, a soft-footed nurse appears and disappears ahead of us. Other than footsteps, there’s no noise. Shouldn’t there be noise? Machines pinging? People talking? How do they keep anyone alive down here in this silence?

  As we turn a corner, I hear a sound, thin at first, but as we go through a door, it swells to a bellow.

  Daddy.

  I start forward, but Dr. Lacey puts a hand on my arm. “The most important thing you can do for James right now is to be calm.”

  I nod and center myself.

  Dr. Lacey leads me into a room with three empty beds. White fabric curtains are drawn around a fourth. There’s no roaring now, but I hear metal rattling, a noise that belongs in a dungeon, not a hospital.

  Dr. Lacey puts her hand on one of the curtains but holds it closed for a moment.

  “Calm,” she reminds me.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She gives me a tight smile and pulls the curtain back.

  Logan’s propped up in a big bed. His head’s wrapped in bandages, eyes bruised black. His face draws into a grimace and the cords stand out in his neck as he strains against the leather cuffs holding his wrists and ankles to the bed rails.

  I’m the epitome of calm as I walk to Logan’s side. The paragon of chill as I wrap my arms around his shoulders and ease him back into the pillows.

  “Oh, fuck,” he mumbles into my neck. “You’re safe. They told me you were but I couldn’t be sure until I’d seen you. You’re okay, baby doll?”

  I nod, tilting my head to avoid disturbing his bandages. “I’m fine, Daddy,” I whisper to him.

  “Fuck, fuck,” he repeats. “I need to hold you, little girl. I was so fucking worried. All I could think was I was leaving you alone when I’d just found you. I need to get back to you—”

  I feel the tension rise in him. His muscles strain against me. Remembering the doctor’s words, I hum soothingly.

  “I’m here, Daddy. Everything’s okay. They’ll only let you hold me if you calm down. This can’t be good for your poor head.”

  “My head.” He forces himself flat on the bed. “My fucking head. Feels like it’s exploding. You’re okay? You weren’t hurt? They’ll let me hold you?”

  “Yes, Daddy. You just have to stay calm and the doctor will let you hold me. I’m fine. I wasn’t hurt. No one came after me. We’re both safe now. We’re in San Diego. Did they tell you that?”

  “I can’t remember. I need to get out of here. I need to make sure you’re safe.”

  My poor daddy. So fuddled. So overprotective, even when he’s the one who needs taking care of.

  “It’s okay, Daddy, it’s all okay. We’re going to stay here a few days and then they’ll let us go home. I’ll stay right with you the whole time, and you’ll be able to see that I’m safe. I won’t leave you again.”

  “Okay.” Logan takes a deep breath, blows it out slowly, and chuckles. “You stink, baby.”

  I force a giggle. I probably do. He doesn’t smell great, either. Sweat and a nasty medicine-y smell and, underneath, blood. But none of that matters because he’s alive and awake and still my daddy.

  “Vashi’s bringing my luggage and I’ll have a good wash, so I don’t stink up your room.”

  “Okay. They’ll let me hold you? I have something really important to tell you, but I have to hold you.”

  I lift my head and look around for the doctor. She’s standing a few feet away, watching us. I’m sure she’s heard me call Logan “Daddy.” The knowledge heats my cheeks, but I push through the embarrassment. She’s a doctor; she’s probably heard worse. Daddy needs to hold me, and I need him to hold me, and the only way we’re both going to get what we need is if this woman gives permission.

  “Dr. Lacey, I think he’s okay. I mean, he’s calm enough, isn’t he? He really wants to hold me.”

  She gives me a gentle smile. “I’ll have someone remove his cuffs. Be patient a few minutes. Keep him calm and talking.”

  The thing that will keep him calm is my submission.

  “Dr. Lacey, could I rub his feet? That will keep him calm.”

  She lifts an eyebrow. “Yes, if you think that would help. Actually, that might really help. James doesn’t have much sensation in his left leg, so if you could stimulate the blood flow, we might be able to better assess whether there’s nerve damage.”

  My poor daddy has nerve damage? I’ll rub his feet ten times a day if that’s what it takes.

  I bend my head back t
o his ear. “Daddy, may I please rub your feet?”

  “Rub my—? Oh, sure, little girl.”

  Remembering that’s what he said when I asked for permission to rub his feet after he found out he might be the father of Miranda’s baby—and that Miranda is on her way right now—makes me smile sadly. I kiss him on the cheek, careful not to bump his bandaged head.

  He’s quiet as I move down the bed, trailing my hands over him so we don’t lose contact. When I reach his feet, I start with his right foot. Rubbing around the leather cuff is awkward, so I concentrate on his sole, working my thumbs in, stretching and flexing his knotted, rigid muscles. While I rub, I hum, happy, soothing tunes: Rusted Root’s “Send Me On My Way” and Hot Chocolate’s “You Sexy Thing.” Anything I can think of that might keep Daddy quiet and relaxed.

  I’m working on his heel when a man nearly as big as Niall pushes through the curtains. The man gives me a couple of odd looks but doesn’t say anything to me as he unbuckles the leather cuffs around Logan’s wrists and left ankle.

  I could have done that myself ten minutes ago. The doctor made it sound like taking the restraints off required some sort of special expertise.

  The orderly doesn’t try to remove the cuff on the foot I’m rubbing, even after I move out of the way. He just watches me rub for a moment. Then he grunts and reaches down, placing his thumbs near mine and pushing them away from each other to stretch Logan’s arch.

  “Smooth the muscles back into place after you’ve worked them,” he grunts.

  I watch before imitating his movement.

  The orderly nods his bald head. “That’s right. There’s good evidence that massage speeds healing. If you can keep this up twice a day for a few weeks, he’ll have a better chance of making a full recovery.”