The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  What is he going to say that’s so hard? It has to be the medical bills and that he plans to sell the house. It has to be. And I can’t let him.

  “Can I ask a question first?” I’m still fumbling around for the right words in my head, but I think I’ve found a way in.

  “Of course.”

  “Do you mean it when you say you own me? That I belong to you?”

  “Do you doubt it? You’ve got my plug in your ass right now, and you’re kneeling at my feet.”

  “I don’t doubt it. I’m asking if you mean it when you say it.”

  Another heavy breath. I wish I could see his expression, but there’s no way I could be brave enough to go through with this if I had to hold those dark eyes that can be so hard and hot in turns. “Yes, I mean it. Is this about this morning? About me not letting you kiss Max and Daisy?”

  “No, Daddy.”

  “What’s it about then, sweetie? I’m sorry, I’m not in the mood for twenty questions.”

  “Does every bit of me belong to you?”

  “Yes, angel, every bit.”

  “Then I’m asking your permission to sell my share of a condo I own in Edinburgh.”

  “You don’t need my permission to sell your condo.”

  I wait and let it sink in. After a long moment, he sighs.

  “Yes, you have my permission. Good girl for asking.” He’s quiet for a second, his toes flexing in the carpet an inch from my nose. “Why do you want to sell your condo, Emmy?”

  “So that you can use the money to pay your medical bills.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  I wait and give him time to think.

  “Fuck,” he says finally. “That was manipulative, Emily.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m not trying to manipulate you. I just know money is a super-sensitive topic, and I wanted you to see how I see it before you make a decision.” I slide my hand out hesitantly and wrap it around his ankle.

  His chair creaks as he leans over and rubs his hand down my bare back, which makes me shiver. Even though I’m scared we’re on the edge of a blow-out argument, his touch always comforts me.

  “And you were reminding me that I own you, so I should be able to use your assets to pay my bills. Emily, I can’t—” He stops and clears his throat. “It’s hard for me to think like that.”

  I smile into the carpet. My wonderful, thoughtful daddy. “I’m never going to use the condo again like I did when I was researching the highlander series. That’s why my co-owner has been paying me rent, because I’m never there anymore and he’s using it full time. I’ve had tons of offers for my share and I’m sure it would sell quickly. It’s worth about fifty thousand pounds, and I’m not sure what the exchange rate is right now but I think that should be more than sixty thousand dollars even after the selling costs. Is that enough?”

  “Yes.” Logan’s breath feathers cool across my back. “I hate the idea of selling something of yours to pay my medical bills.”

  “I know,” I repeat, and I do know, because I’ve gone through all these arguments in my head already, before I did something as insane as try to convince Logan to accept such a large amount of money from me. “Daddy, please, I want to be owned and give up responsibility for my money, but it’s more than that. I’m not stupid. I can guess that the alternative is selling this house. Please—” My breath catches in my chest. “Please, I couldn’t bear it. This is your home. Your club is here. Your life is here. I couldn’t bear for you to have to sell this place. Please, Daddy, please? The condo in Scotland doesn’t mean anything to me anymore, but your home means everything.”

  I hear him swallow hard, before his hand rubs up and down my back again. “I’ve only got six weeks before they get a seizure order.”

  The fuckers. No wonder my poor daddy’s been so stressed. “I’ll email the estate agent I bought my share from right now. They approach me about once a month with offers, so I’m sure it will go fast. It only takes twenty-eight days to close in Scotland, so if I agree a sale in the next two weeks, we’ll have the money in time.”

  Daddy swallows again, not clearing his throat. Oh, no, is he crying?

  “Come up here, little girl.”

  His hands lift my shoulders and I rise with a creak in my knees and a jab in my butt—ouch—and climb into his lap. Before he tucks my head into his neck, I get a glimpse of his red eyes. They made him cry, those evil fucking debt collectors. They made my daddy cry. They’re going to be the bad guys in my next book and they’re going to suffer horrible, horrible genital torture before they die.

  I hug him tighter than arm-binders. “Your happiness is everything to me. I can’t stand how this is hurting you. Please let me help. Please, Daddy, please-please.”

  “Stop talking, little girl,” he whispers. “Just let me hold you.”

  I do, and I don’t say anything about his ragged breaths, or the way he holds himself taut in my arms so I can’t feel him shake.

  After a few minutes, he kisses my forehead and whispers into my skin, “Go get your laptop and come back in here. You’re going to sit on Daddy’s lap while you do the email and I make some calls. If you’re more than three inches away from me today, that’s too far.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  I bring his smoothie and my laptop and my kitty back from the kitchen. We make a happy pile in his big chair, me in Daddy’s lap and Sable stretched backward over my knee in a position only a cat could find comfortable. I type out the email to the estate agent and send it off. They won’t be open yet with the time difference, and maybe not open at all on a Sunday, but I’m confident they’ll come back to me quickly. They’ll make a nice commission off the sale, after all.

  Once I finish the email, I switch back over into my writing program. The words flow easily now, images of kilted courage and brotherly sacrifice filling my head as my hero faces the terror of the British mortars at the Battle of Glen Shiel. By the time Daddy finishes his fourth phone call, and I gather he’s not really getting anywhere by the lack of notes he’s making, I’ve finished the battle and am starting the dramatic reconciliation between the hero and heroine as she defies her family and races across the border to treat the hero’s shrapnel wounds. This seems like a good stopping point as my fingers are aching from typing so much, since I usually dictate, and I’m starting to squirm a little on Daddy’s lap because I need a pee break after sharing his smoothie.

  When I reach out to close my laptop, Daddy catches the top of the clamshell and holds up a finger. I wait for him to finish his call, snuggling back against his chest and petting my purring kitty.

  “Do you remember anything else about the party?” Daddy asks whomever he’s speaking to.

  I’ve been studiously not listening to his calls, since that would be eavesdropping and I don’t want my ears sewn shut, but bits and pieces have invaded my writing fog anyway. He’s been asking the people he’s talking to about a party on Fire Island last summer that Rick went to. That probably means Rick asked Daddy to help him with the ugly, ugly, ugliness that was all over Rick’s Twitter feed last week, although I’m not quite sure how the two are connected. Logan doesn’t “do” social media. Oh, except LinkedIn. Snigger. Daddy didn’t see the Tweetstorm. Or the Instainferno. Rick got roasted. I follow Rick online through one of my pen names and I watched the blaze with no small amount of glee.

  Logan finishes the call and makes a couple of notes in his notebook. He’s so analog, my daddy.

  “Is this about what was on Rick’s Twitter?” I ask when he closes the notebook.

  “Did you see that?”

  “Uh-huh. The whole internet saw it.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize you were linked, or um, whatever to Rick online.”

  I bite my cheek to stifle a giggle. “I follow him on Twitter and Instagram. He probably doesn’t realize it’s me since the account’s in my erotica pen name.”

  “No, I don’t think he does. He asked me not to tell you about it.”

&
nbsp; Well, that stings. It’s fine for him to prance around in his underwear but not for me to see what all of Twitter and Instagram saw? Screw you with a horse cock, Mr. RespectABitch.

  I reign in my resentment, because I’m pretty sure that expressing it would not make me the bigger person, and, in fact, might land me back in the playpen. Instead, I ask, “Why not? I mean, it’s public knowledge.”

  “Rick doesn’t think you like him very much. He doesn’t want you thinking worse of him.”

  He’s right about me not liking him very much. I’m not sure I could think much worse of him, nasty man. “He must not think very much of me if he thinks I base my opinions on what a bunch of internet trolls say. Although some of what they were saying was pretty ugly.”

  “Agreed. The rape allegation doesn’t seem to be true, though.”

  The what? I didn’t see anything about a rape allegation, just the whole RespectABitch hashtag. I’ll admit I lost interest after watching Rick squirm for a while.

  “Are the police involved?” I ask. “Is that why Rick’s asked you to help?”

  “No, no police. Yet. But the allegation is hurting Rick professionally, so I’m trying to track down this EvonneBringsTheTruth.”

  I make a mental note of the name to look up as soon as I have a minute alone.

  “I’m glad you know, baby doll. I’ve wanted to talk with you about it, and it’s been wearing on me that I couldn’t. Also, I might have to go to DC; I wouldn’t ever leave you alone here, but taking you to DC without telling you why we were going could have been problematic.”

  “We’re going to DC?”

  I bounce a little on his lap, much to Sable’s disgust. I love DC. Maybe we’ll have time to go to the Smithsonian and visit the dinosaurs while we’re there. And my online friend Posypony lives in Bethesda. I might be able to meet up with her, too.

  Logan chuckles, which is the first happy sound I’ve heard out of him in hours. That makes my heart hurt. Even as he answers, I’m thinking of what else I might be able to do for him today that would lift his spirits.

  “Nothing’s set in stone, little girl. I haven’t even spoken to this woman yet. But I want to meet her face-to-face, if she’ll agree. It probably won’t be until after Miranda’s left, though.”

  “Oh.” That squashes some of my excitement. Still. The Smithsonian! Dinosaurs! Posypony! “I’d really, really like to go to DC, Daddy.”

  “Yeah? Okay. If things don’t work out with this interview, then we’ll plan a long weekend in DC. No reason we can’t go down just for fun.”

  “Cool!” I bounce on his lap again. “I love DC. Do you think we might have time to visit the dinosaurs at the Smithsonian?”

  That gets me a full, daddy laugh. “Yes, little girl, if there are good dinosaurs at the Smithsonian, we’ll make time to visit them.”

  “And crab cakes? The blue crab is really good in DC. Can we have crab cakes?”

  Logan wraps his arms around me and wiggles me against his chest. That’s the last straw for Sable, who jumps off my lap with a grumbly meow, but it delights me. I feel so little and loved when Daddy rocks me in his arms.

  “Yes, sweetie, we can have crab cakes. Are you up for oysters? I seem to remember good oysters in DC.”

  Oysters are gross; they’re like eating snot. But I’ll eat them if Daddy wants to. “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Mmm, that’s a plan. Let’s give Lizbeth a call, since I said we’d call her back this morning, and then how about a bath?”

  A bath sounds great to me. I’m still sticky, and probably smelly. “Yes, please.”

  “I also want to talk more about selling your flat. I’m going to have some conditions on accepting the money and relaxing in the bath feels like a good place to talk about them.”

  I’m not sure what conditions he could put on accepting money from me, but as long as paying off his medical bills takes the worry away and doesn’t risk his house, I’m fine with whatever they are. “Okay, Daddy. After the bath, could I please give you a foot rub?”

  “Ah, little girl, are you trying to make me feel better?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “It’s working. Yes, I would love a foot rub. You might, if you’re very persuasive, even talk me into letting you give me a blow job.”

  I stretch my arms back until I can cup his neck with my hands and smile over my shoulder at him. “I’ll be my persuasive-ist, Daddy.”

  “That’s my good girl. I was going to suggest a video-call with Lizbeth, but I like you naked, so audio only, huh?”

  “Definitely.” I really like Lizbeth, but she’s more vanilla than vanilla ice cream. She would not react well to seeing me naked on Logan’s lap.

  Lizbeth doesn’t react well, in fact, but my nakedness is not the cause. When she hears that that Miranda is arriving tomorrow, she throws a fit. She squawks, curses, and grumbles at Logan while I muffle my giggles with my hands, thinking of how much trouble I would get in if I said any of those things to him.

  “I’m coming up,” Lizbeth announces.

  That stops my giggles. She would? I’d give my right arm to have Lizbeth here when I have to face the Mir-beast.

  “I’d love that,” I say, just as Daddy says, “No.”

  Oops.

  “Lizzy, putting you and Miranda in the same room is like throwing dynamite on a bonfire,” Daddy says. “Her visit’s going to be fraught enough, don’t you think?”

  “I won’t say a word to her if you don’t want me to. I’ll just be there for Emily. Emily wants me there.”

  Uht-oh. I don’t want to get between Logan and his sister. Although I would really, really love to have Lizbeth here. It’s not so much that I think Miranda’s going to be horrible to me, although she wasn’t at all nice the times we spoke on the phone after Logan was injured. She’s probably just going to be very British. Which is bad enough. But Lizbeth is a force of nature, and it would be nice to see her tornado all over Miranda.

  I turn in Daddy’s lap so I can look at him and give a helpless shrug.

  He sighs. “Right.”

  “The twins start drama camp tomorrow. I’ll drive straight up as soon as I drop them off and be there by noon.”

  Daddy groans. “Lizbeth, give me a break. We’ve got a busy morning. I’m not even picking up Miranda from the airport until gone two. Come for tea, huh?”

  Lizbeth huffs for a while, but finally agrees that she’ll wait until afternoon and be in the City before rush hour.

  Logan rolls his eyes at me and I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle as Daddy agrees.

  After we say goodbye, I realize we didn’t even talk about the Disney trip, but I suppose there will be time for that while Lizbeth is here. Before she arrives, I’m going to need to put in a grocery order, but there’ll be time for that, too. First, a bath, and then a foot rub, and if I’m at my most persuasive, a blow job, to relax my stressed daddy.

  Because as much as my daddy takes care of me, a little takes care of her daddy, too.

  Chapter Eight

  Logan

  After Emily falls asleep, I lie next to her, my head propped on a pillow, watching her.

  I’ve watched many women sleep over the years. Some in my bed. Some in theirs. Sometimes, I’ve watched in trepidation, wondering what I’d say when they woke. Sometimes, I’ve watched impatiently, waiting for them to recover so we could play again. Most, I’ve watched affectionately.

  None have I ever watched with the crashing, crushing adoration that I feel as I watch Emily sleep.

  Has anyone ever given me what she does? Unwavering devotion. Unflinching tenderness. Uncompromising trust. As much as her offer to pay my medical bills made me squirm, her generosity steam-rolled me, flattening every objection. I set some conditions on accepting the money as we sat in the bath, lazily washing each other and playing with her bath crayons. It’s a loan, not a gift. I’ll pay her back monthly. I’ll draw up a new will so that she’s fully repaid if something happens to me. Push-pins d
efining the margins of something so large it still has me reeling as I lie next to her, tracing the dark arcs of her eyelashes against her pink cheeks with my eyes. Watching the tiny wobble of her lower lip as she puffs out soft breaths. Each detail lodges under my breastbone like an ice needle, piercing and painful in its intensity.

  I’m not built for this emotion. I’m fine at a more superficial level: affection, desire, occasional forays into love. But not this intensity. I don’t know what to do with it. The rewards I’ve given her, the rewards I have planned for her, are nowhere near enough. The only thing that might be enough is getting my ring on her finger, but even that seems like a selfish gesture in the face of her generosity. What does she need? A daddy. I know that. But in this moment, being her daddy, providing her a safe haven to be little, doesn’t seem anywhere near enough.

  I check the time on the clock I’ve put next to my side of the bed since I no longer wear the watch Miranda gave me. It’s not yet ten in California, but Niall might be up, although he likes a lie-in on a Sunday. I slide away from Emily, tuck her fuzzy around her to keep her warm in the air-conditioned room, and slip downstairs.

  Niall doesn’t answer his phone, and since it’s still early his time, I only let it ring three times before I hang up.

  While I’m at my desk, without any hope of an answer, I dial Dovie Donegan. Again.

  “Mr. Longlin, I’m so, so sorry,” she says as she picks up.

  The name is similar enough to my own that it takes me a second to process before I correct her. “This is James Logan. I left you a couple of messages.”

  “What? Oh. Sorry. My phone was stolen and I just got this one to replace it. I’m still downloading all my data. I thought you were my boss.” She pauses and I can hear her mentally regrouping. “Who did you say you were?”

  “James Logan. I’m an investigator working for Rick Errol. Do you remember Mr. Errol?”

  “Um. Oh.” She’s silent for so long I almost leap in to fill the silence, but I want to see where she goes with it. Or, maybe, where her guilt takes her, because this silence feels thick and pregnant. “Yes, I guess. It was that party last summer, wasn’t it?”