The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  “No problem. Hey . . .” He lifts his chin at me.

  “Yeah?”

  “You did good. Shutting down the party last night. You probably saved some lives, not the least of which was your client’s.”

  “Do I get a medal?”

  Theo chuckles and shakes his head. “Just the gratitude of the NYPD. Make sure Errol gives you a bonus. He’s not going to have to defend any wrongful death claims because of you.”

  Someone other than me will have to tell him that.

  * * *

  Hospitals are not my favorite places. In the weeks since my injury, I’ve had more than enough of them.

  Still, I’m happier to be walking into a hospital than a morgue.

  Pressed warm and soft against my side, Emily shifts the big bouquet of sunflowers she’s brought for Rick to her other hand and slides her free arm around my waist to give me a squeeze. Since she spent nearly as much time in hospitals as I have recently, she probably has the same feelings going through the big sliding doors that I do.

  “Okay, little love?” I ask.

  “Yes, Daddy.” She tips her head back against my shoulder as she looks up at me. “However Rick behaves, just remember, Master Theo says you saved his life.”

  “Thank you for the reminder, sweetheart.”

  It’s nice to hear, particularly since I doubt Rick feels the same way. He kicked Manny out of his hospital room as soon as he woke up this morning. He hasn’t responded to my text messages. I’m not sure what I’m going to say to him, or what he’s going to say to me, but I don’t think our friendship will survive last night.

  Rick’s in a private room, which doesn’t surprise me. Through the window in his door, I see an older redhead in a sundress sitting in the guest chair by his bed, flipping through a magazine. I recognize her from some pictures at Rick’s place: Tina, Rick’s sister.

  She answers the door when I knock and smiles at me. “Come in. Thanks so much for coming to see him.” She holds out her hands for the flowers Emily’s brought. “I’ll find something to put those in.”

  She holds the door open for us and shuts it behind her as she leaves.

  Rick, sitting up in the hospital bed and flipping through the channels on the wall-mounted TV, throws the remote onto the bedspread and crosses his arms over his chest.

  “I told Manny to leave. What makes you think I’d want to see you?” he asks.

  I steer Emily to the chair Tina’s vacated and stand behind her, resting my hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “Do I fucking look okay?”

  He doesn’t. His whole face is puffy around two black eyes. There’s a metal ridge taped over his nose. He’s hooked up to a ton of machines and there are several IV bags hanging over his head.

  “What are the doctors saying?”

  “They’re saying you broke my fucking nose.”

  “About the ketamine, Rick.” I try to keep my voice gentle, but I’m probably not doing a very good job, because he’s beginning to work my last nerve. I wasn’t the one who threw the first punch, and I wasn’t the one who came back for more.

  Rick looks out his window. “They’re saying it might have fucked up my heart. Arrhythmia or something.” He cocks his thumb at one of the machines. “That’s keeping my heart beating regularly.”

  My gut sinks; I actually feel sorry for the fucker. I remember all too well the feeling of being given a potentially life-changing diagnosis.

  “What are they saying about recovery?” I ask.

  He shrugs and keeps staring out the window. “Too soon to tell.”

  “Rick—”

  He swings his swollen face back to me. “Spare me the platitudes. It’ll be okay, right? I’ll get better, just give it time. Well, maybe I don’t have fucking time. Daisy wouldn’t wait a couple of weeks for the internet shit to die down. If I can’t get it up because my heart’s fucked, how long do you think people are going to wait, huh? You think anyone’s going to want to watch me fuck dragging around a heart machine? You think anyone’ll cast me if I have to get a fucking pacemaker?”

  I don’t have any kind of answer for him.

  Rick shakes his head, his lip curling. “This is all on you, man. She was right under your fucking nose the whole time and you didn’t catch her.”

  “What?” Emily hisses. I squeeze her shoulders.

  “Rick, I understand you’re angry and you’re looking for someone to blame—”

  “I don’t need to look,” he snarls. “You’re right here in my face like you’re my fucking best friend. You’re not, Logan. You’re the fucking help and you. Are. Fucking. Fired.”

  I’m not going to argue with him or tell him that I wouldn’t work for him again anyway. Now’s not the time. “Understood,” I say simply.

  “Bunch of fucking leeches,” Rick snaps. “All of you with your hands in my pockets. You don’t give a fuck about me. None of you.”

  I feel the flush of anger tighten my muscles. “Sure, Rick. That’s why I stood by you even when I thought you might have raped Laurel. Because I don’t give a fuck about you.”

  Rick works his lips against his teeth for a moment, glowering at me. “Don’t lie to me, man. Don’t try to pretend you’re my friend. That’s not going to get you out of the shitstorm that’s coming. Every one of those people at the party who drank the punch, when they start pointing fingers at me? I’m going to point them straight at you. They’re going to sue you for every fucking penny you have.”

  I shake my head at him. He’s angry and hurting and scared. He’s not thinking clearly.

  Tina returns as Rick and I are scowling at each other. Emily immediately vacates the chair and Tina sets the flowers, in a plastic beaker, down on the bedside table.

  “Get out,” Rick snarls over the rising beeping of the machines behind him. He grabs the flowers out of the beaker and throws them at Emily. “And take those fucking flowers with you, bitch.”

  I shift her out of the line of fire and let the flowers splat wetly against my chest before they bounce to the floor.

  I turn back to Rick with a growl.

  Emily stops me with her soft palm on my cheek. She stoops, collects the flowers off the floor, and tucks them under her arm. “Time for us to go.”

  She’s right. Rick’s not listening to reason, and if he insults Emily again, I’ll go for him, damaged heart or not. I nod to Tina, wrap my arm around Emily’s shoulders, and lead her out of his room without another glance at the piece of shit lying in the bed.

  While we wait for the elevator, she leans in and looks up at me with her big, baby eyes. “He’s fifty thousand percent wrong,” she says softly. “And if he doesn’t realize it, that’s his loss, not yours.”

  “Thank you, sweetie.” I draw her into my chest and kiss her forehead.

  She nestles into me, hugging me with her arm around my waist, until the elevator doors open. It’s empty, and after we step in and I hit the button for the ground floor, she cuddles into me again. “Daddy, maybe when we get home, we could do something to make you feel better?”

  “Mmm, little girl? What’s that?”

  “Well, I never did get that flogging.”

  She didn’t. Daisy appeared shortly after I finished giving my statement to Theo, a shaky ghost of her usual self after a night spent in the hospital. Emily transformed into a little mother hen and clucked over Daisy, getting her washed, changed into clean pajamas, and tucked into bed with the cat purring on her feet. I’d foolishly thought people would leave as the day went on. Instead, we had such a crowd by lunchtime, we ran out seats for everyone. Manny showed up with pizzas and, while Emily was distracted making healthy alternatives, I snuck a slice and debriefed him. His description of Rick’s mental state made me decide to go to the hospital sooner rather than later.

  “No, you never did. Are you volunteering for a flogging to make Daddy feel better?”

  She smiles up at me impishly. “I might be.”

  I rub noses with h
er. “Volunteers get good girl floggings. Is that what you want?”

  “Yes, please, Daddy.”

  “And are you volunteering for an ass-fucking afterwards?”

  She quivers, but I think it’s with excitement.

  “Would it be a good-girl bottom loving?” she whispers.

  “It would.”

  “Then, yes, Daddy, I volunteer for that, too.”

  “And this is what you think will make me feel better?”

  “I hope so.” Her expression is so earnest as she looks up at me.

  My stone face cracks. I scoop her up against my chest and give her a deep kiss. “You might be right,” I tell her. “You just might be right.”

  I take her home, my little girl, who takes such care of her daddy, and give her a good-girl flogging, followed by a very, very good-girl ass-fucking.

  And it does make me feel much better.

  Dedication

  For all the littles, fairies, scalies, furries, pets, ponies, and others who don’t quite fit in but never let it stop them from seeking what sates their soul.

  For Merel, who made a strange time less lonely.

  For Jennifer K, who told me Emily and Logan’s story made a difference.

  For Michelle G (yes, that is you), who was willing to take the blame.

  For Liv, who didn’t talk me off the ledge.

  For Tara, who threw down the first Easter egg (cherry pie back atcha, baby).

  And for my beloved Viv, who lived the original with me.

  Chapter One

  Emily

  “This party is getting out of hand,” Daddy says.

  I shift in the train seat and peer over his shoulder at the tablet in his hand. He scrolls down the guest list. What started as just me and Daddy, Master Javier, and Mistress Maude, has bloomed to forty people, coming from two coasts and four different cities.

  The number makes my stomach sink with both anticipation and anxiety.

  When Daddy’s finger hovers over one of the more recent additions, I offer softly, “I’m looking forward to meeting Luisa.”

  Daddy grunts. His former subbie heard through the kinky grapevine that Daddy’s collaring me. She sent him a very un-submissive message telling him that if she and her husband didn’t get an invitation, she’d call every bed and dungeon in the country until she found where we’re going and storm the place.

  I tried really hard not to giggle when he showed her message to me. I failed, and my bottom is still achy from Daddy’s “correction” of my attitude before we left the City this morning.

  “She’s looking forward to meeting you, too,” he assures me. “I guess that’s another two places at dinner.”

  I nod against his shoulder. I’ve already increased the reservation at the restaurant.

  Daddy taps his tablet and sighs in frustration. “Sean and Moon just RSVP-ed, too. So much for this being a small, intimate ceremony just for the two of us.”

  I suppress a giggle. Daddy doesn’t see it, but he’s like one of those really popular kids in high school. Everyone wants to be close to him. He says I’m all he needs, but he has a ton of friends and they were never going to let him collar me without celebrating with us.

  I give him a kiss in the soft undercurve of his jaw, the spot that holds the warm spice of his aftershave and makes him murmur with pleasure, before I sit back up and open up my “To Do” list for the ceremony. I add finding a room for Sean and Moon to the tab for accommodation.

  “No, you don’t, little girl,” Daddy growls in my ear.

  I jump guiltily. “What?”

  “Take that off. Sean and Moon can find their own hotel room. I’ll email them that list of the places you pulled together if it’s going to worry you. But you are not responsible for making sure everyone has a place to stay.”

  I chew on the inside of my lip before deleting it. I obey Daddy in all things, even when it pricks my heart a little. I don’t want our guests to struggle with details like finding a place to stay close to the bed and dungeon where most of the weekend’s festivities will be taking place. I feel bad enough that we can’t all stay in the same place, but our bed and dungeon only has eight rooms, so that quickly became an impossibility.

  I switch over to my email program and forward an email I sent to some of the Blunts house submissives a few days ago with a list of bed and breakfasts and motels near where we’re staying. “I’ve sent you the list. Can you let them know that the one on Delaware Street’s all booked up now?”

  “Okay, little girl. Take everything else off that tab, too. Niall can and probably has already made arrangements for Vashi’s vegetarian meals. Javier can find his own damn drycleaner and you do not need to double-check with the hotel that there’s a covered spot for Harry and Mac to park their bikes. Emmy, you’re not their travel agent. This weekend is for you, sweetheart.”

  I delete the other bullet points in the tab and close my “To Do” list before Daddy sees what else is on there. “I just want it to be perfect,” I say softly.

  “Oh, baby doll.” Daddy slides his arm behind my shoulders and pulls me against his side. “It will be perfect because I’m collaring you.”

  He rubs his finger along the platinum chain that rests at the base of my throat. It’s been a collar since he gave it to me three months ago, but on Sunday he’ll put a lock on it. Locking my collar doesn’t make our relationship any more “real” than my submission to him has been these past three months. And yet it does. In the same way that him putting an engagement ring on my finger will make our engagement more real than it’s been since he asked me to marry him a month ago. I can’t explain why these small symbols mean so much. I only know they do.

  “I know the collaring will be perfect, Daddy. I just want everyone to have a really good time.”

  He kisses my temple. “Everyone will have a wonderful time as long as we do. But if you keep stressing about Vashi’s meals and Javier’s damn drycleaner you won’t enjoy a minute of it. Put it all aside, baby doll, and focus on what’s important. You and me.”

  I snuggle into him fiercely. He’s such a good daddy. And he’s right. All that matters is him and me.

  His tablet pings and he glances at it, then chuckles and angles it so I can see. I clap my hand over my mouth to keep the laugh from bursting out.

  “I take it back; Bren might not have a wonderful time.”

  His screen shows a picture of our friend Brenna. She looks like a very angry chipmunk, her cheeks hugely puffed out with gauze and her middle finger flying at the person who has taken the picture.

  “It wasn’t just a filling,” I observe, looking at the picture. When we were at dinner two days ago, Brenna crunched on something she thought was a loose filling. Our friend Austin, who has medical training, badgered her into going to the dentist before everyone hops what they’re calling the “party train” that most of our guests are taking up to Niagara Falls from the City tomorrow.

  “Nope, looks like she needed a crown. That’ll keep her under control for the weekend.”

  I poke him and he laughs. Daddy pretends not to like Brenna, but I know he really does because he’s encouraged me to be friends with her and he wouldn’t do that if he thought she wasn’t good people. With her blue dreadlocks, many tattoos, multiple piercings, affinity for leather, and general “give no fucks” attitude, she seems a little wild, and a little scary, on the outside. Inside, she’s the most genuinely kind and accepting person I’ve met since coming to live with Daddy. She’d make a joke of it if I called her my best friend, but she definitely is one of them, and I’m looking forward to her joining us in Niagara almost as much as I’m looking forward to seeing some of our friends from the West Coast that I haven’t seen in months.

  Daddy’s tablet pings again and when he glances at it, he grumbles, without any of the amusement Brenna’s chipmunk picture gave him. He tips it and shows it to me.

  It’s an email from Daddy’s solicitor in England. She’s been handling Daddy’s pa
ternity case against another of his former subs, Miranda. A court-ordered test last month showed Daddy is the father of Miranda’s baby and he immediately filed for custody. He won’t tell me exactly what happened, but he got sole custody of his daughter, who he’s named Olivia, after only one hearing. I did a little research to help Daddy figure out what his options were, and I know that an English court wouldn’t have awarded him custody without finding Miranda an unfit mother. While I couldn’t agree more with the finding, because a more horrible person I haven’t yet come across in my thirty-two years on this planet, I have to figure that Daddy had some very serious dirt on Miranda.

  I haven’t asked him about it, and I won’t. Miranda is a closed topic. Daddy cut off all contact with her after she tormented me during her visit over the summer. I’m not supposed to even think about her, but she is on both of our minds since her delivery date was two days ago and she still hasn’t gone into labor.

  “She’s going to be induced on Tuesday,” Daddy says.

  “That’s good, right?” I ask.

  “Yup.” Daddy tips his head back against the seat and hugs me tightly to him. “Probably right around this time last year that she had her IUD taken out without telling me.”

  I rub his chest gently. Miranda’s betrayal gutted Daddy and he’s still working through all the feelings her betrayal created. “A lot’s changed in a year.”

  “Certainly has.” Daddy lifts his head and kisses my temple. “All for the better, my baby. Uht-oh.”

  He nods at my computer, where a picture of the male actors from the Avengers have appeared with the caption, “You should be writing!”

  I elbow him. “Daddy.”

  “Get to it, little girl. No sight-seeing until you’ve made your word count. If we miss our reservation on the Maid of the Mist, you won’t be sitting down comfortably for the rest of the weekend.”

  I pull out of his embrace and pull a face at him because I’m not sitting entirely comfortably now, which makes him laugh, before I start typing.