Suds and Sam
Book 1
By Stella Marie Alden
Contents
Contents
PRESENT DAY
Samantha Russo
TWO WEEKS AGO…
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
From The Author
A Suds & Sam Christmas
Chapter One
Copyright (C) 2019 Stella Marie Alden
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.
[email protected]
This is dedicated to everyone who urges me on, believes in me, and tells me my dreams of being a full time writer are not crazy.
A special thanks to my ARC team, my fans, and my personal assistant, Katherine. You help make these books possible.
To Rich, my best friend, my patient husband, and my editor. I love you!
PRESENT DAY
Samantha Russo
Private Detective… Almost
“Don’t say anything and get in.” My ex-boyfriend keeps his voice low but the jab from the barrel of his gun is loud and clear.
Heart thumping, I slide into the backseat of a yellow cab in front of Murphy’s Bakery just north of my subway stop where I was about to order one of her famous cannoli.
“Where to?” The driver turns and glances back at Will, sliding in beside me.
There’s a gun in his pocket, dude. My silent warning ignored, the cabbie clears the meter as my ex states our destination.
“Port Authority.” Will whispers in my ear. “Don’t try anything. Nod if you understand.”
I do because laser beams of pure, fucking crazy shoot from his eyes. Sure, his texts had gotten weird as of late, but this? Nope, I missed the signs. Dammit.
We traverse through Brooklyn, over the Triborough Bridge, and crawl up Eighth Avenue. Despite many traffic lights and slowdowns, I dare not move. In the movies, private investigators get shot all the time but I like both my kidneys, thank you very much.
When the yellow cab finally stops in front of the bus station, Will throws the man behind the wheel a hundred dollar bill and tells him to keep the change.
Holy shit. My ex is either out of his mind, sold his book, or inherited a fortune.
I could run, but the sidewalk is jam packed with commuters. A bullet from Mr. Loony-Toony might not only kill me, but injure someone else.
A good detective knows how to bide her time.
Holding back a scream, I bite hard on my lower lip as he clamps, vise-like, onto my upper arm. He yanks me past the hundreds of shops and down two flights of escalators. Along the way I pointedly stare up at the many cameras, praying someone will notice I’m gone before I’m dead.
Will stops us at a gate marked Washington, DC.
“Why are-”
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up. I swear I’ll pull the trigger.” He pokes the gun to my ribs and walks me out the glass door where about a dozen travelers wait in a dimly lit tunnel.
Diesel fumes spewing, an engine roars to life, and our bus pulls up alongside the walk. Will’s grip tightens, he drags me forward, and hands two tickets to the driver waiting at the door. Then, we take seats in the back where floral scents do nothing to mask the portable sewer.
Finally, the vehicle jerks and we exit the hellish darkness into the late afternoon sun.
Will’s beard has grown along with his formerly well-groomed hair. With locks sticking out all over the place, I barely recognize the man who claimed to be the next Faulkner.
“Take out your phone, pull out the sim card, and give it to me.” When a car backfires, a montage of this-is-your-life flashes in my mind’s eye.
I remember eating glue on my first day of kindergarten with my cousins Rose and Mia, my high school graduation with a flask of vodka under my robe, and getting fired from the FBI.
Fuck. I never got to prove myself to everyone. A woman can be a damn fine private dick.
My favorite character, Stephanie Plum, would no doubt do something amazingly brave and somewhat stupid before being rescued by one of her sexy boyfriends. However, this is real life. I’m not all that clueless and my only boyfriend doesn’t know I’m missing.
TWO WEEKS AGO…
Chapter One
Suds Sutcliff
Sipping on my cappuccino, I stare out the front window, just off Fifth Avenue. Tourists already crowd the sidewalk and a few working stiffs, like myself, glide between them at the pace of someone familiar with rush hour in New York City.
Well-dressed inhabitants stop for coffee, barely awake in their designer loungewear.
Where is she?
Like a randy teen waiting at a high school locker, I stand inside my beloved coffee joint, thinking of how I last saw her.
Revenge sex? Yeah, that’s what she called it but not me. I say it was fucking mind-blowing. My cock goes rock hard, like it does every time I’ve thought about her since that night. At first, she’d laughed off my advances but later pinged my phone and met me in the hotel bar.
Days have passed but my body remembers the moment as if it was yesterday. A beautiful stranger offered to share her body with me. Who was I to say no?
I pace. My friends all warned me this would happen someday but I’d laughed them off. They said I was playing with fire and I scoffed. All happily married, they’d drunk the Kool-Aid but not me, never me.
Even now, while one part of my brain remains cool and collected, the other half knows I’m totally fucked. I got issues, says my right brain. The left flashes a picture as she came apart in my mouth. I recall her ankles locked behind my back as her short nails dug into my arms and she screamed out my name.
Shit. I adjust my jeans and try to think of something other than her but it’s too hard.
I chuckle at my own double meaning and choke on the last of my coffee.
Holy fuck. There she is.
At first, I play it casual-like but when she looks up and smiles, something inside me snaps. Taking three long steps, I open the door, toss my cup into the garbage, and pull her sweet curves against me.
Her lips meet mine, as hungry as I recall. Her palms slide under the erotic zone below my ears to the back of my neck and groaning, I thrust in my tongue.
Fuck Fifth Avenue, fuck the tourists, I want to fuck this woman.
Face bright red, she must realize how public a place and how private the kiss because she pulls out of my grasp. “Oh shit. I mean, hi.”
I look her up and down, not ready to stop what I started. Her prim and proper black suit is doing a number on me because I know the pass
ionate woman who lives underneath. It’s like having a dirty secret and I love it.
I lean into her ear. “I want to fuck you so bad. The ladies’ room?”
Her eyes widen. “Ah, I have an interview with your boss in five minutes.”
“As I recall, that’s all we’ll need.”
She blushes even deeper. “I can’t. No, really. I need this job.”
I was the one who convinced my boss to give her a chance but I’m not the kind of asshole who would remind her of that. She’ll be between my legs soon enough.
“Come on then. Get your coffee to go.”
She orders a small caramel latte, extra sweet, and turns to me. “Where to?”
I put a palm to her back, fingers lingering on the top of her sweet buns and direct her into the building next door. I sign her in with the guard and swipe my card, allowing us access to the twelfth floor.
On the way up, her phone pings, she rolls her eyes, and deletes the message.
I question her with raised brows and she shrugs. “The ex. He’s not taking our breakup real well.”
The cheating bastard. His loss however, is my gain. If he hadn’t left his phone on the kitchen counter, she never would’ve seen his cheating texts and she’d still be in DC.
Hell, I should send him an engraved thank you card.
Chuckling to myself, the elevator dings, and we walk into the offices of Patten Securities. Still in her scrubs, Slate’s wife, Lilac, takes my hands in hers.
I grin and kiss her on the cheek. “Looking good, darlin’. Anytime you want a divorce, look me up.”
“Thanks. Got to run. Already late for my shift.” The beautiful blond gives me a hug. “Be good. Stay out of trouble.”
“Moi?” I feign an indignant look. “When have I ever-”
She glances at Sam. “Don’t believe anything he says.”
Taking the stairs, she’s gone in a flash.
“C’mon. Slate’s a stickler for promptness.” I glance up at the clock as I knock on the open door. “Nine AM, on the dot.”
Slate stands, just as fucking fit as he was in the service. Like all of us, he takes that shit seriously.
“Ms. Russo, please sit.” He points to a comfortably padded chair in front of his desk.
I sit next to her and Slate comes around to join us. “I trust you had no problem finding the office?”
Small talk? I grin at Slate. Seriously dude?
“I uh, I met Suds, rather he m-met me at the coffee shop.” Samantha smiles nervously, her hands clinging to her purse in her lap.
I slide a coffee to Slate and open my own. Interviews and caffeine, in my opinion, go together like grits and gravy.
We take a minute to open the lids before Slate starts in. “So, do you still want to join our little establishment?”
She nods with a milk mustache on her upper lip which I am dying to lick off.
“Good, good. I checked your references. Fifteen years with the FBI. A senior analyst. Your first boss had nothing but praise. Your second one, not so much, to be honest.”
“Yes, sir. I’m not surprised.”
“Would you like to explain?”
I glance over at Slate, eyebrows raised. I thought he had agreed to hire her. This sounds more like a second interview.
Samantha risked everything to move to New York. He must be testing her nerve under pressure. If she fails, the only work she’ll ever have is answering the phones and setting up appointments. Perhaps, he’ll let her analyze a little data in a small office cube.
She wipes her mouth, face blushing when she notices the milk on her napkin. “I am going to be perfectly honest with you, Mr. Slate.”
“Slate, just Slate. No mister.” He says it in the same manner as Bond, James Bond.
Samantha clears her throat. “Ah, okay, Slate. My position was outsourced to artificial intelligence and a team in Ireland. So I put in for another job in DC. My first assignment involved interviewing suspects, like Suds here.” Her eyes flash toward me and I grimace.
Yeah, I got her canned.
“My boss fired me on the spot.” She sips her coffee and I give her credit when she puts it down on the table and juts out her chin.
Good girl, she owned up to her failure.
It’s true. I was a complete ass during the interview but in a way, it’s Slate’s fault, as well. He told me to share nothing with the FBI so I didn’t. I suppose, in retrospect, I could’ve been a little nicer about it.
Slate looks into his laptop like he’s looking over her resume and I swallow a grin. He doesn’t need to review anything. He’s almost got a photographic memory.
“I also checked your references. They all speak highly of you. Dr. Jones sends her regards.”
As he clears his throat, Sam smiles widely. “Jenna? She’s amazing. Have you spoken to JASON? Oh my God, you’d never know he was artificial.”
“We’ve worked with her unit often. I’m glad to know you’ve had good results. Some find it difficult to deal with.”
Her brows go up. “Really? Hmm. I can’t imagine why.”
My boss regards her face for any sign of deception. Finding none, he sighs. “I also spoke to Police Chief Michael Russo and-”
“Listen, I’m real sorry about name dropping my dad. I need this job.”
“He suggested I hire you on as a receptionist and if anything happens to you, he will make damn sure we can’t do business in Manhattan.”
Her face pales. “No, no. I promise I will fix this right now.” She stands with her phone in hand.
“Sit down, Ms. Russo. If I succumbed to threats, we’d be out of business.” He eyes her and I hold my breath, wondering how long before she’s out on her pretty ass.
I got her into this mess so I feel rather responsible. “Slate, I think-“
“Shut it, Suds, or leave the room.”
Fuck. “Yes, sir.” I add as much disrespect as possible without getting fired.
He glares. “I’ll ignore that.”
Then, his eyes fixate on the tops of her bright red cheeks. “Ms. Russo. I also got a call from a Vincent Vitale. He said he would take it as a personal favor should I decide not to hire you.”
She rolls her eyes and curses under her breath. “Shit.”
Slate stands, walks to his desk, and makes a big deal out of hitting enter. “Check your email. Patten hires all his people as contractors first. If you make the grade, we’ll sign you up full time.”
“Thank you, Mr. Slate, I mean, S-S-Slate. You won’t be sorry. I promise. I’m good at what I do.”
He walks back to where she sits and holds out his hand. “Don’t thank me too soon. Find an empty cube, logon to our network, and look over our offer carefully. If you like what you see, you can fill everything out there. Shut the door on your way out.”
After she departs, I frown. “What the fuck? We never hire consultants.”
“If she’s any good, she’ll find out soon enough”
“You said you’d hire her. She moved here on your promise.”
“To be precise, I did offer her a job.”
“I assume consultant means part-time with no benefits?”
“Listen, Suds, what is it with you and this woman? Since when do you care who I hire and how? I get you slept with her but it still doesn’t mean she’s qualified. She wants to be a private detective, for God’s sake. Despite being a brilliant analyst, some part of her brain is squirrely.”
“True, but-”
“You need to dump this one, fast. Both her dad and her uncle will shoot you as soon as look at you.”
“Fuck.” I stand and grab the door handle. He’s right. The sooner I drop her, the better. She’s already getting under my skin and I never let that happen.
“It’s nothing. I felt bad she was fired on account of me.” I glare, better able to lie to him than any of his other bodyguards.
After about a minute, he grunts. “Get the fuck out of here and don’t let me hear you’re fucking
her. Understand?”
“Okay. Y’all won’t hear a thing." Laughing quietly, I close the door.
Chapter 2
Samantha Russo
Patten Securities Newest Consultant
After hitting send, my stomach churns. I was hoping for a full-time job. Sure, Slate says he’ll call me as soon as he has work but what if that doesn’t happen for weeks? I won’t be able to pay my rent.
Shit. I’m going to need another job. Damn Daddy and Uncle Vinny. Why can’t they keep their noses out of my business? This is exactly why I left the city and went to DC.
Once I’m done filling out forms, I head home on the subway. I exit onto the street in front of the bakery, dig my phone out of my purse, and call my dad.
“Precinct.” The curtness of the man’s answer tells me they’re busy.
“Can I speak to Police Chief Russo? Tell him it’s his daughter.”
A few minutes later, Dad’s booming voice echoes like he’s in a huge tunnel. “Sam, honey. What can I do for you?”
“Could you take me off speaker phone, please?”
Last time we spoke, the mayor and half the police force found out about my cheating boyfriend.
“Sure.”
When the cavernous sound disappears, I take a deep breath and begin. “Dad, did you speak with Slate?”
“He called me.”
I sigh. “What did you say?”
“I said I thought you’d make a great receptionist.”
“Oh, for crying out loud…”
“What?”
“Dad, I worked for the FBI for fifteen years as a senior analyst.”
“Behind a desk and that’s where you belong, not in the field. Have you fired your weapon since leaving home?”
“Just a sec.” Damn him for trying to sabotage my career.
I walk into the bakery and point at one of Mrs. Murphy’s famous blueberry muffins. “Coffee-cream-no-sugar-to-go.”
While she gets my order, my temper subsides. “Do not mess with my career or I’ll tell Mom everything, got it?”
Silence ensues. “Understood. I will only butt in if I think your life is in danger.”
Suds and Sam Page 1
