The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) π
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The Daddy P.I. CasefilesThe First Collection
E. J. Frost
The Daddy P.I. Casefiles
The First Collection
Copyright Β© 2019-2021 E. J. Frost
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the written permission of the author. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable for criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, business establishments or organizations is strictly coincidental.
WARNING: These novels contain mature themes which may considered offensive by some readers. This collection is for sale to adults only, as defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made.
DISCLAIMER: These novels contain descriptions of practices which may be injurious to the practitionerβs health. They are not intended as a guide or handbook. The author is not responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from the use or demonstration of the acts or practices contained in these books.
The quotation from Robert Frostβs βFire and Iceβ (1923) is in the public domain.
The quotation from Sherlock Holmes, from βThe Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans,β in His Last Bow (1917), is in the public domain.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other electronic means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. By purchasing an authorized edition, you are supporting the authorβs rights and encouraging the creation of more books. Thank you!
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Contents
Daddy P.I. 0.5: Negotiation
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Daddy P.I. 1.0
Chapter 1
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
Daddy P.I. 2.0
Chapter 1
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
The Case of the Missing Collar
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Extras
Glossary of Slang and Unusual Terms
Logan and Emilyβs Contract
Missing Ink
About the Author
Other Books by E. J. Frost
Chapter One Logan
Upstate New York on a Saturday afternoon. Not where I should be.
I should be on the way to Los Angeles, or at least getting ready for the trip: emailing my contacts on the Left Coast, researching my clientβs business.
I should be videoconferencing with Miranda, giving her the prΓ©cis Iβve got on the five victims and toxicology reports. Bouncing ideas off her on how to interview the four survivors and the widow, who still wonβt answer my calls or emails, and the best way to approach the investigation on the boat. I should be packing her favorite toys and thinking about how to spend our downtime on the cruise together.
Instead, Iβm in upstate New York and Mirβs at home in London. Probably planning her goddamn baby shower. While I try desperately to replace her.
At a kink expo.
I make another circuit of the main convention hall, passing a table of sex toys, most of which I already own. The prospects are dismal. One, to be exact: a curvy little redhead who is staffing a table for a local piercing studio. Sheβs advertizing its services so heavily I have trouble making out her features. I didnβt actually know you could tattoo your upper lip. Iβd need to scrub her up before I take her on the boat. Sheβd stick out like a sore thumb among the hard-body Californian crowd.
A woman walks up behind the redhead and kisses her on the back of her tattooed neck.
Fuck, my radarβs malfunctioning.
Iβm usually better at identifying women who share my sexual preference, even if a match with my particular set of kinks can be hard to spot. But, then, a kink expo isnβt my usual fishing grounds. I glance around the brightly lit hall, cluttered with kiosks, stands, banners, tables and chairs. A million miles away from the candlelit interior of my club with its dark wood, cool leather and warm flesh, where I usually look for partners. The people swirling through the hall, in various stages of undress, costumes, and fetish-wear, are a million miles away from the women I look for. Too bad looking for a partner at my club is . . . complicated right now.
This was a mistake. I might have to call Sophia and apologize.
I rock up onto my toes with a creak of my boots at the thought. Ten days on a cruise ship with Sophia will have me jumping overboard.
A small arrow over an open doorway catches my attention. Hall B.
Well, it canβt hurt to look.
I follow the arrow.
* * *
Hall Bβs smaller than the main floor, with fewer flashy kiosks. Itβs packed tighter than Hall A, both because the roomβs smaller, and because the center of the roomβs taken up with tables and chairs, populated by expo-goers taking a load off. Maybe thatβs why it takes me a full circuit of the hall to spot her.
When I do, my internal radar pings loud and clear. Bingo.
Sheβs sitting by herself at a small table sheβs draped with a white cloth. Her headβs bent over a book; dark brown hair in a plait down her back, secured by a floppy, white silk bow. Her tableβs empty. Sheβs not selling anything. Thereβs just a handwritten sign, printed in neat capitals, pinned to the front of the table. Iβm at a bad angle to read it, so I move past, taking in her face: a pale oval, a dotting of freckles across her nose, long brown lashes shading her eyes. No obvious makeup.
On the second lap, I get a look at her sign. Nothing dissuades me, although I havenβt tried her particular kink. I start angling toward her on the third lap, but a man beats me to her table.
I turn, pretending to browse a
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