The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) π
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βOh, is there dancing?β
Of course, thereβs dancing. Thereβs everything on this insanely fancy ship. Iβm much less interested in dancing than watching scenes, though. I send a pleading look at Logan.
βSorry, weβll have to take a rain-check on dancing,β he says. βWeβve signed up for a scene and then itβs an early night. Weβre still adjusting to the time change.β
βOf course,β Teresa demurs. βMake time for the nightclub, though, while youβre aboard. Master Miki, the D.J., is fantastic. So much better than the clubs Michael tries to drag me to in L.A.β
Her husband protests. βI have never dragged you to a club in L.A.β
βTrue. I usually drag you,β Teresa admits with a grin. βBut if you did, Master Miki would still be better. Admit it, darling, your taste is dated. Music ended for you in the eighties.β
Dr. Lehmann holds up his hands. βMusic ended for everyone in the eighties. Thereβs been absolutely nothing worth listening to since Lennon died.β
I glance at Logan and giggle. He gives me an indulgent smile and waves off the waiter who is taking dessert and drinks orders. I finish my water and fold up my napkin, so Logan knows Iβm ready to leave whenever he is.
βLooks like youβre staging a retreat, Mr. Logan,β the snide man, Dan Reyes, says from across the table, and itβs definitely not a question. He hasnβt been obtrusive about it, but heβs been watching Logan and me while we listened to the Lehmannsβ stories.
βEast Coast time,β Logan says easily. βBesides, I need to be well-rested for tomorrow. I donβt want to miss a thing.β
Teresa starts to say something about the activities on the boat during sea days, but I tune her out as I feel the tension between Logan and Dan Reyes rise. Itβs snapping, electric. Like the air before a dog fight.
βNot worth your time, son,β Chief Licence murmurs to Logan.
Logan claps him on the shoulder. βA cigar? Iβd love one.β
βCuban?β The chiefβs blue irises disappear in his squint.
βSounds good to me,β Logan says. He rises and extends his hand to me. I take it and he holds my chair as I rise, before he turns to Captain Lopez. βCaptain, thank you so much for having us.β
She turns from her conversation with the gay couple across the table. βLogan and Emily, such a pleasure, I hope you enjoy your cruise and donβt be strangers. I have a captainβs lunch after the shore-day in Cabo. Iβd be delighted if you both joined me.β
βThank you, maβam, weβll see you there,β Logan says. I smile at the captain. Sheβs not a friend-in-the-making like Vashi and Teresa, but I like her unassuming authority a great deal.
As Logan collects his jacket from the back of his chair, I squeeze his hand. βSir, may I see if Teresaβs free tomorrow?β
Logan chuckles. βAm I arranging another girly date, baby doll?β
βPlease, Sir.β
βTeresa, Michael, if youβre not doing anything for lunch tomorrow, weβll be at the two oβclock seating and would love to see you,β he says to them.
Dr. Lehmann, who is still watching Dan Reyes as though he expects the man to leap out of his chair and lunge at Logan, nods. βSee you then. Enjoy your evening.β
I smile at them and Teresa gives me a broad smile back as Logan leads me away.
Chief Licence falls in on my other side as we cross the dining room. βMay she?β he asks Logan, holding his elbow out for me.
Logan nods and I take the chiefβs arm. Heβs not as big as Logan, but heβs probably six feet and not too far off Loganβs weight, although some of it has settled around his middle. Even in my platform sandals, Iβm a head shorter than the two men, and feel like a Skipper doll sandwiched between two G.I. Joes.
Itβs not the worst feeling.
They escort me out to the deck. Iβm surprised to see the ocean all around us, instead of the busy port. The boatβs gotten underway without me even noticing. Thereβs none of the rocking I associated with being out at sea; in fact, I wouldnβt know we were moving if it wasnβt for the breeze and the swishy sound of the waves against the hull. People stroll past us, enjoying the balmy breeze and azure sky. Theyβre all wearing clothes. I guess weβre not in international waters yet. Or maybe itβs too cool with the breeze to streak outside.
The men stop at the shipβs polished wooden rail. Logan reaches into his breast pocket and takes out a silver case. When he pops it open, there are four cigars nestled within, along with a funny little metal thing that looks like could be used for cutting off toes, and a box of wooden matches.
Fascinated, I watch Logan prepare the cigar. Iβve read about cigar smoking, of course, because it was an obsession for eighteenth-century gentlemen. But Iβve never seen it done. Logan cuts off the end with the toe-cutter-thingy, then offers the cut cigar to Chief Licence, who takes it with a smile, puts it to his mouth and holds it, not in the classic cigarette pose, but between his thumb and second finger. I wish I had a notebook with me; thereβs so much about tonight I want to remember in detail.
Logan cuts his own cigar, then lights a match, and holds it first to the chiefβs cigar, until the tip glows red and he puffs out a breath of blue smoke. Logan lights his own cigar before he tosses the match overboard, tucks the silver case away, and gestures to me.
I go to him. He twirls his finger in the air. I turn around and when he murmurs βwrists,β cross my wrists in the small of my back. Even before he touches me, I feel the pulsing low in my belly, the dreamy calm fuzzing my thoughts. His fingers close around my wrists, restraining me firmly. I relax my shoulders and when he tucks me against his side, lean into his
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