One More Kiss (Forsaken Sons Book 1) by Elizabeth Lennox (good summer reads .TXT) 📕

stabbing pain in his head and moved to sit behind his desk.  At least if he had his desk in front of him, he’d look important and dignified, he thought.

“So, you’re the private investigator that my acquaintances have been raving about, hmm?” he commented, shifting his slight body in the massive leather chair.  He let his eyes move up and down her figure.  Damn, twenty years!

Frankie smiled, enjoying his reaction even if she was a bit stunned by the sight of the frail man sitting behind the huge, scratched wooden desk.  At one point, that desk might have been a symbol of power.  But over the years, it had been beaten down by…whatever had caused those deep gouges.  Now, it was like the man; worn and ragged with age and bitterness.

Still, the man was obviously sick.  Plus, he was an elderly man, well into his eighties now.  She’d always loved talking to senior citizens.  They had so much to offer, so many stories to tell.  They were fascinating, and she respected anyone who had made it in this world so long.

“At your service, Mr. Meyers,” she said and moved further into the elegant office.  The furniture was expensive, but old fashioned.  Everything was made from heavy wood, polished and…ritzy.  No, that wasn’t the right word, she thought as she moved towards the man.  It might have been ritzy back in the seventies.  Now it just looked…old.

The man sputtered. Surprise?  Outrage?  Possibly.  Frankie knew that most people in her profession were male.  Being a female private investigator threw people initially.

“But…you’re a girl!”

Frankie smirked, shrugging her shoulders in the leather jacket that was her normal uniform these days.  Tee shirt, jeans, and her leather jacket.  Normally, she pulled her wild, red curls into a ponytail, but she hadn’t bothered today, feeling a bit more…carefree.

“Can you tell me why you need a private investigator, Mr. Meyers?” She asked, trying to keep the sarcasm from her tone.  As much as she liked the surprise, there was something about the way his eyes kept sliding over her figure that bothered her.  She tried to be polite and respectful, but that had to be a two way street.

The man harrumphed, obviously debating the wisdom of continuing.  Frankie didn’t mind.  If the guy didn’t want her services, she’d just call the next person who had sent her an email.  She was twenty-eight years old and had been working in this industry for the past ten years.  She loved her job, even if some of the activities were wearing a bit thing lately.  She loved the mystery of finding people and things, although the traveling was beginning to get a bit old.  She loved all things mysterious and she used to love traveling around the country, solving problems, although most of her work was done on a computer these days.

Still, she loved the thrill of finding clues on the internet and putting all of the pieces together.  She’d even worked with the police and FBI on a few cases, solving murders when a family member hired her to help out.  Even from a distance, she’d been able to figure out clues that other investigators had missed.  It was thrilling when that happened, but…well, to be honest, the thrill was waning lately.  She wanted…what?  Something more.  But what?

She pushed that thought aside for the moment.  Now was not the time to figure out what had been nagging at her subconscious for the past few months.

Maybe she was just tired, she thought and shifted on the uncomfortable leather chair.  Was this chair…smaller?  Shorter?  She glanced down at the wooden legs and…sure enough, about an inch or two had been sawed off!  Good grief, that was an old trick!  Make the person sitting in front of the desk lower so that the person behind the desk appeared taller, bigger, and more intimidating.  Damn, she’d thought that people had done away with such silly power plays!

Apparently not!

Looking up, she stared into the man’s eyes.  Was he for real?  Was he seriously drinking bourbon at…she checked the time on her cell phone…ten o’clock in the morning?  Looking at his red cheeks, she realized that he must have been sipping scotch pretty heavily.  The blood vessels on and around his nose had clearly been inflamed for years.

“You’re younger than your reputation would indicate,” the man commented, leaning back and…Oh yuck. He just licked his lips as his eyes lingered on her open leather jacket!  Ick!

Frankie wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with a sexist jerk.  She was good at her job which meant that she had a reputation that allowed her to pick and choose her cases.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, ready to stand up and leave.  “Obviously, my age and my gender are an issue for you, Mr. Meyers.  Maybe it would be better if you found someone that you can work more comfortably with.”

His red-rimmed eyes sharpened and the ice in his glass clinked as he lifted the glass to his lips.  “You’ve come highly recommended, but I’m afraid…I was expecting a man.”

Frankie hated pompous, self-righteous, sexist jerks.  So, when he hesitated to explain the reason for this meeting, Frankie simply shrugged and stood up.  “I’ll let you find someone else, then,” she turned, heading for the door.

“Wait!” the man called out sharply.

Frankie turned, looking at the man curiously.  “I’m still a woman,” she told him, her voice laced with irritation.

The man sighed.  “I heard from a friend that you are the best in the business.  And I need the best.”

Frankie lifted her eyebrows and waited, not committing to anything.  Nor would she sit down in the stupid chair again.  Only weak-minded people used power plays.  Cutting chairs down to feel superior was just pathetic.

The man glared at her, obviously irritated that Frankie wasn’t kowtowing.

Edward Meyers grumbled and took a slug of his bourbon.  “I