The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) 📕

birth to a baby with brown hair and brown eyes? He knows what I look like. And she went to fucking medical school, so it’s not like she doesn’t understand genetics.”

I rub his arm as I process this. “Could she have wanted to get pregnant by you as a way to get out of her marriage?”

That’s the only motivation I can come up with. And after creating motivations for hundreds of characters, it’s something I’m pretty good at.

He shakes his head. “She didn’t need to do anything like that. If she’d wanted out, all she had to do was say the word. I’d have supported her every step of the way.”

That’s not the same thing as an eject-button.

“She’s a submissive, right?” I ask. “It can be really, really hard for a subbie to end a relationship. I know. I should have ended my marriage years before I did. Maybe she couldn’t see any other way to get out.”

Logan shakes his head as he dries his hands. He pockets the clean plug and I wonder when I’m going to see it again. The very achy-bottomed part of me hopes it’s not for at least twenty-four hours, but the part of me that fell asleep before I had another orgasm kind of hopes it’s sooner.

“Sweetie,” he says. “I don’t have it in me to empathize with her right now.”

Of course, he doesn’t. It’s too soon to get him to see her perspective. And why should I? I was well on the way to hating her already, stupid, perfect sub that she was. Although, it’s looking like she’s really very far from perfect.

“I’m not saying you should feel sorry for her. Not at all. What she’s done is terrible. How did you find out? Something about an email?”

“Yeah. Some email. Worst fucking thing I’ve ever read.”

I stroke his arm, wishing I could offer him something more than comfort. I want a magic wand to heal him. Expelliarmus Miranda, and all the hurt would whizz out of his heart.

“Daddy, can I see it?” I ask hesitantly.

I want to help. I don’t have a magic wand but I can share the pain with him. I don’t want to overstep, though, when we’re still just getting to know each other.

“You sure?” He tilts his head as he looks down at me. His eyes aren’t wolfy. His pupils are tightly contracted. Black points of pain. “It’s ugly, baby doll.”

Even now, he’s protecting me. I go up on my tiptoes and kiss that warm spot under his jaw. “Yes. If it’s okay with you.”

“Let me get my laptop. My cabin’s even colder than it was an hour ago. I swear they’re trying to freeze me out, and I don’t think pirate-ice-lolly would be a fun game for you.”

“Ta, Daddy.”

I trail him out of the bathroom and sit down on my bed while he moves through the connecting door. He’s carrying himself differently. He’s still military-straight, shoulders squared, but his gut is drawn in so tightly it looks like he’s been on a starvation diet. My poor, wounded daddy. But even in the midst of his hurt, he’s thinking of me, trying to shield me. I know he must have been like this with Miranda. It’s who he is. How could she do this to him?

He returns in a minute, holding his laptop. He sets it down beside me on the bed and immediately draws me back into his lap. I hug him tightly, giving him the comfort he needs, as I read the open email.

Hot tears fill my eyes as my bottom lip starts to tremble.

Logan catches my chin and lifts my face. “Baby doll, don’t cry. I didn’t show it to you to make you cry.”

I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze him as tight as I can. “I’m crying for you. That’s so awful!”

Logan forces a humorless chuckle. “Some would say I had that coming.”

“No, you do not. No one has the right to be so horrible, no matter how angry he is.” If he’s like that with Miranda, I can’t blame her for grasping any parachute out of her marriage, even one with this many holes in it. “Is he really like that? Would he try to hurt the baby?”

Logan shrugs. “I wouldn’t have thought so. He comes across as reserved in person. But I’ve only met him a handful of times, and without wanting to sound like the world’s biggest cynic, people who seem polite on the surface can be serial killers underneath.”

“You’ve met him? Wasn’t that kind of weird?”

“Yes,” Logan admits. “He asked to meet me after I’d been seeing Mir for a few months. He came to New York for a conference, and we met up for coffee. That was okay. We didn’t talk about anything real. Just got a feel for each other. He seemed okay, even though we didn’t have anything in common other than Mir. Not even sports. Then he asked to come over to see my dungeon. That was uncomfortable. Showing him the cuffs and chains and floggers that I’d used on his wife was pretty surreal. But I figured he just wanted to make sure I was being safe. I actually thought he was a good husband.”

First, that’s too weird. Second, Logan has a dungeon in his house? Why didn’t I get to see it?

“And he was okay with everything?” I ask. “I mean, after he saw your dungeon, he was okay with you seeing Miranda?”

Logan reaches over my shoulder to rub the bridge of his nose, and I wonder if this is giving him a headache. I’d be on a one-way trip to Migraine City if I were in his place.

“It’s funny. He actually thanked me. About six months later, when I was in England on a job, he showed up at my hotel and said he wanted to buy me a drink. Miranda had just left about an hour before, and I was sure he was there to deck me.