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

a dozen stalking cases. Every single one of them has escalated into a physical confrontation, if not violence, Rick. Every single one. You might be the exception, but I’m not hopeful. You said you met this girl on Fire Island? She could live right around the fucking corner. You think I’m wrong? That she won’t come after you in person if we manage to shut down this online shit? After she’s gotten a taste of revenge? Fine. It’s your life, your decision. I’ve given you my advice.”

“I hate when you try to top me, man, you know that? Save it for Emily.” He waves his hands around his head the way he always does right before he capitulates. “Just make sure you send an estimate to Glory.”

“I will. Get me that list today, huh? And don’t step out of your door again without your panic button. I’ll tell Manny he’s on you for public events. I know you already do most of your shopping online, but now’s not the time to develop a sudden interest in bloody boutiqueing.” I check the time on my phone. “I’ve got to run.” Particularly if I’m going to do a cost estimate for Rick’s manager and call my IT guy before I take Emily to the park.

“You don’t have time for lunch? I figured I’d order in.”

“Sorry, mate, not today.” I don’t have time, and I’m not really in the mood to hang with him right now. But it’s probably been hard for him to admit this to me, so I throw him a line. “You got plans for the Yankees game on Sunday?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Come over and watch it with us. I’ll invite Manny and Jen and a couple of the subs from Blunts. Emily can make you a wheat grass margarita.”

“Fuck that. I’ll bring what I want to drink. And make sure Lucy’s there. I still can’t believe you blew it with Rachel, but blondie’s a close second, even if she won’t let me fuck her yet.”

She won’t? Lucy has a hard limit on anal, I know, but I’ve never known her to refuse other types of sex. I’ll have to ask her what her concerns about Rick are and see if they give me any insight into this situation.

“Sure. I’ll text you a time. Bring ice cream.”

“Ice cream? Emily’ll have my nuts. I thought you weren’t allowed anything but kale and shit.”

I chuckle. “I’m not. That’s why you’re bringing it. She won’t yell at you. See you Sunday, mate. And try to chill out. We’ll get on top of this.” I rise and clap him on the shoulder.

I double-check his house system as he shows me out. Everything’s working as it should, but I still wonder if I shouldn’t include some upgrades in my estimate for Glory. Rick’ll probably think I’m overreacting. Maybe I am. I was a paranoid bastard before I got my head bashed in. But something about this has my Spidey-sense tingling, and I’ve learned over the years not to ignore its warning. If that means Rick’s got to live at DefCon One for a while, so be it. My last client who didn’t take their stalker seriously ended up with permanent burn scars, and she was fucking lucky. Rick may not be my favorite person right now, but I don’t want that to be him.

* * *

Emily’s in the kitchen when I get back. Juicing me a damn kale and carrot smoothie.

Her eyes light up when I walk in, and she offers me a shy smile along with a sheaf of papers on which she’s written out her lines in glittery, purple ink. Good girl. While she finishes making the smoothie, I check over her lines, counting the sets of her five-line mantra.

I came up with the mantra while we were on the train back from San Diego. I was still on heavy painkillers, sleeping more than I was awake, and Emily was having to deal with so much on her own. Even though she had support from Maude and Javier, I could see her struggling, so I gave her the mantra to remind her that even when I wasn’t awake, I was with her. It worked a treat. She settled immediately, and I’ve heard her whisper it to herself during stressful moments since we’ve been back. She made a poster of it: big, curling letters and little pictures around each word, flowers and birds and rainbows. I got it framed and we put it up on the wall in my old bedroom, then renovated the room around it into her little room: repainting and bringing her day bed, desk, puzzle table, puppet theater, books, comics, stuffies, and cushions down from Syracuse. I like her mantra so much I occasionally go into her little room even when she’s not in there to read it and smile to myself.

I belong to my daddy.

Every inch of me.

My daddy holds me in his hands.

I am safe with my daddy.

Always and forever.

She’s written it out one hundred and ten times, which is so Emily. She always gives me that little bit more. I’m so proud of her, and so proud to be her daddy.

Even when she’s making me drink bloody kale. I gulp the disgusting goop down when she gives it to me, put the empty glass in the sink, pull her into my arms, and kiss her forehead. “I love you, little girl.”

She snuggles into me. “I love you, too, Daddy. Is Rick okay?”

“Uh-huh. Emmy, why don’t you call him Master Rick? He’s a Dom, just like Niall and Javier. You call them Master.”

She shrugs. “I know, but he doesn’t act very domly. I mean, it’s all about him, isn’t it?”

Interesting that she sees him that way. I flick the tip of her nose. “What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t be mad? I know he’s your friend.”

“I’ll never be mad at you for being honest with me, little love. I’m curious. Tell me what you think.”

“He’s a narcissist, Daddy.