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

Her breathing stays slow and even. Her pupil dilation doesn’t change. She’s okay.

“Before Rick comes back down, first impressions? You may elaborate and drop the honorific until I tell you not to.”

“Someone really, really doesn’t like Rick very much,” she says softly.

“Uh-huh.” I wait and let her think.

She tips her head to the side as she considers. “They’re all sexual. All of a man and a woman. I know Rick’s done some guy-on-guy porn, but there aren’t any pictures of that. This is about his relationships with women.”

“Yes,” I say, to validate her conclusion. “Anything else?”

“None of the bodies are complete. The heads are cut off, or the arms, or the legs. It reduces the bodies to objects. It’s depersonalizing.”

Yes, it is, and that’s dangerous. I’ve read enough criminal studies to understand that if you depersonalize someone, it makes it that much easier to commit violence against them. That’s not where I want Rick’s stalker going.

“Good. Anything else?”

“In the ones with the skull, the male figure’s doing something kinky. Belting or the crop or watersports. Hurting and humiliating his partner. And it’s a bad skull. Scary. Evil.”

This what I value so much about another pair of eyes, particularly Emily’s. That’s a pattern I didn’t see.

“Big picture? What message do you think it’s sending?”

Emily’s eyes were slightly unfocused, looking off into the middle distance. Now, they sharpen as she looks up at me. “Rick’s kinks are destroying him. That’s what it says to me.”

“Good girl. That was very helpful, sweetie. Back down to your knees. No more elaborating.” I take my phone out and take pictures of the box, inside and out, from several angles.

Once I’ve gotten a really clear set of images, I tuck my phone away, seal the box, and wash my hands, just as a precaution. Then I head towards the living room, walking slowly, so Emily can keep up. I drop onto one of Rick’s white leather couches, which look more comfortable than they actually are. Emily shuffles between the couch and glass and chrome table until she’s at my knee, then settles in the Nadu position, facing me. I stroke her head but don’t say anything, letting both of our minds settle.

Rick appears ten minutes later, wearing a bathrobe open over designer sweatpants. He throws himself down on the couch opposite me. “What’d you think? That’s some fucked-up shit, right?”

“Uh-huh. I want you to report it to the police.”

Rick raises his hands and eyes to the ceiling. “If I’d wanted the police involved, I wouldn’t have called you. What the hell am I paying you for?”

“You’re paying me for my expertise. And your expert is telling you that it’s time to involve the police. The stalker’s escalating. He or she knows where you live. Whatever else you want to say about that box, whatever message the stalker’s trying to send, it’s a threat. Threats get reported to the police, Rick.”

“Fuck.” Rick runs his hands through his hair.

“It won’t be a priority for them. I’ll continue to work with Max to track down Laurel Radford. We’ll get it sorted. But this has to get reported to the police. If this escalates to a physical confrontation, you have to be able to say you acted in self-defense. This is for your protection, Rick. You’ve got to see that.”

He slumps into the couch dramatically. “Sure.”

“Good. When Manny gets back, we’ll hand off. He’ll make the report. Depending on how understaffed they are, they’ll either send someone to interview you and collect the box, or they’ll ask you to come in and make the report. Manny’ll walk you through it.”

“What do I say about the rape shit?”

“Max has EvonneBringsTheTruth’s website down.” I take my phone out and waggle it at him, referring to the confirmation email Max sent us all this morning. “Mention what’s happening on your social media accounts. If they ask about the images, make sure you differentiate between the pictures with Laurel, which were published without your consent, and the porn stills. The porn was all shot in California, right?”

Rick nods. “I’m not that stupid.”

“Then they’ve got nothing on you. Let’s get them on your side.”

“All right.” Rick tips his head back against the couch. “You know, I’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket.”

As I’m about to respond, there’s a click of a lock and a bustle of noise from the hallway.

“Roo-boo, I’ve brought your mail,” a woman calls.

I lift an eyebrow at Rick. “Roo-boo?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Rick rises from the couch, disappears into the hallway for a moment and returns trailing his manager, Glory.

I stand and rest my hand on the top of Emily’s head, so she knows to stay in position. “Hey, Glory, nice to see you.”

“Logan.” She bustles over to me, her semi-sheer orange and midnight-blue caftan flowing over her generous curves. She leans in to give me an air-kiss on each cheek, then steps back. “Who is this?”

That’s right. Glory hasn’t met Emily.

“This is my girlfriend, Emily. She’s in High Protocol, so please don’t try to speak to her or touch her.”

Glory’s face puckers for second before she plasters on a smile. “Absolutely. So, what are we going to do about Rick’s little problem, hmm?”

I watch her for a second, unsure of what that look meant. Glory’s managed Rick for over a year; surely, she knows enough about kink to recognize High Protocol. When her smile doesn’t waver, I gesture to the couch, keeping Emily on my far side.

After we all sit down, I recap my advice to Rick.

Glory folds her hands over her knees and shrugs in a flutter of silk. “Do you really think bringing this to the police’s attention is a good idea?”

“I do,” I tell her firmly. “With EvonneBringsTheTruth’s site down—"

“EvonneBringsTheTruth’s site is down?” Glory asks, her brown eyes going wide with surprise. “That was fast work.”

“My IT guy is damn good,” I say.

“Well, okay then.” She waves her hand, bracelets jangling, rings flashing. “Whatever you think is best.”

“Way to have my six,” Rick groans. “You were supposed