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

He’s such a bloody cop.

“If I could tell you without her Dom’s permission, I would have told you already. Let me find someone to keep an eye on Emily and we can call him.”

“We’ll do it on the drive to Queens,” Theo says, waving a hand. “What’s Miss Radford like?”

“Brave. Honest. Vulnerable.”

Theo grunts.

“When you talk with her, you’re going to hate Rick even more. He did a scene with her without any negotiation or a safe word. He marked her. He slapped her in the face after he got off. She’s kind and caring and a little broken and you’re going to hate his bloody guts. Just listen to her when she says it was consensual.”

Theo scrubs his hands over his face. “Seriously?”

“I’m just trying to prepare you. Rick was not my favorite person after I got off the phone with her. He was an asshole. He is an asshole, okay? But that doesn’t make him a rapist.”

“You’re not selling this to me.”

“I’m not trying to sell you anything. An eye-witness and the potential victim both say there was consent.”

“Says you.”

“Laurel and her Dom will be here on Friday. You can ask her yourself.”

“She’s coming up from DC? How’d you swing that?”

“I asked.” I lean over and kiss my sleeping submissive’s temple. “She wants to meet Emily.”

Theo chuckles. “Your subbie’s a secret weapon.”

I give Emily another soft kiss. “That she is.”

* * *

Theo doesn’t need to flash his badge to get us through Dovie Donegan’s door. Her roommate lets us in their two-bedroom walk-up on Sixty-third Drive without even asking for ID.

Dovie’s blonde roommate introduces herself as Bianca, “call me Bee,” and makes googly eyes at Theo from the moment she lets us through the door. I guess the bastard is better looking than I am. Or maybe I already look taken.

We sit on a mustard yellow three-seater that fits with all the rest of the Ikea-clone furniture in the apartment. Bee offers us red wine while she tells us that Dovie’s on the way from the train station with take-out.

When Bee returns with a big bottle of Italian red, she sits down across from us, tucks her bare feet under her and asks, “Are you both from Dovie’s club?”

Theo glances at me, letting me take the lead.

I slide forward on the couch and let my hands dangle between my knees to show how harmless I am. “What club is that, Bee?”

She gives me a smile that has to have benefitted from years of orthodontics. “It’s okay. She told me all about it. I know it’s supposed to be secret, but I promise I won’t tell anyone. I mean, it’s not for me, the threesome thing, but if you guys are into it, that’s totally cool.”

“I’m glad you’re so open-minded,” Theo says. “You didn’t have any interest in going to the club yourself? Checking it out?”

She giggles and turns a nice shade of pink. “I mean, are you asking?”

Theo holds out his palm in an inviting gesture.

Their flirtation is interrupted by a woman bustling through the door with an armful of fragrant parcels. Smells like Chinese.

Dovie Donegan, I presume.

Dovie’s raven-haired to Bee’s blonde, but otherwise just as much of a former cheerleader as her roommate: a touch too well-groomed, eye-catching in a fitted, silk pantsuit, a designer watch on her wrist and a designer bag over her shoulder. She’s wearing spike heels despite her commute. She’s all smiles until she sees us sitting on the couch. Then her face closes.

“Hi, who are you?” she asks.

“Oh.” Bee stands up from her chair. “I thought they were from your club.”

Dovie’s face closes further, becoming a frozen mask. “No.”

I stand and offer her my hand. “James Logan.”

She sets her bags down on the coffee table with a thunk. “I guess I shouldn’t have blocked you.”

“Have you had a chance to speak with Laurel in the last day or two?”

Dovie nods, the tips of her bob brushing her jaw. “She told me she’s coming up on Friday. And staying with you, which I think is kind of odd, but I guess you’re in the City.”

“East Village,” I confirm.

“Whatever. We don’t have a guest room, so I guess it makes sense, but it still seems strange. Sorry, I’m being rude.” She holds her hand out to Theo without shaking my hand, which I let drop back to my side. “Dovie Donegan.”

“Theo D’Andrea. NYPD.”

Dovie’s blues shoot to me. “You said you were a private investigator.”

“I am.”

“This is still Mr. Logan’s investigation,” Theo offers. “I’m just here as an observer.”

Dovie rubs her fingertips over her lips and turns to pace the room. “If Laurel’s agreed to speak with you, I don’t see what you need from me.”

“I’d like to talk with you about the party. What you remember. And the pictures you took.”

She turns sharply and glares at me. Bingo.

“What about them?”

I take a stab in the dark, but it’s a niggle that’s been bothering me for a while. “Who you sold them to.”

All the blood drains out of her face, leaving her a strange orangey-gray. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That’s lie number one.

“We can talk more about that, but I don’t think Bee needs to hear,” I say. Dovie may have told her roomie about her underground ménage club, but I’m pretty sure she will not want to admit the details of the Fire Island sexcapade in front of Bee. I need to get Dovie alone if I’m going to get the truth out of her. “Can Detective D’Andrea and I take you out for a coffee?”

“Don’t mind me,” Bee says, bouncing up from her chair again. “I’ll just eat this in my room.”

Bee gathers up one of the bags and trots off into the back of the apartment. A door closes. Not slamming, but loud enough we all hear it.

Dovie sinks down on the chair Bee’s vacated and drags the take-out bag towards her. “Do you mind if I eat? It’s been a long day and