Daddy PI: Book 1 of the Daddy PI Casefiles Frost, J (acx book reading txt) 📖

I’m going to get mind-blowing orgasms after nine o’clock. That’s a happy thought. If we ever get there. It’s feeling very far off. And potentially unachievable. I settle for a less controversial happy thought.

“I’m going to see you again at eleven.”

He kisses my forehead. “We’ll see plenty of each other today and have lots of fun, even though I know it doesn’t feel like it right now. Enjoy your blog tour and if you leave the cabin, remember to take your phone so I can reach you.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

13

I leave her with a few more kisses, reassured that she’s not in a downward spiral. Boy, was she pissed off. And, in a snap, her anger turned inward and had her doubting us and herself. That was painful to see. I hope I’ve brought her back onto an even keel, but I’m going to need to be flexible during our lunch-time session. If the edging is damaging things between us, I’ll have to be prepared to do something else.

I like edging my bottoms, but only when it works for both of us. It wasn’t working for her in a big way. With the exception of the last minute or two, she didn’t seem to even enjoy the stimulation. She was too pre-occupied with the orgasm restriction, even when she wasn’t that close. This might be the down-side of her deep desire to please me: becoming consumed by the fear of breaking a rule. She was anxious over breakfast and I thought I’d reassured her, but maybe it wasn’t enough. I need to remind her that I’m not setting her up to fail; this is supposed to be a reward. I’ve worked a little orgasm training into it, sure, but mostly this is just supposed to be fun day where we fool around a lot and increase the circulation through her genitals so she heals faster. It was never intended to make her so angry that she starts doubting either of us.

As I pull on a blazer and retrieve my laptop and notebook from the room safe, I consider whether this might also be a reaction to last night. It was an intense scene. Although I don’t think she remembers telling me about her feelings, she may be feeling excessively vulnerable today. I haven’t seen her transmute vulnerability to anger before, but we’re still learning about each other. Something to explore later.

For now, I put thoughts of the failed scene aside to focus on finding the source of the brick. I have a little time before my first interview, and I spend it on the exciting task of downloading and reviewing the receipts that the Pink Pearl IT guys have sent me for all the victims.

Before I even get through the second victim’s bills, there’s a clear pattern.

The security guard, Clifford Ashton, is right on time. Despite his threat, or maybe because of my parting shot, Dan Reyes doesn’t show up. I take the guard through some “getting to know you” questions, during which I’m really evaluating his honesty. No evasions, no conflicting body language. No sign of a guilty conscience. I move on to recap him finding the brick in my bag yesterday. Ashton’s answers show how heavily Pink Pearl’s security relies on the sniffer dogs. He noticed the prescription bottle when he scanned my bag, but he wouldn’t have stopped me if the dog hadn’t alerted him. When I ask him what substances the dogs are trained to sniff for, Ashton just says, “Everything.”

He himself is trained to turn over anything the dog flags to his security supervisor. Ashton wouldn’t have tried to identify what was in the pill bottle on his own. He says he assumed it was ecstasy, since that seems to be the passengers’ drug of choice.

I ask him how often he catches a passenger trying to bring E aboard.

He chuckles. “Weekly.”

No one’s mentioned that in the briefings I’ve had from Pink Pearl, but I appreciate they’re more concerned about a kilo of cocaine or heroin being smuggled aboard than a few tabs of ecstasy. Since the dogs are catching even those few tabs regularly, they have some reason to rely on the dogs. But it’s never a good idea to become complacent. I make a note to suggest random spot checks with more obscure drugs to Ed Isaak.

I ask Ashton the same hypothetical I put to Reyes. “How would you get pills aboard to distribute if he wanted to?”

He scratches his chin for a minute, then shrugs. “Probably with the meds.”

“What meds?”

“We bring a lot of meds aboard. Everything from anti-sea-sickness pills which y’all are going to be popping like breath mints by dinner time.” He cocks a thumb at my cabin window, which is filled with darkening thunderheads. “To Z-paks and lisinopril. Someone with heart disease loses their luggage? We don’t want to send ‘em home. There’s pretty much a full pharmacy aboard. If I was going to bring something in, I’d bring it in with the meds.”

That makes much more sense than Reyes’s heads of lettuce.

“Medical staff would catch it, though, right?” I ask.

Another shrug. “Probably not. Meds come through security like everything else. We check them in. Pursers move them to where they’re supposed to go. Anti-sea-sickness pills, non-prescription painkillers, that kind of thing, they’re not handled by the medical staff. Anyone can dispense those. Prescription meds go to the medical staff, sure, but they’ve got enough to do without having to keep track of the Dramamine.”

Damn, that’s an open door. “Where are those drugs kept, the non-prescription ones?”

“Purser’s storage on C-deck, behind the spa. Days like this, they’ll bring the anti-sea-sickness tablets out and have a bowl at the pursers’ stations and the bars. Otherwise, they’re kept in storage.”

“Does someone keep track of how much the pursers dispense?”

“Chief purser. We’re all given training on how many individual pills we can give out, and we log it by room number. You can OD