The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection Frost, J (good beach reads .TXT) 📖

Uht-oh. I don’t want to get between Logan and his sister. Although I would really, really love to have Lizbeth here. It’s not so much that I think Miranda’s going to be horrible to me, although she wasn’t at all nice the times we spoke on the phone after Logan was injured. She’s probably just going to be very British. Which is bad enough. But Lizbeth is a force of nature, and it would be nice to see her tornado all over Miranda.

I turn in Daddy’s lap so I can look at him and give a helpless shrug.

He sighs. “Right.”

“The twins start drama camp tomorrow. I’ll drive straight up as soon as I drop them off and be there by noon.”

Daddy groans. “Lizbeth, give me a break. We’ve got a busy morning. I’m not even picking up Miranda from the airport until gone two. Come for tea, huh?”

Lizbeth huffs for a while, but finally agrees that she’ll wait until afternoon and be in the City before rush hour.

Logan rolls his eyes at me and I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle as Daddy agrees.

After we say goodbye, I realize we didn’t even talk about the Disney trip, but I suppose there will be time for that while Lizbeth is here. Before she arrives, I’m going to need to put in a grocery order, but there’ll be time for that, too. First, a bath, and then a foot rub, and if I’m at my most persuasive, a blow job, to relax my stressed daddy.

Because as much as my daddy takes care of me, a little takes care of her daddy, too.

Chapter Eight Logan

After Emily falls asleep, I lie next to her, my head propped on a pillow, watching her.

I’ve watched many women sleep over the years. Some in my bed. Some in theirs. Sometimes, I’ve watched in trepidation, wondering what I’d say when they woke. Sometimes, I’ve watched impatiently, waiting for them to recover so we could play again. Most, I’ve watched affectionately.

None have I ever watched with the crashing, crushing adoration that I feel as I watch Emily sleep.

Has anyone ever given me what she does? Unwavering devotion. Unflinching tenderness. Uncompromising trust. As much as her offer to pay my medical bills made me squirm, her generosity steam-rolled me, flattening every objection. I set some conditions on accepting the money as we sat in the bath, lazily washing each other and playing with her bath crayons. It’s a loan, not a gift. I’ll pay her back monthly. I’ll draw up a new will so that she’s fully repaid if something happens to me. Push-pins defining the margins of something so large it still has me reeling as I lie next to her, tracing the dark arcs of her eyelashes against her pink cheeks with my eyes. Watching the tiny wobble of her lower lip as she puffs out soft breaths. Each detail lodges under my breastbone like an ice needle, piercing and painful in its intensity.

I’m not built for this emotion. I’m fine at a more superficial level: affection, desire, occasional forays into love. But not this intensity. I don’t know what to do with it. The rewards I’ve given her, the rewards I have planned for her, are nowhere near enough. The only thing that might be enough is getting my ring on her finger, but even that seems like a selfish gesture in the face of her generosity. What does she need? A daddy. I know that. But in this moment, being her daddy, providing her a safe haven to be little, doesn’t seem anywhere near enough.

I check the time on the clock I’ve put next to my side of the bed since I no longer wear the watch Miranda gave me. It’s not yet ten in California, but Niall might be up, although he likes a lie-in on a Sunday. I slide away from Emily, tuck her fuzzy around her to keep her warm in the air-conditioned room, and slip downstairs.

Niall doesn’t answer his phone, and since it’s still early his time, I only let it ring three times before I hang up.

While I’m at my desk, without any hope of an answer, I dial Dovie Donegan. Again.

“Mr. Longlin, I’m so, so sorry,” she says as she picks up.

The name is similar enough to my own that it takes me a second to process before I correct her. “This is James Logan. I left you a couple of messages.”

“What? Oh. Sorry. My phone was stolen and I just got this one to replace it. I’m still downloading all my data. I thought you were my boss.” She pauses and I can hear her mentally regrouping. “Who did you say you were?”

“James Logan. I’m an investigator working for Rick Errol. Do you remember Mr. Errol?”

“Um. Oh.” She’s silent for so long I almost leap in to fill the silence, but I want to see where she goes with it. Or, maybe, where her guilt takes her, because this silence feels thick and pregnant. “Yes, I guess. It was that party last summer, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, on Fire Island. I understand you were there with Damon Tiger and Laurel, mmm, sorry, what’s her name?”

“Radford,” Dovie supplies automatically.

Gotcha. “Right, Laurel Radford. Rick would really like to reconnect with Laurel. Do you have a number where I could reach her?”

“Um, I don’t know if I should give her number out. I mean, what’s this all about?”

“She made a big impression on Rick. He’d like to see her again.”

“It was a year ago, you know. And Laurel’s taken. Engaged, actually. She and Jiro just got engaged.”

“That’s great. I’m sure Rick would like to congratulate her. Maybe send the happy couple a gift.”

There’s another long silence before she finally says, “He feels guilty, doesn’t he? For slapping her? He should. It was a dick move.”

“He does,” I say, sensing a way in. “He’d really like to make it up to her.”

“I don’t know why