“Well, I just did what I was asked to do, not a big deal.”
“You saved my life, Liam; don’t sell yourself short.”
“I’ll try,” I said. “But anyway, you say life is pretty at ease, but this letter would suggest otherwise. What the hell were you doing up in my neck of the woods shagging random mountain men? And to then get pregnant? That seems like something you’d share first when I picked up.”
There was a brief pause.
And then there was hysterical laughter.
I didn’t mean derisive laughter or fake laughter. I meant the genuine, hold-your-stomach, sit-down laughter. And it confused the fuck out of me. What, had she gotten an abortion? That didn’t seem like something Emily would laugh like that about.
“Emily?”
“Sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t make that clear in my letter,” she said. “No, this job isn’t for me. I really am happy here in Florida. It’s for a friend.”
“A friend?” I said.
I was a little more skeptical now. I didn’t like doing clients on referrals. They always thought they deserved some sort of discounted rate for being a referral. And there was always the risk that they would just suck as people, too.
“Yeah, come on, Liam. I like my men in Fendi, not Carhartt. You really think I’d shag some mountain hipster who can comb his beard and mustache more than his actual hair? And also—a baby, really? You think I would have a baby?”
Come to think of it, I really should have checked my assumptions. Emily was a huge city girl. She liked to have fun and had a thing for thrilling guys, but she was most certainly not “move to the suburbs and have a family of five with a white picket fence” type of woman. Not at her age, at least.
Actually, this was not good for me. It was a bad sign if I was just making assumptions like this. My lack of missions recently—not to mention my still-ongoing strife with Scott—was making me rusty. Maybe I did need a Jerry Springer run just to grease the wheels and remind myself of what I needed to do.
“Fair enough,” I said. “I did find it a bit odd that I was hunting a baby daddy for you.”
Probably due to all the concussions and shit from planes exploding and other missions. All so Scott could shag his little Kaylie.
“Believe me, if I ever decide to have a kid, I’m going to hire you to do some therapy for me, because I’ll have more questions for myself.”
We shared one more short laugh about it.
“Well, if we can be serious for a moment then,” I said, feeling like we’d had our pleasantries, “I took this job as a favor to you because you were an easy client to work with. But if this is something I’m doing for a friend, I have a lot more hesitation. I’m not really actively looking for work right now, and I’m not sure this sounds like a job I’d want.”
Yes, it would grease the wheels. But that was a fleeting thought, one replaced by the fact that I was Liam of DOM, not some retired cop who had grown fat off pizza and donuts. I kept myself nimble and alert.
“My friend figured as much, but Liam, we would really appreciate it if you can help. She really needs you to help her out.”
“Has she tried hiring a normal P.I.? You know, like someone local?”
“She is local, Liam.”
Shit, she’s got a point.
“You know what I mean. Someone that’s not going to cost them more than college tuition at Harvard.”
“She’s desperate to figure this out, has the money, and is willing to pay the best to make it happen,” Emily said. “Liam, I know you have no interest, and I get that. But money is honestly no objective.”
I sighed. I suppose I truly did need to get back into the game a bit, but the last thing I wanted to do was tie myself to a case like this for months and months on end. Even though most of our cases lasted no more than a weekend, like Scott’s last one had, there was always the risk that a slow-burn investigation like this could stretch on for far too fucking long. And the last thing I wanted to do was to turn into that local P.I., the kind of guy that would be interviewing people for a year before calling the trail cold.
“You’re lucky you were a good client of mine, Emily,” I said with a sigh. “I don’t do referrals or repeat work for a reason. I like to do it, wipe my hands clean, and move on.”
“I’m aware, you’ve told me this many times,” she said.
I sighed.
“Fifty grand, and if I can’t locate the father within three months, the contract is over. The money’s paid upfront, and there are no refunds.”
“Sounds good.”
That easy?
I should have asked for a hundred grand.
“I asked my friend to email me all the information. I know you don’t trust that, so I will mail it to you. I guess you’ll get it—”
“At some point, who knows,” I said, but I knew the mail would come to me in a week. “And do me a favor. You’re actually going to be paying me directly on this one.”
“What, not your agency?”
“No, there are issues there,” I said.
Issues that I didn’t much feel like thinking about in my own head, much less revealing to Emily. We never discussed business with our clients; hell,
