Daddy PI
Book 1 of the Daddy PI Casefiles
E J Frost
Daddy PI
Book 1 of the Daddy PI Casefiles
Copyright © 2019 E J Frost
www.ejfrost.com
A huge thank you to my production team:
Editing by Eve Arroyo
Cover by Eris Adderly
Formatting by Raisa Greywood
Blurb by Golden Angel
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the written permission of the author. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable for criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, business establishments or organizations is strictly coincidental.
The quotation from Middlemarch: A Study of Provincial Life, George Eliot (1871-1872) is in the public domain.
WARNING: This novel contains adult themes which may considered offensive by some readers. This book is for sale to adults only, as defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made.
DISCLAIMER: This novel contains descriptions of practices which may be injurious to the practitioner’s health. It is not intended as a guide or handbook. The author is not responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from the use or demonstration of the information contained in this book.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other electronic means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. By purchasing an authorized electronic edition, you are supporting the author’s rights. Thank you!
For Olivia, who restored my faith.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Afterword
Excerpt from Daddy PI, Book 2
Glossary of SLANG and UNUSUAL Terms
About the Author
Also by E J Frost
1
Widows are the worst part of my job.
Worse than the pain in a client’s eyes when I tell them it’s a family member who has fucked them over. Worse than the three times I’ve been shot at. It’s the uncomprehending grief of the recently widowed that always threatens to rip the heart out of my chest. Their loved one was there yesterday, or two days ago, or ten. Now they’re not. It makes no sense. After being there for years, sometimes decades, the person is simply gone, and the widow has to keep on living as though their world hasn’t just dived headfirst into an empty concrete pool.
Regina Black, or “Reggie” as she asks me to call her, is the same as every other widow I’ve met. She looks hollowed out by grief. Scoured by it. She’s still tan and put-together in a dark brown, linen skirt suit. She goes through the motions of being okay. But it’s there in her empty eyes, the pallor under her tan.
I want to hug her. Stroke her artfully tousled bottle-blonde hair. The way I would comfort my baby doll, or any submissive who came to me hurting and needy.
But Reggie Black’s a stranger, a stranger who’s threatening a lawsuit against my client. So, instead, I shake her hand and show her to the circular couch in the suite the cruise line has booked for me at the M Hollywood Hotel. I offer her bottled water, which she takes with a trembling hand and sips.
As I watch her shake, my arms and chest ache. A dull physical pain. I’ve always felt this way around women who were hurting. Long before I realized I was a Dom. Way back when I was a kid.
As Reggie Black drinks her water, I remember racing down the hill by our house in Morecambe to pick up my little sister when she’d fallen off her bike and skinned her knee. Mum and Dad waved from the top of the hill, encouraging her to get up, try again. I cradled Lizbeth on my lap and picked the gravel out of her knee and kissed it better until I got an erection and had to move her off me for fear she’d feel it and freak out. Mum always praised me for being such a good big brother to Lizbeth, but the dirty truth was that I protected and cared for her because something deep in me demanded it, the same something that filled my wet dreams with images of bending my sweet little sister over the edge of my bed, tying her hands behind her, and deflowering her while she sobbed and screamed my name.
I shake myself out of my thoughts. I have a baby girl I can do any filthy thing I want to now. She’ll be with me in less than ten hours. I can wrap her in my arms and cuddle her and take all the pain that I can’t take from the woman sitting across from me. With Reggie Black, I have to be cool and professional.
I flip open my Moleskine notebook to a fresh page, uncap my pen and set them on the coffee table between us. “Mrs. Black, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
She puts the bottle down on the table, crosses her legs and clasps her hands around her knees. I can always tell a woman’s age by her hands, and Mrs. Black’s hands are slender and smooth, the blue veins that will be prominent in another decade still buried under a layer of tanned, taut skin. Early thirties. Twenty years younger than her husband.
“My lawyer advised me not to come today,” she says. “Are you recording this?”
“No. I’d have to tell you if I was. But I’d like to make notes, if I may?” I pat the open notebook.
Her bloodshot eyes flick to it; she nods. “You said in your email that you didn’t believe it was food-poisoning. You said you want to find out what
