Page 1 of Pay Dirt

Chapter 1

Twenty subpoenas served.

Ten bail jumpers found.

Five death threats.

And a partridge in a pear tree.

My stats from last month sounded like a bad Christmas carol.

The restaurant was one that herded people in and out during lunch hour like cattle. I’d skipped the hustle, bypassing tables of the business-suit-wearing people whose idea of conversation was spreading water cooler gossip. I’d headed straight for the U-shapedbar, not to get sloppy drunk but to wait for my client.

There were two guys at the bar. The one closest to me made for magnificent scenery. His mussed dark hair suggested he’d been running his fingers through the dark strands. The stubble on his face only emphasized his crystal blue eyes, deep dimples, and a menacing scowl. The poor guy looked like he was having a bad day, even though just looking at him had made mine better.

The other patron sitting across from me was much more interesting. Not in an attractive way but a way that would pay out benefits. Some women might consider his award-winning smile, styled hair, and spray tan appealing. I wasn’t one of them. He’d been nursing a beer until a plate with a hamburger and fries was placed in front of him.

I didn’t like sitting at the bar alone. It felt awkward, made me fidgety, and implied I had no friends. I let only a handful of people into my world if you didn’t count my plethora of sisters. It was easier to keep my family secrets contained that way.

An unfounded unease fluttered in my stomach, a feeling I couldn’t quite place. A loud staccato beat rose above the normal restaurant noise as I tapped my foot on the barstool and rechecked my watch. He was late.

My gaze crossed the busyroom and landed onthe door. People walked in as others walked out. None of them the man I was waiting on. Rubbing my temples, I let out a long sigh.

Sometimes clients talked themselves out of believing in my ability to find things. Sometimes they didn’t want to know the answers. I couldn’t make them believe no matter how hard I tried, but this client was a repeat customer.

My regular clients called or met at my house, but this one was different. Unusual. Difficult. Challenging. This case was one I liked because it lacked the boring elements such asmissing keys or jewelry. It was the weird ones that would consume me, engulf me, almost to where I’d forget my sister’s obsession with believing our baby sister, Talia, wasn’t dead.

Picking this restaurant had been strategic, easy, convenient, and it provided me the ability to deal with two problems at once.

Twenty minutes turned in to forty-five. The afternoon lunch crowd started to wind down. The guy sitting across from me had just discarded his napkin next to his plate and pushed them toward the bartender.

I pulled ten dollarsout of my oversizedpurse and slid it across the scarredbar with one more appreciative glance at the sexy man who’d been sitting next to me, wishing he might meet my gaze. Not even a nibble as he nursed his soda. I decided it was now or never to get my other job done.

I rose and rounded the barstool, pulling out an envelope and my cell phone as I went. I smiled at the fake-tan man on the other side of the bar as I approached. His hamburger was half eaten, his French fries gone, only a goop of ketchup left in their place. He’d put his used napkin on the bar and had a single sip of beer remaining in his tall glass.

“Aren’t you Bill Tanner?” I asked, as if I were a weather groupie fan girl from watching him on the six o’clock news. I could have predicted the weather with a better success rate just by flipping a coin.

A smile slid onto the man’s face. His glazed eyes told me enough. He’d had a few more alcoholic beverages before I even arrived. His hungry gaze, previously pointed at the food remaining on his plate, had settled on the swells of my D-sizedbreasts.

I could work with the unwanted looks, even if it meant I’d need a shower when I got home. I batted my long eyelashes and tried for a sexy smile. The mirror above the bar showed that I was failing. My sexy smile looked like my old high school picture when I had been forced to say cheese before the flash blinded me.

“Yep. Are you a fan?” he answered and rested his unwanted palmon my hip. He licked his lips, never meeting my gaze, only my chest. “You want my autograph, sweetheart, or something more… filling.”

Not likely, douchebag. Although he wore several rings, his wedding ring was absent. A conspicuous tan line stood out like a beacon, and I was familiar with his story. I wasn’t a first-timer.

“How about we take this somewhere more private?” he asked, but paused as if he thought better of the offer. “You aren’t a reporter, are you?”

“I’m not a reporterora hooker, Mr. Tanner.”

“Great, so what’s it going to take?”

“Mr. Tanner, I’d love to take a picture with you. Maybe then you can give me your number. My sisters will be so jealous I got to meet you.”

“Sure, sugar.” He chuckled.

I turned in his arms, holding out my phonecamera as he groped my booty. I lifted the envelope to get it in the picture before I turned back. Pressing the envelope against his chest, I leaned in to whisper, “You’ve been served.”

His mouth gaped open before he snapped his lips together in a thin line. His laser-focused anger was pointed directly at me, and his bronze face turned blotchy red.

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