Page 143 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
Lindy flicks his pale tongue at me. “Fine. Friday, ten A.M. Tab’s yours.”
“No,” De Leon says, deep and low. “Tab’s yours. And I’ve been keeping track. Don’t think I’m letting you off a fucking thing.”
Lindy’s eyes slide to him and narrow. “What’s that mean?”
De Leon leans back in his seat and slaps his hand on his thigh. “You know. As soon as Max is back in New York, you and I are going to have a reckoning.”
Color floods up into Lindy’s cheeks. “Whatever.”
De Leon holds Lindy’s eyes as he pushes me up out of our seats and towards the door.
I wait until we’re out on the street to explode. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
De Leon tips his head to slant me a glance under the bill of his cap. “What?”
“You’re going to, what, punish him?”
“Yes. He’s been a bad boy.”
I gape at him, unable to come up with any response other than outrage.
“Throttle back, Max. I know what you’re thinking. He’s a bad guy. So am I. You’re all worried about unleashing me on some sweet little because I might fuck them up. I can’t fuck up your friend Lindy much worse than he already is, can I? And maybe I can do him some good. At the very least, it’s practice on someone you won’t worry about.”
“Bu-but are you—why are you—do you actuallylikehim?”
“Enough to tie him up and punish him and fuck his brains out? Sure. He’s an interesting guy, if a little nerdy.”
“I thought you were just flirting with him as part of the interrogation.”
“No, I was interrogating himwhileI was flirting with him. The two are not mutually exclusive, Max. You really would not make a good covert operator.”
I rub my hands over my face as De Leon steers me to a taxi. “This feels like it’s crossing all sorts of lines. James Bond doesn’t foil Goldfinger by spanking him.”
De Leon shrugs and holds the car door open as I climb in. “Maybe he should have.”
twenty-nine
My world is teetering.My friendly professor’s turned into some white-cat-stroking evil genius. My security specialist is planning on spanking him straight, or at least back to the light. And I’m shopping.
The world’s seriously coming to an end.
“Not comfy enough,” Cynnie says, wiggling in the fourth set of chairs we’ve looked at. Although I'd have been happy to buy set two or three and throw on an extra cushion, they didn’t meet her bottom’s exacting standards.
In all fairness, she’s the one who’s most likely to be sitting on the chair with a sore bottom. She has reason to be discriminating. I follow her to the next display and wait while she plops down in a chair.
“Mmm.” She gives this chair serious consideration. I sit down across from her. I like the cushion, which is very comfortable. But the chair’s back and arms are a weird wireframe design. The wire digs in when I lean back.
“Nope,” Cynnie decides, hopping up. I follow her.
We’re on display ten and I’m deep in a retail doomspiral, when my phone buzzes. It’s the one I use for Logan, Manny, and most importantly at the moment, Mac.
Master Chief: Sorry, Maxie. I’ve been riding to clear my head. No reception. What’s wrong?
Relief, enough to buoy me through days of shopping, lifts my gut.
Everything’s okay. The bad guys sent me a picture of you and I was afraid they’d tried to grab you for leverage.
Master Chief: I’ve barely seen another soul in three days. Except gators. I’ve seen lots of those. I’m leaving for Niagara this afternoon. See you there?
