Page 219 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
“I’m interested in results, girl.” Mac winks at me. Winks. Damn him. There goes every ounce of snark I’ve ever possessed, straight down the drain. How does he do that? “I’m not at all picky about the method.”
I turn back to the stove, test the griddle with a drop of batter, and when it sizzles the way I want, pour the first pancake. Like a good little service submissive. I should be irritated that Mac’s sucked the sarcasm out of me. I should also be irritated that he’s making me show throat. Instead, I feel ... relieved. That can’t be right.
“Pancakes!” Emily’s squeal distracts me from my conflicted introspection.
Beside me, Mac chuckles. “Nothing like an excited little in the morning.”
On that we agree.
He doesn’t forget about the plug. Once I’ve made pancakes and bacon for everyone, he takes me into the bathroom and puts the plug in with what feels like a minimal amount of lube. He doesn’t make it hurt, but it doesn’t feel good, either. I end up squirming uncomfortably all through breakfast. Mac and Logan watch me with matching smiles. Sadistic fuckers.
Despite the perfect pancakes and Emily’s happy chatter, my mood descends through breakfast, until not even playing with the cat while Mac and Logan do the breakfast dishes can make me smile. Emily elbows me while I trail a feather toy around the dining table’s legs.
“What’s up with you?” she mouths.
I shrug. “I kinda want to get going. Clean up at my own place.”
“I’m sure Mac wouldn’t mind,” she says.
She’s probably right. I’m not even sure why I’m hesitating. But I still am, right up to the point that Mac gets a phone call. His smile slides off his face when he answers and after holding up a finger in my direction, he disappears into Logan’s office.
Emily grimaces. “Naomi.”
“Mac’s daughter?” I ask after placing the name.
Emily nods. “She’s a smart girl. At college on a scholarship. But she’s screwing it up with drugs. Mac’s already had to get her into detox once this semester.”
It’s only October, so that’s probably pretty bad, although I never went to college, so I don’t know exactly how long a semester is.
“Damn. What’s she hooked on?”
Emily scoots a little closer so she can whisper, “Prescription everything. Mac’s ex-wife got Naomi on diet pills when she was in junior high or something crazy and now she needs uppers to get out of bed in the morning and downers to sleep at night. Mac’s in knots about it, Daddy says.”
“Emily, are you gossiping?” Logan asks.
How can he possibly hear us? He must be twenty feet away and he’s standing over the sink with the water running as he rinses off the breakfast dishes.
Emily rolls her eyes. “Daddy radar. I’d better fess up. I’ve already had the paddle this morning. My legs can’t take another round so soon.”
She rubs the backs of her thighs, which are very pink, as she gets up and goes to stand next to Logan. I can’t hear what she says over the water, but I can see her hang her head as Logan speaks to her. His shoulders are relaxed, and he keeps doing the dishes while they talk, so I don’t think she’s in serious trouble. She trudges away from the sink with her head still down, past me and into the great room, where she retrieves a silver plug and a bottle of lube before trudging back to Logan.
Since I’m feeling my own plug this morning, I try to keep a straight face.
Logan escorts Emmy to the bathroom and when she returns, she sulks through and plunks down in front of the TV. She puts onHow To Train Your Dragon, which tells me exactly howsorry she’s feeling for herself. I follow and curl up on a pillow next to her, staying off my bad hip, which is sore today.
We’re maybe halfway through the movie when Mac emerges from Logan’s office. I’ve started to doze against the couch, the broken sleep catching up with me, but I snap awake when Mac drops onto the sectional beside me. He leans forward and lets his hands hang between his knees.
“Bren, I’ve got to go.”
“Sure. Is everything okay?”
He scrubs his hand through his hair, raising it into spikes. “My daughter’s missing. That was her roommate who called. She went to a party Sunday night and hasn’t been back to her room since. Campus police aren’t taking it seriously. I’m going to have to go up there and see if I can find her. I’m sorry. I hate leaving right after our first scene.”
I hate him leaving right after our first scene. Even though I’m feeling grumpy and restless at the moment, once I clean up and maybe get a nap, I’d definitely be up for more, even if it’s just another phone date.
But in comparison to his missing drug-addict daughter, my desire for another scene comes in a pretty weak second place.
“Don’t worry about it, sir. Is there anything I can do?”
