Page 247 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
“If you can work some birds into my sleeves, I’d be honored.”
Those deep brown eyes focus on me, twinkling and barely shadowed. “Really? I’d love that. Like peace doves for the men you lost? And maybe an osprey? That’s a water hawk, right? Would that be okay?”
“Perfect.” That she’s tailored the birds to me is touching. “Have you ever seen an osprey?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“Any fear of the water, girl?”
“No, sir, but I’ve never learned to swim.”
“No?” That I can rectify. “There’re osprey in Long Island sound. Maybe on a sunny day, we could rent a boat and see if we could find them?”
“I’d love that—” She breaks off when her phone goes off, buzzing loudly in the pocket of the sweatshirt she’s wearing. “May I, sir?”
“Yes, girl. Thank you for asking.” For someone who was reticent about full-time submission, she’s sliding into it naturally. Just as I hoped she would.
Evidently, she doesn’t recognize the caller, because she frowns at the number before answering. “Brenna Truelove.”
Her frown deepens as she listens to the caller. Her eyes dart up to my face, and then down to her unfinished breakfast. “Yes, I’ll be right there. Fifteen minutes. Yes, yes, I understand. I’ll get it taken care of right away. Yes, I would. Thank you.”
She shoves the phone back into her pocket and starts fumbling with her breakfast dishes. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
“Work or a friend?”
“Work. The front of the shop’s been vandalized. The sign’s trailing live wires. That was the police.”
I nod. “Slow down and take a breath, bold girl. What do you need? How can I help?”
She stares at me for a long moment, her mouth working but no words emerging.
“Try it, sweetheart,” I say gently. “Rely on me.”
“Um, I guess I need an electrician, sir. I’m not really sure.”
“Pretty sure we both know a man who can help with that. You want to give Logan a call while I settle the check?”
Her mouth twists but she reaches for her phone.
“What’s wrong, Bren?”
“I feel like I dump all my problems at his door.”
I nod as I consider this. “Logan’s a Dom, same as I am. We live for this shit. Give us a chance to be useful.”
She smiles ruefully but thumbs her phone on.
While she makes the call, I finish my coffee and deal with the bill. When she hangs up, I’m ready with her trench coat. I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from grinning at her surprise as I drape the coat over her shoulders. I haven’t been opening doors or holding chairs for her, but I will from now on just to see that priceless expression chase across her face.
I know the way to her shop, but I let her lead me through the busy morning streets for the pleasure of walking with my hand in the small of her back. The fall day’s cool and I relish the bite of the breeze. Florida air never had this crispness. I always feltI was suffocating there, although that probably had more to do with my marriage than the air quality.
Bren walks with a sure, solid stride. She’s said she kickboxes and I can see it in the way she moves through the crowd. She doesn’t have a big man’s presence; people don’t get out of her way. But she cuts through the clots and knots of people all the same. While her pretty face draws a few eyes, her blue dreadlocks barely get a second glance. There are wilder hair colors on every street corner. I remember Amy’s fury when Naomi streaked her hair purple her senior year of high school, and the disapproving frowns her hair drew in our small town. Maybe if we’d raised her in a big city like this one, she’d have grown up into as strong and secure an adult as Brenna.
I shake that thought away. It’s too late to play the game of what if. And Brenna has her own demons.
When we reach her shop, I see not all of those demons are internal.
The shop’s front is covered by a metal shutter, which has been tagged with obscenities. The word “cunt” is repeated over and over, which makes it clear, at least to me, that this is personal. The more immediate concern is that the shop’s overhead sign has been destroyed. From the rubble on the pavement, it looks like it’s been bricked. The neon lettering and the illuminated panel of tattoo designs behind the letters are smashed, and there are several wires trailing down to head-height. Although none of the wires are sparking, presumably they’re live.
