“Mail,” Ruth barked, throwing letters and a package on my desk. Bills, statements ... boring. I opened the Amazon package to find a giftwrapped stuffed toy. A hound. There was a card attached with a printed message.
To my Kalb,
Thank you for your kindness.
Your Zahra.
My clever girl knew. I hadn’t meant to blow my cover so soon, but I had been concerned that she was frightened. Part of me wanted to know how she felt if she found out. If she’d been scared or repulsed, I’d have backed off. I think. Well, at least I would have stopped sending things and just watched her from afar. This woman wasn’t scared. This woman was into it. She hadn’t said anything verbally, even when I’d called yesterday with my update on our two remaining men. She wanted to play. My mouth curled into a smile. Okay, sweet stalker. Let’s do this.
I wracked my brain for new gift ideas. I’d done flowers twice, a dress, and a sports bottle. Maybe I should push it a little now that I knew it was consensual. Some nice perfume? A silky robe? She’d opted for a hound theme, so I decided to continue with the rose theme. I found a site that offered personalized panties and chose a simple but sexy white pair with a red rose embroideredon the ass. That would do nicely. I again guessed her size, but I was an observant man, and I’d looked at her ass enough to make a confident estimate. I paid extra for express delivery. She’d receive my little gift in a matter of hours. I could raise the level on the messages too.
My Zahra,
Clever girl. I wonder if you’ll wear these for me?
Your Kalb.
Kalb was cute. She was essentially calling me a dog, but I knew from the soft toy that she meant hound. This was fun. It was our little game. No Brett in my face telling me to ease off. No worried mother telling me to pull back. I had a full green light here and would put my foot on the gas until she gave me a stop sign. I would definitely stop at a restraining order.
The afternoon rolled around, and I found myself sitting at Paul’s bar. It was bursting at the seams with people, even though it was work hours. Paul excused himself from the bar, asking the attendant to cover him. We sat at a nearby table, and I thanked him again for his time. He was a nice man and obviously disapproved of Loretta because he indicated that he wanted to help her daughter, who he assumed would have had a pretty shitty life with Loretta as a mother.
“Any luck with the list I gave you?” He sat, taking the opportunity to eat some chips and drink a Coke.
“No, unfortunately. The men you named couldn’t be my client's father based on some facts I discovered.”
“That’s a shame. How old is this woman again?”
I was reluctant to give any identifying details. I'd given him a three-month window to prevent him from knowing Rose’s date of birth. All he knew was that my client was 28 and a woman. Giving her month of birth and conception in a town this size wouldn’t reveal her though.
“She will be 29 in June, making her conception date mid-September.”
Paul didn’t answer. His face contorted with an emotion I couldn’t identify.
“Paul? Does that ring any bells?”
He remained silent, letting out a long breath through his tight mouth.
“Yeah, um. I didn’t know that. Loretta was a maneater. She could be pretty full on. I was only 18 and one month. I remember telling her my age and adding on the one month because it seemed important. I ... well, I guess I was curious.”
Fucking hell. Paul had slept with Loretta. He was 18! How old had Loretta been? According to my math, she must have been in her late 30s. Quite the cougar. Or predator depending on how you viewed it. Paul had just been a boy. I wonder if Lou had known. I was hit with the realization that Loretta had sex with both a man and his son within a few weeks of each other. Maybe even in the same week.
“Paul, do you think perhaps you could be my client’s father? Did you have unprotected sex with Loretta?”
“Yes, but she said she was on the pill. She said it couldn’t happen.”
I felt for this poor man. He was 46 and potentially had a 28-year-old daughter.
“Can you show me a photo of her? What does she look like?”
“I can’t do that without her permission, but I will ask her.” I shot off a quick text to Rose. She responded immediately with a selfie and her full consent.
“This is her. Her name is Rose.”
“Fuck.” Paul ran his hands through his hair. “She looks like my sister. My dad has red hair; my sister has red hair. Mom and I are blond.” He brought up a picture on his phone of hissister, who looked like an older version of Rose. My heart began hammering. This could be it.
“Paul, I know this is a shock. Do you think you’d be willing to take a DNA test? Take your time to think about this. There’s no rush.” There was a rush. I wanted Rose to have her answer.
“I don’t know. I need to talk to my wife. I have three daughters; the youngest is only 8. Shit. What will my wife think? I mean, she and I didn’t meet until I was older, but still. What if I have a daughter? An adult daughter?”
