Chapter 1
Sebastian Sutcliff
“Whoa.” My pal whistles through his teeth, walks across the second floor of my loft-slash-office, and stares down at the sidewalk. “Check her out.”
I join him at the pre-WWII industrial glass and follow his gaze to the blond bombshell reading the numbers etched beside my door below. Long legs show off lean calf muscles and her firm ass sticks out, emphasized by five-inch designer heels. From there, my eyes raise to her face. No doubt, a skilled surgeon sculpted those high cheekbones and straight pert nose.
A chill runs down my spine as my potential client reaches a glossy red nail to my doorbell. If this was film noir, she’d be the femme fatale asking for a favor before screwing over Sam Spade. In my case, Sam is my wife and at home with my kid.
“Fuck me.”
Grinning, Wheels punches me on the shoulder. “If you insist. First, you should let that fine specimen of a woman into your office.”
“Mmm.” When the ring app warbles, I almost don’t pick up.
Finally, I decide I’m being superstitious and answer. “Suds and Sam, Sebastian here. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to retain your services.” The sultry contralto seems contrived, one meant for lovers having a last cigarette and whiskey before screwing each other into a stupor.
Against my better judgement, I buzz her in.
The downstairs door squeaks, shuts, and her heels tap up the narrow steps. Thunder rumbles, a sudden gust of wind causes trash to fly, and freezing rain pelts the glass in front of my nose. Across the street, a train arrives.
When my building stops shaking, I turn to the bodyguard staying with me and point. “Wait upstairs in the loft. There’s a gun beside the futon.”
“Copy that.” My friend gives me a curious look before circling up the iron staircase.
Having done all I can do to mitigate risk, I stroll around the kitchen table to the foyer. After walking past four metal folding chairs, I turn the bolt, and crack open the oak door.
On the step below, the twentyish woman reaches up a gloved hand and being a gentleman, I’m obliged to take it.
“Please come in, Ms.?”
“Bright. Selena Bright.” She sashays in front of me, brushing against my thighs as she goes.
Once inside, she turns, and licks her lower lip as if I’m the hot in her chocolate. Despite the weather, her raincoat is left unfastened, revealing a clingy dress that shows off all her curves. A red-blooded male, I can’t help but notice the woman’s double-D’s popping out of her low-cut top.
Now, here’s the thing. Some men might be turned on but my cock don’t even twitch. And, if she thinks I’m interested in sampling her wares, she’s going to be sorely disappointed. Expensive Barbies aren’t my type and even if they were, I’d never mess up the good thing me and my partner got going.
In truth, if it weren’t for the fact we need the dough, I’d suggest this woman find a higher-priced outfit like Patten Securities in Manhattan. However, I got me a wife and kid. Unless it’s illegal, there’s not much I can afford to refuse.
“Can I get you anything?” Pulling out a chair, I indicate she should sit, then spin the coffee carousel on the granite countertop.
“Sure. Dark brew. Cream.” She crosses her legs and the split in her dress exposes the totality of her upper thigh.
Frowning, I focus on making our joe. When done, I place the mug in front of her, park on the far end of the table, and open my laptop. “So, what can Suds and Sam do for you?”
She opens one of them purses that cost more than I make in a month, digs for a tissue, and dabs at her eyes. “My daughter has run away, and I need you to find her.”
“How old is the girl?”
“Seventeen.” As she slides a school photo over the glass, I do the math and reevaluate the woman’s age.
“You hardly look old enough to have a teenager.”
“Thank you.” Her mouth tightens for a brief second before returning to its resting spot.
“How long has she been missing?”
