“It’s never too late to-”
“Stop, she has a boyfriend, Dad.”For the love of all things holy, the man needs a hobby.
I cut myself as his annoying laugh sounds through my phone’s small speaker. “Friend is the operative word. She’s not his old lady, son, and for good reasons. Didn’t you read the report I sent?”
“No. God, no. It’s an invasion of her privacy. How many times must I ask you to stay the hell out of my personal life?” I dab at the cut, rinse off the lather, and splash on my lotion.
As I pat dry, he continues to piss me off. “You’ve investigated plenty of your employees. Why not her?”
“Because…”Shit. Because I hired her for a whole nother reason.“Bye Dad. I got to go.”
Hanging up, I check my messages. One of my mechanics texted my helicopter is about to be pulled out of the harbor.
I call him back and ask, “How long before the NTSB reports what went wrong?”
“It could take weeks, maybe months. It all depends on the black box.”
“Okay, thanks. Keep me in the loop.” Before I finish the conversation, a person bangs on my front door.
Saying my goodbyes, I stomp across the hotel room. Friends and employees know better than to stop by unannounced. If not for complaints from other occupants, I wouldn’t bother to answer the incessant noise. It’s probably paparazzi wanting intimate details about my dunk in the New York Harbor.
“Damn it. Let me in, Dashiell.”
Landy?“Hold on. I’m not dressed for company.”In truth, I’m not dressed at all.
“I don’t care, do it now.” At her commanding tone, I snatch a towel, wrap it around my waist, and fling open the door.
“Are you coming in, or would you prefer popcorn with you free show?” It’s an asshole thing for me to say but hey, I wasn’t the one demanding entrance.
Despite heroic attempts to ignore her interest, my cock swells, the fabric tents below my navel, and I step in closer. “Why are you here?”
“Tell me who you’re hunting.” Swallowing hard, her hip brushes against my tip as she barges into my suite.
“The crash is still being investigated.” My hand sweeps an invite to a chair in the kitchenette and as she sits, she glares up at me.
“Someone tried to pillow me to death.” Standing, she opens my refrigerator, and grabs a water. “Do you mind?”
“Be my guest.” Folding my arms over my bare chest, I watch her every move. Unlike the confident pilot of a couple days ago, her hands shake as she struggles to remove the lid.
“Give it here.” I twist off the top and as I hand it back, I have this sinking feeling she checked herself out without a doctor’s approval. “Does anyone know you’re here?”
“No, but it’s better this way. I won’t be safe until I find out what the hell you’re into. Tell me. I mean it.”
If I did, she’d be in even more danger.“My dad was thinking of buying a few acres in South Jersey. That’s all there was to it.”
“Bullshit.” Stepping back, she pulls a pistol from her jean’s waistband and aims it at my chest. “Sit. I’ve had two attempts on my life. It’s high time you started telling me the truth. You’re a bounty hunter. I suspect you fucked the wrong people, and now they’re after me, too.”
Impressed by her moxie, I keep my eyes on the weapon and shrug. “I prefer freelance contractor.”
“Whatever. My reputation, thanks to you, is officially in the shitter.” Face red, tits out, she is fucking beautiful.
“Once they find the flight recorder-”
“They’ll still find a way to blame the crash on me.” Hands sweeping through the air, she paces. “Can you believe hospital security said I made the whole thing up? I may have PTSD, but it’s not schizophrenia. I know what’s real and what’s not, but they think I hallucinated. Maybe it was an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, or a fragment of underdone potato.”
“Scrooge, right?” I chuckle. It’s damn difficult to take someone serious while they recite Dickens.
Her gorgeous brown eyes flash. “What? Yes. But that’s not the point. Even Doctor Young Balls thinks I’m nutters.”
