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The Case of the Flashing Fashion Queen by NL Wilson
Tired of getting no respect at the big P.I. firm where she’s worked for years, Dix Dodd has hung out her own shingle at the ripe age of 40. There are plenty of cheating husbands to go around, and Dix has a knack for busting them. Problem is, it doesn’t always pay so well. Conscious that the guys back at the old firm are laying bets about how soon she’ll come crawling back, she figures she’s got six months to make a go of it. The going gets even tougher when she hires Dylan Foreman. But when he told her about getting fired from his law firm and disbarred for putting common decency before the firm’s interests, she hired him on the spot. In addition to being smart, he’s gorgeous enough to remind her she’s a woman. And at 28, young enough to make her feel like a total cougar. Things start looking up when Dix gets hired by millionaire businessman Ned Weatherby’s wife Jennifer Weatherby, to tail Ned 24/7 for a week, for a cool ten grand. Easy-peasy, right? Wrong! The job lands Dix in the middle of a murder investigation – with her as the prime suspect and her arch-enemy Detective Richard Head (a.k.a., Dickhead, one of the cheating husbands she’d nailed) gunning for her. Dix will need all her ingenuity, as well as the help of Dylan and her oddball cast of supporters to extricate herself from this one.
Dylan stood, grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He never dawdled, but the speed with which he wanted to attack this particular assignment moved me. I knew he was worried about me. I stood, tossed the plastic breakfast trays and utensils in the trash and grabbed my own jacket from the coat tree in the corner.
“Where are you off to?” Dylan shrugged into his leather jacket.
“The Underhill Motel.”
He hesitated but knew better than to question me, or try to stop me. The Underhill was in a rough part of town, but we both knew I could handle myself.
We locked the office, and headed our respective ways. Whereas I always parked at the far end of the lot, Dylan parked his bike as close to the building as he could get it. He gave me a mock salute before starting the bike and roaring off.
I reminded myself to get him a set of motorcycle chaps for Christmas. Surely that would be an acceptable employer-employee gift? Not too formal. Not too personal. Not too expensive. Not too cheap. And I could just picture them on him — protecting his legs should he fall on the pavement. Keeping him warm when he drove at night. Perfectly framing his denim-covered….
Gawd, I’d better knit him a sweater. Something loose fitting and long-sleeved.
I just hoped I wouldn’t be sending it to him from a federal prison.