Hard Tide

CHAPTER 1 ARI “Get your hand off my thigh.” “Nobody has to know.” Seriously, he thought that was my concern? I’d heard on the grapevine that Dale Jankowski, my boss, had wandering hands and a wandering c**k too, but until now, I’d never experienced the “pleasure” for myself. Probably because I’d made sure to wear pants every day and avoided smiling, small talk, and make-up. Boring low ponytail, flat shoes, clothes in fifty shades of beige—that was me. I’d also heard that some women liked his attention—Jankowski might have been in his early fifties, but he kept in shape, and as the boss of the Twilight Agency, he was quite the catch. His third wife had certainly thought so when she married him two months ago. Not one but six hotel residents had complained about the noise coming from the honeymoon suite, or so I’d been told. “I’m not interested.” His right hand stayed in place, and he used his left to sweep the bangs away from my eyes. A chill ran up my spine. During the daytime, Jankowski lorded over his peons, slightly obnoxious but tolerable. In the five months I’d been working at Twilight, I’d grown used to his demanding management style and learned to live with it, but this was the first time I’d visited his office late in the evening. I’d only meant to drop off a report, but he’d asked me to sit down and talk him through the details, and I could hardly decline. He did pay my salary, after all. So I’d done as requested, and I was certain he hadn’t listened to a word I’d said. No, his mind had been on other things. When I’d asked if he had any questions, he’d risen from his fancy leather swivel chair, walked around his desk, and perched a butt cheek on the polished walnut. “You fascinate me, Arizona. Such a pretty face, and a great ass too, yet you keep it hidden under those dowdy clothes.” “I need to go home.” I waved toward the file I’d just dropped onto his desk and pushed my chair back, freeing myself from his touch. “If you need more information, it’s all in the report.” “Ah, yes, home to your daughter. Everybody warned me not to hire a single mother for this job, but I saw something in you that they didn’t.” The chill turned to full-on ice. “Really? And what was that?” He leaned in close, so close that his lips brushed my ear. “Desperation.” I slapped him before I could stop myself, and I would’ve knocked his teeth out too, if he hadn’t swung me around and slammed me backward onto his desk. Blunt pain radiated through my head as I tried to gather my thoughts. “Now, now,” he chided. “I like a girl with fight in her, but there’s a time and a place.” “Get your filthy hands off me!” “So demanding. You need to learn to negotiate, Arizona. When somebody else holds all the cards, there has to be a little give and take.” “Let me guess—I give, and you take.” “Coulson was right. You are a smart girl.” Morty Coulson had been my old boss, right until his forty-a-day habit caught up with him. He’d wheezed his denial for years, and by the time I finally convinced him to see a doctor, it was too late. Coulson Investigations was no more, and I’d been forced to take a new job. Twilight was the second-biggest investigations agency in Las Vegas, with a fancy office building downtown and a client list that included half of the big casinos. But the glossy brochures and slick sales patter hid a culture of filth. Why hadn’t I quit? Because jobs for a twenty-seven-year-old recently qualified private investigator with an eight-year-old daughter weren’t easy to come by, especially when that investigator had breasts. And I had rent to pay. Out of the two job offers I’d received, only Jankowski paid enough to cover the bills. And it wasn’t just the cash; it was the reputation. People aspired to work here. Mostly men, I realised that now. Jankowski had probably hired me because he was running out of secretaries to molest. But I refused to be his next piece of ass. If I let him take advantage of me now, the sleaziness would never stop, and no job was worth sacrificing my dignity over. Even scrubbing the private rooms at Sin City’s seediest strip joint would be a better option. So when he tried to unbutton my shirt, I gave him one last chance. “Stop.” “Make me, sweetheart.” His eyes bulged when my knee connected with his groin, and he let out a satisfying oof. “Coulson also taught me how to defend myself, pervert.” “You… You’re…” “And don’t bother to fire me because I quit.” Jankowski collapsed to the floor, alternately groaning and spewing curses as I scrabbled around for the purse I’d dropped when he grabbed me. “You stupid little b***h! You’ll never work in this town again, you hear me? Never!” “And you’ll never father children.” I marched out with my head held high as he retched behind me, and it wasn’t until I reached the sidewalk outside that the reality of what had just happened hit me. And the horror. I had six hundred dollars in the bank, I’d lost my job, and I’d alienated one of the most powerful men in Las Vegas. Fuck. * * * Fast forward a month, and during that time, I’d used up most of my overdraft and called every investigations firm in Clark County. Every. Single. One. And I had to concede that Jankowski had kept his word—I’d been blackballed by ninety-five percent of them. None of the remaining five percent were hiring, although Blackwood—the biggest—had at least promised to keep ahold of my résumé and call if there was an opening. Fat chance. Nobody ever quit a job at Blackwood. I’d even tried a few law firms, although thanks to the rumours spread by my ex—Haven’s father—they didn’t care for me either. When you messed with a senior partner from Mathison, Howard and Suker, his former peers tended to give you a wide berth. Well, he should have paid his child support. And also not embezzled funds from his clients. In the past week, I’d spread the net wider, hunting for a temporary job to tide me over until I could fight my way back into my chosen field. The manager at Lonnie’s Pizza had offered me a trial as a waitress, but I’d been let go three hours into my first shift after slapping a guy’s hand away when he pinched my ass. Honestly, was it too much to ask to not be sexually assaulted at work? And how was I supposed to know the guy was the manager’s brother? Yesterday morning, I’d been turned down for a cleaning job at a strip joint because I was overqualified. Over-freaking-qualified. The manager said I’d just leave when I got a better offer, which was true, but sponging c*m stains out of velvet banquettes was hardly a job for life, was it? As I walked out the door, he’d complimented my ass and offered me a job as a dancer. I’d carried on walking. “How did the job hunting go today?” Nana asked as I closed the door behind me. Truthfully? I was wondering whether pole dancing would be a feasible option. “It could have gone better.” “Nobody called? How many of those flyers did you hand out?” “Around two hundred so far.” At the end of April, temperatures in Vegas were already touching the nineties. Sweat dripped down my back, and our AC was out. Again. “I gave fifty to Darlene Reacher. She knows everyone, and she promised to pass them around.” Yesterday, I’d had a thousand flyers printed. Blank ink on pink paper, the colour scheme chosen partly because I was female but mostly because it was the cheapest option. The fuchsia paper wasn’t a bestseller, the guy in the print shop told me. I could have it for half price. An hour later, I’d walked out with an empty wallet. Call it hope, call it stupidity, but I couldn’t give up on a career I’d worked so hard to succeed at. Not yet. Gaining my full PI licence had taken five years and ten thousand hours of investigative work. DANNER INVESTIGATIONS Experienced female investigator available Licensed in Nevada, California, and Arizona Undercover work a speciality Good rates So far, my phone had remained silent, and the only email had come from a guy who wanted me to find out the truth about Roswell. For free. Maybe I shouldn’t have put my gender on there? But Morty Coulson had always told me to be proud of who I was, and besides, spurned wives looking for help to nail their wayward husbands’ balls to the wall sometimes felt more comfortable talking to another woman. And with my reputation trashed, the only way I was able to take work from pricks like Jankowski was to offer something they couldn’t: two X-chromosomes. But still the phone was dead. Nana had tried to stay positive since I confessed what I’d done, and she even congratulated me for standing up for myself, but I could tell she was worried. The wrinkles around her eyes had gotten deeper, and she’d been cleaning constantly. Our one-bedroom apartment in East Las Vegas was tiny, but every inch was spotless. If she polished any harder, she’d wear right through the floor. On the good days, she preferred to sit in her favourite chair and knit, but the same half-made sweater had been sitting on the arm for weeks. “Thank Darlene for me, okay? Tomorrow, I’m gonna hand out more flyers and start looking for another waitressing job.” “Will that pay enough?” No, but if I worked extra shifts and cut down on everything but the absolute essentials, we’d be able to survive for a few more months. I conjured up a smile. “We’ll manage. I’ll just have to hustle for tips.” “Back when you worked at Parlette’s, the customers used to love you.” Perhaps “love” was too strong a word for it. Some of the regulars at the fancy French restaurant in Summerlin had liked me enough to screw me, one in particular. Maxwell Suker had eaten at Parlette’s every Tuesday. Eighteen-year-old me had been flattered by the attention, blinded by the charms of a platinum credit card, and too dumb to realise that Tuesday was the evening his wife always went for a massage with her sister. Never again. Never again would I be that stupid. Thankfully, Parlette’s had closed down after the owner had a run-in with the IRS, so I couldn’t get tempted to repeat… Well, I couldn’t call it the biggest error of my life because I’d ended up with Haven, but at the time, I’d been so scared. Only Nana had kept me sane through those early years of motherhood, and how had I repaid her? By losing our main source of income. “I’ll find a job.” Somehow. “But it won’t be at a place like Parlette’s.” “Someday, you’ll meet a good man.” “You don’t really believe that.” Her marriage to Grandpa had been far from rosy. I’d witnessed the arguments firsthand as I grew up. But despite men clearly being more trouble than they were worth, she was determined I shouldn’t quit looking. “And besides, I don’t have time to date at the moment.” “What about Kenneth from the grocery store? He always asks how you are.” “He’s the cashier. That’s literally part of his job.” “But he smiles so nicely when he says it.” “He’s paid to do that as well.” “Nobody should have to go through life alone.” I saw an opportunity and seized it. “I’m not alone—I have you and Haven. Now, what do you want for dinner? Pasta? Is Haven still refusing to eat anything but cupcakes?” Cartoons had a lot to answer for. Haven’s favourite character ran a bakery, and unless her food came bite-size and topped with frosting, she was on a hunger strike. Yesterday, Nana had baked dinner rolls into cupcake liners and piped squeezy cheese onto them in desperation. “Today, I baked beetroot into the bread rolls and topped them with hummus.” I’d be lost without Nana. She spent her days running around after Haven instead of relaxing in what should have been her retirement, and although she assured me that she wouldn’t have it any other way, guilt still ate at me. For years, my goal had been to earn enough money to send her on the trip to Paris she’d always dreamed of, but now I just wanted to stay above the breadline. Or, in Haven-speak, the cupcakeline. “Do you want me to take a turn at making her meals tomorrow?” Nana patted me on the arm in that comforting way of hers. Everything will be okay. She’d been telling me that since I moved in with her—or rather, got dumped with her by my mom—when I was two years younger than my daughter was now. “Ari, the two of us are just fine. Right now, finding a job is more important than you making dinner.” Yes, it was. I had to find work, and quickly.