Call Me!
Authors: Dani Ripper
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Thriller, #Thrillers
Dani Ripper & John Locke
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
CALL ME!
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Copyright © 2011 John Locke.
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Cover Designed by: Telemachus Press, LLC
Cover Art :
Copyright © istockphoto 162619 (Foster)
Copyright © istockphoto 4713823 (Lukic)
Copyright © istockphoto 18053195 (Petolea)
Published by: Telemachus Press
http://www.telemachuspress.com
Dani Ripper:
http://daniripper.wordpress.com
John Locke:
http://www.DonovanCreed.com
ISBN: 978-1-937698-54-6
Version 2011.11.10
Table of Contents
THURSDAY
“IT’S HARD TO look dignified with a dick in your mouth.”
“
Excuse
me?”
My new client, Carter Teague, needs to understand I’m a decoy, not a hooker. In other words, I’m not going to have sex with her boyfriend.
“Fiancé,” she says.
“Whatever. I’ll get him in my hotel room, and you can walk in on us from the adjoining room. But we won’t actually be naked.”
Carter looks exasperated. “He could come up with a million excuses if you’re dressed. But if I walk in and you’re both naked, what’s he going to say?”
She looks around my office.
I know what that means.
She’s noting the disarray. The fact I don’t have a secretary. And do have a bag of trash that’s overdue for the garbage. She checks my business card for the second time and sees my name, Dani Ripper, is not raised or embossed. She rightfully assumes a female private eye in Cincinnati, Ohio, rarely gets the big clients.
She knows I need the money.
“What if I sweeten the pot?” she says.
“I’m not a hooker, Ms. Teague.”
“No, of course not!” Carter says, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”
I wave her off. “It’s okay. I just want to be clear.”
There are two faux leather chairs across from my desk. Carter’s sitting in the one closest to the door. She’s thirty. Dressing younger, but thirty, which makes her six years older than me.
I’d stake my life on it.
Her shoulder-length hair is russet, with amber highlights, if you care about such things. I do, and make a note to ask who does her hair, though it’s probably a week’s pay for me. I did happen to notice her Casadei back-zip wedge sandals when she entered, though they’re currently hidden by the desk. The part of her I
can
see is wearing an off-shoulder leopard tunic, with bracelets that match my annual house payment. She exudes wealth, and proves it by saying, “I’ll pay you two thousand plus expenses.”
