One to Keep Read online

  One to Keep

  By Tia Louise

  For Mr. TL, to whom I’m tied.

  No bubblegum required.

  And to Paul Walker, the original (visual) inspiration for Patrick.

  Gone too soon.

  Copyright

  If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or win it from an author-sponsored giveaway, this book has been pirated. Please delete it from your device, and support the author(s) by purchasing a legal copy from one of its many distributors.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  One to Keep

  Copyright © Tia Louise, 2014

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Cover design by Regina Wamba of MaeIDesign.com.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise—without prior permission of the publisher and author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 – More than a Slip

  Chapter 2 – Removal of Long-Story Stacy

  Chapter 3 – Dangerously Sweet

  Chapter 4 – Safety Off

  Chapter 5 – You Only Live Once

  Chapter 6 – Fucking Fatal Attraction

  Chapter 7 – Exile in the Desert

  Chapter 8 – Broken Rules

  Chapter 9 – Best Day Ever

  Chapter 10 – Back to Reality

  Chapter 11 – Whatever it Takes

  Chapter 12 – Something Bigger

  Chapter 13 – Reunited This Way

  Chapter 14 – Then I Met You

  Chapter 15 – One to Keep

  Chapter 16 – Fucked Up Logic

  Chapter 17 – Changing Everything

  Chapter 18 – A Blue Suede Shoe Drops

  Chapter 19 – Right and Wrong

  Chapter 20 – The Redemption Box

  Chapter 21 – Bubblegum

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter 1 – More Than a Slip

  Either I was being hazed or this was a test.

  It was my first day in the Alexander-Knight, LLC, office, sitting in a square-shaped, black leather chair across the desk from my prospective business partner, Derek Alexander, and he wasn’t speaking. He was quietly reading my résumé like he should’ve done before I got here.

  To say it was pissing me off would be an understatement.

  I could fill in the blanks for him: Patrick Knight, single, retired Guard-turned private investigator.

  I was a closer. A deal maker. I looked clients in the eye and told them I’d get their shit done. And I did.

  I’d relocated from Chicago to Princeton a month ago to take my older brother Stuart’s place at their private investigative firm. A retired Marine, Stuart had taken a job in Saudi Arabia, and his partner Derek needed a replacement. Enter me.

  But I wasn’t coming here to be treated like a subordinate, and I sure as hell wasn’t coming here as Stuart’s little brother. So whatever the fuck was going on right now had about five more seconds…

  “Sorry.” Derek lowered the pages and moved forward in his chair. “I would’ve read this before you got here, but I just got off a plane.” He glanced past his open office door to the blonde sitting out front. “It was supposed to be in my files.”

  I’d noticed the receptionist when I walked in the door. Bedroom eyes, slim hips, a perfect set of tits—it appeared Alexander-Knight hired the staff for more than their clerical skills. I could work with that. Apology accepted.

  “Nice help,” I said with a smile.

  He blew air through his lips and looked back at my portfolio. “Incompetent.”

  “But good under the desk.” It was an attempt at humor, but he didn’t take it.

  His jaw flexed, and he studied me. “What are your strengths?”

  “What?”

  “Strengths.” His tone was sharp. “What are you good at?”

  “You’re looking at the list.”

  “Off the list. What do you prefer?”

  My eyebrow rose as I thought about it. I wasn’t expecting this question. “Domestic is a pain in the ass. As is kidnapping. I’m not interested in watching the should-be faithful break their vows, and I don’t deal with fucked up spouses stealing kids. I won’t take crying babies from their mothers.”

  He nodded. “I understand that.”

  “Embezzlement, corporate fraud, insider trading… that’s the good stuff.” I glanced toward the door. “Usually includes a hot secretary ready to spill. With the right motivation.”

  His brow lowered. “We don’t sleep with clients.”

  I shrugged. “It’s not usually necessary—”

  “It’s never necessary.”

  Okay, for the record, I got the “don’t shit where you eat” rule. But in our business, clients came and went. An occasional dip in the ink was as much a part of the shtick as smoking cigarettes or wearing trench coats. Both of which I guess had gone out of fashion…

  “Whatever,” I said.

  The truth was, I’d never actually slept with a client. I’d always been with Stacy, my ex-fiancée. But the way that had ended revised all my former habits. I’d wasted a lot of time being the nice guy, the rule-follower, and I’d had my heart punted like a damn football for it.

  It was okay—it was the best thing that could’ve happened to me, because it brought me to my new understanding: You only live once.

  Life was about being lucky and smart, and Derek Alexander was my business partner, not my boss. We did not have to have the same ideas about handling cases. Or clients.

  He stood and went to the door. “I’ll show you Stuart’s old office.”

  I followed him out, across the open floor-plan. My eyes drifted around the space—dark wood furnishings paired with frosted, etched-glass dividers sporting the A&K logo; clean lines, straight edges. Very professional.

  Mine would be the other corner office with a wall of windows overlooking… congested Route 1. “Great view.”

  He barely noticed. “Stuart said you’re good. I’m glad to have you join me if you’d like the job.”

  What would be my desk was empty except for a slim Macbook. Several bankers’ boxes were stacked in the corner.

  “Work’s been piling up since he left for Saudi.”

  “I can start today.” I held out my hand, and he gave it a brief, firm shake.

  “Good. Make yourself at home.” Pausing at the door, he looked back. “I’ll have Nikki set up your computer and bring you the passwords. She can do that at least.”

  The last bit was added under his breath, and I assumed Nikki was the pinup out front. I imagined she could do a lot more than setup my computer.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Oh, and Patrick, we don’t take domestic cases.” A hint of a grin—a crack in the wall—was at the corner of his mouth. It was possible this guy might not be such a bad business partner. Stuart wouldn’t have sent me here otherwise.

  I exhaled a laugh and nodded. “Good.”

  Turning back to the windows, I stared at the cars clogging up the highway while I waited for Nikki. Princeton wasn’t the most exciting place on Earth, but I’d made my choice—this over Afghanistan.

  Retired military like Stuart (and me) could get cushy jobs in Middle East security that only lasted three months and paid a shit load of money. But I didn’t want to go back there again and again. I was sick of the desert. Instead, I’d come here.
/>   Last week I’d found my apartment and moved all my stuff in, the plasma TV was in place, Bose surround-sound set up—the necessities. After that, I’d spent a few days following up with clients about my move and getting to know the area. Now I was jonesing for a date.

  “Good morning, Mr. Knight.” Nikki’s voice was breathy and high, just like it needed to be. She had those fake, glossy nails that were supposed to look natural, I guessed, and she sat in my chair as she opened the laptop on my desk. Her hand quickly moved the wireless mouse, and her nails clicked against the keys. “I’ll just enter all the information, but I’ll leave the card with you in case you need it again.”

  “Thanks.” I walked back to where she sat.

  Stuart worked in this office six years and never said a word about the eye candy. All he said was Derek needed a partner, and he was trustworthy. I supposed he was also cheap and didn’t want to have to change the letterhead and logo—much less the glass doors at the entrance with Alexander & Knight lasered into them.

  “You can call me Patrick.”

  Nikki’s blue eyes flickered to me briefly from under thick, black lashes then back to the computer. Her lashes were as fake as her too-long, white-blonde hair that was teased up into a side ponytail. But I wasn’t judging. The green wrap-dress she wore was skin-tight and stopped at the middle of her smooth, tanned thighs. The girl was stacked, and she clearly took care of herself. I stood behind her shoulder, where I had full view of the dark crack between her nice, round breasts.

  “You worked here long?” I hoped she’d lean back a little. She did and lifted her chin, too. Bonus.

  “A couple months,” she said in that voice.

  “Like it here?”

  “It has its moments.” Her tongue touched her bottom lip as she smiled, and her eyes moved from my face, down my chest to my waist, and then slowly up again.

  Her full lips were light pink with a darker line around the edges, and I imagined them curving into the shape of an O. Her head was just a dip away from my crotch, and my pants grew tight across the fly at the thought of that warm mouth covering me… I was pretty sure we were both thinking the same thing when Derek’s voice broke through the tension.

  “Nikki, I need to see you in my office.”

  She blinked and stood, shaking her head as she exhaled, “What now,” but she paused at the door. The shiny gold heels she wore flexed her toned calves, and her toenails were painted the same color as her lips. “You’re online now. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  I liked how she said anything. I looked forward to working late, needing her assistance, peeling that dress away… Today, however, I was only staying a few hours. I had to finish unpacking my apartment—more specifically, get the bedroom set up—if I planned on having overnight guests.

  * * *

  The next morning, I carried one box of supplies into my new office. It was early, and Nikki was the only one there, which suited me fine. I wanted to get to know her better.

  I left the box on my desk and my blazer on the back of my chair, before going out front again. She was typing up something I couldn’t see, and she was as turned out today as she had been yesterday. Today the wrap-dress was pink, and it hugged that amazing rack perfectly. Large gold hoops dangled from her ears, and her thin brows were pulled together over baby blues.

  “Mr. Alexander likes to use police codes when he enters the cases into the system,” she said as she typed. “But he never worked as a cop.”

  “I’ve never worked as a cop either.”

  I gave her The Smile I used to send panties flying. Her face softened with a laugh, and she held my glance a moment before returning to the computer screen.

  “So you’re saying I’ll have to correct your entries, too?”

  “Sounds like you think you know more than me.”

  When her eyes met mine again, they held a superior look that turned me on even more. “Maybe I do.”

  I was ready to test that theory in every way. Last night, I’d finished the lair, complete with 800 thread-count sheets and a brand new box of Ultra Thins. “How did you get this knowledge, Ms. Harland?”

  “I worked as a dispatcher after high school and all through community college.”

  That was when I caught the accent. “And where exactly did you do this dispatching?”

  “Don’t pull that private dick routine on me, Mr. Knight.” Her brow arched. “I’m from Corbin, Kentucky.”

  God, I loved cocky southern women. I could tell she’d be a lot of fun in the sack, and an image of me bending her over that desk, fondling those perfect tits and pounding her as she moaned for more flickered across my mind, causing a stir below my waist. “You might enjoy a little private dick routine from me.”

  She laughed, not backing down. “What makes you think I don’t already have a private dick of my own?”

  I was ready to find out when Derek pushed through the glass front doors, ending our banter. Again, he wore a dark suit and tie, and he only briefly assessed my casual appearance. He didn’t fool me. The collar-length hair and close beard said a military dress code wasn’t his deal. His Gucci look was clearly a personal quirk—one I had no intention of acquiring.

  “Good morning, Mr. Alexander,” Nikki said, turning back to her computer. She was all business again, but Derek didn’t even respond.

  He continued past us, only pausing briefly to speak to me. “Would you be able to start on the Alliance Bank case today?”

  I gave Nikki a smile and a wink before following the big guy back to his office. “The hacker job?”

  “They need a report by Friday if possible. Williams wants to go after the whole ring.”

  I’d looked at it yesterday afternoon before I left. It was in the top banker’s box. A ring of five hackers were pulling the half-cent-add to every transaction con. It didn’t sound like much, but with the big banks, it added up fast. And took a while to detect.

  “It seems pretty open and shut to me,” I said. “Friday shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Derek placed the slim case he carried on his large, mahogany desk and nodded. “Good.” He opened his computer and made a few clicks. I started to go, but he stopped me. “Any interest in going to Scottsdale in a few weeks?”

  “Arizona?” I frowned. “At the hottest time of the year? Why?”

  “I’ve been invited to do a security workshop for a banker’s conference, but I’d rather stick close and keep an eye on Wallace Trading.” He sat and leaned back in his leather chair. “I was planning to turn it down, but you could take it. It’s a good way to meet new clients.”

  “How soon do you need to know?”

  He stood and moved a few files around like he was searching for something. “A-sap.”

  I nodded, starting for the door. “I’ll think about it.”

  * * *

  The box holding my work essentials was in the center of my desk, and for a moment, I surveyed the contents—an old Bears mug, a couple of hardbound legal texts I used pretty regularly, a baseball-shaped stress ball, a now-empty picture frame.

  I pulled the ball out and gave it a squeeze while I considered moving the entire contents to the dumpster—saving the books, of course. All the other shit brought my former life back too irritatingly close for comfort.

  Still holding the ball, I leaned back in my chair with one of the books. Nikki’s comment about correcting my reports was in my head, and I was pretty sure this one had police codes in the index. Feet on the desk, I saw what I thought was a piece of cardboard stuck between the pages, but when I flipped it over, it was more like a million iron-fisted slams straight to the gut. Stacy.

  My kid sister Amy had taken this picture of us at the Navy Pier a year ago—the day I’d proposed. The day she’d said yes, knowing she was screwing my neighbor. My jaw clenched as I studied my blissed-out expression. What a joke.

  Her blonde hair ended in the slightest flip at her shoulders, and I looked like a first-class sucker with my arms ar
ound her waist, kissing her cheek. I was only twenty-seven when we met, and two years later I proposed. In hindsight, I decided my feelings were a combination of feeling like it was “time,” whatever the fuck that means, and of her being the first woman I’d connected with after Afghanistan.

  Either way, she did not share my level of commitment.

  It was a really classy send-off, too. Her in my kitchen, on her back on my bar, moaning with her knees spread wide. The dick from 24B had his face buried between her thighs, and he was going to town.

  Fuck the tightness in my chest. I crushed the glossy print in my fist and leaned back, slamming the stress ball hard as I could against the opposite wall.

  CRASH! My aim was too high, and the large, black-and-white framed art photo was now shattered. Shit.

  “Oh my god, what happened?” Nikki was breathless as she rushed into my office, but I was already across the room, taking down the frame. Glass was everywhere.

  “My hand slipped.” I didn’t turn around. I was pretty sure remnants of anger were still on my face, but I kept my back to her, trying to hide it.

  “Sounds like a lot more than a slip.” Her tone said she was onto me as she took the picture. “Poor Wilson.”