Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 132657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“Are you kidding me? She’s involved in some kind of drug ring and you’re perfectly fine with that?” Deranged Dad was in a full-on panic.
“She’s doing a job,” Papa countered. “Like we do from time to time. You know happy places and people rarely need to be investigated.”
“Well, she’s not exactly involved with the drug ring,” Ian pointed out. “It’s more like she’s trying to take them down.” Her mentor gave her a thumbs-up. “You’re doing great, Harlow. You take ’em down. Only thing you did wrong this time was having these dumbass men around. What did I teach you?”
“Keep sex to the club and the bedroom and don’t take dumbasses into the field with me. That means men or women or anyone in between. You were clear that sexual fluidity did not dismiss dumbassery. Yes. I should have remembered that.” Sometimes she wondered how her life would have gone if Ian Taggart had been her father. Oh, she would have fought her way through childhood because they were a feral clan, but she might have fit in better. And maybe she would have listened and not tried to take her boyfriend out into the field with her.
Not her boyfriend. Nope. The plant Jensen left behind. She felt like such an idiot.
Her dad’s gaze sharpened, and his head swiveled like a predator scenting prey. As though he had just realized there were two other people in the room he could blame for his precious baby’s bad choices. Not that he had mistakenly ignored them. Oh, no. The great Chase Dawson would have walked in, taken a single glance, and been able to describe what they looked like, were wearing, and probably be able to discern their chosen professions from clues.
It was hard being the daughter of a genius.
Chase Dawson was one of the world’s premiere investigators. When governments needed a Hercule Poirot, they called her dad. When a murder needed to be solved and quickly, cops had her dad on speed dial.
Niall stood up. Because he obviously had no instinct for self-preservation. He actually held out a hand. “Hello, Mr. Dawson. I’m Niall Griffen.”
“Neil?” Dad asked, that judgmental brow of his rising.
“Nope,” Ian replied. “It’s some weird Irish thing. And the other dude is named Jensen. Like who names their freaking kid Jensen?”
Jensen shrugged, obviously unbothered. “My mom liked Supernatural but she had an old boyfriend named Jared, so I got Jensen. I think Niall’s mom read a lot of historical romance. It’s spelled weird, too. I told him he should go by Neil.”
Niall huffed. “Not my name.”
Dad turned on her. “I taught you not to date assholes with douchebag names.”
She nodded. “And yet you named me Harlow and my sister Greer.”
He was good with everything except irony.
Her dad’s head shook. “I wanted to name you Mary and Elizabeth. Solid girl names. Your mother has an old-school Hollywood fetish, and since she pushed you and your sister out of her hoo-ha, she got first dibs. And you know we should talk about it. If you were named Mary, perhaps you wouldn’t be lost in your own damn noir film.”
He could get lost in his own arguments. Honestly, they could go at it for hours, she and her dad. Once they argued for half a day over the validity of the Star Wars prequels.
It had been fun.
When had it stopped being fun? Probably around the time he had to pick her up in another state and bail her out and see her in a cast, broken and bruised. He was overly protective before, but then he’d gone into hyperdrive.
“So, you’re Chase.” Niall seemed to realize he wasn’t getting anywhere with the most paranoid of her dads. He turned to her papa. “You must be Ben Dawson. Again, I’m Niall Griffen. I’ve been seeing your daughter.”
Papa shook his hand and gave him a once-over. “It’s good to meet you. How do you and Harlow know each other?”
Dad stood back and rolled his blue eyes. His arms crossed over his chest as he considered Niall. “They met at The Hideout, of course. I suspect she’s been playing with him.”
Ian sat back. “Oh, he’s going to do that thing, baby. I love it when he does this.”
That thing was giving a preternaturally accurate rundown of people he recently met.
She should have let Dave murder her. She blamed Jack.
“Does what?” Niall asked, sounding hesitant for the first time.
She could do a little of it, too. She could read Niall in that moment. He was the good guy, the one all parents loved. He was the clean-cut ex-soldier who held doors open and helped old ladies cross the road. He was used to charming moms and laughing with dads. It was disconcerting to him that first Ian paid him no mind at all, and now her dad was looking at him like a bug he was getting ready to pin to his collection board.