Page 28 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

But no, any outline that might show against the cloth is covered by the “Daddy’s Little Ghoul” lettering. I sigh, resigned to a day of nipple torture.

“I’ll check them every hour, baby doll. Yellow if you need a check-in sooner.”

“Ta, Daddy. Thank you for taking care of me even if your nasty nipple clamps are more bitey than a Rottweiler.”

Logan laughs. “What are you like, little girl?”

“I’m like a baby with chewed-up nips.”

“I’ll make sure they’re not too chewed-up in an hour. If you can keep them on through lunch, I’ll make time to fuck my baby good and hard before I go to Jersey. How’s that for a good deal?”

“Deal, Daddy!”

“That’s better. There’s my enthusiastic girl. Let’s go have fun.”

Despite the horrible clamps, we do.

New York’s changeable fall weather cooperates, spitting rain while we’re on the train but clearing to blue skies and scudding gray clouds as we walk down to Pier 86. Daddy’s quiet as we clamber over the huge aircraft carrier. I make him pose with me since he looks extra rugged and Daddyish today. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and his beard has come in dark and soft. Daddy’s eyes are always wolfy and magnetic but never more so than when he wraps me in his arms and poses for selfies. His white teeth flash when he sneaks a hand up my sweater to tug on one of the clamps, which gets me squealing and batting at him. He captures a shot of that on his own phone and sends it to the playgroup chat, which causes my phone to light up with suggestions from the Littles’ Army on how to deal with nipple-clamping daddies.

He gets more serious when we get on the submarine. He tells me about the men in his unit, including Manny and Max, and what it was like to live and work in such confined quarters. That Max is an unbeatable chess player doesn’t surprise me; that Manny is good enough at Uno to play at the competitive level does.

“I didn’t even know there was such a thing, Daddy,” I say as I peer into one of the bunk rooms.

“Mmm-hmm. First world championship was held not too long ago. Manny was invited to play in the qualifying rounds but he turned them down. Too busy with our business, Jen, and the kids.”

“Wow.”

“Don’t ever get drawn into playing Manny for anything but pennies. He’s phenomenal at Uno but he’s also damn good with other card games. He used to clean me out regularly at blackjack and poker, too, the bastard.”

I giggle, imagining Logan’s chagrin losing to his business partner. Daddy’s very good at games. Card games, board games, sports games, Daddy loves them. Except Hearts. There, I reign supreme.

“Does he play Hearts, Daddy?” I ask.

“I’ve never seen him play Hearts.” Logan rubs his hand over his mouth. “You are extremely good at Hearts.”

“Blunts’ Hearts Crowned Champion,” I say, pretending to buff my nails against my sweater but not actually doing it because I don’t want my sweater to press against the nipple clamps. They are owie enough.

Logan claps his hands together. “I know what we’re doing after dinner the next time Manny and Jen come over.”

Grinning, happy to have diverted Daddy both from his worries about the Great Baby Caper and somber memories of his time in the Navy, I link my arm through Daddy’s as we tour the rest of the sub.

nine

EMILY

Max video-calls rightafter Daddy’s gone to bed.

Daddy’s stake-out of Sacrum with Master Mac was a bust. There wasn’t a single sign of Joker’s B all night. Daddy and Mac took turns keeping watch and neither got more than a few hours’ sleep. Master Mac declared that after two sleepless nights his “tank was empty” and crashed. Daddy tried to stay awake in the hopes that Max would call but even two cups of coffee couldn’t keep him from nodding off. After hearing him snore and finding him with his head back in his office chair at an angle sure to give him a very stiff neck, I woke him and he admitted defeat.

Worrying my lip with my teeth, I take Max’s call. “Daddy’s napping. I think I should wake him.”

Max grins such a huge grin it almost reaches his ears. “Let him sleep. I’ll call again before we leave. I just wanted you to meet Livvy.”

He flips the camera over. Mr. De Leon scowls into the camera and then the view pans down his chest to what he’s got cradled in his arms.

My first impression is of bountiful dark brown curls, touched with red highlights in the hospital’s overhead lights. Then an adorable, round-cheeked face with big, cloudy gray eyes. Livvy smiles, showing an expanse of pink gums, before she stuffs her fist in her mouth and coos around it.

“Hello, Livvy,” I breathe. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

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