Page 1 of Daddy's Little Spy

1

The only thing Detective Diana Clarke hated more than a bad cop was a dirty one.

And Bartholomew Franks was both.

All she had to do was figure out how to prove it. Sitting in her personal vehicle, parked down the street from the Rinaldi estate, she focused her camera on the license plate of the car turning out of the front gates.

“Gotcha, asshole,” she muttered as she captured another piece of evidence to add to the file she’d spent the last six months building. Everything she needed to take him down, and the Rinaldi family with him if she could manage it, was stored on her personal computer with physical backups hidden in the safe in her home office.

She wasn’t stupid enough to keep anything at the precinct. That was how good cops ended up dead.

Or worse - dirty.

Was that what happened to Franks? He’d been a good cop once from what her research had revealed. Awards, commendations, not so much as a whisper of indiscretion until The Incident, as she’d mentally dubbed it. After his partner had been killed and he’d been put on desk duty, things had changed. Nothing too obvious, nothing to make the brass sit up and take notice, but something was definitely off.

So she’d started digging. Detective Franks had himself a nice little offshore nest egg. Even if he’d been living in his mother’s basement and saving every penny the Baltimore PD had paid him over the last thirty years, he wouldn’t have been able to save that much.

Eventually she’d dug her way down to the Rinaldi family, one of the wealthiest crime families on the East Coast.

Even wealthier now that Emilio Rinaldi had hitched himself to Amara Vitali after her uncle’s rather sudden disappearance. From what Diana could tell, Amara had stepped seamlessly into her uncle’s shoes and taken over the Vitali family operations, blending her business with her husband’s. Together, they had formed one of the most powerful crime families in the world.

It made sense that they had cops in their pockets. Didn’t make it any less infuriating.

Placing the camera on the seat beside her, Diana shifted the car into drive and headed for her next appointment. The pricey salon Amara patronized was going to put a dent in Diana’s savings account, but it would be worth it if she could meet the elusive woman.

She parked around the block from the salon on the off-chance Rinaldi’s guards had spotted her car during her stakeouts. As confident as she was in her own abilities, there was no point in taking unnecessary risks.

When she rounded the corner, she paused in her tracks, silently cheering whatever gods were smiling down on her. Standing outside the salon, without a guard in sight, was Amara Vitali herself. Cell phone pressed to her ear with one hand, the other waved about wildly, matching her rising tone. Diana pulled out her own phone, as if checking a text, and inched forward.

“He’s in the car, right in front of the salon, Emilio. I don’t need him attached at the hip to protect me.” A long pause. “You’re being ridiculous. Only an idiot would —” Amara huffed out a breath. “Fine,” she snapped, and Diana couldn’t resist glancing up.

Red colored Amara’s cheeks. “No, sir. I’m sorry.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Yes, Daddy. I love you, too.”

Daddy?Filing that little tidbit away, Diana picked up the pace and passed her target, reaching the salon door a moment before Amara, both of them reaching for the handle at the same time.

“Oh!” With a startled laugh, Diana jerked her head up and gave her target an apologetic smile. “I didn’t see you. Can’t seem to keep my eyes off the damn thing,” she added, waving her phone.

“I understand.” Amara’s tight smile was polite, if a little aloof. “After you.”

Diana opened the door, holding it open for Amara to pass through as well. A loud cry had her spinning around, her hand reaching for the service weapon she hadn’t strapped to her hip.

And instantly felt like an idiot when the ruckus turned out to be the salon owner greeting Amara, whose cool, polite smile had morphed into a much more authentic one as she embraced the smaller woman.

“My Amara!” The petite woman with a head full of sleek, shiny curls beamed up at Amara. “Your husband has kept you away far too long. You tell him I said he needs to learn to share.”

Amara’s warm laughter filled the room. “You try telling Emilio anything. I was lucky to sneak away this afternoon as it was. He’s been a bit overprotective lately. Speaking of, would you mind if Joey came in for a bit? I asked him to wait in the car and Emilio had a bit of a conniption over it.”

The owner — Diana flipped through her mental files, landing on Mary Donnelly, age thirty-eight, divorced twice, no children — sobered immediately. “Of course, your man can stay. You should have brought him in the first place! Silly girl.”

“I’m perfectly safe here.” Amara waved a perfectly manicured hand. “I’ll text Joey and then I want to forget he even exists while I shell out obscene amounts of money for you to pamper me.”

Tossing her head back, Mary let out a peal of delighted laughter. “Of course! Champagne?”

“Miss?”

Diana reluctantly turned from the scene in front of her back to the receptionist’s desk, where an impossibly thin girl dressed in black from head to toe was watching her expectantly. Although the girl’s smile never faltered, there was a hint of impatience in her eyes, so Diana forced herself to offer another apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I get so distracted these days. Diana Sullivan,” she replied, giving the married name she’d used for all of six months before her high school sweetheart had decided being married to a cop wasn’t as sexy as he’d imagined. She’d switched back to her maiden name as quickly as the courts would allow, but it came in handy to have a built-in alias for occasions like this.

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