Page 1 of Detective Daddy Next Door

Chapter 1

Bria

IarriveatHarryReid International Airport at exactly 11 a.m. The flight was delayed by two hours at Long Beach Airport. They gave the weather as an excuse, and it is a valid one. The sky that had been dark and cloudy in Long Beach is now filled with the bright yellow Las Vegas sun. It’s a blue as deep as the bottom of the ocean and is dotted with fragments of white cloud fluff. I look around as I head to the Terminal 1 parking for the Uber I booked ahead.

My eyes catch the plate number that matches the one I booked on my app, and I walk toward the car. A bald middle-aged man in brown khaki shorts and a white button-down shirt approaches with a puffy smile on his face.

"Bria?" he asks.

I nod and tell him the name of the hotel I’m staying at. “Can we get there quickly? I need to freshen up before going to see my client.”

He nods and reaches for my carry-on bag.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.

He shakes his head and slips the bag off my shoulder. “It’s fine. I like to help. I’ll get you to your hotel in no time.”

Perfect, I think to myself. I'm supposed to see my client in one hour.

He opens the door to the passenger side and puts my carry-on bag in. I scramble into the back as he opens the door to the driver's side, and I sit behind the driver's seat. Then I shift to the other side just so I can see him. You can't be too cautious these days.

When we're out of the parking lot, he looks at me in the mirror. "Here on business?"

I nod as I search my handbag for my handheld fan. I find it, switch it on, and hold it up to my face. "Yes."

“Sorry about the air conditioner. It stopped working this morning. What do you do for work?"

I nod to let him know it’s fine as the fan cools me down and I reply to his question. "I'm a lawyer. A tax attorney."

He smiles and bobs his head. "My daughter is a lawyer too. She lives in Chicago."

"Oh, that's nice."

He nods and smiles again, fatherly pride written all over his face. I know how he feels. The exact same look was on Dad's face the day I graduated from law school. It's the same look he has on his face when he introduces me to friends.

The driver pulls up to my hotel, but before I step out, he stretches a card out to me. "My daughter is a criminal attorney. Just in case you need help catching some tax evaders in Chicago."

I find it a bit odd that he carries his daughter’s business card around and I doubt I'd ever need it, but I smile at him, nod, and take the card. I don't look at it but drop it into my handbag and tell him thank you and goodbye.

The hotel is modern. It’s a tall brown building that looks like it’s made of steel. It’s glistening under the intense sun. The architecture is the type you see on the pages of Architectural Digest. I already know its interior will be state of the art. I shift the strap of my carry-on bag up my shoulder and walk across the cobbled pavement, up the slanted cement slab, and enter as the doorman opens the door wide for me.

"Welcome, ma'am," he says.

"Thank you," I reply, and make for the long reception desk.

"Welcome, ma'am. Do you have a reservation?" a woman with dark hair that's pulled to the back asks.

"I do."

She stops going through a file and turns her attention to the computer in front of her. "Name, please?"

"Bria Shaw."

"Just a moment," she says as her index finger rotates the mouse wheel on the counter.

I tap my fingers on the sleek brown counter and look down at my watch. I have thirty minutes remaining. If I miss my appointment, Micha will be pissed at me. Micha is my boss at the law firm I work for in Long Beach. I wasn't supposed to come on this trip, a colleague was, but he got sick at the last minute. So here I am.

The dark-haired woman's voice pulls me out of my head. "Yes, you're in room 745. Take the elevator up to the seventh floor and head to the right at the hallway," she says, as she slips me a card.

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