Animal Attraction: Hot in Hollywood, #2

1

Brooklyn Jameson stared at the man across the desk from her, wondering when her life had taken a hard right turn into the truly absurd. Being a private investigator sounded glamorous when she was eighteen and desperate to stick it to her parents, but now, thirteen years later, the shine had more than worn off. There was nothing glamorous about long nights camped out in her car, eating too much fast food and drinking a terrifying amount of bitter coffee, waiting to catch cheating spouses in the act.

This potential client was a new low, though, even for her.

She pressed her lips together and calculated how far off from making rent she was this month. Too far. Cora could cover the difference, but that wasn’t a path she wanted to go down. Brooklyn didn’t do handouts—not even from her best friend. She had to take this case. No help for it. She huffed out a breath. Let me make sure I have this right.

The man sitting in the sole chair on the other side of her desk looked as out of place as a peacock who wandered into a desert. There was nothing overtly ostentatious about how he was dressed, but she’d grown up with money, and she knew what rich looked like. Richard Fisk was rich, born and bred. He cleared his throat. Since sitting down five minutes ago, he hadn’t stopped looking around her office like he expected to catch Ebola from every surface he touched.

She looked around the space, trying to see it from his point of view. Both the desk and the chairs they sat on were secondhand, mostly because the only time she was here was to take clients. The beige paint on the walls probably would have been at home in a prison or insane asylum… Damn, maybe I should get a fake pot of flowers or something to liven up the place.

The only rich clients she dealt with were acquaintances of Cora, and she went to them instead of having them set foot in the office.

Since he didn’t answer, other than to give her a nervous nod, like he thought she might… Brooklyn didn’t even know what. He was nervous and twitchy, but angry enough that he’d managed to get over himself and walk through her door. She sighed. You bought a dog—

Tibetan Mastiff. He’s worth over a million, and that’s not even counting stud fees.

She was relatively sure stud fees were exclusively for the horse world, but Brooklyn wasn’t exactly an animal person, so she could be wrong. Yes, a Tibetan Mastiff. You purchased this dog earlier this year—

In March.

She held onto her temper through sheer force of will, reminding herself yet again that, short of bowing to her parents’ wishes and cleaving to the plan they’d set out for her—marriage and babies and none of that work nonsense—she didn’t have the luxury of turning down a paying client. No matter how often the client interrupted her. So you’ve said. And your dog went missing a week ago.

He was stolen. Which I already told you.

Yes, yes, you did. It was entirely possible he was telling the truth. It was just as likely that he’d bought a stupidly expensive animal and then moved on to the next bright and shiny thing he could spend his daddy’s money on. He hadn’t even bothered to chip… She checked her notes. Barbaras. Who the hell named their dog Barbaras? If he had chipped him, it would have taken all of thirty seconds to track the dog’s location.

Richard shoved a flier across her desk to her. See for yourself.

She gingerly picked up the flier and stared. Whoever had taken Richard’s dog didn’t seem to like Richard much. The picture on the paper depicted the giant beast—the dog looked more like a lion than a canine—next to a masked man giving the camera a thumbs-up. The caption read: Have you seen your dog? He’s mine now. I love him. Funny. And you think you know who this man is?

"I don’t think I know. I do know. Not that the goddamn police will believe me. He pointed a shaking finger at the paper. That’s Levi Turnbull. He’s had it out for me since he moved into our neighborhood. He’s trash, and this is exactly the sort of shit he’d pull."

She knew of Levi Turnbull—the whole damn city did—though she’d never met him in person. He was a geeky tech wiz, and he’d invented a video game that had become a worldwide phenomenon. She hadn’t played the game, but she’d watched all three of the movies—so far—that the game had spawned, and they weren’t half bad. Not that Levi himself had his hands on every aspect of the empire his popularity had created, but still.

Brooklyn also had the inside bonus because Levi happened to be friends with the guy currently head over heels in love with her roommate and best friend, Cora Landers. Oh, what tangled webs we weave. She wasn’t sure if that connection would count for her or against her, but at least she had an inside edge if she needed it.

None of that explained why her potential client had a hard-on for the guy. Is there a reason you think it’s him, specifically?

Richard turned the color of a ripe plum, his knuckles white as he gripped the arms of the poor chair. That bastard has had it out for me since he moved in. He’s a piece of shit.

She tapped a finger on her desk. This reeked of a private vendetta, and the last thing she needed was to get involved in something like that—especially since Levi would likely be a groomsman at Cora and Jack’s wedding, and there was nothing like a restraining order to put a damper on a good time.

But money was money. Let’s talk fees. She named an amount, doubling her usual charge.

Done. He didn’t blink.

Should have quoted him a higher price. I require half the money up front. I’ll set up surveillance of his property and attempt to get photographic evidence that he is, in fact, responsible. I’ll also put out feelers in case he’s not.

That’s not necessary. Richard pulled out his wallet and smacked a huge wad of cash onto her desk. I know it’s him. Don’t waste your time looking elsewhere. Here’s your full fee. I’ll double it if you get my dog back.

Brooklyn blinked at the cash. Didn’t see that coming. You understand that I might not be able to prove anything.

You have a reputation. He smirked when she raised her eyebrows. What? You don’t think I found you by accident. You caught a friend of mine in a, let’s call it a questionable situation. Your pictures were the reason his wife is walking away with sixty percent of everything he owns. Billy covered his tracks and the other P.I.s she’d sent after him came up with nothing. You found what they missed. You’ll find that fucking dog.

Motherfucking Billy Reynolds. He was a philanderer with a taste for what he called exotic women. Talk about racist bullshit. She’d set up a bug in his car and, though the recordings were technically illegal and she hadn’t shared them with the wife, the things he’d said… Yeah, that guy had been a class act.

Richard considering him a friend was a giant red flag waving in front of her face.

This is a bad idea.

Too late. I need the money and I won’t see an offer that pays anywhere near what this one will—no matter how strange it is. She took the cash. I’ll start tonight.

Richard smiled. Perfect.

As soon as the door closed behind him, she shut her laptop, folded up the flier and tossed it into her purse, and threw on a light jacket. The sooner she got this done, the sooner she would get the rest of that money. That means a couple months’ worth of rent. I could afford to take Cora out for dinner for once. Not that her best friend minded footing the bill, but it was a point of pride. She wasn’t a mooch. She just didn’t have the disposable funds that a child-star-turned-divorce-attorney did. I chose the wrong profession.

Levi Turnbull lived in Cantwell. It was quieter than most of the options in