Thomas

Having spent time in the military, particularly military intelligence, I've been exposed to the seamier side of human nature more than I care to admit. Behind all those fancy uniforms and noble ideals, the human beings responsible for gathering information often sink to the lowest common denominator to do so, and that meant dealing with vices.

Most of them are depressingly common: alcohol, drugs, and various addictions. Everyone has a pressure point; something susceptible to blackmail or exploitation and it's painful to admit I learned a lot more about human nature than I needed. I learned a lot about my own human nature too, which is one of the reasons the Navy and eventually I parted company. My point is though, that while Daisy's history didn't shock me per se, it did depress me a little. Mostly because I liked her and the idea that she'd been involved with the baser side of life was disappointing.

Then I made the mistake of saying so, in a roundabout way.

"What?" she snapped at me, glaring. We were driving back from the police station around dawn, which normally is a gorgeous time of day in Hawaii but at the moment it was overcast and I was thinking about stopping for doughnuts.

"I just meant that I think it's kind of a waste of your talents to be that kind of . . . performer," I repeated. "You're smart; there are a lot of other jobs out there."

She shot me a bland look she must have stolen from Higgins. "When you're on a case, Tomcat, how much do you charge? Typically?"

I winced at the nickname; I was going to have to break her of that habit. "Well two hundred a day, plus expenses on average. Most cases run about three days, so six to eight hundred a case." I didn't add that at least twenty-five percent of the time I'd get stiffed, and there were always bad checks and people I had to badger for my money for weeks on end.

"And you get a case maybe every two weeks . . . in a good month?"

That was optimistic, but I shrugged in agreement, not sure where this was going.

"So roughly you make about sixteen hundred a month when things are going your way, and zero when they aren't," Daisy murmured. "Kind of a hand to mouth existence even though you're smart and there are other jobs out there."

"Daisy—"

"When I was working in Holmby Hills, I made a thousand a week before tips," she sighed. "Four days working, one day for paperwork, two days off."

"What?" I risked a look at her, honestly startled.

"Four thousand plus a month," Daisy shrugged. "For letting clients watch me catfight or tie them up, or playact whatever little fantasy they wanted. And ninety-nine percent of those people paid up-front and treated me well. I got Christmas cards from some of them, Magnum. If it wasn't for Isaac, I'd probably still be there, socking away money in my stock portfolio and not shooting at or getting shot by, anyone. Maybe you ought to chew on that for a while before you waste your time judging me, okay?"

Ouch. Both the information and her tone pinned my ears back and I didn't say anything all the way back to the estate. She hopped out and went upstairs while I reported in to Higgins about the dog whistle and then left for a nap, feeling discouraged.

I guess the problem was that not only was she right, but also that I didn't really know much about Daisy. I didn't know much and I wanted to know more. She wasn't like a lot of other women I'd known and that was . . . intriguing. The independent streak. The daredevil attitude. The confidence. And yes, the hints of a darker nature too, I guess—she and I were more alike than I wanted to admit.

So I slept, and I had a dream.

Now I'm a big believer in dreams. Some of the most intense moments of my life have related to dreams I've had and I've learned to pay attention to them for good or bad because more often than not, they're trying to tell me something. Something I wasn't catching or paying attention to when I was awake.

But not this time. No, this dream was more along the lines of sheer physical attraction. Basic drive—she's a woman, I'm a man. I can't deny that Daisy is pretty and in great shape. Those are facts, and apparently my brain felt the need to remind me that since I hadn't had sex with anyone in a while, hey, why not create a pornographic dream to highlight that?

But it was more than that too, if I'm being honest. Sure the searing images were unforgettable, but even through it, I felt a deeper connection. A . . . bond.

It wasn't until I cleaned myself up, showered and got dressed that I realized my brain was also reminding me that intimacy is more than just attraction. It's about trust as well, and in the dream, Daisy was trusting me.

Or was she?

Maybe my mind was creating what I wanted to be true instead of what was actually true. That was too heavy a concept to deal with on an empty stomach, so I made myself some lunch and decided I'd go paddle-boarding for a while to clear my head.

Daisy

It took a couple of days to get back on an even keel with Magnum. I hadn't meant to snap at him but he was such a damned Eagle Scout at times, honestly. It's a common problem I see— some guys feel threatened by a woman who earns more than they do, especially in a line of work they don't really understand.

What I did for Jane was mostly psychological. I was there fulfilling fantasies in a safe environment. The clients and I had a rapport of trust that allowed them to indulge themselves without fear or judgment or misunderstandings. And I, well I had not only the professional satisfaction of helping them, but also earned a good living doing it. If it wasn't for the isolation of the work, I'd completely content still doing it, but that was the problem.

Working for Jane meant discretion, which translated into no real personal life. As an employee of Casa de Làtigos I had non-disclosure agreements and professional standards clauses and all sorts of demands on my time that made it nearly impossible to have friendships and relationships outside of work. Long story short: it got lonely at times. I had co-workers and made a few friends there, but I hadn't had a date in years, and certainly no sex outside of sessions with my vibrator.

Yes sort of TMI but true. It also explained why I was a little awkward around Magnum as well—I just wasn't used to being friends, especially with a guy. Especially with an attractive guy. I mean I won't lie; Tomcat wasn't exactly hard on the eyes. Most of my clients were regular men with average physiques, so hanging around someone built more like the stuntmen I used to know was disconcerting.

But he meant well and it's hard to stay annoyed at someone who gives you Macadamia nuts as a peace offering, so that helped. Magnum called in the favor about my offer to play wife again and laid out the details about the marriage counselor scheme while I listened.

"So these two therapists are running a blackmail scheme?"

"So it seems," Magnum replied. "Threatening to reveal a combination of confidential information and photos to keep collecting 'fees.' My client isn't the first victim but he's the one that's going after them. We'll pose as a couple and I'll see what I can find."

"A couple with a problem," I pointed out. "What's our issue?"

He gave me a blank look. "Um . . . we fight?" Magnum offered.

"Good," I grinned. "What about? Money? Or sex?"

"Not sex," he shot back, scowling.

"Well it's got to be something personal," I reluctantly closed the jar of macadamias. "Otherwise we could just go talk to a financial planner. No, we need something with that blackmail potential."

I watched him mull that over and realize I was right, which meant his expression went thoughtful. "You have a point. Um . . ."

"Maybe you have someone on the side," I offered. "Or maybe I do. I could smooch Rick to make it convincing."

Now Magnum's expression twisted into something almost painful. "Wait. So you're saying you would choose Rick over me?"

"Well, if you want to have something on the side with him—"

"No." Now the scowl was back. "There are limits to what I ask my friends to do, and that's one of them."

"Fine," I sighed. "How about . . . before we got married I posed nude for a men's magazine and you can't get over it. How's that?"

New expression. Skeptical; slightly worried; slightly intrigued. "That . . . could work. Until you needed to prove it."

I picked up the jar of macadamias and tossed it from hand to hand. "I can."

"Really?"

"Really," I murmured. "Thank goodness for pseudonyms. So are we the Smiths again?"

"Wait, go back. You actually posed for a men's magazine?"

"See? This is going to work perfectly!" I pointed out with a grin. "Yes. I even have a copy which no, you may not see."

"I'm an investigator," Magnum reminded me with a gleam in his eye. "I can find it."

"Not without a title," I taunted. "So think that little conflict will be enough for us to qualify for the Dynamic Commitment seminar, Mr. Smith?"

"More than enough," he murmured, shooting me a playful glance. "Maybe too much, Mrs. Smith."