A Case of Defamation Pt. 01

PROLOGUE

Shay Caddel sat on her father's couch as they watched the 2016 Rio Summer Olympic Games. He'd made what he called his 'world famous... if only the world knew about it' chili for their traditional Sunday afternoon lunch. Chili traditionalists would probably turn their collective noses up at it because it had---gasp---beans in it, but she loved it, and it was her favorite chili. She and her dad stirred a healthy portion of Mexican cheese into their bowls and topped it with Fritos as they ate. Not only was it delicious, but it had been liberally seasoned with love, which made it better still.

Bowls and spoons in hand, with corn chips on the side, they were watching men's gymnastics. She'd first paid attention to the Olympics four years prior, when she was sixteen... not because she was particularly interested in the sports, but because all the men in the gymnastics and swimming events were delicious in the extreme, and she'd felt the stirring of womanhood. Now, at twenty, she was no longer a virgin, but she'd never admit to her father she was watching only so she could admire the gymnasts oh-so-sexy bodies and ogle the bulges in their skin-tight uniforms.

She liked men who looked like men. She wanted hers tall, dark, and muscled, and if he was packing a little something extra down below, that was even better. Powerlifters and bodybuilders were too bulky and grotesque, but the gymnasts, and to a slightly lesser extent, the swimmers, were just right.

The problem with the gymnasts were they were short. Even though she was only five-two and petite herself, or 'fun sized' as her dad called her, if the guy was much under five-ten, she wasn't interested. It might be shallow of her, but everyone had their preferences, and hers were for guys she still had to look up to when she was wearing heels. Still, when the men were on the floor, and she couldn't tell they were only a few inches taller than her, she could dream and drool.

Next up on the High Bar, the talking head on the television announced, is the American, Daniel Beckette.

That's right, Ron. This kid has earned his way to this event. At just over six feet tall, many considered him too tall to compete at this level, but he has done a standout job for the American team.

That's right, Todd. He's already won Gold on the Parallel Bars and Silver on Pommel Horse.

Right. This is his final event at these games, so you know he'll go all out.

He certainly has the skills to take home the Gold in this event.

That's right, Ron. He'd have won Gold in the U. S. Nationals in this event back in September, except he didn't stick his dismount.

At this level, even the little step back he had was enough to cost him.

That's where his height really affects him, by slowing his rotation just that much.

If he can score a 16.275 or better here, he'll have another Gold. Let's watch and see if he can do it.

Shay watched as Daniel went through his routine, the commentators praising and critiquing his performance. To her untrained eye, his routine looked like every other one she'd seen, but she was silently rooting for him, and the talking heads had little to say except praise.

Daniel was the media darling, the aw-shucks kid from somewhere in South Dakota, who was charming the pants off every woman in America, and most of the rest of the world, and goddamn did he look fine. When he was with his teammates, at six feet tall, he towered over them, but he had the same sleek, muscled build as they all did.

He's setting up for his dismount.

The question is, will he go for the triple or play it safe and go for the double.

The triple is what cost him at the Nationals. He's delivered a nearly flawless routine. I'd go with the double and stick the landing rather than risk a mistake on the triple.

As Shay watched, Daniel flew from the bar, spinning and tumbling through the air like a dervish. He landed and stood, arms in the air with a brilliant smile on his face, as casually as if she'd stepped off a curb.

He's done it! The triple-twisting double lay-out! That was flawless, perhaps the best overall routine we've seen on the High Bar in these games! He should be very proud of himself.

A truly excellent routine! We'll be right back to get the scores.

"What do you think, Dad? Think he'll win the Gold?"

Michael Caddel shrugged. "Beats the hell out of me. I can't tell the difference between the triple-twisting double-gainer and the quadruple backwards, forward butt thrust."

She snickered as he scraped up the last of his chili. "Want another bowl?"

"Yeah, but I'll get it. You want any more?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm good." One bowl was plenty for her.

When the games came back from commercial, Daniel was sitting in the scoring booth with another man, probably his coach. He was all smiles.

Here come the scores. Remember, he needs a 16.275 to take home the Gold.

She watched as the scores came in, her heart in her throat as she pulled for him. 16.5. She felt a tingle of vicarious excitement when Daniel jumped to his feet, enthusiastically punching the air over his head as he jumped for joy.

He's done it! Daniel Beckette will take home another Gold in the 2016 Rio de Janeiro Games. That brings his total medal count to three.

That's right, Todd. He medaled in all three of his events. That's a real accomplishment for someone many didn't think would even make the team.

As the commentators yammered on, she watched as Daniel hugged an older man and woman, probably his mother and father, before a woman with a microphone pulled him aside to talk to him about his routine. For the first time in this event, the reporter wasn't taller than the competitor. She barely heard what Daniel said as she took a pull on her beer.

She smiled as she set her beer aside and scooped up another spoon of chili. She wouldn't mind if he performed a routine on her. She wouldn't mind that at all.

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ONE

Shay's printer hummed as she printed out photo after full color photo. Mariusz Sikora wasn't going to be pleased, but she didn't care. If he didn't want to know the truth, he shouldn't have hired her. She didn't have a smoking gun, unable to get photos of Alisa, his wife, actually banging anyone, but she had enough evidence to convince anyone with two brain cells to rub together what was going on.

She'd been following Alisa for almost a month. Mariusz had begun to doubt Mrs. Sikora's daily workouts were entirely above board, and he'd shown up at Clearview Investigations to confirm his suspicions. He'd had good reason to be suspicious. His wife was certainly getting a good workout... but it wasn't at a gym. Los Angeles never slept, but it damn sure slept around.

Now that she'd compiled a file with enough evidence to convince any jury, she was turning it over to the client. She just took the photos and didn't concern herself with what happened after that. That was between Mariusz and his wife. Stalking cheating spouses wasn't the type of work she wanted, but it paid the bills, and she couldn't afford to be choosy after her father died.

A chime sounded softly, and she looked up as Mr. Sikora entered the small waiting area. Even when her father was still alive, they didn't need a large office. What was now the waiting area had been her office as she learned the business. Business had dropped off after his death, and if she got two new clients a month, she considered it a good month.

"Mr. Sikora," she called from her office. "Come in."

"You have something for me?" he asked as he entered her office.

She tightened her lips in sympathy. He didn't sound eager to know what she'd discovered. It was always the same way. Men and women hired a private investigator to find out if their spouse was cheating, thinking they wanted proof, but when it came time to find out, they realized they actually didn't and wanted to continue to believe the lie. Unfortunately for them, if they had enough misgivings about their spouse to hire someone like her, they were rarely wrong.

"Please, close the door and have a seat," Shay said as she waved him to one of her two guest chairs.

Though it was her bread and butter, she didn't understand what drove men and women to cheat. Mr. Sikora was a good-looking guy. Fit and well dressed, he owned a half-dozen car dealerships around town. He had a big house, two expensive cars, and to all appearances, he could give his wife anything she wanted. Maybe he was a complete dick at home, but that wasn't an excuse in her opinion. Divorce their ass, move out, and take half their shit with you when you left, but keep your legs closed or your zipper up until the divorce was final... but no, they'd rather cheat. She didn't write the laws, but in her opinion, cheating on a spouse and still getting half their stuff was wrong.

Saying nothing because the pictures spoke for themselves, she slid two dozen of the most damning photos across the desk. She watched as he slowly looked through the pages, his mouth hardening as he paled. She had pictures of Alisa Sikora with four different men outside various low-rent motels around the city. Mrs. Sikora had been careful, always driving to the gym and parking her car there before getting into an Uber. The charges didn't appear on any card Mr. Sikora knew about, but the photos clearly detailed what was happening.

"This proves nothing, Ms. Caddel," Sikora said, tossing the photos onto the desk.

She had to work not to laugh. "You're kidding, right?"

"So, she met some men. Maybe they're just friends."

She looked at him like he was crazy. "Four different men, five if you count that one time she had the threesome, outside a dozen different motels, and you think maybe they're meeting to play cribbage?"

He stared at his shoes. "It proves nothing," he repeated softly.

She tapped the papers into a neat pile. "Whatever. This is what there is. I can keep following her if you want, in case she makes a mistake, but short of breaking into their room while they're indisposed, this is all the evidence there's going to be. She's being very careful to make sure she doesn't get caught." She softened slightly. "I know this is hard to accept, but the evidence is clear. She's got four different men on the line that she rotates through." Shay flipped through the pictures until she found the one she wanted, the one that clearly showed her left hand as she lowered herself into the backseat of an Uber. "She takes off her ring and leaves it in her car, she meets with each of them on a different day, and always on the same day. I doubt if any of them know about you, or each other. This is all on her."

Alisa was a beautiful woman. Slim and well-built, Shay could see why any man would want to bed her, but she was obviously dead inside, and she was using men, and sex, to fill the emptiness. If she'd been cheating on Mariusz with just one man, Shay might have said it was for love, but not this, not with four different men at the same time.

He hadn't answered, so Shay gave him a nudge. "You want me to keep following her?"

"No!" he snarled. "I want my fucking life back, or proof she's fucking around, and this is what you give me? What am I supposed to do with this?"

She held up her hands in a 'what do you expect?' gesture. "This is all there is. I can't shoot photos through closed curtains. Take the photos and show her. She's dirty, and she knows it. Maybe she'll come clean and tell you everything."

"You've ruined my life!"

"I haven't done anything," she corrected firmly. This wasn't the first time a client wanted to take their anger out on her. "You came to me and asked me to do the job. I've done it. I'm sorry you don't like what I found, and I understand you're upset, but remember who you're upset with."

He grabbed the photos from her desk and struggled to rip them. He finally tossed half back on her desk, ripped the other half into quarters, and then threw them onto the floor before repeating the procedure with the other half. He'd already paid for them, so she didn't care what he did with them, and maybe ripping them helped him deal with his anger. She could print more if she needed them. He sat, breathing hard, his face flushed and ugly with rage.

She slid her invoice across the desk and began to run down the itemized list, using a pen to indicate each line item as she described it. "My billable hours totaled fifty-one. Fifty-one hours at one hundred dollars an hour is fifty-one hundred dollars. One hundred twenty-six miles at sixty cents a mile, seventy-five sixty. There's another sixty-eight in miscellaneous expenses. Copies of the receipts are attached. That comes to fifty-two forty-three. You paid for twenty hours as a deposit, that's two thousand dollars, which leaves a balance of thirty-two forty-three. Make your check to Clearview Investigations, or I accept debit, Visa, MasterCard, and Discover."

"You didn't deliver what you promised, and I'm not paying until you do!"

"So, you're authorizing more hours?"

"No, but I'm not paying until you get proof, until I see a picture of her sleeping with another man!"

She leaned back in her chair with a sigh. "Mr. Sikora... you signed a contract and the addendum agreeing for up to sixty hours. I'll give you the extra nine hours you approved, but nothing is going to change. I've done the job you requested and provided you with photographic evidence of your wife's infidelity. Don't make this worse than it already is. If you don't pay me, I'll take you to court and I'll win. You'll end up paying me now, or later, and if it's later, it'll cost you more because you'll be paying my legal expenses as well. Your choice, but I'd recommend paying now."

"I'm not paying you shit until I see it with my own eyes! You can forget that!"

"Have it your way. I'll see you in court."

"You fucking bitch!" he snarled as he jumped to his feet. "Are you threatening me?"

She remained seated, not wanting to escalate the situation, but pushed back from her desk to gain a little room as she prepared to defend herself. "I'm in no way threatening you, Mr. Sikora, but if you don't pay me, you'll be in breach of contract, and I'm informing you that I will exercise my legal right to collect payment, so you either need to sit down and get control of yourself, or you need to leave."

She leapt to her feet as he started around the desk. "Mr. Sikora! Mariusz! You need to stop right now!"

He kept going, his eyes and mouth hard. She had her Glock 43 in her desk, but shooting a client was bad for business.

"You fucking bitch," he growled. "You ruin my life and then threaten me?"

"You need to calm down!" she said firmly as she continued to back away. She'd never had to deal with this before, but fortunately her desk was situated in the office in such a way that she could circle all the way around it.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" he roared as he charged around the desk after her, his arms spread as he lunged for her.

Shay's office wasn't large, limiting her room to maneuver, but she was able to duck under his rush, hook his leg as he passed, and shove him between the shoulder blades to aid his stumble. He fell over one of the guest chairs and landed on the floor in a heap.

"Knock it off!" she yelled as he scrambled to his feet.

There was death in his eyes as he started toward her again. With him leaving her no choice, she spun as he came at her, bent at the waist with her right leg high as she pivoted quickly on her left foot. The back of her heel caught him squarely on the jaw in a spinning hook kick. Her kick was nowhere near full power, but it stopped him cold, causing his head to snap around as he stumbled off balance into her office door, his hand breaking the glass before he hit the floor.

"Shit," she hissed, drawing the word out slightly as she hurried to his side. He was bleeding badly from the mouth, but he wasn't completely out. "Are you okay?"

"You kicked me," he slurred.

She helped him to his feet as he held his mouth. She grabbed a handful of tissues from the box she always kept on her desk. Normally they were for tears, but they'd work for blood.

"I'm going to have you charged with assault," he mumbled as he took the tissue and pressed them against his bloodied lips.

She pointed to the camera in the corner of the office. "Go ahead and try. I'll sue your ass while you're in jail... and I'm charging you for the broken door. Now, are you going to pay what you owe me, or are we going to dance again?"

She retrieved another wad of tissues from the desk and handed them to him before offering the waste basket for him to dump the bloody ones.

He glared at her for a moment before all the fight went out of his eyes. "I'm sorry. Yes... I'll pay. I don't know what came over me."

She nodded as she returned the upended guest chair to its legs and then steered him to it. "Pay your bill, fix my door, and nothing will be said, but I suggest you get control of that temper."

He nodded as he lowered himself into the chair. "Will five hundred for the door be enough?"

"Make the check for thirty-five hundred and we'll call it even," she replied as she moved behind her desk.

He pulled his checkbook from an inside pocket, scribbled a moment, and then ripped the slip of paper out and slid it across the desk. She took it, glanced at the amount, and then tucked it into the center drawer before withdrawing a self-inking stamp. Removing the cover from the stamp, she quickly set the date, pulled the invoice back, and pressed the stamp firmly against the bottom of the page. With a red PAID clearly visible, she slid the invoice back to him.

"Been a pleasure doing business with you," she said in her best customer service voice.

He grunted. "Can I get another copy of the photos?" he asked, barely able to meet her gaze.

"Sure."

Spinning to her computer, she typed a moment before the printer whirred to life. It took about a minute for all the photos to land in the paper tray. She handed them across the desk.

"Thank you." He looked at her a moment, tossed the bloody tissues into the waste basket she'd left beside the chair, and then probed his lips with his tongue. "That's a hell of a kick you've got."

She allowed herself a small smile. "You should see me when I'm pissed off."

He snorted once. "I'd probably have to pick my head up off the floor." He looked behind himself before returning his attention to her. "Sorry about the door... and everything."

She rose and extended her hand. He stood with her and accepted her offer. "It's done, don't worry about it, but a piece of advice. Do something about your temper. One day it's going to get you into real trouble."

Saying nothing, he nodded and turned toward the door. She waited until the outside door closed and he drove away before she looked at her busted office door. The frosted glass was still in the frame but spiderwebbed from near the center where his hand had impacted it.

"Shit," she muttered before turning from the door to pick up the torn photos. After they went into the shredder, she walked to the cabinet tucked into the corner of the waiting room.

The cabinet held pens, printer paper, and other office supplies, the coffee maker and all the stuff required for it, and a few cleaning supplies. She did her own office cleaning because it took less than ten minutes to clean her two small rooms, and she didn't think it was worth paying someone for that.

Broom in hand, she carefully picked at the impact point. The pane seemed secure, but she could see sand-like shards glistening on the floor. Her lips tight in annoyance, she began sweeping. Her office had fake hardwood floors, so getting all the little splinters of glass into a pile was easy. She then carefully swept the glass into a dustpan before dumping them into the wastebasket with the bloody tissues.

She'd just returned the broom and dustpan to the cabinet, and taken out the dust mop, when a Greek god walked in. He paused inside the door, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head as he glanced around. He was slightly more than ten inches taller than her, with light brown hair worn stylishly short. He was dressed in a tight, dark blue Polo with Daniel Beckette Fitness Centers embroidered on the left breast, tan dockers, and comfortable loafers. She instantly noticed he was a major league stud-muffin by his muscular arms and the way he filled out his shirt and pants. With his thin nose, strong chin, and high cheekbones, he had the face of a movie star, but more striking than his face were his eyes. They were the most amazing green she'd ever seen.

Los Angeles was full of beautiful people, one of them had just walked through her door, and she was standing there with a mop in her hand like a discount Cinderella. Swallowing hard, she put the dust mop away and closed the cabinet.

"May I help you?" she asked.

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TWO

The man didn't want to be there, but he was at his wits end. For the past four or five months, X and the internet had been rumbling about him... and about things he hadn't done. He'd first thought it was nothing, the typical trolls that got off on spreading rumor and innuendo... Donald Trump was going to deport American Indians to India... Barak Obama was born in Kenya... Elvis Presley was spotted at Wal-Mart, but the rumors weren't going away, and they were starting to gain traction.

He looked at the woman. She was too well-dressed and professional to be the cleaning crew, and he decided she must be Michael Caddel's assistant or secretary. "Yes, I'd like to speak with Michael Caddel."

Something passed over her face. "I'm sorry. My father died about a year ago. I'm Shay Caddel. May I help you?"

"Oh, uh..." he began but then foundered, unsure of what to say or do.

She smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Would you like to step into my office, Mr....?"

"Sorry. Daniel. Daniel Beckette." He stalled, still unsure of what to do. He'd asked around, and Michael Caddel and Clearview Investigations came highly recommended. He was supposed to be honest, trustworthy, and most importantly, discreet.

"Mr. Beckette?" she prompted.

He shoved aside his misgivings for the moment. "Yes, sorry. Yes, thank you."

Shay was tiny. She barely reached his chin, but she was pixie cute with her short, messy is sexy hair. Her hair was a deep rich brown shading into black, stopped just below her ears, and was parted on the side. The style was very feminine, and he thought it looked good on her. Her features were delicate, with a small, upturned nose, and large, deep brown eyes.

She turned, and he followed her into the office. She was petite, but she moved with a power and grace that belied her size. He could tell there was more strength hiding in her small frame than most would realize. Her breasts were probably average in size, but appeared slightly larger than normal on her small build. While her breasts might be average, her ass was fantastic, and he had to force himself not to stare as she swayed into the small office.

"Trouble?" Dan asked as he nodded at the broken window in the inner door.

"No, no trouble. Now, how may I help you?" Shay asked as she sat down behind her desk. When he hesitated again, her face hardened slightly. "Mr. Beckette... I'm fully licensed and insured. I've been a private investigator for almost ten years."

She was very perceptive. "I have a problem," he said softly.

"Most people who walk through that door, do." When he didn't respond, she smiled slightly. "Want to tell me what it is, or should I try to guess?"

He couldn't stop his smile. "I'm being accused of sexual harassment."

"Okay. By who?"

"I don't know. That's the problem."

"You don't know?" Her surprise was clear in her voice. "How can you not know?"

"It's all over Facebook, X, everywhere. At first I ignored it, but it's starting to appear on blogs and some independent news sites."

"So? Rumors are just that."

"You don't understand. It's starting to affect my reputation and business."

"What is your business, Mr. Beckette?"

"Call me Dan, or at least Daniel. I have a website, DanielBecketteFitness. com, that promotes health and fitness. There are workout videos, health tips, that sort of thing. I also own three fitness centers in the area, Daniel Beckette Fitness Center, that I'm trying to franchise. Finally, I have some clients, some very private clients, that I do personal training with."

She looked at the man across from her. "Do I know you from somewhere? I feel like I've met you before, or maybe saw you on television, or something like that."

"I've had a couple small parts on television shows, but you probably remember me from the 2016 Rio de Janeiro Olympic Games. I was on the American male gymnastic team."

She snapped her fingers. "That's it! I thought you looked familiar. You won a bunch of medals, right?"

He tried not to smile but lost the battle. Winning three medals in the Olympics was the proudest moment of his life, and he'd worked his ass off for years with one goal, to make the U. S. Olympic team. It hadn't been easy. Because he was a tick over six feet, far taller than the five eight or five nine of most male gymnasts, not only did he have to be better than anyone else, but he also had to overcome the prejudice that he was too tall to be a world class gymnast. It'd been hard work, but he'd proven them all wrong.

"Gold on High Bar and Parallel Bars, silver on Pommel Horse."

She began nodding. "Yeah, I remember. You were the golden boy. Women everywhere were throwing themselves at you or fainting at your feet. Didn't you have an affair with one of the gymnasts from Australia or something?"

He rolled his eyes as his smile disappeared. "No. It was a hurdler, and it was just more rumors. A bunch of us got together to celebrate Jandi's birthday, I kissed her on the cheek, and suddenly we were sleeping together."

"I had the worst crush on you back then. Me, and every seventeen to twenty-five-year-old woman in America, I guess."

His smile returned. He'd posed shirtless with arms crossed over his chest as he smiled at the photographer. One was with the rest of the men's team, then each of them had posed alone. The photos were used to promote the games, and Dan's single was the most popular of them all, something his teammates never let him forget.

He couldn't resist. "What about now?"

She snickered. "Older, wiser, and a lot more cynical. So, what do you expect me to do, exactly?"

His smile disappeared. "I honestly don't know. Well, I do know, but I don't know if it's possible. I want you to find who's spreading the rumors so I can put a stop to them."

"And you have no place for me to start?"

"No."

She stared at him for a long moment. "I'm going to ask you this, and I need you to be perfectly honest with me. Have you ever touched a woman inappropriately?"

"No! Never!" He paused for a moment and then decided to come clean. "Okay, I know I have a bit of a playboy image, but I've never forced myself on a woman, ever, and I've never touched a woman that didn't want me to touch her."

"Could one of these past lovers be out to get you for some reason? Money?"

"I don't know. Why would they? Nothing was ever serious. They were just romps. They got what they wanted... and I got what I wanted."

"What did they want?"

He looked down as he heated with embarrassment. He was almost thirty and was beginning to settle down, but for a while, he was fucking every woman he could get to open her legs. It'd been so easy, especially after the Olympics. Not only had he become a household name with the network hyping up his clean-cut, polite, small-town kid made good, all-American image, but he'd also become wealthy almost overnight as companies pounded on his door offering bags of cash for his endorsement. Right after the Olympics ended, when he was at the peak of his fame, he'd often have a different woman every night of the week. He'd fuck them once, sometimes twice, and then move on to the next one... because there was always another woman waiting.

He looked up and forced himself to meet her eyes. "You'd have to ask them."

"Uh-huh. And what did you want? Just a quick tumble?"

Embarrassment began to transform into defensive annoyance. "You're not my mother," he replied, his tone cool as he held tight to his temper.

"No, I'm not. I'm just making sure I know all the facts so I don't waste my time or your money. So, these women, they were just one-night stands? They knew that going in and were okay with it?"

His rising anger began to fade. "Yes, and I assume so. Like I said, I've never forced a woman in my life."

"Any of them change their mind after they agreed?"

"No," he said softly. Having someone spelling it out so bluntly made him feel a bit like a shallow prick.

"Any of the women hit on you?" When he didn't answer, she pressed. "Everything you tell me is totally confidential, but if you're not straight and honest with me, you make my job a lot more difficult."

"Yes, sometimes."

"Did you ever turn anyone down?"

He nodded slowly. "Sometimes."

"Think it could be one of them?"

"Maybe, but why?"

"Pissed off that you rejected them? Didn't like the fact they didn't measure up to your standards? Who knows?"

"Maybe, but I don't think so. If that were the case, I'd think it would have happened before now."

"Why?"

His past escapades made him self-conscious and he felt himself flush again. "I'm twenty-nine years old. Banging a new woman every night doesn't hold as much appeal to me as it once did."

"So, you've settled down recently?"

He nodded. "Yeah, especially in the last couple of years."

"No lovers since then?"

He snorted. "I didn't say that, but my relationships have been more stable and longer lasting."

"Involved with anyone now?"

"Why?"

She looked at him with slight annoyance. "Because perfect strangers don't accuse other perfect strangers of sexual harassment."

"No. I broke up with my last girlfriend about three months ago."

"When did these rumors first appear?"

"Before we broke up."

"Were you having trouble at the time?"

"No, I didn't think so."

"What happened?"

He shrugged. "She left me. Decided she didn't like sharing me with the public, I guess. She didn't like me doing one on one workouts with women. The rumors. Those didn't help either, and I think it bothered her that I wasn't interested in taking the relationship farther than where it was."

"Which was what?"

"More than friends with benefits, but less than willing to consider a life together."

"I see. Anyone else? Business partners or rivals? Anyone that might want to see you hurt or is holding a grudge?"

He considered a moment. "Nobody I can name, no. I'm sure other fitness centers would like to see me go out of business, other websites too, but I can say the same about them. I'm not going to jeopardize my businesses by doing something like this, so why would they?"

She nodded. "Okay, I think I have a pretty good picture of what's going on. I'll be honest with you, Mr. Beckette, I---"

"Dan," he interrupted. "Mr. Beckette is my dad."

She smiled. "Okay, Dan, I don't think I can help you."

His stomach sank. "Why?"

"I have nothing to start with. I suppose I could look into your ex-girlfriend, but if the rumors started before she broke up with you, and she was bothered by them, that probably means it isn't her. I don't want to take your money and not be able to deliver some results."

"Is that the only reason?"

"What other reason would there be?" she asked, her face twisting in confusion.

"Nothing. Listen, if it's about the money, I've got money. Don't worry about that."

"That's not the issue. Charging you when I'm pretty sure I can't do anything isn't ethical."

His stomach sank a little lower. "Look, I really need some help because I'm out of my league with this. I asked someone I trust, and they recommended your dad. He helped this person with a spousal support problem. Can't you just, I don't know, do a quick check or something? Money isn't a problem. I'll be happy to pay, and if you don't turn up anything..." He shrugged. "Well, you warned me. Please, Ms. Caddel. I need your help."

She stared at him for a long time, her fingers typing out a silent ditty on her desk before reaching into a drawer and pulling out a sheet of paper. She slid it across the desk. "These are my standard rates. I bill one hundred dollars an hour plus sixty cents a mile. You're also responsible for other miscellaneous expenses that I incur during my investigation. You'll receive a copy of the receipts. I require a deposit. Normally that is the amount I believe it will take to complete the investigation, but in your case, I don't know, so will forty hours be acceptable? After forty hours, you can authorize additional time, or we can consider the contract complete. At the end of the investigation, I will turn over all the information I've collected. If I'm required to testify in court, I'll require another one thousand dollars for the ten billable hours that testifying normally requires, plus mileage. If, after you've paid, I'm not called to testify, I'll promptly refund your money. Any questions?"

"Where do I sign?"

Shay smiled, wishing all her clients were so easy and reasonable. "Just a moment."

She began typing on her laptop, filling in his name and the deposit amount before two copies of the contract slid into the output tray of the printer. She took them, glanced over the first copy to make sure she hadn't made any mistakes, signed both, and then slid them across the desk.

Dan pulled the papers to him, glanced over both contracts to make sure they were the same and represented what he'd agreed to, before signing both at the bottom. He slid one copy back across the desk, retaining the other for himself.

"How should I pay?"

"Cash, debit, check, Visa, Mastercard, or Discovery."

He pulled his credit card and handed it across. She plugged a device into her phone, swiped the card, and then handed it back, along with her phone. Using his finger, he signed where indicated.

"When can you start?" he asked.

"I have something I've already committed to for today. Can I get a list of your private clients? Do you mind if I talk to them?"

He chewed on his bottom lip a moment. "No, I don't mind you talking to them, but I'd rather not give you their names. What if, instead, you go with me when I meet with them. I'll introduce you, and you can talk to them then. Is that okay?"

"I'd rather conduct my interviews in private."

"Okay," he replied with a shrug. "I'll wait outside by the car. I have nothing to hide, but my clients appreciate discretion, and having a PI---can I call you that?"

She smiled while waving her hand dismissively. "Better than calling me a dick."

He snickered. "Okay. And having a PI show up on their door unannounced to ask questions wouldn't be my first choice." He could tell she didn't like his answer, but he didn't budge.

"Okay, we'll do it your way."

"Thank you, Ms. Caddel."

"Shay."

"Shay," he repeated. "Shall I pick you up here, say nine in the morning? You can ride with me. You can follow me around for a few days and see what I do."

"That's going to burn through your deposit if I do that."

He shrugged. "I don't care. Well, I do care. Money isn't the most important thing, but it is something. If you see what I do, maybe that'll give you a better idea of where to start digging."

She bobbed her head side-to-side as she considered what he'd said. It wasn't the worst suggestion she'd ever heard. "Maybe."

Dan rose and stuck his hand out. "Thank you. I'll be here at nine o'clock sharp."

Shay also rose and took his hand into a firm handshake. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said as he turned for the door.

He left the tiny, two-room office and dropped into his car, but didn't start it. He'd gone into Clearview Investigations expecting to find some fat, grizzled old fart with a three-day beard, wearing a fedora and a loosely knotted tie, with a half-empty fifth of bourbon sitting on the corner of the desk. What he'd found couldn't have been more different. A small woman, very attractive, neatly attired in a dark grey dress skirt with a matching blazer over a pale-yellow blouse. It was clear she was professional and confident in her abilities.

He hoped that confidence was warranted. He'd told her the rumors had been picked up by news organizations and was starting to hurt his business. That was true, but he hadn't stressed how true it was. His name was his brand, and it was being dragged through the mud. He'd already lost one of his private clients. In Hollywood, everyone was extremely sensitive to public opinion. When she'd cut him loose without warning or explanation, he could only assume she didn't want her name associated with his, in case the rumors turned out to be true, and no amount of assurances from him had made any difference.

He started the car and pulled the paddle to put it into gear. He didn't mind Shay following him around for a few days. Hopefully she'd see for herself he wasn't the guy someone was trying to make him out to be, and maybe she'd notice something he hadn't since that was her schtick. Once he knew who, or why, he had lawyers to take care of the problem. But it all started with Clearview Investigations.

She'd said Michael Caddel was her father. Greg Millotti, one of Dan's private clients, and the man who Michael had helped, couldn't say enough nice things about him. As Dan pulled into traffic and wailed away, he mentally crossed his fingers, hoping the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree.

.

.

.

THREE

Shay had an office, but she worked out of her car. The office was so she had a place for mail delivery and a place to meet a client in private. She sat at her desk while waiting on Dan to arrive, again surfing the internet to follow up on the rumors about her newest client's behavior.

She'd spent a couple of hours digging yesterday after he left and could see what he was talking about. The rumors were everywhere, though subtle. X and Facebook were where the bulk of the chatter was located, but bits in YouTube videos where people gave their opinion on a variety of topics in the news, were starting to appear as well. Assuming Dan was telling the truth, whoever was orchestrating the campaign was trying to get the message to spread organically, which was smart. If X suddenly lit up with 10,000 messages of Dan getting grabby with some woman, most people would instinctually know it was probably a smear campaign. The subtleness also made it a hell of a lot harder to track down the source.

The outer door opened and Dan stepped into her waiting room. Yesterday he was dressed for business, but today he was wearing shorts, sandals, and a t-shirt. She'd gotten a pretty good first impression of what was under his clothes yesterday, but his shorts and tight t-shirt allowed her to see just how impressive he was. He was seriously ripped, but he wasn't bulky and covered in veins like a bodybuilder. Her mouth went slightly dry. Ten years ago, she'd had a crush on him when he was on the television, but he was even better looking now. Though it wasn't proof, she realized he wouldn't have to force himself on a woman because most women would be panting to do whatever he asked of them.

"Ready?" he asked with a smile while pushing his sunglasses up on his head.

She shook herself out of her momentary daydream. "Yeah," she said as she pushed back from the desk.

"You're hardly dressed for working out," he teased as he held open the door for her.

She grinned. She was dressed as she always dressed... skirt, blouse, blazer, and comfortable pumps with a low heel. "I'm not working out. I'm asking questions, remember?"

"Oh, right," he said with a smile, a very nice smile, she had to admit.

She locked her door as he waited. Clearview Investigations was tucked into the corner of a credit union. She rented the space from them, and had for years. Her dad had set the deal up, talking the institution into renting him space in exchange for doing background checks on new employees. The credit union had walled up one of their two side entrances and converted the space, and an adjacent office, into rental space. For six hundred a month, she had the space and all her utilities paid, along with plenty of parking, around-the-clock video security, and a door with her name on it. Not a bad deal considering the same space would be a minimum of three or four times that amount, even in some rundown shopping center somewhere, and considerably more than that in a like building and location, and all it cost her was a pro-bono background check on a potential new employee three or four times a year.

He led her to his vibrant blue Porsche 911, the low, sleek car looking like it was doing eighty just sitting there. "That's your car?" she asked.

"Yeah, why?" He opened the passenger door for her, and she smiled in thanks as she dropped into the low-slung machine and tucked her legs inside.

"No reason. Just asking questions."

"Because that's what you do?"

"You're catching on."

"What do you drive?"

She nodded to the car three spaces over. "A silver, 2022, Toyota Camry."

He grinned at her as his car thrummed to life. "Not very sexy. I thought PIs drove things like classic T-Birds, Firebirds, Ferraris, and stuff like that."

"Only on television. How are you supposed to tail someone in a bright red Ferrari?"

"You do that a lot? Tail someone?"

"Sometimes. Cheating spouses rarely announce where they're having their clandestine affair, so you wait outside their house until they leave, and you follow them. Most of my job is me sitting around waiting for something to happen. The job isn't nearly as glamorous as it is on television."

"You have a gun?"

"Sure."

"You have it with you?"

"Does it matter?"

He glanced at her as he worked his way through traffic, his eyes playful. "No, not really. I was just wondering if I had to worry about pissing you off."

She grinned. "No worries. I have my weapon with me, but if it makes you feel any better, I've never pulled it on anyone." She paused and decided if he was going to dish it out, he was going to have to take it. "Still, don't piss me off. I have a black belt in ju-jitsu. I wouldn't want to have to kick your ass."

"Yes ma'am... I mean no ma'am," he chuckled. "So that's why you drive such a blah car?"

"Yeah. A big part of private investigation is going about your business without being noticed. A silver Toyota Camry is as near an invisible car as there is. My previous car was a silver 2010 Honda Accord. How am I supposed to sit and take photos of cheating spouses, without being noticed, in a jellybean like this?"

"Jellybean!" he cried in mock outrage. "I'll have you know this is a finely crafted German automobile!"

"No offense, but it doesn't exactly fly under the radar, does it?" she asked, nodding past him as two women oozed past in a SUV, checking out the car and the driver.

He smiled and nodded at them in acknowledgement. "No. I guess not. Is that what you do? Catch cheating spouses?"

She sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. That's well over half my business. I also do quite a few background checks for employers, along with some loss prevention, serving of papers, tracking down deadbeat parents, that sort of thing."

"Ever done anything like this before?"

"First time. I'm looking forward to the change."

"Glad to give you a break from your routine. I just wish it were someone other than me."

She kept her comment to herself because she was pretty sure this investigation was going to go nowhere, and she was just taking his money, but if he wanted her to do it, she'd give it her best shot.

They wound their way through the canyons to where the movie stars lived, and she appreciated that he didn't try to show off his car or his driving skills. He pulled to a stop in front of a massive iron gate set inside an ivy-covered wall. She could barely see the roof of a house peeking above the landscaping inside the fence. He pressed a button on a speaker box.

What do you want? a gruff male voice growled from the speaker.

"To find out if you've been doing your exercises like I told you to, you crotchety old fart." Dan looked at her and grinned as the gates slowly swung open. "His bark is worse than his bite."

"Who is it?"

"Gregory Millotti, but you'd probably know him as Gregory Mills."

"The movie star?"

"One and the same."

"I didn't know he was still alive."

He snickered as they crept through the gate and up the drive toward the house. "He's too ornery to die. He had a heart attack about three years ago, and he's been trying to mend his ways. He's given up drinking, smoking, and womanizing, and started working out." He looked at her as they stopped in the circular drive in front of the castle-like house. "Don't let him get to you. His reputation as an asshole is well earned, but he doesn't really mean anything by it. Just let it roll off you."

"I can handle myself."

He nodded as he opened his door. "I never thought you couldn't."

Dan led Shay to the ornate front door. Mills' house was really something. Made of brick, with immaculate grounds, it reminded her of a castle with its round, turret-like rooms at the corners and the incredibly steep roof. He rang the bell, and she smiled as chimes that sounded like a clock tower rang inside.

"'Bout time you got here," an old man grumbled as he opened the door.

"Good to see you too," Dan replied, leading Shay into the home.

She couldn't remember a lot about Gregory Mills, but what she could remember was he was a famously bad-tempered actor and womanizer in the seventies and early eighties, and was one of those guys women flocked to no matter how badly he treated them. She'd never thought he was that handsome, but there was no denying the man's acting chops because he'd won four Oscars... the statues proudly and prominently on display in the entry.

"Who's she?" Greg asked as he turned and led them deeper into his house.

She glanced around as she followed the two men. The entry of Mill's house was larger than her entire apartment, and was dazzling with polished oak and marble, with a wide curved staircase leading to a balcony with more rooms above.

"Shay Caddel, daughter of Michael Caddel. Michael passed away and she took over the business," Dan explained as they turned into a room full of exercise equipment.

The room seemed to contain every piece of equipment imaginable. They all appeared expensive, and she guessed the collection of equipment was probably worth more than all her assets combined.

"A woman private dick? What's this fucking world coming to?" Greg looked at her a moment before softening slightly. "Sorry to hear about your dad. He was a good man. He really got my dick out of a sausage grinder in a palimony suit. You any good?"

She forced a smile. "He taught me everything I know."

"Great, but that's not the question I asked, is it?"

She sucked on her teeth a moment as she contemplated how to best handle this asshole. "Better than he was," she finally said, refusing to back down.

Greg held her steady gaze and then grinned. "Confidence. I like that." He glanced at Dan as he nodded in Shay's direction. "If she's telling the truth, you've got nothing to worry about."

"You ready to get started?" Dan asked.

"No. I'm not feeling it today," Greg grumbled in return.

"Don't care, you're still going to do it. Have you been doing the routine I set for you?"

"Who do you think you are, ordering me the fuck around in my own home?"

"I'm the guy you hired to whip your sorry ass into shape, so you'll be around to terrorize people for another twenty years, that's who. Now, have you been doing the routine?"

"Yes, goddammit. Have I mentioned how much I fucking hate you?"

"Not since we got here. Let's get to work, and no slacking off. You've got an audience today. You don't want the pretty lady to think you're a pussy, do you?"

"Fuck you, asshole."

Dan's face split into a wide grin as he glanced at Shay, his eyes dancing in merriment. She looked away to hide her smile. He was enjoying himself.

For the next two hours, she watched as Dan and Gregory went through routines, exchanging scathing insults the entire time.

"Watch your form, dumbass!" Dan growled as Gregory strained at a machine. "You want to wreck your shoulders?"

"Why don't you come do this shit then, and leave me the fuck alone?" Greg puffed.

Dan stepped in and adjusted Gregory's position slightly as the man grimaced at the weight. Dan had him working with light weights, but a lot of reps.

"What the hell are you doing back there? Adding weight?" Greg groaned as he pushed again.

Dan laughed. "Come on! Two more! You can give me two more, can't you? That's it! Give me one more! Come on, old man! Show me you can get it up! One more!" The moment Greg got the weight up, Dan stepped in and grabbed the handles, helping the older man to lower the weight.

"When was the last time I told you I fucking hate you?"

Dan grinned. "About three minutes ago. We're done for the day. Go sit in your sauna for twenty minutes or so, and drink lots of water. Water! No booze. Then grab a shower. Same time next week?"

"No. You're fucking fired," Greg snarled as he mopped at his face with a towel.

Dan laughed. "Okay. I'll see you then. Listen, can you do me a favor?"

"Why should I do anything for you, you sadistic son-of-a-bitch?"

"Shay would like to ask you a few questions, in private. Would you mind talking to her?"

"What kind of questions?"

"About the problem I told you about."

"I told you, just fucking ignore them. Jesus Christ, Beckette. They're just rumors. Do you know how many rumors there were of me sticking my cock in some bitch?" He paused and smiled with a shrug. "Of course, with me, most of them were true."

"Will you do it?"

Greg looked at her with a lecherous smile. "Want to join me in the sauna?"

She smiled at him. During the workout, she'd gotten wise to his game. "I didn't bring anything to wear."

Greg's smile spread. "That's no problem. I always sauna naked myself."

She pretended to think about it. "I would, but between the heat and your workout, if I got you alone, I'm afraid I might give you another heart attack."

Greg chuckled. "You got a mouth on you, and I like that." He glanced at Dan. "Sure, I'll talk to her."

Dan grinned at her. "I'll wait out by the car. Come on out when you're done." He handed Greg a bottled water and nodded at him as he stepped out of the room.

"My dad worked for you?"

"Yeah, about fifteen years ago, I guess. I was living with this bitch, got tired of her shit, and threw her ass out. She sued me for palimony, despite the contract she'd signed. Michael did some digging and found out I wasn't the first shmuck she tried to con. She'd get some guy on the hook, let them fuck her for a year or two, then get bitchy until they threw her out. Then she'd sue and settle. Pretty good racket, I guess. Anyway, your dad dug that shit up on her, even though she was changing her name each time, and that shut that shit down right fast. She didn't get shit from me." He grinned. "It was a pain in the ass, but the fucking we did made it worthwhile. There wasn't anything that bitch wouldn't do."

She nodded. That was before her time, but Greg's story wasn't that much different than most of her clients. Times changed, but people didn't.

"Mind if I record this?" she asked, holding up her phone. Back in the day, her dad had to lug around maps, tape recorders, cameras, and notebooks. She had a big, digital SLR with a long lens for surveillance, but everything else was done with her phone.

"No."

She started the recorder app and stated the date, time, who she was with, and the case. Later she'd transcribe the conversation into the case file.

"What do you think about Mr. Beckette? Think he's doing what the rumors say?"

"That he's fucking bitches all around town? Yeah, probably. That he's harassing or raping them? Probably not."

"Why?"

"Why?" Greg repeated. "Are you telling me you wouldn't fuck him if you got the chance?"

"Mr. Mills, Mr. Beckette is my client."

Greg waved his hand dismissively, his face twisting in annoyance. "Who the fuck cares? When I was still working, I'd fuck my female lead, all the female supporting cast, and half the crew. That don't mean shit."

"It does to me."

"Fine. So, he's not your client. Then would you fuck him?" When she hesitated, he grinned and continued. "That's what I thought. Dan can get all the pussy he wants. He doesn't have to harass anyone. Hell, my own granddaughter would give him a blowjob in the foyer with me watching if he'd ask her too."

"So, cutting through all your bullshit, are you telling me you don't think Mr. Beckette is guilty of what the rumors claim, just because he's good looking?"

Greg grinned. "That's part of it, but yeah, that's what I'm saying."

"What's the other part?"

"He seems like a decent guy. He's from Kansas, or some damn place, and he's not like these fucks out here."

"You think so? He didn't speak to you very nicely today."

"So? I didn't speak to him in a gentlemanly way either. Everyone tiptoes around me because I'm a shriveled up old asshole with a foul mouth, or the great Gregory Mills," he said while waggling his hands, fingers splayed wide, beside his head as he rolled his eyes and twisted his face in a mask of sarcastic rapture. "Hell, with the exception of Abbigale, my granddaughter, even my own family will hardly talk to me. But Dan, he won't put up with my shit, and I appreciate that."

"But about the women?"

"He was always very polite around Abbi." His face twisted into an evil smile. "I think she takes after her granddad. I wasn't kidding about her giving him a blowjob. She was here one time while Dan was torturing me. If a woman threw herself at me the way she was him, I'd have taken her to the nearest empty room and fucked her good."

"But Mr. Beckette?"

"Oh, he noticed all right, but he didn't take her up on her offer."

"What offer?"

"What do you think? She invited him upstairs to help her workout."

"He didn't go? Was it because you were here?"

"Because of me? Fuck no! I told him to go ahead and fuck her. She's an adult. If they wanted to fuck, I didn't care. Hell, I wish he had, then he would've left me alone."

"You told him that?" she asked, her surprise clear in her voice.

"In case you haven't noticed, there isn't much I won't say. Ask Dan yourself if you don't believe me."

"Can I speak to Abbigale?"

He shrugged. "She's a lawyer in Chicago. I can give you her number."

"Please."

"Hand me my phone?"

She turned to where he pointed, and as soon as his back was to him, he slapped her on the ass. She ignored it, retrieved his phone, and brought it to him, but when he held his hand out, she held the phone up so he had to look her in the face.

"If you do that again, I don't care if you are a shriveled up old asshole, or Gregory Mills, or you've had a heart attack, I will break your fucking hand off and shove it so far up your ass you'll be able to pick your nose with it. Are we clear?"

He burst into laughter as she handed him his phone. "I really like you. Are you sure you don't want to join me in the sauna. Another heart attack might be worth it."

"I'll pass."

"Your loss," he said as he flipped through the phone. "Here it is," he said before reading off two numbers. "The first one is her cell number, the second her office number. If you call, tell her I gave you the numbers."

"So, to sum this up, you don't think Mr. Beckette is the type to get grabby with a woman or make inappropriate comments?"

"I talk a lot of shit, but in all seriousness, I think all this shit is just that, shit. He seems like a pretty good kid to me."

She considered what else she wanted to ask, but couldn't think of anything. "I think that does it for me. Thank you for your time, Mr. Mills."

"Last chance to work up a sweat with me in the sauna."

"Sorry, but Mr. Beckette is paying for my time," she said with a teasing smile, "and I don't think it'd be fair to bill him the extra two or three hours we'd be... working out." She paused as she held his gaze. "I wouldn't be as patient with your bitching about having to work hard as Mr. Beckette was."

He chuckled. "No, you probably wouldn't. Okay, how about a kiss before you leave?" She stared at him, cocking her hip while putting on her best sneering expression. He chuckled again. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I suppose a blowjob is out of the question then?"

Despite herself, she couldn't stop her snicker.