LITMIR.BIZ

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shook his head. “I don’t want Dad to know what’s going on.”

      Derek stared hard into Tyler’s eyes, but Tyler didn’t flinch.

      Derek was a fixer, just like their father. Tyler knew it was nearly killing him to sit back and watch his little brother stumble.

      But Tyler was not giving in. He’d learned years ago that if he didn’t fight tooth and nail for every little scrap of independence, he’d end up in a Saville Row suit in a cushy office on the top floor of the Reeves-DuCarter building in downtown Seattle chatting nonsense with overseas investors and monitoring the Dow Jones Industrial Average.

      “This isn’t high school, Derek. Let me handle it this time.”

      Derek drew back in his chair. “One guy. I punched out one guy for you.”

      Tyler shook his head. “Blackburn and his friends harassed me for three years thanks to you.” Finally, in Tyler’s senior year, he’d grown big enough to flatten Blackburn on his own and put a stop to the relentless tormenting.

      “What?” Derek rocked forward. His fists balled. “They kept at it? Why didn’t you tell me?”

      Tyler threw up his hands. “So you could punch him out again? Please, Derek. There’s nothing more pathetic than a kid who can’t fight his own battles.”

      “Blackburn was twice your size.”

      Tyler cracked a half smile. “Not in the end, he wasn’t.”

      Derek’s eyes flashed with sudden admiration. “You were the one who broke his nose?”

      “I was the one who broke his nose. I solved that problem. And I’ll solve this one, too. It just might take me a while.”

      Derek glanced around the office again. “Well, there’s no need to be a martyr about it. Why not take a suite at the Quayside?”

      “Because I’m trying to save money.”

      “You’re a shareholder. They’ll give you a rate.”

      “Rate’s zero if I stay here.”

      The phone on the desktop rang.

      “Where’s Shirley?” asked Derek.

      “Had to cut her back to part-time.”

      “What? You can’t even afford one employee?”

      The phone rang again.

      “Cash flow,” said Tyler. “It’s just temporary. She wanted to spend some time with her kids for the summer anyway.” He picked up the receiver. “IPS Detectives.”

      Derek gazed at the ceiling and shook his head, as if invoking divine intervention.

      “Reggie Sandhill,” said a man’s curt voice.

      “Reggie is out of the country for a few weeks,” said Tyler.

      Derek snorted at Tyler’s lie.

      Tyler ignored him. “I’m his partner, Tyler Reeves.”

      “Reggie came highly recommended,” said the man, in a tone that told Tyler he wasn’t used to disappointment.

      “Perhaps I can help you.” said Tyler evenly, annoyed by both the man’s attitude and by Reggie’s habit of taking all the glory for cases that Tyler had solved. Everyone knew Reggie’s name. Nobody knew Tyler’s.

      “It’s a surveillance job,” said the man on the phone, a challenge in his voice.

      Like, maybe Tyler couldn’t handle surveillance. “No problem. Surveillance is one of our specialties.”

      “I see.” The man seemed to be weighing whether or not to trust Tyler. “Her name is Jenna McBride,” he finally said.

      “And your name?” asked Tyler, picking up a pencil and pulling a scratch pad closer on the desktop.

      There was a slight hesitation on the line. “Brandon Rice. She’s my fiancée.”

      “You think she’s cheating?” asked Tyler. Cheating was far and away the most common reason for a man to have his significant other followed.

      Derek stood up, pacing across the room, a scowl on his face. Chasing cheating fiancées was obviously not his idea of a stellar career move. Too bad. It wasn’t like Tyler was in a position to be choosy. True, it wasn’t his usual area of business, but this was the kind of job he needed right now—quick, uncomplicated cash.

      “Yes,” said Brandon Rice. “I think she’s cheating. I’m in Boston, and she’s in Seattle. I want a full report on her activities. Where she goes, who she sees. She has a decorating business. Canna Interiors.”

      Tyler jotted down the woman’s name and the name of her business. “Is there anyone in particular you think she’s seeing?”

      Derek made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and shook his head. Well, hell, every case couldn’t be a crown jewel theft or a murder mystery. A guy still had to pay the bills.

      Some days more than others.

      “I want to know everything,” said Brandon. “Money is not an issue. I want to know everyone she sees. Everything she does.”

      Tyler tapped the pencil eraser against the desktop. Reggie had taken on cases like this before. Rich man, pretty woman, edge of desperation. There was probably a big age difference.

      “I’ll pay you ten thousand plus expenses,” said Brandon. “One week. A full report. And I mean full.”

      Tyler resisted the urge to scowl at the phone, aware of Derek’s keen interest. He always submitted a full report to his clients—no matter what his opinion of them.

      If this fiancée had any brains at all, she’d stay in Seattle and well away from Mr. Demanding. Of course, she was the one who’d agreed to marry the guy in the first place.

      She was probably willing to put up with his crap for the money. Women generally did forgive a whole lot of ills for a whole lot of bank balance.

      “When do you want me to start?” asked Tyler.

      “Today,” barked Brandon. “I want you to start today.”

      “You got it,” said Tyler. “Where do I send the report?”

      After jotting down Brandon’s contact information, Tyler hung up the phone.

      “You’re going to follow a cheating wife?” asked Derek.

      “Fiancée,” Tyler corrected, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness.

      “But you won’t lower yourself to join the family firm and negotiate with offshore investors?”

      “You really want to help me?” asked Tyler, ignoring his big brother’s sarcasm, pretending it didn’t bite. From experience Tyler knew the best way to get Derek off his back was to give him a mission.

      “Name it,” said Derek, pulling his checkbook out of his suit pocket.

      “I’m not taking your money. If you really want to be useful, you can head over to Canna Interiors.”

      Without Reggie as a second body, Tyler was handicapped. “I need to know how many employees are there. What kind of an outfit it is. And what Jenna McBride looks like. But I can’t let her see me yet.”

      “Can I have one of those fountain pen cameras and a decoder ring?” asked Derek.

      “Don’t be an ass.” Tyler stood up and shoved his big brother toward the door.

      “But, Tyler, how am I going to case the joint without the proper James Bond paraphernalia?”

      “Just tell me what she looks like, and what they do, so I can make a plan.” That ten thousand would go a long way

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