Thigh High by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online

whispered, and nudged her. “You horny old broad!”
    â€œOh, like you didn’t,” Julia said.
    â€œYeah, but I don’t talk about it.”
    â€œWhew!” Mrs. Fasset’s open mouth snapped shut, and she sagged against the countertop.
    Carol, who was waiting on her, nodded. “That was spectacular. Miss Dahl, who do you suppose he is? The guy who’s going to give you your raise…so to speak?”
    Laughter swept the small group.
    â€œI don’t get it. What are you women talking about?” Mr. Broussard asked. “He looked like the kind of guy it takes five of us to toss out of the bar, and we’re lucky if he doesn’t come roaring back for more.”
    â€œYeah, that guy’s not good-looking,” Eric agreed.
    â€œHe sure isn’t,” Julia said with enthusiasm. “He’s more than good-looking.”
    Donna let out a long sigh of pleasure. “He’s a god.”
    â€œWell, he scared the hell out of me.” Lisa stood with her hand pressed against her flat chest. “I wanted to tell Eric to take out his gun and shoot him.”
    Nessa smiled, a raw twist to her lips. “He’s the insurance investigator who’s going to solve the mystery of the Beaded Bandits.”
    â€œBut what’s he doing in your office?” Lisa asked.
    â€œThat’s not my office. That’s his office.” Nessa could almost taste the bitterness. “All I’m doing is assisting him in gathering the evidence.”
    Donna took an audible breath. Nessa shook her head at the shocked, pitying expressions directed at her. “Don’t. I told you I don’t hope anymore. And neither should you.” She smiled at them, mocking them gently. “Because Stephabeast will be directing operations at the bank until further notice.”
    â€œSon of a bitch.” Carol strung the swear words together like beads on a rosary.
    Mrs. Fasset slapped Carol’s wrist. “That is enough, young lady!”
    Yes, Nessa thought as she made her way to Mr. Mac’s office. That was the way to distract them from her sudden plunge in prospects. Point out their own.
    Knowing she’d left them wallowing in their misery and human enough to enjoy it, she walked to her office.
    Oh, pardon me. Mr. Mac’s office.
    She paused in the open doorway. “Mr. Mac? I’m Nessa Dahl. I’m to assist you with your investigation.”
    Mr. Mac looked up from the files he had scattered across his desk, scrutinized her, looking for fault where she knew there was none. “Come in,” he said. “Shut the door behind you.”
    She did as she was told, cynically aware that she’d dressed the part of an executive to play the part of a sycophant.
    â€œSit down.” He indicated the chair before the desk.
    Her resentment at his command was savage and surprising. She had been disappointed too many times to take this setback with her usual equanimity.
    What was she going to tell her aunts? And the boarders—oh, God, she’d told all the boarders she expected a promotion. So many people to bear witness to her failure…
    â€œMiss Dahl.” Mr. Mac said her name so sharply she jumped.
    â€œYes, sir.” She would brood later. For now, she focused on him.
    His eyes were so richly green, his hair so dark, his face so unabashedly masculine, he should have been handsome. But he looked more like a street thug than an insurance investigator. The guy was probably thirty-six years old, and probably six-foot-three or -four. He wore his dark hair in a short military cut. At some point in his past, his face had been used as a battering ram. An expensive suit had been altered to fit him perfectly, yet nothing could conceal the heavily muscled shoulders and arms. When he turned his head, she could see a scar almost hidden along his jawline, as if some skilled surgeon had done repairs. He wore his hair combed to one side with a