#maureen's outfits slap

[harrisonlogist]

they honestly never missed

[caffeineivore]

The return of ficcage

M/N, Police Procedural Fic part the next.

***

The grief-stricken mother of the lost little girl seems to have high hopes for their cooperation, but it does not take any type of power beyond the most basic observation skills to see that the private investigator currently zipping through traffic just a shade higher than the speed limit wants nothing to do with him. Noel sneaks a glance at the striking profile of the tall, green-eyed brunette in the driver’s seat of a slightly unkempt, generic American four-door sedan, and resists the urge to rest a hand over the one currently keeping a death-grip on the gear-shift. Maureen Ivy Kirk was tasked by their client to bring him up-to-date on the case, and it’s clear that she considers said task to be no better than babysitting a particularly recalcitrant child.

“I have all my files at my office,” she says shortly as they stop at a traffic light. “We’ll go over them there.” Her eyes roam down the length of his body in a way distinctly non-flattering. “I’m in a rough neighbourhood. You’re going to stick out like a sore thumb in that suit, Slick.”

“Perhaps so,” Noel says with an agreeable smile. The black and charcoal pinstriped suit is a stark contrast to Maureen’s pointedly-casual outfit of dark-wash jeans and a forest-green turtleneck, but for all that, her face is accentuated by subtle, deftly-applied makeup. “The McDowells are extremely well-off. It didn’t seem appropriate to dress down when meeting them for the first time.”

Maureen doesn’t dignify this with a response, and pulls her car into a narrow alley on a street that’s certainly a far cry from the sleek waterfront of the Inner Harbor. She puts a steering wheel lock in place before pulling a briefcase out the back and locking the car, and Noel follows her as she makes her way towards a narrow brick building about half a block down, taking not a little enjoyment at the way her long legs eat up the pitted pavement.

“Hey, Mo. Who’s your friend?” A young man wearing baggy pants and a baseball hat turned to the back smirks at Noel even as he holds out a hand for Maureen, who slaps it in a smooth, practiced motion. Rippling tattoos and bravado aside, he looks no older than late teens. “Nice duds, homie.”

The ripe derision in his voice belies his statement, but Noel turns to face him squarely, a faint benign smile on his face even as his watchful eyes take in the tattoos and the red baseball cap. “Thanks.” The cuff of the young man’s hoodie brushes against his own sleeve, and Noel can all but feel the friction, like static electricity, crackling from that split-second contact, and he straightens even as his eyes sober.

“Quintus, known as Q, right?” Noel remarks, not expecting an answer back, but even as Q’s eyes widen, he maintains solemn eye contact even as he keeps his voice light and studiously casual. “Your little brother needs some help with his math homework. Maybe you should stay in tonight.”

He feels Maureen’s green-eyed gaze searing them both, and before Q can say anything or ask him his meaning, she barges into the conversation, perhaps in hasty apprehension. “Let’s go. There’s a lot of stuff to go over. I don’t got all day.”

He nods, and follows her into the building bearing a discreet metal plaque by the door which reads “M. Kirk, Licensed Private Investigator”. As a concession to the neighbourhood, the ground-floor windows have iron bars over them, but Noel sees a verdant window box on the sunny side of the building fragrant with herbs just behind them. The reception area is sparsely decorated, with a plain but functional set of black leather couches and a potted jade plant nearly as tall as he was gracing a spot by a smaller window. There are more plants gracing the coffee and end tables by the couches-- a vivid mauve orchid and an intricately-braided lucky bamboo, but he simply waits while Maureen deactivates the alarm on the building and follows her into her office.

The office is as sparsely decorated as the front, dominated by a slightly scuffed but enormous oak desk flanked by squat metal filing cabinets, one bearing a peace lily with its white spears of flowers, the other bearing a philodendron trailing its emerald foliage to the ground. Noel takes a seat at the chair in front of the desk even as Maureen unlocks one of the filing cabinets and pulls out a Manila envelope fat with papers. 

“Kylene Catherine McDowell, daughter of Brody McDowell and Frances McDowell, formerly Frances Ashton. Father’s a hotel magnate, mother’s a former supermodel, but you knew this information. Kylene’s their only child, just turned two as of April 8th of this year, only recently started to speak but definitely not old enough to have wandered off on her own. Here’s all the information I have on her-- hospital records, birth certificate, a variety of baby pictures, background checks on her parents and all the servants in their household, as well as cell phone records of both her parents and the nanny for the day that she went missing.” Maureen scowls, but the fingertip that slides over the photographic Kylene’s face is gentle. “Nothing. I mean, we don’t even have any guarantee that she’s still alive.”

Noel listens to her voice, but his eyes are fixed upon the latest photograph of the missing baby, beaming up from her high chair at what was clearly her most recent birthday party. A party hat sits rakishly on her downy dark curls, and though there is more than a little frosting smeared on her face and her pink party dress, she’s the picture of happy, carefree innocence. He lays a hand on the photo, almost brushing Maureen’s, and exhales slowly as he shuts his eyes.

Bright sunlight streaming through the windows. Sepia and gray mountains in the distance. A pale carpet plush under bare feet. Three more pairs of girls’ hands, of different sizes. One, nails bitten to the quick, picks up a stuffed kitten off the ground with an exasperated sigh. The toy gets dropped again. A giggle, followed by a high-pitched squeal, then a very put-upon sigh.

“I’m not gonna keep picking it up, Cat. We’ve been doing this for HOURS.”

“Mr Starr.. Mr Starr!!” Maureen’s sharp voice barking out his name jerks him back to the presence, and when he looks up, she’s standing, hands outstretched as though ready to catch him if he faints. “What in the world is the matter?”

He breathes deeply, focuses his gaze on the trailing vines of the heart-leaf philodendron in the background until he centers himself enough to be able to meet her eyes. “She’s alive. Cat. She’s alive.”

Maureen’s eyebrows furrow as she stares at him in bewildered disbelief. “Her name’s Kylene.”

“They call her Cat.” The image is like a snapshot, a photograph viewed for only a second before the album slams shut, and he tries to give her a reassuring smile. “I’ll let you know more soon, Cher. But please call me Noel.”

“Hmph.” She doesn’t answer in the affirmative, but she doesn’t refuse, either. “Anyway. I suppose you’re staying at one of the hotels. I should probably drop you off so you can get some sleep and whatever. You can come back here and so on tomorrow.”

He acquiesces, and lets her lead him back out of her building, and though Noel counts at least four suspicious characters loitering around the street and alleyways, he notices that they seem to steer clear of her car. They’re soon making their way towards the nicer side of town, and before long, she’s pulling up to the entrance of his hotel. 

“Have a good night and get some rest,” Maureen says brusquely as he walks out of the car, and though she doesn’t return his smile, she is, in the least, not glaring at him as he disappears through the doors before she drives off. Noel takes the elevator to his room, and turns on the television to the nightly news as he starts the process of unpacking his belongings.

“This is Molly O’Shea with Channel 10 Breaking News. A drug deal gone bad has ended in tragedy, leaving one person dead and two wounded at an abandoned home in the troubled neighbourhood of Berea. Detective Garrett Jameson of the Baltimore Police Department states that it is likely a planned hit, where the shooter chose to target the neighbourhood, a stronghold of the local chapter of the Bloods...”

Right on cue, the landline of his hotel room rings, and he knows who it is before he even picks up. “Maureen Ivy Kirk, again. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Cut the bullshit, Slick, and don’t call me that!” The vehemence of her voice crackles over the line like lightning. “You told Q to stay home tonight... he lives in Berea, and someone he knows is currently in the hospital, getting patched up after catching a bullet in his leg. How did you know?”

[usuallypleasantprince]

Read Baby Bonanza online free by Maureen Child

Baby Bonanza Author: Maureen Child

One

“Ow!” Jenna Baker hopped on her right foot and clutched at the bruised toes on her left one. Shooting a furious glare at the bolted-down table in her so-tiny-that-claustrophobics-would-die cabin, she called down silent curses on the head of the man who was the reason for this cruise from hell.

Nick Falco.

His image rose up in her mind, and just for a second Jenna enjoyed the nearly instant wash of heat that whipped through her. But the heat was gone a moment later, to be replaced by a cold fury.

Better all around if she concentrated on that particular emotion. After all, unlike every other passenger aboard Falcon’s Pride, she hadn’t come aboard the floating orgy to party. She was here for a reason. A damn good one.

While her aching toes throbbed in concert with her heartbeat, Jenna cautiously stood on both feet and took the step and a half that brought her to a minuscule closet. She’d already hung up her clothes, and the few outfits she’d brought with her looked crowded in the narrow wardrobe. Snatching a pale yellow blouse off the attached-to-the-rod hanger, she carried it to the bathroom, just another step away.

It was the size of an airplane bathroom, only it also contained a shower stall designed to fit pygmies. In fact, the opening of the sliding door was so slender, Jenna had slapped one arm across her br**sts when leaving the shower, half-afraid she’d scrape her ni**les off.

“Really nice, Nick,”... Read here: Read Baby Bonanza online free by Maureen Child