Morgan Taylor is back and she is still broke and single.
Now Joe Linklater Bonds and Private Investigators is nearly insolvent until a mysterious man walks in offering a once in a lifetime opportunity: fifty thousand dollars to retrieve stolen cash from the Hard Rock Casino in Tampa Bay. The only problem is two lunatic hitmen are also in pursuit of the money.
Like everything else in her life, things quickly go awry in this raucous novel when Morgan must contend with a lusting gun dealer named Eyeball, her pothead teenage son, Caleb, and a redneck YouTube sensation who obliterates fruit and vegetables using her enormous breasts.
It’s all too much for a single woman to take.
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For the first time in years, Morgan Taylor was having a great time on a date. In the past, many of her dates consisted of dudes looking for a place to live or some cash because they couldn’t hold down a job. But this man was different. His name was Charles and he was good looking, had a vocabulary big enough to express himself, his jokes were actually funny, and he worked in a lucrative business as a financial adviser.
Just as Morgan was taking another sip of wine, her phone rang. She swiped to ignore the call and not even twenty seconds later, her phone rang again. She looked at the screen. It was her boss, Steve Linklater, from Joe Linklater Bonds and Private Investigators. “Excuse me,” she said to Charles. Then she put the phone to her ear. “What?”
“Are you still on your date?” Steve asked.
“Yes.” She looked at Charles and smiled. He winked back.
Steve on the other end of the phone chuckled.
Steve said, “Let me ask you a question. This Charles guy. Is he about six foot one, blue eyes, slight scar across his right eyebrow?”
Morgan looked at Charles who was leaning back, watching her with a bemused smile. “Yes,” she said.
“Says he works as a financial advisor?”
“Not to be the bearer of bad news, but his real name is Bret Goldman and he cons the elderly from their life savings and leaves them broke and destitute. Real dirtbag. And he has a warrant. So I figured since you are there with him, we might as well take him in and earn a nice chunk of change.”
“Do you usually do this?” she asked.
“Destroy all my fun.”
Steve said, “Think of me as saving you from certain heartbreak. I’m like your guardian angel.”
“You sound like my mom,” she said.
“Listen, whatever you do, don’t let him leave. Keep him occupied and I’ll come down to arrest him.”
“You mean now?” Morgan said.
“No, I mean after you bring him home and introduce him to your teenage son.”
“Now you really sound like my mom.”
“Anyhow, just keep him seated there.”
Morgan closed her eyes and lowered her head. She was cursed. Morgan imagined that someone put a voodoo hex on her sex life. Most likely her ex-mother-in-law. Of course, she couldn’t rule out her own mother either.
“What’s going on?” Bret asked.
Morgan looked at the glass of red wine in front of her. She downed it in one gulp. Then she looked at Bret’s glass. “Are you going to drink that?”
Without waiting, Morgan swooped her hand in and downed his glass of wine in another big gulp.
“I was going to say yes,” he said.
Morgan lifted her hand and motioned for the waiter. “Another round,” she yelled.
Then she turned her attention back to Bret. “So what were you saying?”
Bret said, “I don’t remember, but what happened on the phone? Bad news?”
“You can say that.”
He looked at her and waited for her to say something. Instead Morgan put her hand to her mouth and belched.
“Excuse me,” she said.
“Maybe we should leave,” he said.
Morgan slapped her hand on his. “Leave? Now? Why?” The alcohol hit her like an uppercut. Her eyes were feeling woozy and her inhibitions nonexistent. “Let’s stay. Drink. Talk.” She opened her phone and checked the time. Not even two minutes have elapsed. “Christ, can the waiter take any longer?”
“You just ordered a round less than a minute ago.”
“Are you sure everything is alright?”
“Purrrrfect,” she slurred, her lips curled in a drunken grin.
“Are you ready to leave?”
“Because dinner is done and I’m ready to go.”
“Don’t be a party pooper. Let’s talk. Tell me, what’s the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done in bed?”
Bret was momentarily lost for words. He looked at her with an arched brow. Then he smirked and leaned forward. “How about I answer that question back at my place.”
“How about you answer it right here.”
“You really want to know?”
“Of course,” she smirked.
“Will you tell me the kinkiest thing that you’ve done in bed?”
Morgan nodded. “But I asked you first. So you tell me.”
Bret licked his lips, looked to his left and then right, and said quietly, “A woman I once dated was into golden showers and—”
“Wait, what? Did you say golden shower?”
“You mind keeping your voice down,” he said.
“You mean when you pee on someone?”
“Or when they pee on you,” Bret said quietly.
Finally the waiter came with the wine. Morgan said, “Oh thank god, you’re here.” Then she grabbed her glass of wine and gulped down half of it.
“Are you okay?” Bret asked.
“I’m perfect. So tell me about this. I’m curious. Did she pee on you or did you pee on her?”
“She liked to do the peeing,” he said.
“What do you mean where?”
“Like where did she pee on you?”
“In the bathtub,” he said.
“No. Where? Did she pee on your face?”
Bret lifted his wine glass and took a swallow. He said, “On my chest.”
“Not your face,” she asked, feeling disgusted yet oddly fascinated.
“No,” he said. “I’m not a weirdo, you know.”
Morgan made a face implying that perhaps he was a weirdo. A very disturbed weirdo. The kind of weirdo who gets off on a woman awkwardly squatting over him and peeing. “Did she fart on you too?”