Tammy and the Private Eye

By Amy Eastlake

Tammy Jones dreams of becoming a private detective--and she's even gotten a job for an agency. Unfortunately, her job is in the typing pool and Tammy is so shy that she's unlikely ever to get out. Especially when it comes to talking to super-hunky Pete Hunter--the head of the agency and the man Tammy carries a major crush for. But when Hunter needs a double for a famous movie star, Tammy fits the bill. Somehow, though, Hunter has to transform Tammy from a quivering bundle of fear into a powerful woman who can actually convince thousands of fans that she is the queen of glamour in Hollywood. Hunter is known as a miracle worker, but it will take more than a miracle to pull this job.

Author Amy Eastlake creates a charming and funny story. Hunter is an effective alpha-type hero--he's demanding of other people, but never demands anything he won't do himself. Tammy's gradual transformation is a guilty pleasure--as she finds herself gaining power through his touch--and then seeking out Hunter's touch to achieve her potential. Eventually, though, Tammy's ambitions clash with Hunter's protective nature. Can the new confidence that Tammy has been building survive, and does the budding attraction between the two stand a chance?

TAMMY AND THE PRIVATE EYE mixes adventure, Hollywood glamour, and good old-fashioned romance. It's a winner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rob Preece
• Release date: Sep 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781602152014

Amy Eastlake

Amy Eastlake is a martial artist and full-time author living near downtown Dallas, Texas. Most of her novels are set in this diverse and multi-ethnic neighborhood. She writes mystery and romantic suspense. when she's not sparring or writing, Amy is generally planning the perfect crime--so she can write about it, of course.

Book preview

Tammy and the Private Eye

Amy Eastlake

Published by BooksForABuck.com at Smashwords

Copyright Amy Eastlake 2003-2012

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

"Who the hell is Tammy Jones?"

At her work station, Tammy heard her boss's question plainly. Uh-oh.

She looked around to see if there was any way she could escape. Pete Hunter had been in a foul mood for the past three days. Now it sounded as if his temper had taken a turn for the worse. And he was mad at her!

Before Tammy could run, Karen Meyer, Hunter's secretary, rounded the corner of Tammy's cubicle.

She'd waited too long to hide.

Tammy, the boss wants to see you.

I swear I didn't do anything, Tammy managed to stammer. Although she'd worked at Hunter Detective Agency's Los Angeles headquarters for three months, she had never actually met the boss. Noticed him, yes. In fact, she'd drooled over his perfect body just about every day of those past three months. And she'd even tried to keep up on the gossip as to which fabulous female he was squiring that week. But she'd never been introduced to him or even gotten a friendly nod.

Hunter paid little attention to the typing pool so long as his correspondence was free of typos. Tammy was a very good typist, but that wasn't why she'd applied for a job here. One of these days, she was going to get up the nerve to ask for a promotion to detective, the job for which she had been trained. She'd confront Hunter then, she promised herself. Sooner or later, she was going to get up the nerve. Somehow. Someday. But now wasn’t that day and facing him when he was in a mood this foul definitely wasn’t the how.

All of her plans and intentions, though, didn't seem to matter much. Without even giving Tammy a chance to smooth back the strands of hair that had escaped from her ponytail, Karen half-dragged the younger woman out of her cubicle, across a hallway, and into the inner sanctum.

Hunter sat behind his desk, imposing as ever in a gray designer suit, every single dark brown hair perfectly in place. His face looked as angry as his voice had sounded. He definitely wasn’t happy to see her.

"This is Tammy Jones?" Hunter's voice was laced with incredulity. He looked at her, then glanced back at a copy of her employment folder. He grasped her black-and-white photo between two strong fingers and squinted at it as if trying to make it change.

Fortunately he was talking to Karen.

Unfortunately, Karen only looked at Tammy, apparently expecting her to confirm her identity.

Hunter continued, speaking to Tammy this time, though he kept his gaze on the papers before him. According to your file, you are a certified private detective. Hunter's expression made it all too clear how unlikely he found that.

Ah. . . I . . . well-- This was her moment. Tammy tried to control her shaking voice. She had to be strong, confident. Uh ... Crash and burn.

Hunter shook his head as if wishing he could dismiss her from his attention. Does she speak English?

She's shy, Karen told him.

He slapped his forehead. Wonderful. That's it. Forget it. Who else do we have? You may go, Ms. Jones.

Tammy slunk toward the door. She felt sick, as if Hunter had just danced on her insides. Her knees seemed to have gone liquid and her legs shook so badly, she could barely walk. She’d had her chance and nothing had changed. No matter how hard she worked, she always collapsed whenever she had to move outside of her comfort zone. And talking to a handsome man was so far outside that zone she didn't even know where it was.

All her life she'd prayed for just this chance. A chance to make something of herself as a detective. Then, when Hunter had been ready to give it to her, she'd plain blown it. It wasn't as if she wanted to marry him--she knew how impossible that would be. All she wanted was a chance to be a private eye. It didn't seem like too much to ask. Heck, it wasn't much to ask, but she couldn't make herself ask for it.

Her insides urged her to get away, fast. After three steps, though, she stopped and sucked in a huge breath of air. Without that muscular package of testosterone glaring at her, she could pull her thoughts, and her courage, together.

Hunter was looking for a detective. Otherwise he wouldn't have called her in. Shy or not, she'd passed her certification classes at the community college. Whatever it was he wanted, she knew she could do it.

Surely it wasn't just morbid and masochistic curiosity that held her outside Hunter's door like a fly in a web.

There's nobody else, sir. Karen spoke loudly, almost as if she knew Tammy waited outside. After all, there's only so much even you can do with a disguise.

And this Jones female had the right bone structure, too. Hunter sounded almost wistful.

Her hair is wrong. Her accent isn't even close.

He made a dismissive noise. "Those things I can fix. But whoever we send out there has to become Mariatini."

You're right, sir, Karen said. "Even you could never make it work."

Hunter chuckled. You're trying to manipulate me, but you're right. I don't have much choice. He paused briefly. You out there, Hunter boomed from his office. Chicken-girl. Get back in here. Now.

A dozen pairs of eyes stared accusingly at Tammy as she tried to slink back to her work station, fade into the woodwork.

She didn't know who Hunter was hollering at now, but it couldn't be her. No way he could know she wasn't already back at her desk.

You, Jones. Out in the hall. Stop dawdling and move.

***

She moved.

Hunter still sat behind his desk but he'd set her photo down and stared directly at her. His suit managed to flatter his already stunning body, subtly calling attention to the breadth of his shoulders and the power of his arms and chest.

You called me, s-sir? Tammy's voice barely rose above a whisper.

Hunter looked at Karen but the administrator shrugged her shoulders.

Then Hunter stared back at Tammy with his deep blue eyes. Do you like working in the typing pool?

Uh, it's fine. I mean good. I like it. Really. Because it kept her close to the detective business. Say that, Tammy.

She was employee of the month last month, Karen put in. I suspect she will be again this month.

A private detective serving as a typist?

Tammy couldn't tell whether his voice showed scorn, confusion, disgust, or simple sorrow.

She gets the job done, Karen said.

Hunter shook his head. It just isn't right. He raised his voice, I won't have it.

You're firing me? Tammy hated that squeak in her voice, but it always showed up when she wanted it least.

Hunter just glared at her for a moment. If you're a licensed detective, you're wasting your time working as a clerical. It's unethical.

I'll tell you what, Karen offered. I'll get on the phone and tell Ungermann we can't handle the Mariatini job. Maybe they can find someone else in the four weeks before she goes on tour.

Hunter stood, slamming his chair back against the wall, and walked over toward Karen. Stop trying to manipulate me. I haven’t missed a payroll yet.

Tammy could actually see the moment Karen caved in. About an hour after she would have. Right, sir. What do you want me to do?

In a minute.

Tammy didn't dare raise her eyes as Hunter walked up to her, larger than life and twice as handsome as any man had a right to be. But he grasped her chin, turning her face up so she had no choice but to look into his incredible midnight-blue eyes.

At five foot eight, she was as tall as many men. Next to Hunter, she felt like a midget.

Thoughtfully, Hunter brushed his thumbs over her cheekbones. Do you mind?

Uh. As if she'd mind her fantasy man running his sexy hands over any part of her body he wanted to. That's fine.

I need to see this. He abruptly stripped off her glasses. A quick flick of his wrists pulled the rubber band from her hair without the slightest tug. This was a man accustomed to undressing women.

While his touch did strange things to her insides, Hunter seemed totally unaffected by the almost intimate contact. Tammy's blush probably burned his fingers where he touched her, but that didn't stop him in his careful inspection.

Great bone structure, he finally said to Karen. How much does she weigh?

I think maybe that's a question you should ask her, Karen replied.

I weigh--

Get real, he interrupted. Women lie about their weight. It's some sort of compulsion.

But-- Tammy tried to interject.

Hunter shook his head. It doesn't matter. I'll have to get her out of these baggy things and into something Mariatini might wear.

Tammy's blush grew hotter. She was sure Hunter hadn't meant that the way it sounded. Anyway, she'd spent a lot of money on this outfit, and it was not baggy ... although compared to the women Hunter was used to, she didn't exactly dress to kill. She thought she looked professional in her mid-calf length suits.

Professional but dowdy, she admitted silently. Dowdy or not, she could no more argue with Hunter than she could walk naked on the moon.

How did you end up in my typing pool? He spoke softly, as if seeing the fear in her eyes and trying to compensate for it. He would have to do a lot more than that, Tammy knew, before she could really be calm in his presence. Like age fifty years and grow a pot belly.

When-- she broke off. She was squeaking again. What was her problem? She talked to men all the time. Just yesterday, she'd said hello to her landlord. Of course he was seventy and shorter than she was.

Tammy took a deep breath. It didn't matter that Hunter was in a bad mood. This time she was going to do it.

When I applied for a job three months ago, you didn't have any detective openings. Karen saw my resume in the trash and noticed I could type. I needed a job and I wanted to get into the business. I took what I could get.

Four sentences in a row. She swallowed hard. She couldn't vomit now. Not over Hunter. Other than her father, she wasn't sure she'd ever spent so much time talking to a man. Let alone a man who set her insides on fire.

And you've just been sitting here ever since? He sounded incredulous that anyone would do anything so foolish.

To Tammy it made good sense. Show you can do the job you're given and you'll be given the opportunity to do more.

Eventually you'd notice my qualifications and ask me for more. She blushed again. She sounded like she was propositioning him.

Hunter shook his head. That's totally insane. He rubbed his forehead and glared at Tammy as if she were the cause of all his problems. You asked me if you're fired. Hell, yes.

Karen balled her fists and faced their boss. But she's a good typist.

Tammy barely managed a whimper.

You heard me. He glared at Tammy. Pack up your coffee mugs and those disgusting little picture things women always seem to litter their desks with.

Tammy felt like she'd been turned inside out. Maybe she'd been wrong picking a career as a detective, even though it had been her dream from when she'd first discovered Nancy Drew. She'd barely passed her class on interviewing, and only then because they'd let her write a paper for extra credit. But she was a great typist. And she needed this job.

Acting totally irrationally and against everything she'd been taught, Tammy closed the few inches that separated her from Hunter and grasped him by his sleeves. You aren't being fair.

Hunter unwrapped Tammy's fingers from his arms, his expression impassive. The sensation of his strong hands around her fingers gave her a small electrical thrill.

She'd been waiting, praying he'd notice her, and at the same time hoping he wouldn't, for the past three months. Now he finally had. He'd noticed her acting like a bumbling idiot.

You want to be a detective, so you sit there in my typing pool, dealing with computers instead of people. He glared at her again. I stand by my decision. You're out of the typing pool. You have two choices. Take your severance, or help us with the Mariatini case. As a detective, not a clerk.

She doesn't have any experience, sir. We'll be the laughing stock of Los Angeles, Karen broke in.

I'll give her plenty of experience.

Karen shifted her weight from one foot to the other. With all due respect, sir, you’re not a ‘woman whisperer.’ It would take a miracle--

There's nothing magic about investigative work. People can learn.

Tammy's heart felt like it would rip through her mouth.

Let her learn somewhere where she won't have to deal with hundreds of the richest and most powerful people in the world, Karen protested. Give her a job doing computer research or digging through garbage for a while. Tammy is, well, shy.

I don't need another garbologist. Hunter didn’t