Clayton put his feet up on the old wooden desk he'd inherited when taking over the Detective Agency from his dad, Peter. It was old and weather beaten, with cigarette burns in certain spots. Clayton wouldn't have sold it for a million bucks, it meant everything to him.
Six months after retiring from the agency, Clayton's old man had passed away from cancer. He'd never kicked those cigarettes and they'd been the death of him. Hard to believe that had been three years ago.
Clayton Jennings was not the detective his father was, it had come natural to the old man. He'd been a cop on the force for 30 years before retiring, then he'd opened the agency upon retiring. His smart-as-a-whip Dad had helped crack dozens of cases, teaching Clayton whatever he knew.
Clayton brushed the sandy hair out of his eyes and tried willing the phone to ring. If he didn't get a case soon, he wouldn't have a phone to ring. The rent was paid up, he wasn't heavily in debt, but he was hanging on by a thread.
Then the stunning blonde walked into the office. Clayton nearly fell out of his chair, she was that good looking. "Mr Jennings?" she said in a soft voice with a slight inflection.
"Yes, that's me, Miss ...?"
"You may call me Cassandra. And therein lies the root of my problem."
Cassandra explained to the somewhat-rumpled detective what had brought her to his office. "I woke up here in Toronto, having no idea how I got here. I have money. I am obviously well-bred and intelligent. I love sex ... " Cassandra giggled at that " ... and I don't think I am a criminal."
"I beg your pardon?"
Cassandra continued on. "When I first started out trying to find out my identity, I thought it might be possible I might be a criminal, in some kind of trouble. But I realized I don't do drugs. Nor am I an alcoholic, for I don't crave alcohol."
By now, Clayton had begun making notes on the computer on his desk. "Anything else?"
She smiled at him again. "Someone is taking great pains to make sure I am well taken care of. I am staying at the Royal York in a rather lavish suite. There is steady money coming to me in Traveler's Cheques and my clothes are expensive."
"Go on."
"I mentioned it before, but I love sex. With men or women, I seem to be a near-addict when it comes to sexual escapades."
Clayton could just imagine the pretty blonde, seated in a frazzled chair, naked and panting, while being fucked. He bet that she was a great lay, she obviously had a great body under the sedate business attire she was wearing.
"I would like to know as much as possible about myself, Mr. Jennings. I've done some asking around - discreetly - and I've been told you are determined, discreet and hard-working. I want answers, do you think you can get them for me?"
He smiled at her and nodded. "Cassandra, I will do my best. My rates are reasonable, but this could take a while. Are you prepared for that?"
Cassandra crossed a slender leg and nodded. "As I seem to have an inexhaustible supply of funds, that will be no problem. I have Five Hundred with me, will that be sufficient to retain your services?"
Clayton took the money from her hands, feeling her fingertips against his own. Hell, she could take off her jacket and she'd have enough to retain his services. This was the most drop-dead gorgeous woman he'd ever seen.
The noises from nearby Bloor Street drowned out her next comment and he had to ask her again. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. What did you say?"
