Unbreakable Bond

by Gemma Halliday

I flipped him the bird. "Fine. Find a mini-mart where I can get a pre-paid."

  He started the car, still grinning at me as he made a left at the corner, then drove two more blocks before finding a gas station with a convenience store attached. I threw on a pair of sunglasses and tucked my hair into a bun, keeping my head down as I quickly went inside, bought the cheapest pre-paid cell they had with cash, then ducked out.

  "Who are you calling?" Danny asked.

  "The ADA. Someone has to report the body."

  I could hear his disapproval in the silence even before I looked up from my dialing to see the grim set of his jaw.

  "Why not call nine-one-one?" he asked.

  "Because this is personal."

  His brows creased, and his eyes darkened. He didn’t understand, and I didn’t have time to explain.

  I listened to the phone ring three times before Aiden picked up.

  "Prince?"

  "It’s Jamie." There wasn’t any time for small talk. Far from an expert on corpses, I wasn’t sure how long Donna had been in the tub, but I knew it was only a matter of time before her neighbors would be wondering what had died in the walls.

  He didn’t respond, and I wondered if I’d lost the connection.

  "Are you there?"

  A door clicked shut in the background. "Yes. You ran out on me before…"

  Before I could be arrested? Yeah, sorry, pal. "Listen. There’s a dead body."

  "What?"

  I rattled off the address.

  "Who lives there?"

  A car pulled into the lot beside us. Instinctively I ducked down below the window.

  "Donna Martinez," I answered.

  A mother and child got out of the car next door, paying zero attention to me.

  "Who is Donna Martinez?" Aiden asked.

  Admitting how I knew Donna entailed explaining a whole lot more than I was willing to share at the moment.

  "Jamie?" he prodded.

  "She’s in the tub," I told him. "I found her like that, but I had nothing to do with her death."

  "Like you had nothing to do with Judge Waterston’s murder?"

  I swallowed hard. So the cat and mouse thing was over. Cards were being laid on the table. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or more anxious.

  "Exactly," I slowly agreed.

  Aiden paused. "Are your prints going to be in Ms. Martinez's house?" he asked.

  I bit my lip. "My prints?" In order to have a fingerprint to match he'd have to know...

  "James Bond, licensed private investigator, prints on file with the state of California."

  I closed my eyes and thought a really dirty word. I'd known it was only a matter of time before he figured it out, but I’d hoped for more. I pictured his army of police officers at the agency right now, combing through records, asking Maya where her boss was, digging through my computer for any mention of Waterston. I shook off the panic that accompanied that vision, focusing on the voice on the other end of the pre-paid.

  "How did you find out?"

  "You were careful not to touch your martini glass last night, but as you jumped up from the table, you grabbed the butter knife."

  Damn.

  Danny shot me a look. Clearly he could tell from my end of things, this conversation was not going well.

  "Okay, so you know who I am and what I do. Would you believe this is all about a client and not about me killing anyone?"

  There was radio silence on the other end. I held my breath.

  "I believe in evidence," he said slowly. "I believe what I can prove in court."

  It was a typical lawyer's answer. Full of words while saying nothing. But if I read between the lines, he wasn't exactly convinced of my guilt either.

  "I didn't do this," I said point blank. "I'm being set up."

  Again Aiden was slow to respond, as if carefully measuring his words before speaking. "I've been reading up on your history today. About your agency. You don't strike me as the careless type. If your background is any indication, if you murdered someone, you'd make certain there wasn't any photographic evidence lying around, let alone being aired on TV."

  "Thank you," I breathed, letting out a breath I'd been holding for two days. Though I wasn't entirely sure it was a compliment, it was as close as the lawyer in him was going to get to telling me he wasn't out for my blood.

  Yet.

  "Where are you, Jamie?" he asked.

  I bit my lip. I'd been on the phone for awhile now. Too long. Even with a pre-paid, Aiden could ping a cell tower and get a location on me.

  "I have to go," I said.

  "Wait! I... I want to help you."

  God, I wanted to believe that. I looked from Danny to the phone.

  "I need to hear your side of things," Aiden continued. "In person."

  "Meet in person?"

  Danny shook his head, mouthing the word, "no".

  "I can help you, Jamie," Aiden said again. "but I need you to trust me."

  "I fell for that once," I pointed out. "You had cops waiting for me last night."

  "Don't do it," Danny whispered.

  "I promise I won’t involve anyone else," Aiden reassured me. "Just you and me. You can pick the place this time."

  Now I was on the phone way too long. I needed to get off. The woman and the kid reemerged from the store, the bell above the glass door jiggling loudly enough to give me a mild heart attack.

  "Fine," I said.

  Danny scoffed and ran his hand through his hair.

  I turned my back to him, not wanting to hear the negatives. I knew this was a stupid idea. I knew I couldn't trust Aiden, even if part of me really wanted to. But what choice did I have? I'd been named, fingerprinted. I was running out of places to turn. If I didn't play nice with the ADA, I could count my moments of freedom on one hand. At least this way I bought myself a little more time.

  "I'll meet you tonight," I promised, and rattled off an address before quickly hanging up the cell.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  _____

  "Are you insane?" Danny yelled in my ear as soon as he started the van again.

  An older man pumping gas glanced our way.

  I slumped down in my seat and glared at Danny. "Shut up, and drive to the agency."

  He matched my glare but pulled onto the road.

  I knew no place was safe now, not the office, not my apartment. But I needed to get my car. Assuming it hadn't been impounded and logged as evidence by now.

  Danny kept his attention on the road and a death grip on the steering wheel until we'd put several blocks between us and Donna's apartment. It wasn't until we were merging back onto the freeway that he turned to me. "So, want to tell me why you're doing this?"

  "Going to the agency? I need my car."

  "No! Jesus, Jamie. Setting a date with the ADA."

  I leaned forward, cranking up the A/C. The forced air cooled off my face and neck and gave me a moment to think clearly. "He knows who I am."

  "I gathered that," Danny conceded.

  "I'm buying myself some time."

  "So you have no intention of keeping this date?"

  I didn't answer right away.

  "James..." Danny warned.

  I jerked toward him as much as the seatbelt allowed. "Look he knows who I am and what I do. Don't you think it's a good idea if I find out what else he knows?"

  "No," he said, emphatically.

  "What if he has info about the judge? About how he was killed or the murder weapon or something else that could give us a hint who Donna was working for? In case you haven't noticed, we're at a big fat zero for leads."

  Danny clenched his teeth together. But he didn't yell, which I took as a good sign.

  "Look, I distrust Aiden as much as you do-" I continued.

  "I doubt that!" Danny spat back.

  But I let it go.

  "-but I'm out of other ideas. If he can help-"

  "Help?" Danny jumped on me again. "I thought you said the plan was to milk him
for info, not throw yourself on the mercy of the DA's office."

  "I don't throw myself anywhere," I countered. "But if Aiden does believe me, maybe he can do something."

  Danny turned on me, steam practically pouring from his ears. "You're nuts, you know that?"

  I threw my hands up. "Isn't this exactly what you and Levine were cooking up for me to do last night? Turn myself in, talk to the ADA?"

  "I wasn't cooking up anything," he countered. "I was trying to help your sorry ass stay out of jail."

  "Gee, my hero," I said, sarcasm dripping from my words.

  "Besides, that was before."

  "Before what?"

  "Before both of our prints ended up all over the apartment of a murdered woman."

  I bit my lip, realizing how true that was. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

  Danny shook his head, let out a deep breath. "Christ, that's not what I meant, and you know it."

  "What I know is that I'm tired of looking over my shoulder, Danny. I need to find the person behind all of this, so I can get back to pleasant work, like spying on cheating husbands. I need some peace, some quiet, and a full night’s sleep."

  "Yeah, well the way you're going, it will be in a five by six cell," he shot back.

  We pulled up to Bond Agency, behind my car, which, thankfully, was unassaulted by the cops.

  So far.

  Danny cut the engine and turned to me. "Look, this whole meeting thing is stupid and dangerous."

  "I need to go."

  "I won’t be a part of it," he warned.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. This entire conversation had left a bad taste in my mouth, and this was the last straw. I flung open the door and jumped out.

  "You know what, that's great. It's just fine with me. In fact, stay away from me. I don’t need you tonight."

  Something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone too quickly for me to register the emotion.

  "You can’t go in without protection."

  "Oh, I never said that. I simply said I don’t need you. I've got my girls. Them, I can count on."

  I slammed the door and stomped to my car.

  * * *

  I spent the afternoon driving, seething, and grasping at anything to help me indentify Donna's killer. Thankful I had the new cell, and I called Maya to run every cross check she could against Donna and the judge, fishing for a common third party. Of course, her resources were a bit limited, the police having taken over the office by then, but she did her best on a Wifi connection on her laptop at the Starbucks down the street. Caleigh went to work on trying to reconstruct Donna's last movements, posing as a friend of the deceased from "back home" as she chatted with neighbors, friends, and casting agents. And Sam set up surveillance on Donna's apartment, trying to keep tabs on what the police found. By the time sunset peaked over the hills, I'd exhausted every avenue I could think of, but unfortunately was no closer to the truth. Leaving me just one alternative.

  Aiden.

  Danny was right. It was gutsy bordering on stupid to meet him again. Especially when he'd had police ready to nab me at the restaurant. But I was just desperate enough to ignore the stupid part and bank on gutsy.

  I'd told Aiden to meet me in Chaplin Park, a small, neighborhood spot in Burbank, tucked between studios and streets lined with fifties-style bungalows left over from Hollywood's golden era. Nine o'clock. Under the gazebo in the center.

  Eight-forty-six I showed up and sat on a bench hidden behind a grove of trees. I did a slow sweep of the park, ascertaining that the street lamps and I were alone. I looked up, seeing the one lone star bright enough to shine through the smog layer. I had a crazy urge to make a childish wish on it.

  Please, wishing star, keep me from being arrested and wrongfully imprisoned tonight.

  I fidgeted on the cool, smooth wood and looked down into my blouse to make sure the mic was well hidden. There was no camera tonight. Not in the dark. Besides, I only needed to record Aiden’s words. There would be nothing to video out here.

  Caleigh and Sam were parked down the road in Sam’s beat-up Dodge Neon. It was less conspicuous than my Roadster or Caleigh’s Ford Taurus. When they picked me up, Sam didn’t look well. She’d ended up taking her son with her to stake out Donna's when the sitter came down with a stomach virus. Two hours in a hot car with a bored ten-year-old sounded less enjoyable than having a wisdom tooth extracted. I did not envy her. But, I was grateful that she'd done it. In Sam's world not getting the job done was up there with running into her ex in the toilet paper aisle of Costco while wearing sweat pants and mismatched sneakers. Just one more reason I didn't want to fire her.

  A twig snapped, and I honed in on a figure approaching from the parking lot. I had expected him to be wearing another tailored suit, highly professional and coiffed. Instead he was in a pair of casual blue jeans and a black T-shirt. The change in attire took me off guard for a moment, and I suddenly wondered if it was intended to do just that.

  "The street’s clear. He seems to be alone," Caleigh whispered in my ear, as he approached the gazebo.

  He looked around, scanning the park as I'd done. Clearly he didn't see me, as he shoved his hands in his pockets and sat on a white bench in the gazebo. Though I noticed that he perched on the edge. He was as antsy as I was.

  I took a couple of deep breaths. It was now or never.

  I slowly got up, stepped carefully out of the shadows, and made my way toward Aiden.

  He heard me approaching and looked up, a smile that I could have sworn held genuine pleasure lighting his features under the dim glow of the streetlamps.

  "Jamie," he spoke, standing as I entered the gazebo. Ever the gentleman.

  "Aiden."

  He nodded to the bench beside him. "I’m glad you agreed to this."

  "I hope I didn’t make a mistake." I sat beside him, careful to keep distance between us.

  "You didn’t." There was that confidence again.

  "So, you know who I am."

  He nodded. "I'm curious," he said, cocking his head to the side. "What makes someone go from runway model to private investigator? It's a big switch."

  I shrugged. "You’d be surprised how often the two jobs call for the same skill set."

  "Like catching the eye of the judge at the benefit dinner."

  Right to the point.

  I inhaled, catching a whiff of his musky aftershave, as I prepared to take a gamble and lay my cards on the table. "His wife, or rather, the woman posing as his wife, hired me to get proof her husband was cheating."

  "And did you?"

  "Yes. Only the woman I gave it to wasn't really Mrs. Waterston. It was Donna Martinez.

  "So, that's the link. Donna posed as the wife and hired you to bust the judge?"

  "Yes." I paused. "But someone hired her to hire me."

  He raised en eyebrow.

  "Look, I know this is starting to sound like a conspiracy theory, but, well..." I paused, biting my lip, not having felt this nervous since my second grade spelling bee. "It is. A conspiracy, I mean. Someone went to a lot of trouble to frame me."

  "Why?" Aiden asked, his tone flat, even, not betraying the slightest hint of belief or disbelief.

  "I wish I knew."

  He digested this for a moment. "Ms. Martinez. She paid you for your services?"

  "Cash. Not traceable."

  "That's not odd?"

  "Not in my business."

  "Anything else you can tell me about her?" he asked, clearly fishing for something, though I wasn't sure what.

  I shrugged. "Honestly, she looked like every other wife I deal with daily. She was considerably younger than him, but if that’s a crime, half of L.A. would be arrested."

  A corner of his mouth lifted. "True."

  "Infidelity is a private investigator’s specialty. Our bread and butter."

  "The police usually handle murder."

  "And I’d gladly let them if they weren't accusing me." Irritation filled my tone.


  He stared at me, eyes unreadable. I noticed his demeanor was much less affable than it had been at dinner last night. All pretense of flirtation was gone, his witty banter replaced with bare facts. Even so, I felt a current of something running just under his words. His eyes lingered a little too long on my hemline, his body language just a little too relaxed, words drawled a little too slowly. Whether it was unintentional or by design to make me uncomfortable, I wasn't sure. But I felt myself shifting under his gaze, heat filling my cheeks. Open leering I was used to. Occupational hazard. But this slow, assessment, flirting with the border of sensual and clinical, was new.

  "So when did you realize Donna Martinez was not what she seemed?" he asked.

  I cleared my throat. "When I saw the real wife on the news."

  He nodded, pieces clicking into place. "Along with the video of you."

  I nodded back at him in agreement. "We tracked the package the video was delivered in to Donna."

  "I thought it was an anonymous delivery?"

  "It was, but we found her through the stationary."

  The corner of his mouth hitched up. "Clever."

  I thought so, but now wasn't the time to gloat. Instead I cleared my throat again. "Okay, I've shown you mine, now show my yours."

  The smiled hitched higher, definitely falling closer to the sensual side of the border. "Mine?"

  "Everything the reporters on TV are saying points to me. But you must have other evidence, or else I'd be in handcuffs right now," I pointed out with a lot more bravado than I felt.

  Aiden shook his head. "I'm sorry, there's not much I can tell you. It's an ongoing investigation."

  I felt my teeth grind. "But you believe me?" I asked, hating just how desperately I wanted him to say yes.

  Like the lawyer he was, he didn't answer.

  "I don't like to lose," he said. "I want my ducks in a row before I go in front of a jury."

  I gave him a hard stare, wondering just what ducks he was trying to line up tonight.

  As if to answer my question, he followed that up with, "When was the last time you saw Donna Martinez alive?"

  I shook my head slowly. "You haven't shown me yours, yet," I pointed out.

  He might have been annoyed, but instead that slow smile spread across his face again, this time even touching his eyes. "Okay, I can play fair. The medical examiner says Donna Martinez died of an overdose of an amphetamine-type stimulant. It wasn’t any of the pills she had a prescription for. There’s no sign of forced entry or anything to conclude she hadn’t taken them voluntarily."