"You busy?" I asked and sat across from her.
"No. What's up?"
"I just spoke with Mrs. Livingston. The swinger."
Caleigh turned to me, giving her full attention. "Oh yeah? How'd that go?"
"Not exactly how I'd expected." I explained the woman's look, demeanor, and our conversation.
"It really makes you wonder about people, huh?" She looked toward the window again.
"Yes, it does. So I'm thinking you can go with me to visit the girlfriends, and I'll have Sam follow him around. See if there's anyone else he's seeing that the wife doesn't know about."
She gave me a quick smile. "Sounds good. It shouldn't be too hard to get the proof."
* * *
As I entered the physical therapy waiting area an hour later, Danny stepped out from behind double doors. Perfect timing.
He wore cargo shorts and a tee with two fingers in a peace sign that fit perfectly against his toned, 6'2" frame. His hair was light brown, streaked with highlights, not from a salon but the honest to goodness California sunshine, a by-product of the outdoor shoots he often worked. It was tousled now, growing a little long to skim his shoulders, but it suited him. When he noticed me, he smiled wide, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that I knew had charmed the pants off many a young swimsuit model.
I ignored the urge to be just a little bit charmed by it myself.
"How'd it go?" I asked.
He rotated his shoulder and only winced once. "Not too bad. I won't be hang gliding any time soon, but it's getting there."
I laughed. "Once you're healed, I'd like to see that happen."
"Oh, don't put it past me, Bond. You don't know everything about me." His smile grew bigger, venturing into the flirtatious zone.
"I know you're going home and will have a beer with lunch—probably Chinese delivery," I stated, doing my best not to flirt back.
He shook his head, the smile never dimming. "Can't drink on pain meds."
Concern filled my chest. "You're still taking them?"
"New script for a mild dosage and only when necessary."
We walked to the exit, stepping around a teenage boy on crutches.
Danny wasn't a pill popper. Pain would have to be bad for him to take anything. But if the new prescription was mild, at least it meant he was healing.
We stepped out into the sunlight, and I directed him toward my car. I'd thankfully managed to find a spot not too far away. "Okay, so no alcohol, but I'm right about the Chinese, huh?"
He chuckled. "Normally, perhaps, but Mrs. Rosenbaum brought over a chicken pot pie earlier. It smells amazing."
That woman knew how to cook. I'd been at his apartment once when she'd stopped by with a huge roasted chicken, potatoes, and carrots. She'd said the chickens had been on sale and she thought of Danny. We'd feasted, and he had enough leftovers for nearly a week.
Danny gave me a sideways wink. "You're at zero for two, James. What's up with that?"
I narrowed my eyes. No one but Derek called me by my legal name. "You sure you're not on drugs now. You're in an awfully good mood."
He shook his head causing several strands of hair to fall into his eyes. It made him look endearing. "Nah, just fresh air, exercise." He paused, his eyes roving my outfit, lingering on the hem of my pencil skirt. "Possibly the company."
I gave him a playful punch in his good should. "Does that really work on girls?"
He shrugged. "Most of them." He grinned at me. "But I have other lines. If you're good, maybe you'll get to hear them."
I snorted loudly to diffuse the sudden heat in my belly as we reached my Roadster. I started to go around to the passenger side to help him in, but thought better of it. He was injured, but not incapable.
Still trying to keep the conversation light, I joked, "Hey, I hear you're getting married soon."
He paused, giving me a funny look. "Excuse me?"
"Caleigh?"
The smile returned, if slightly smaller than before. "Right. Yeah, that came out of left field. Something to do with her father. What is it with women and their fathers? You're either trying to please them or running away from them."
I shrugged, not sure how to answer. There were women out there who had normal relationships with their dads. I just didn't know any of them.
"So you're really going through with being faux-fiancé?" I asked.
He turned toward me, as he buckled his seat belt into place—not without wincing, I noticed. One corner of his mouth lifted. "Would you have a problem with that?"
I frowned. "Of course not. Why would I?" But there was a strange tightness in my voice.
"Damn. I was kind of hoping you would."
While I could hear the teasing note in his voice, I had a feeling his words weren't all that far from the truth. I shoved my key into the ignition and changed the subject. Again.
"We have a new case. I met the wife this morning. She and her husband are a couple of swingers."
His eyes widened. "Oh, this one sounds fun. Tell me the details."
I pulled out of the parking lot. "They agreed to an open marriage, and now she fears he is being faithful. She wants proof he's sleeping around."
Danny burst into laughter. "Priceless!"
Tell me about it.
I hung a left onto Franklin Ave and headed toward the 101.
"Anyway, this one should be easy."
Danny raised an eyebrow my way. "You think?"
I scoffed. "Come on, what guy wouldn't sleep around in that situation? Most husbands do anyway."
"Not all."
I shot Danny a look. "Since when did you become an expert on monogamy?"
He grinned, showing off an impish dimple in his left cheek. "Touché."
"Thank you," I said.
"But, trust me, when I get married, I will become one."
"You? Married?" I shook my head. "No way. That's like the Pope suddenly putting on a yamaka."
"What, I can't settle down, start a family?"
I glanced at him. "You want kids?"
He turned his head toward the window so I couldn't see his expression. "Of course. Don't you?"
I shrugged. With the agency, Derek, the girls, and my practically non-existent love life, I hadn't thought about it in a long time. "Sure. Maybe. Some day." I cleared my throat, turning the conversion back to him. "But I've never pictured you as a dad. Didn't know you did either."
"Absolutely. I'm going to be the father that encourages little Daniella to play softball and Danny Jr. to be a nurturing caregiver. She'll help me mow the lawn, while he helps my wife bake cakes. I'll be the cool, progressive dad."
I chuckled. "How very non-gender biasing of you. Except for the part where you're mowing the lawn and your wife is baking."
He smirked.
It was sweet though. I pictured Danny on a baseball field teaching a little girl in pigtails to watch the ball as she swung. Oddly enough, the picture inspired that warm sensation to wiggle through my belly again.
I glanced at his profile.
He was staring out the window, a smile on his face. Was he imagining the same?
Maybe Danny was right. Maybe I didn't know him as well as I thought.
* * *
I bit into a large, drenched in salt, pretzel, which was cold and no longer soft, before spying through the windows of Aiden's office again. I really needed to plan for these stakeouts better and buy food that wouldn't leave me starving in thirty minutes. I was dying for a spinach salad with grilled chicken, strawberries, and almonds.
Aiden walked past his window to his desk. He sat down and scribbled on a legal pad.
I couldn't help but wonder if his long hours were just due to his workload, or if it was also a way to keep his mind off of his late wife. And me.
Miranda entered his office, in another tighter than work appropriate blouse, and handed him a file.
Or a way to get closer to his colleague.
I shook that thought off. Aiden was
all business. Even if he wanted to date her, he wouldn't do it in the office. He'd call her up and ask her out on a proper date—dinner, candlelight, maybe even flowers, although I hadn't received any. He wasn't a fish tacos at a roadside joint kinda guy.
Aiden nodded and said something to her. There was no laughter or cleavage shot. I assumed they discussed a case they were working on.
Then Miranda walked out, and I expelled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
I continued to watch, but nothing new happened. Aiden continued working, without a glance at his watch. I wondered if he thought of me at all these days. I hadn't seen him reach for the phone or daydream in space. Nothing. Not just tonight but the other times I'd watched too. I couldn't imagine he'd forgotten about me, but that was where the evidence pointed. I'd received no messages, no heavy breathing, not even a single hang up.
I could call him. Not now, but tomorrow, and ask him to lunch. We could go to that Italian place we went to on our first date, which really wasn't a date but a way for each of us to interrogate the other. That was right after I had met him, before we realized we could trust one another. When he thought I'd murdered a judge, and I needed answers only he possessed. Of course he hadn't given me answers. He was too professional for that. But the restaurant would always be a special place.
So, yes, lunch at Franco's.
I smiled.
Then I remembered his "it's not you; it's me" speech and frowned.
No, he'd think I wasn't respecting his wishes to give him time.
Aiden shuffled papers then flipped through the file to the back and pulled out another sheet. He kneaded the back of his neck and arched his back before returning to the documents.
I could've just called him to see how he was doing. Casual, platonic, concerned. That wouldn't be pushy. One friend talking to another. Then I could gauge his emotions by his tone. If he missed me, he'd be all heady, and if he sounded business-like then I'd know I wasn't on his mind. But did I want to know the answer? What if I didn't like it?
I sighed. Why were men so exasperating?
Aiden read document after document and made a ridiculous number of notes. His hand had to be cramped. Miranda came in two more times, but he still stayed focused on his work. That didn't mean she didn't try to deter him though.
First she used the act of dropping her pen and bending ever so slowly to retrieve it.
"Bend at the knees," I shouted to my windshield. "It's more seductive." Thrusting her ass in my face, let alone his, just made her look desperate.
Aiden looked up but quickly returned to his papers. He was either being polite or not interested. I was going with the latter.
The second time she entered his office, she brought him a cup of coffee. Instead of just handing it to him and hoping he'd join in with small talk, she raised her mug and said something, as if making a toast. This required him to put down the paperwork and play along. Smart girl. Although still desperate.
They clicked mugs and sipped their coffee. At least I assumed it was coffee. Maybe she kept a bottle of whiskey at her desk. As determined as she seemed, I wouldn't have put it pass her.
A nightcap at the office didn't seem like Aiden's thing though. He nodded and set his cup down. He pointed to the file and said something.
She gave a polite and grim smile then left his office.
"Yes! Score two…or was it more…to Prince."
There were no more interruptions from Miranda. Aiden continued working, and I may have dozed off for just a second.
I lowered the binoculars, rubbed my eyes, and knew it was time to go home.
I took one last peek through the lenses and spotted a man turning the corner of the building. He didn't come from the parking lot either, but the side street. Not an unusual event, but this part of town was only office buildings and coffee houses, and at this time, none of them were open. Then there was his gait. He had what I could only describe as a rap video swag to his step.
He walked to the front doors and peered through the glass.
My suspicious nature flared. I zoomed in on his face.
Scruffy, unshaved chin, dark eyes, hawk-like nose, and slicked down, dark hair. He wore shorts that were too baggy (thank goodness his long basketball jersey covered his underwear) and white sneakers that were so new and blinding, they called out like a beacon.
I knew him.
He'd come into The Spotted Pony, a strip joint at which I'd briefly enjoyed an undercover job while working a case a couple of years ago. It was long enough ago that I might not have recognized him, but he'd been one of the more popular customers. They'd called him Rocky. Rumor was he got the name because he always had cocaine on him. One of the dancers at the strip club had dated him while he'd supplied product to the other dancers.
I could understand him needing an attorney. He probably had a couple on speed-dial. But public defenders and the high-priced lawyers who usually worked for his type of scum didn't work in this building. So why was he interested in the DA's office at ten o'clock at night?
This was one PI about to find out.
CHAPTER THREE
As Rocky entered the building, I panicked, not sure what to grab and what to leave behind to follow him. I'd been set for surveillance, not an excursion. I snatched the keys from the ignition and slipped my phone into my bra, just in case. Unfortunately my skirt didn't have pockets. I tossed the binoculars into my purse, which was between my feet, and jumped from my seat, knocking pretzel remains onto the floor.
I locked my door and sprinted across the street; my heels click-clacked along the pavement. When I reached the double, glass doors, I hesitated. How did he get in?
The DA's offices used to be located at the criminal justice center, but recently, due to renovations and asbestos, they'd temporarily moved here. This was just a regular building, not a courthouse with metal detectors and guards, but surely their security was still tight.
I pushed one of the doors. It opened without hesitation. I never tried to access the offices during my stakeout nights. Why would I when I had a clear view from my car? So I wasn't certain if it was always unlocked or done specifically for Rocky tonight.
I ran forward and caught the tail end of him stepping onto an elevator. I hurried forward, hoping he wouldn't turn at the sound of my shoes.
As the doors whooshed shut, I lunged for the stairs. If I was fast enough, I could make it up three flights only seconds after he stepped off the elevator. I slipped off my heels and booked it. My tight pencil skirt didn't allow super-high thigh movement, so I shimmied it up until it barely covered my bottom.
By the time I reached the third floor, I was panting, mildly. I would've loved to blame it on the necessary burst of speed, but who was I kidding? I considered a workout to include lifting my binoculars while chewing overly-processed, Richard Simmons-deemed-unworthy snacks. I blamed my junk-food addiction on all those years of modeling when carbs, sweets, and oils were considered the by-product of Satan. I had years of real eating to make up for.
I staggered onto the third floor and spotted Rocky yanking open a door ahead. I took a deep, wheezing breath and stumbled forward just before it closed.
A large reception desk stood across from me. A corridor to the left and a smaller one to the right held several office doors. The walls were painted in an off-white, and a thick, burgundy carpet cushioned my soles. Several lights above the reception area were off, so the remaining few cast a soft glow along the lobby. It was bright enough to see where I was headed and to make out the surroundings well, but dim enough to hide if necessary.
Rocky walked to the other side of the reception desk and stared to his left, to something I couldn't see. He just stood there. Was he waiting for someone or lost?
As the door behind me shut with a soft thud, I watched Rocky's head turn in my direction.
Crap.
I ducked and scrambled to the front of the reception area on my hands and knees. My keys made a soft jingle, and I tucked
them into my palm tighter. I held my breath and listened for the sound of footsteps headed toward me. There were none. I expelled my breath and crawled to the corner. I peered left and right, noticing another corridor, and hoped I wouldn't get lost in this maze. This floor didn't look that big from outside. If my calculations were correct, Aiden's office was down the left hall, on the right-hand side. As long as I stayed away from…
A door opened ahead, and a young man in gray slacks and a white top stepped into the hall.
Movement sounded behind me. Perhaps Rocky was hiding too. I took one crawl back, hopefully out of eyeshot, but I was still able to watch the man. He walked a few feet ahead, never glancing my way, and pushed open a door without turning a knob, probably a bathroom.
When he disappeared behind the door, I scrambled forward, still on my hands and knees, like a mouse searching for a hunk of cheese. I circled the reception area, and as I reached the side where Rocky stood, I contemplated where to hide next. I couldn't just crawl around the corner. He was only a yard in front of me. He'd have to be deaf and blind not to see the blonde woman on all fours, revealing her pink leopard panties. (Hey, it was laundry day, and they were comfortable. In hindsight, at least I hadn't worn my lacy thongs.) But I also couldn't stay in this position because my barely covered butt cheeks would be the first thing the man saw after relieving himself.
My options were to slip into the reception area and perhaps hide under the desk, or to leap for the potted tree near the back wall.
I chose the desk.
Unfortunately I didn't notice the hard, bumpy, plastic floor-covering until it dug into my knees and palms. Ouch! I jerked back, hitting my elbow into a metal drawer. Shoot.
I glanced up and around. No one peered down at me, but just in case, I grabbed a pad of paper from the desk and slowly rose, like an administrative assistant from the dead.
Rocky no longer stood in his last spot.
I hurried around the desk and peeked down the hall. It was empty. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a door closing. I ran to it, hoping to catch a glimpse inside before it shut, but by time I got there, it was only open an inch.
Lethal Bond: Jamie Bond Mysteries Book #3 Page 3
