Lethal Bond: Jamie Bond Mysteries Book #3

by Gemma Halliday

  "And thank you for dinner," Maya said.

  "It was my pleasure, darlin'. Not only did I get to meet my future son-in-law, but I got to spend time with the people who mean the most to my baby. I call that a win-win."

  "Daddy, why don't you go wait in my office. I need to go over some work stuff with Jamie and Maya."

  "Okay, pumpkin'. Ladies." He walked off.

  "So anything new come up overnight that I need to help with?"

  I shook my head. "No."

  "Okay, well, I'm going to send Daddy back to my place and then check in with what Stuart Livingston is up to. Maybe he'll meet up with Nikki or Melanie for an afternoon quickie."

  I wished. "This afternoon we're going to meet with girlfriend number three."

  "But enough about business," Maya interjected. "Tell us about your night."

  I had to admit, after the evening I'd had, it would be refreshing to hear about a successful date.

  "Well, I dropped Daddy off at my place then pretended Danny and I wanted to be alone. I took him home, and then I met up with Curtis."

  "Did he say anything about me?" I asked, hoping I'd hit a nerve with Danny with my fake Aiden meeting.

  Caleigh wrinkled her nose. "Why would Curtis talk about you? He hasn't even met you. Well, you were there when we met, but you didn't introduce yourselves to one another. And…"

  "Not him. Danny."

  She giggled. "Oh. Let's see. He sat in my passenger seat and stared out the window and mumbled about tough brisket, fork-tender crab cakes, and needing a drink."

  I smirked. Perhaps it was in bad taste, but I was glad to know last night wasn't uncomfortable just for me.

  "He asked me if you had plans to go back to Ventura's today."

  I stiffened. "Oh really?"

  She cut the air with her hand, like a horizontal karate chop. "I told him absolutely not. Are you?"

  I laughed. "I don't think so."

  "Whew. I hate lying."

  I cocked my head toward her office.

  She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know. It's killing me."

  I didn't ask when she'd tell her father the truth, but eventually she'd have to tell some version. Unless, of course, she actually planned on marrying Danny.

  She went to her office as the phone rang, and Maya answered it.

  I sipped the coffee Maya had waiting for me. I needed it. After my night of cocktails with Elaine, I'd finally slept soundly, only to be woken extra early by an incessant car alarm on the street and then a couple fighting next door.

  Sam walked in, out of breath. Her normally curly hair looked frizzy and in need of hydration. Her blouse was wrinkled, and her left shoe looked freshly scuffed.

  "What happened to you?" I asked.

  "Julio and I overslept. We had to rush to get him to school on time. He hates when he's tardy."

  "Late night?"

  "After dinner with that man I may have had a drink or two." Sam had clearly been the most annoyed by Daddy's comments.

  I filled her in on Mr. Presley's apology.

  She un-pursed her lips. "Well that was nice of him. I'll be in my office trying to get a grape jelly stain out of my skirt." She pointed to a spot near her hip then walked off.

  Maya finally hung up, and I said, "Back to Vega. Are there any big cases coming up involving his crew?"

  "Yes. Vega's second in command, a man named Jose Flores, was busted on a DUI. They found drugs in his car, and he's looking at a hefty sentence."

  "So Rocco is probably a low level guy sent by Vega to hand off the bribe money to someone in the DA's office." The question was, who was he paying?

  "Who's trying the case?"

  Maya looked up with wide eyes. Her lips were pursed. "You're not going to like it."

  My stomach dropped. These little warnings about my not liking something were starting to wear thin. Maybe the girls just needed to surprise me. Before Maya said anything though, I knew.

  "It's Aiden."

  No. I couldn't believe Aiden would do that…would he? But how well did I really know him? Maybe the "Golden Boy" act he had going on really was just an act. It was hard to wrap my head around. I didn't want to believe that, but then I envisioned him and Miranda sitting cozy at our restaurant. Although it wasn't really ours anymore.

  One thing was for sure—I needed answers.

  * * *

  Sam and I headed back to Vanessa's house. Clipboard in hand, we walked up the broken concrete and knocked on her door. This time the curtains were drawn, so I couldn't see inside. After yesterday's fiasco at Ventura's, I just hoped Rocco didn't answer. The Toyota was the only car near the house, in the same spot as yesterday.

  The door swung open, and Vanessa's smile instantly turned sour at the sight of us. "What do you want?" Her tone was anything but welcoming.

  "We have a few more questions about…"

  "No. I spoke to Rocco. He said I do not have to answer your questions. This is harassment, and I am done talking." She folded her arms across her chest.

  She had us. Once she clammed up, there was no other place to get answers.

  As much as it reeked, I decided to go with plan B. "Well, Rocco is wrong. When it comes to the safety and welfare of your children, we have every right to ask whatever we want. We also have every right to do what is best for them, if we determine there is just cause."

  She just glared at me, not even tempted to start talking.

  Fine. I glanced at Sam before saying, "And the CPS office is starting proceedings to have the children removed from your home."

  Vanessa's eyes darkened, and her face flushed. She threw her hands up and yelled something in Spanish. "Go. Leave. You will not take my kids. I'm a good mother. Get out. And don't come back."

  Then she took a step back and slammed the door in our faces.

  That went well.

  Sam raised her brows to me as we turned and headed back to my car.

  "Don't give me that look. I remember what you said last time. I didn't want to do it, but I had to."

  I opened my car door and slipped in behind the wheel.

  She settled in then turned to me. "Okay, I give. Why?" Sam asked.

  "Where do you think is the first place Rocco will turn for help with his kids' case?"

  Sam grinned. "His contact in the DA's office."

  "Bingo."

  I turned on the ignition.

  "So, you've been spying on Aiden every night?"

  She made it sound so immoral. I turned at the corner and headed back to the office. "Not Aiden specifically. The whole office."

  "How's that going?" I wasn't sure but I think I detected a note of sarcasm.

  I shrugged, not wanting to repeat last night's fiasco. Living through it had been bad enough.

  "That good, huh?"

  Oh yeah, definitely some sarcasm. Thing was, I knew her concern was legit. Staking out the DA's office every night had started taking its toll on me. Not to mention sitting in the car.

  "How about you let me run surveillance tonight?"

  I glanced her way. It was like this woman could read my mind. "You sure?"

  "Absolutely. Julio has a sleepover, and I'll just be watching some reality show anyway. Might as well make it the real thing."

  "Thanks. That's great. I could use the rest."

  Actually, I just wasn't sure if I could take watching Aiden and Hot Lips Miranda go out again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  That afternoon, Caleigh and I went to visit Livingston's third girlfriend, Marguerite Clemens. I pulled my roadster up to a wrought iron gate and pressed a button on the talk box of her Beverly Hills home. From the look of the neighborhood, Marguerite had money and plenty of it. Maya's research had pulled up that she was a fifty-seven year-old woman who never worked a day in her life. She'd gone through three husbands, and added a new wing to the house after each one.

  "Stuart has great taste," Caleigh whispered from the passenger seat.

  I chuckled. "You haven't seen her yet
."

  She waved a hand along our view. "Do I have to?"

  The box crackled to life. "May I help you?"

  I stifled a laugh and leaned out my window. "It's Jamie Bond and Caleigh Presley to see Ms. Clemens."

  The gate slowly opened without another word.

  I drove along the circular driveway, past the immaculate lawn and square-shaped shrubbery, up to a long, stone staircase that led to double glass and gold doors. Well, not actual gold…at least I didn't think it was real, but with some rich people, you never knew.

  As we walked up the stairs, the front door opened, and a woman looking slightly younger than her years stepped out. She had thick, light auburn hair that fell in waves around her shoulders. Hazel eyes lined in a smoky, gray liner, full lips from too much collagen moistened with a pink-tinted gloss, and a smattering of freckles that spread out across her neck and chest.

  She wore a tight, dark brown skirt that fell a good inch-and-a-half above her knees and a leopard blouse with a deep-V that showed off her very high, very bouncy tatas. A thin gold belt with matching, five-inch heels completed the look. Despite the cliché cougar wardrobe, she was absolutely stunning.

  She held up a finger adorned in an emerald ring the size of a walnut. "Don't tell me." She pointed to me, stared at my face, then did the same to Caleigh. "You are Miss Presley."

  Caleigh's eyes lit up. "Yes. How'd you know?"

  "You have the same chin as the King."

  Caleigh squealed. "I do. No one's ever noticed that before." She gave me a see-I-told-you look.

  "Well, let's not stand out here in the sun. It wreaks havoc on the skin," Marguerite said then wrapped an arm around Caleigh's shoulders and led her inside.

  Did she always welcome strangers so easily into her home?

  I followed and tried not to gawk at the statue of a naked man, anatomy ridiculously accurate, in the foyer beside a winding staircase.

  But Marguerite must've caught my eye because she whistled and said, "Gorgeous, isn't he? It just arrived this morning, and I'm not sure where to put him. At first I thought the sunroom, but now I'm thinking my bedroom."

  Yes, because that's what I wanted to see when I woke in the middle of the night, just standing there—his penis pointing at me in the dark.

  She led the way into a sitting room and waved her hand. "Please take a seat. Would you like coffee, tea, whiskey? I can have the girl bring it to us."

  "No, thank you," I said and sat on the edge of a brown suede sectional.

  Caleigh sat beside me, but she leaned back against the cushions, making herself comfortable. "The girl?"

  Marguerite sat opposite us, on a bright red chair, the only item in the room that wasn't brown, gold, or off-white. "Please forgive my tackiness. Every month for the past eight, the cook has quit. Just poof, up and left like a bad magician's vanishing act. I can no longer keep track of names."

  "Why have they quit?" I asked, curious to how the other half lived.

  "The last one said I'm too demanding. I don't see how breakfast in bed is demanding when I pay her handsomely."

  "That's it? Breakfast in bed?" Caleigh asked.

  Marguerite giggled. "She may have walked in on me and a male guest in a compromising position as it was delivered. Let's just say my friend is as endowed as my statue."

  I shifted in my seat and felt Caleigh stifle a giggle beside me.

  Marguerite smiled. "Exactly. Now, what can I do for you beautiful young women?"

  As I opened my mouth, she winked and whispered, "Love your shoes."

  I glanced down at my pink pumps and grinned. "Thank you. I, um…we're here because you know Stuart Livingston."

  She wiggled her eyebrows. "Do I ever. Is he okay?"

  "He's fine. Have you seen him recently?"

  "Sadly, I have not. Stuart is an old soul. He's gentle, wise, and very passionate. I'm not just talking romantically either. He cares deeply about things. Animals, wild life, our environment. That man knows more about marine biology than my old professor in college."

  "When was the last time you met with him?" I asked.

  "Oh, it's been a few weeks. I miss him terribly too. He is…"

  "Yeah. We know," I stopped her. "He's great in bed."

  I looked to Caleigh and sighed. Kate was right. Somehow she was married to the one faithful man in L.A.

  We sat there for another hour as she told us all about meeting Stuart, her love of art, especially paintings and statues of naked men, and her childhood dream of being a pianist, even though she never learned to play. I learned more about her childhood than I remembered of my own. She loved to talk and had a way with words that made it difficult to interject.

  Finally I managed to ask, "How did Stuart seem the last time you saw him?"

  "Quiet. But that wasn't odd. He was always talking about his wife and how much he loved her. It should have bothered me, but it was so cute and endearing, I didn't mind. Plus, he was really great in bed."

  I rose, and Caleigh followed. "We should get going. Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with us."

  She showed us to the door. "It was my pleasure, dears. Any time you're in the neighborhood and want to chat, just stop by. I know some men who would make your hair curl."

  I expected Caleigh to laugh or purr in typically adorable Caleigh style, but she just waved good-bye.

  As we settled into my car, I asked, "What's wrong with you?"

  She widened her eyes. "What do you mean?"

  I pulled out of the gate and hung a right. "You didn't react to her mention of hot, single guys."

  She giggled. "I'm a one-man kind of girl now."

  I raised an eyebrow at her. "Curtis?"

  She nodded. "He is absolutely amazing. He's totally romantic. We went for a picnic on the beach last night. The moon, the water, a bottle of wine. I think it's love."

  "That's great, Caleigh." I was glad at least someone's love life was happening and happy.

  My phone rang. I pulled it from my purse, wedged between the two front seats. "Hello?"

  "James. Has Elaine talked to you?" It was Derek.

  "Yeah, we had drinks together last night."

  "Is she okay?" He sounded tense.

  "As okay as she can be considering her boyfriend is lying to her."

  He sighed. "I'll be a few days longer than I thought."

  I hung a left on Wilshire. "What are you doing?"

  "It's personal." The line clicked in my ear.

  Damn man. Just as I was about to set the phone in my purse, it rang again. I swiped the on button. "Did we get disconnected, or did you hang up on me on purpose?"

  "It's Danny." His tone was rough and tight.

  "Oh. Hi, I—" I glanced at the time. Four-twenty. Shoot.

  "You forgot to pick me up."

  "I'm so sorry. I was with a client, and the time got away. Are you still waiting?"

  "No, I took a cab home."

  My guilt rose. First our fight, then that weird dinner, and now this. "I'll make it up to you."

  "Oh yeah? How?" The annoyance seemed to subside, and in its place was intrigue mixed with playfulness in his voice. When you spent a good portion of your life listening to others, you tended to pick up on tones easily.

  "I'll…make you dinner," I grasped. "Tonight."

  "You're gonna cook?"

  "Dinner at your place at seven. Don't make plans."

  "You got it, Bond."

  "See you later," I said then hung up.

  "Who was that?" Caleigh asked with a snicker.

  I smiled. "Your fiancé."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When I said I'd cook, what I really meant was that I'd buy dinner from one of my favorite restaurants and bring it to his apartment. When he opened the door, I held up two bags of deliciousness from Chez Robert.

  "This is cooking?" He smirked.

  "Yep."

  He opened the door wider, and I noticed he wore a pair of well-worn jeans and a black polo shirt, both
of which clung to his fit physique in a way that had me imagining he could pose for one of Marguerite's statues. And when I passed him, I caught a whiff of soap and heady musk from his aftershave. Damn, he smelled better than the food.

  I walked farther into the living room and realized he'd changed things. Where there was once a sofa, coffee table, a TV, and dumbbells, now there was the addition of an area rug, an armchair, a cactus plant on a side table, a couple of lamps, and framed photos of various location shots on the wall. The photos were his own work, from places I knew he'd been over the years, enlarged and framed. They looked amazing. His apartment looked homey. Could it be that Loverboy was becoming domesticated?

  I entered the kitchen and set the bags on the counter. Danny helped me take the trays of food out and open them.

  "This looks great," he said while lifting the lid off garlic mashed potatoes. When he got to the filet mignon, I heard him sigh.

  I smiled, pleased. "I forgot beverages. I hope you have something, or I can run back out real quick."

  He opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of wine. "For special occasions."

  I assumed he'd have beer. This was ten times better.

  While he uncorked the top and got glasses, I took out a couple of his dishes and plated the food.

  "Should I cut your steak for you?" I asked with a smirk. I said it jokingly, a jab about last night, but at the same time, I was also serious. I had asked the restaurant to slice it rather than serving up a giant slab of cow, but I still wasn't totally sure he could manage.

  "Haha, you're funny." But he eyed the meat and must've been satisfied with the size. "It's fine. Plus it actually looks tender."

  "Yeah, what was up with the brisket needing a blow torch?"

  My exaggeration made him laugh.

  We brought everything into his small dining area and sat at the square table.

  He held up his glass of wine. "To friends."

  I clinked my glass against his and took a sip. The aromatic flavor coated my tongue. It was nice to relax during a good meal. "So, last night…" I began.

  He glanced up, held my gaze, waited for me to finish. When I didn't, he added, "It was awkward."