Secret Bond (Jamie Bond Mysteries)

by Gemma Halliday

  "So everything's fine?" I asked. Why did I get the feeling that Danny was holding something back?

  "It was. Caleigh watched Mrs. Martin leave, then stuck around a little while longer to make sure she didn't come back all psycho."

  "She didn't, did she?"

  "Nope. So, Caleigh she figured it was cool to start heading out herself. She went back to her room, packed up her things, and checked out of the resort. She was just about to go, when she spotted him."

  "Spotted who? Martin?" I asked, getting that uneasy feeling again.

  "Yep. Still at the pool. Two hours later."

  "And?" What was he getting at?

  "Mr. Martin was fast asleep. Sedative. Caleigh said she should have realized it when he downed the drink his wife gave him and immediately started yawning. He was asleep in the sunshine the whole time. And apparently Mr. Martin wasn't wearing any sunscreen."

  My phone beeped, signaling that Danny had just sent me a photo message.

  "You gotta see this, Bond," he said, the chuckle in his voice unmistakable before he hung up.

  I tapped the screen, bringing up Danny's message. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing as I held the phone closer to my face to make out the picture.

  Danny had photographed the man asleep on his lounge chair, on his back, in the blaring sun. His skin was the color of rubies. Everywhere. Score one for the wife. Mr. Martin wouldn't be bringing his little Mr. Martin out to play for a long time.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After the afternoon at Charley's, I spent a riveting evening with the three B's. My bathtub, a bottle of bubbles, and a couple of beers. Now, completely rested, at least physically, I sat in my car, parked diagonally from Derek's boat. I chose to hide beside a white Suburban, so he wouldn't see me, but I could barely see the dock. There was just enough space to make out Candy and Apple climbing onto his vessel. They were the errand I had quickly made before meeting Maya at her Mom's.

  When I had arrived at The Spotted Pony, a gentleman's club in Burbank, the exotic dancers were in the dressing room, applying fake lashes and moisturizing their legs with glitter butter. They said it bounced off the stage lights, making their skin look shiny and touchable. Like the patrons needed the incentive. The girls, who had played a small role in some of my past investigations, had agreed to help me without hesitation. I loved that kind of enthusiasm. I told them where to go, instructing them to wait until they got my text. I'd wanted to make sure that Elaine was out of the picture tonight. As soon as I'd pulled up and seen her Honda missing, I'd texted them the go-ahead. Luckily, they hadn't disappointed, showing up twenty minutes later in smoking hot booty shorts and tight tanks that showed off their . . . assets.

  I pulled a stick of gum out of my cup holder, popped the minty rectangle into my mouth, and rolled the foil into the tiniest square, flinging it back into the holder. How long would it take to convince Derek to go off with them? Hopefully not long. They had everything he loved most in women—double D's, skimpy clothes, and long legs. He couldn't resist. Right?

  I strummed my fingers on the steering wheel to some silent tune in my head. I glanced at my phone. Five minutes. I considered passing the time by catching up on my Angry Birds or an intellectual game of Word Whomp, but I didn't want to miss seeing them leave.

  My phone rang. I glanced at the display. Danny. I clicked the button. "Hey, what's up?"

  "I was calling to ask you the same. Thought I'd redeem myself after being shot down at lunch and maybe we could grab a late dinner? Whatever you're in the mood for."

  "Actually," I said, glancing at the boat. "I'm kind of tied up tonight."

  "Oh." Danny paused. "You do mean that figuratively, right? I mean, I'm not interrupting anything kinky right now, am I?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Danny."

  "Now what fun would that be?"

  "I'm alone. I'm . . . working a case."

  "Want a hand? Two heads are always better than one."

  A lump settled in my throat. This was the first time I'd worked on a case without Danny or the girls. It felt odd. And lonely.

  But I shook my head in the darkness. "No. Thanks, but this one is . . . kind of delicate."

  I heard Danny nodding his head on the other end. "Gotcha. You working a skittish mark?"

  He had no idea. I watched the Black Pearl sway on the dark water. "Very skittish." My gum had lost its flavor already, and I spat it out my window then grimaced at my littering.

  "Well, listen, what's your schedule like tomorrow?" Danny asked.

  I leaned back on my headrest, trying to remember the details Maya had thrust at me as we'd left her Mom's.

  "I've got a new client meeting in the morning."

  "Another cheating husband? You're lucky guys can't keep it in their pants."

  I hated to admit that he was right. A boat horn honked out in the distance, but it was loud enough to echo across the phone line.

  "Where are you?" Danny asked.

  Damn.

  "I'm . . . near the pier. Santa Monica," I lied. I bounced my right foot, making the car shake. I stared at Derek's boat, willing the three of them to come out.

  "Oh. Well, let me know if you have some time tomorrow to grab a bite."

  That was the third time in twenty-four hours Danny had suggested as much. Maybe it was the circumstance, or maybe the fact I'd just hired two strippers to lure my own father away from his boat for an hour, but suspicion was my first instinct. "Why are you so anxious to share a meal with me?" I asked.

  "No reason," Danny said quickly. Too quickly.

  "Don't bullshit me, Danny."

  I heard a muted chuckle in response. "Okay, fine. There's . . . something I want to talk to you about. But it's nothing. It can wait," he covered quickly.

  I felt an odd, squirmy feeling in my stomach, like whatever Danny wanted to talk about was the opposite of how unimportant he was making it seem. And a conversation I wasn't sure I wanted to have with him. I was about to come up with a fabulous excuse to put it off when a long leg emerged onto the top deck of Derek's boat. I held my breath. For a fleeting moment, I saw only the leg and thought of dismembered body parts, as if Derek had finally cracked from too much battery-acid coffee and motion sickness, and he'd chopped up the strippers. Clearly I needed to cut down on my reruns of Criminal Minds. But then a torso accompanied the legs—plural—and I sucked in a lungful of salty sea air. Candy. She wore a huge smile, and her top was a bit twisted. He didn't dare . . .

  What was I thinking? The whole purpose of asking these women to help was because Derek, like the other men Danny had referenced, couldn't keep it in his pants.

  "Jamie, you still there?"

  Derek appeared next, with Apple at his heels.

  Gotcha.

  "Yeah, I'll call if I get a free minute tomorrow."

  "Sure. Maybe we can do an early dinner."

  "Maybe." I wasn't paying attention to what Danny was saying anymore. I had no idea how Candy and Apple had lured Derek out, what they'd promised, or where they were going. And thankfully so, since I wanted to keep my Indian fare down, but that also meant I didn't know how long I had to snoop.

  "I gotta go." I clicked off my phone and scooted down in my seat, keeping my head up at eye level, just enough to watch. Derek and the women walked along the dock, to Apple's car—a Granny Smith green Volvo. I'd expected she'd be more of a McIntosh or Red Delicious kinda girl. Derek kept one hand on each of their asses. Classy, Dad. They all moved in one fluid motion, like dance steps rehearsed ahead of time. The girls appropriately giggled at whatever he said, which probably wasn't truly funny. He never looked my direction.

  Derek pulled up the backseat for Candy to scoot in, then folded his tall frame into the tiny car. Apple slid into her side, and after another round of high-pitched squeals, they pulled out of the marina.

  I counted to ten, grabbed my phone, and stepped from my car.

  Show time.

  * * *


  Once I was on Derek's boat, I started in his bedroom. It seemed the most likely place to hide things. I began with the obvious, the closet, and kept my eye on the time. I couldn't get caught, and there are only so many places to hide on a boat.

  I combed through his clothes and a few boxes of crap—ratty T-shirts from bands I'd never heard of, a small stash of old records and odd knickknacks, like a porcelain duck wearing a raincoat and a mood ring way too small for his beefy fingers. I was starting to wonder if he was a closet hoarder. I then searched through his makeshift nightstand, which consisted of a cardboard box full of magazines and DVDs, beneath a three-legged table.

  Yes, I'd found my father's porn collection. Yay me. Now I just needed to make an appointment with my shrink.

  The dresser was the most uneventful container, clothes stuffed haphazardly in every drawer. Bedroom a bust, I ransacked the kitchen/galley, and other than a carton of cigarettes that he was supposed to have thrown out, there was nothing about any cases.

  I was running out of time and patience. I headed to the bunks that served as his spare bedroom and bit my lip. If there was nothing here then what would be my next step? Fall to my knees and beg for answers? Not my style. I could bug his place, but it was highly unlikely that he'd suddenly start talking about a three-year-old case, and, even if he did, who would he discuss it with? Certainly not Elaine, Candy, or Apple. And as much as I knew Derek was lying and hiding something big, I couldn't stoop to that. He was my father. And there were certain things he did in private that I wanted to remain private.

  The closet beside the bunks was empty except for a plush, white robe. There was no room for a dresser or night stand here. The area was devoid of anything but a bed, and a framed oil panting of a mountain under a sunny sky on the opposite wall. I sat on the twin-sized mattress as the boat rocked and almost tossed me into the back wall. Other than my rare occasional crashing here, I doubted anyone else ever slept here. Derek's house guests were usually of the share-the-bed-with-him variety.

  The boat rocked again, sliding me toward the center of the bed. The back of my pump hit the wood platform beneath the mattress. The trundle.

  I took in a sharp breath.

  This was a trundle bed. That meant it had a drawer.

  I slid off, onto my knees, and gripped the indentation in the mahogany wood. I pulled the bottom panel forward, and the drawer slid with ease. No mattress. Instead, Derek had used the drawer to house folders and a small box. It was as if the angels were singing, a rainbow descended over the boat, and this was my pot of gold.

  I scanned the folders first. Names I didn't recognize. One contained a copy of my birth certificate and a picture of Derek and Mom holding me when I was first born. Their smiles were huge, proud. It brought a lump to my throat. I was tempted to swipe it, but I didn't want Derek to know I'd been here. Plus, I had a feeling it might be the only photo of Mom that he'd kept, the rest having been purged when she died. I set it aside and kept looking. I found Derek's birth certificate and his passport. It was old and expired. I wasn't aware of him ever leaving the country, yet it was stamped "London" about eight years ago, for a couple of weeks. I briefly wondered what he'd been doing there.

  The folders a bust, I opened the box. I sucked in a breath. Inside were surveillance pictures, and on top of them was a lined sheet of paper with Derek's scrawl. It simply said: Bernstein. The angels went up an octave.

  My phone buzzed, scaring the crap out of me. I glanced at it. Candy.

  Her text read: Couldn't hold him.

  Damn. They hadn't been gone that long, which meant he could be back any minute.

  If he returned before I had time to get to my car, I couldn't get caught with pictures in my hands. I hadn't brought my purse, and my skirt and blouse left little space to hide objects, especially eight-by-tens. I grabbed my phone and clicked the button for the camera. I'd have to settle for pictures of pictures.

  I zoomed in on the door of a building, time and date stamped a week before Bernstein was shot. I tried to decipher where they were, but I'd have to focus later.

  Click, click. The first few came out too bright. I flipped through the settings on my phone, turning off the flash.

  Perspiration built up on my forehead and the back of my neck. There wasn't time for this.

  I retook those photos, noticing the better quality, and picked up the next one.

  As I clicked the shutter on the last picture, the heavy fall of footsteps thudded above.

  My heart leapt into my throat.

  I shoved the photos back into the box. The corners of several bent, and they were in such disarray that I knew if Derek opened it, he'd know someone had been here. I pulled the photos back out and tapped them on the lid of the box, trying to slide them into a neat stack. One of them sliced my index finger.

  Shit.

  Paper cuts, even if it was photo-thick quality paper, stung like hell. I didn't have time to nurse it though.

  I grabbed the box and something slid into its corner. A memory card. On instinct, I grabbed it, then gently placed the photos back in, and put everything back into the drawer.

  Clutching the evidence in my hands, I stood, unsure where to go. I jerked back and forth for a second. I had no pockets.

  The footsteps grew closer. Another minute, and he'd be climbing aboard.

  I stuffed the memory card into my bra, and ran toward the galley, listening intensely to the footsteps.

  They slowed and I froze, slamming into a wall. I didn't want him to hear me running and my pumps made a loud click-clack across the floor.

  When he resumed, so did I.

  I spotted his sneakers on the top step as I turned the corner. The boat swayed, and I dove into the bathroom, praying that wasn't his first stop. I'd just pulled the door shut, keeping a scant inch of space for me to peek out, and saw Derek's lumbering frame come into view.

  I held my breath, sure that the rapid beat of my heart was loud enough to give me away.

  Derek walked into the galley and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He sat at the table, and I prayed he wasn't settling in for a long night of drinking. The galley had a clear shot of the door. No way could I escape. He stared out the window, did some more drinking, then more staring. Just as my legs were starting to cramp, he mercifully got up and walked to the counter again. He dropped his beer can in the garbage, then picked up his cell. I watched him dial as he leaned against the counter, and I prayed like hell he wasn't calling me. He put the phone to his ear, waited as it rang on the other end (thankfully not in my hand), then finally say, "Hey, babe. It's me."

  He paused, I assumed listening to the "babe" on the other end.

  "Well, what are you doing tonight?" Pause. "Yeah, I know I said I needed some space, but . . . " Derek glanced out the window at the ocean again. "I'm lonely."

  It was his classic booty-call line, but something about the empty look in Derek's eyes made me believe he was actually telling the truth.

  "Yeah, I know you've got work in the morning," he said into the phone again. More pausing. "Well, I could drive you." Pause. "Twenty minutes?" Pause. "Perfect." Derek smiled, showing off his teeth in the dim light. "Can't wait. See you then, Elaine."

  So Elaine was "babe." I wasn't surprised that he'd given her his needing-space line. I'd overheard it countless times during my teen years when his flavor of the month had started losing her luster. But I'd honestly never heard him call a woman back after his famous last line. Elaine really might be becoming a permanent fixture around here.

  Derek hung up the phone, then disappeared into the bedroom. I heard drawers opening as he changed for his date.

  I didn't waste a second, taking my heels off and slipping out the door and up the stairs. I tiptoed off the boat, cringing with every little creak of the ancient planks, then full-on sprinted back to my car, my stolen evidence jiggling in my D cups.

  * * *

  My cell rang as I kicked my apartment door shut. The display read: Aiden Prince. I
raised an eyebrow. It was late. After midnight. Don't tell me the ADA did booty calls, too? I dropped my purse to the floor with a thud and pushed the on button.

  "Hello?" I said. Which, in hindsight, might have been just a little breathless considering the adrenalin rush I'd been on.

  "Wow, sexy. I wasn't prepared for that."

  Warmth shot into my cheeks. "Well, I guess I'm just glad it's you," I quickly covered.

  "I'm going to have to call you more often, then."

  I pulled the memory card from my bra, set it on my coffee table and kicked off my shoes. "So what are you up to this evening, Mr. Prince?"

  "I'm in bed. I mean, well . . . I'm going to sleep. Soon." He chuckled. "That sounded completely suggestive, didn't it?"

  "Completely," I agreed, not able to keep the smile off my face.

  "I didn't mean it that way. I just . . . wanted to hear your voice before the day was over."

  I felt a warm sensation spread through my chest. Suggestive and sweet in the same sentence. It would be so easy to fall for this guy. "Well, here it is," I told him.

  He chuckled softly again, sending goosebumps all over my body. "How was your day, Jamie?"

  "It went okay. Closed a case, did a luncheon." Broke into my father's boat, ransacked his personal space. "You? How was court?"

  "Not much different than yesterday. So, you closed the nudist thing. Was he cheating?"

  He didn't want to talk about court. I couldn't blame him. I didn't want to think about Brady. "Yep. But the wife got the last laugh," I told him, relaying the fate of poor sunburned Mr. Martin.

  "Good for her," he said, laughing when I'd finished. Then he paused a moment. "You busy for lunch tomorrow?"

  I bit my lip. That was two offers in one night. If I wasn't careful, the male attention was going to go to my head. "What do you have in mind?"

  "I'd love to cash in on that rain check you owe me."

  My cheeks warmed again. I felt the huge, cheesy smile spread on my face. "Just say where and when."

  He named a place and time, and I felt myself nodding. "Looking forward to it. 'Night, Aiden."