Secret Bond (Jamie Bond Mysteries)

by Gemma Halliday

  "Good night, Jamie."

  We clicked off, and I sat there, staring up at the ceiling for a few minutes, replaying our conversation and feeling like a giddy teenager with puppy love. Then my eyes strayed down to the card on my coffee table, snapping me back to reality

  I grabbed my laptop and phone and sat at my small dinette set. As the computer buzzed to life, I plugged the USB cord from my phone into the laptop and slipped the memory card into the reader.

  The window for the pictures I'd copied came up first. It was some random building at night. A corner street lamp added some light to the location, as well as the interior overheads that spilled outside onto the concrete. Probably where Bernstein had worked—his law office. No people. Nothing of any use.

  I minimized the window and pulled up a video from the memory card. I clicked play and watched the same building fill my screen. Same time of day. Great, another dead end.

  But this time there was movement.

  The front doors pushed out, and a young man stepped through them. He wore low-hanging jeans, sneakers, and a brown leather bomber jacket. He leaned against the brick structure and lit a cigarette. If I had to guess, I'd say he looked more like a client of Bernstein's than someone who worked in the expensive building. Derek zoomed the camera in, and I could make out the stubble on the young man's chin and a small teardrop tattoo near his eye. He couldn't be more than twenty, his eyes popping back and forth in his skull like Ping-Pong balls, his skin pitted. Gang for sure. Meth head likely.

  He took two more drags then crushed the cigarette beneath his foot, turning to his left to do so. Some kind of graphic was etched onto the back of his jacket. I couldn't make out the whole thing, but it looked like an animal's face. Maybe a lion.

  A car's motor was heard, and the guy looked to the street.

  Derek zoomed out.

  A blue sedan had pulled up in front, keeping its lights on and motor running. I stared at the driver. His head was turned away from the camera, facing Mr. Meth.

  Derek zoomed back in again, focusing on the driver.

  I squinted at the screen, watching the driver glance around, looking up and down the street, checking if he was alone. At one point his gaze went straight at Derek's car. It was just a flash, but his face was immediately recognizable to anyone who watched the news.

  Mayor Sean Brumhill.

  His term had ended last year, but at the time this video was shot he'd been known for his tough fight against crime, especially drugs. Which raised my radar as the meth head stepped forward and opened Brumhill's passenger side door, getting into the car. He pulled something from his jacket pocket. A thick wad of cash. He handed it to Brumhill, who flipped through the stack, and nodded. Then he ducked out of the car, and Brumhill sped away.

  The video stopped.

  I sat back, my mind running through what I just watched. A payoff. For what, I wasn't sure, but I knew it was nothing good. A bribe? A reward for "looking the other way"? No matter what the explanation, Derek had shot video damning enough that it would have not only ended the Mayor's term early, but possibly his entire career.

  This was huge.

  This was beyond huge.

  This was a reason to want the videographer dead.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I stepped into the agency the next morning and spotted a man in the conference room. My next prospective client. I stopped at Maya's desk before greeting him.

  She handed me a short stack of messages, then gestured to the conference room behind her. "That is Mr. Fleming."

  "Has he been waiting long?" I checked my watch. The appointment wasn't for another ten minutes, but suspecting spouses were notoriously anxious.

  "Not even long enough to sip the coffee I brought him." She winked and handed me his file. "He checks out."

  "Thanks." I started to turn away and stopped. "How'd things go with your mother after I left?"

  Maya nodded. "Surprisingly okay. Thanks for all the glowing reviews."

  "Glad to help," I told her. Not that I thought I'd fixed all of her issues with Mom, but at least she knew how her daughter was valued at work. It was a start.

  "She's actually meeting me for lunch today," Maya said.

  "Wow, two days in a row? You're brave," I joked.

  She grinned. "Yeah, well, Mom said after yesterday she wanted to see where I worked. I figured it wasn't a bad idea."

  "Well have fun." I paused. "And take a long lunch if you want," I called over my shoulder as I tossed my things into my office then headed to the conference room.

  Caleigh met me along the way and fell into step. "Need a second pair of ears?"

  "Always." Like myself, Caleigh had an appreciation for expensive suits, and Mr. Fleming, I noticed, wore a navy Armani. We had a strict no-dating-the-clients policy, but once the case was finished, the girls could do as they wanted. And considering the end of the case usually meant divorce court, this business was the perfect place to meet people. Unfortunately, ninety-nine percent of our clients were women, so a male client was like ice cream in July.

  I pushed open the door, and Mr. Fleming rose, extending his hand. His grip was firm and warm. Soft, callous-free fingers suggested he worked in an office. I hadn't yet taken the time to peruse the background information Maya had provided me, but I knew she'd thoroughly vetted him.

  "I'm Jamie Bond, and this is my colleague, Caleigh Presley."

  "Second cousin once removed to Elvis," she said in a thicker than normal drawl.

  He offered a polite smile, nodded at each of us. Then Mr. Fleming and I took our seats while Caleigh strutted to the beverage cart in the corner and poured herself a glass of water. She bent over, her dress clinging to her backside seductively. I had to admit, if I was a man, I'd be curious what other seductions she had up her . . . skirt.

  "How did you hear of us, Mr. Fleming?"

  "Please call me Craig. Mrs. Martin recommended you. We play tennis together."

  "How may we help you?"

  "I think my spouse is cheating." He twirled his wedding band around his finger.

  Caleigh took the seat beside him and leaned forward ever so slightly, giving him full view of her cleavage. "That's horrible."

  I expected her to start purring at any moment. While Caleigh usually went for the muscle-bound guys in fitted tanks and pants so tight she knew exactly what she was getting into, she must have caught the scent of money coming from Craig as well as I did. Craig was an attractive man for late thirties, a light dusting of gray at his temples, which blended well into his short, sandy brown hair. Clear blue eyes and a firm jaw. He had a slim, but not overly gym-dedicated physique.

  "What gives you reason to believe infidelity?" I asked.

  Craig cleared his throat, the words obviously hard to say. "Whispered phone conversations, later than usual nights at work."

  The typical reasons. I scribbled notes onto a pad of paper.

  "Do you have any idea with whom, or where they get together? Any suspicious credit charges or receipts?"

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded napkin. "I found this in the laundry."

  A husband who did laundry? What kind of fool would cheat on that?

  I took the napkin and unfolded it, expecting to see a scrawled phone number or other come-on. Instead, I received a different kind of surprise. The name of the bar was Cock Tails, with a martini glass in the center, separating the innocuous word into something much more. I'd never been there but had heard of the place in passing. A giggle sat in my throat, ready to erupt.

  I flipped open the file and scanned the top page.

  Client: Craig Fleming, 39, Human Resources' manager at United Life. An insurance company.

  Spouse: Phillip Marchand, 28, rising actor-slash-server

  I looked up and smiled. "So, this isn't a place you and Phillip normally visit?"

  Caleigh's eyes widened. It took a second, but then the information sank in, and she pulled up the collar of her top while leaning back i
nto her seat. Poor Caleigh.

  "Not now, no. It's where Phillip and I met four years ago. He was one of the bartenders." Craig sniffled.

  I pushed a box of tissues toward him.

  He took one out but just held it. "We hit it off immediately. None of those games people play. He was honest and upfront. He said he was looking for something meaningful. I didn't trust it at first. He was so young. But we started dating, and soon I realized he was serious. We've been together ever since. We got married six months ago."

  Maybe making it legal had tightened an invisible noose around Phillip's neck. This wouldn't be the first time a guy did something stupid when fear of commitment took over.

  "And when did this suspicious behavior begin?"

  "Last month."

  "Have you done any investigating of your own?" Caleigh asked.

  It was usually the first step wives took. Trail the husband, see where he went. Sometimes their mates were too stupid to be careful, and the wife never had to call us. Just knock on a motel room door with a cell phone camera.

  Craig nodded. "Yes. A couple of times I waited outside the restaurant where he works, but both times he just stopped for gas or a candy bar. He has a severe sweet tooth." A smile nudged the corners of his mouth.

  "But you never followed him there?" I pointed to the napkin.

  He shook his head. "No. I only found that this morning." His voice cracked.

  Caleigh's brows puckered. She placed one hand on his wrist, and patted his back with the other. Seductress one moment and mother the next.

  I jotted down more details, giving Craig time to collect himself. Then I looked up and continued. "When are his nights off? When is he likely to head to this bar?"

  "Tonight and Monday nights. He has those days off when he's not going to auditions."

  "Okay, we're going to find out what's going on. We'll follow Phillip and learn his behaviors. If he's cheating, we'll know. But before we begin, I have to ask, are you certain you want to know?"

  It was a ridiculous question. How could someone say no, walk out of here, and live with herself, or in this case, himself? But as crazy as it sounded, it had happened once. A young wife, so deeply in love that the idea of being without her husband was worse than putting up his infidelities. Sam and I had been sitting outside a fancy restaurant, watching the husband and his assistant eating steak and lobster, while we were munching on Cheetos and coffee, when the wife called my cell and fired us. She couldn't handle it and would just believe her husband's lies. Ever since then, I asked.

  Craig sat straight and stared into my eyes. He didn't blink or look away for a second. "Yes. I have to know."

  I nodded my acceptance. "Did you bring a photo of Phillip?"

  "Yes." He reached into a brown leather messenger bag on the floor by his chair and pulled out a five-by-seven photo of him and Phillip. On their wedding day.

  I thanked Craig, assured him once again that we'd get to the truth, then let Caleigh show him out to the lobby while I studied the photograph.

  Both men wore white suits and shirts. Both beamed into the camera, standing cheek-to-cheek. And both held one another's hand, high, in front of their chests, showing off a single gold band on each ring finger. They looked like the perfect ornament for the top of a cake. At first, all I saw was how deliriously happy they looked. Then I noticed their slight differences. Phillip was dark to where Craig was light—hair, skin-tone, eyes. Craig was a couple of inches shorter. And while Phillip's skin was so smooth that it looked like he lived in a moisturized bubble, never going out into the smog-filled world, Craig's infectious smile displayed tiny lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

  My chest tugged. I hoped this time the client would be wrong. But what else was young, beautiful Phillip doing at Cock Tails?

  Unfortunately, it was clear that to find that out, my girls were going to be useless. They had zero chance of playing the enticing eye candy.

  I grabbed my cell, scrolling through my contacts until I saw his name, and dialed. Two rings in, Danny picked up.

  "What time is it?" he croaked.

  I ignored what I hoped was a rhetorical question. "Hey, remember last night how you said two heads are better than one?"

  "Sure," he said, clearing the sleep from his voice.

  "Well, I need your help."

  "You got it. What's up?"

  "That new client I told you about. We're tailing the spouse tonight at a club."

  "Sounds fun," he responded, and I could hear the sounds of shuffling accompanied by his coffee maker hissing to life. "What kind of pictures you need? Because I have this new camera I've been wanting to try out. Fits onto a pair of sunglasses, the sucker is so small."

  "Actually, I need you to play decoy this time." I hoped he didn't hear the hitch in my voice. Danny was as straight as a guy got. I had to word my request very carefully.

  "Oh, really?" His voice went up an interested notch. "So your client is the husband this time."

  I nodded slowly. "Yes, his name is Craig."

  "And he thinks his wife is cheating? Did he show you pictures? Is she hot?"

  I suppressed a grin. Was it wrong that a part of me was kind of enjoying stringing Danny along? "Yes, his spouse is very attractive. Eleven years younger than Craig."

  I could practically hear Danny's smile through the line. "Well then I'm happy to put my skills to good use for you. When do you need me?"

  "Nine-ish?"

  He paused. "What do you say we meet at eight for a light dinner first?"

  I bit the inside of my cheek. "I'm kind of busy today," I answered, thinking just as much about how I wanted to follow up on the video I'd seen last night as how much I didn't want to know what this mysterious "something" Danny wanted to talk to me about might be. The truth was, Danny and I hung out, we met up, we palled around. We didn't really talk. And I wasn't sure I wanted to know why we were starting now.

  "Busy, huh?"

  "Let's uh, just meet here at the office. That way we can set up the cameras and wire the girls before we hit the club."

  "Caleigh and Sam going, too?"

  "Yes. It's all hands on deck for this one."

  I thought I detected the slightest bit of disappointment in Danny's pause, but it was covered so quickly maybe I imagined it. "Anything else I should know?" he asked.

  If I told Danny the truth now, that gave him almost ten hours to come up with an excuse to back out. Better to blindside him and beg once we got there. "Nope. See you at nine."

  * * *

  As soon as I got off the phone with Danny, I barricaded myself in my office and booted up my computer, scouring the internet for any info on Mayor Brumhill. While I tried to keep up with the big news stories, I had to admit that I was not a news devotee. There was too much depressing stuff on the news, ninety percent of it things I couldn't do anything about anyway. I read through half a dozen articles about the mayor from around the time Bernstein was shot. Balancing the city budget, dedicating a new library, cutting funds for parks, but allocating more to police efforts. None shed any light on why the mayor would be taking wads of cash from meth heads. Clearly whatever the mayor had been into, the media had not been privy to. It wouldn't be a stretch to imagine that Derek had been the only one to witness it. I didn't even want to speculate why Derek had kept it in a drawer under this spare bunk instead of bringing it to the attention of the DA's office like a good, law-abiding citizen. I didn't want to deal with the answer to that question yet.

  Once I got tired of reading about the mayor's sparkling record, I switched gears, focusing on the guy I'd seen paying him off. I had very little to go on, so I started with the jacket he'd been wearing. If he was in a gang, it was possible the lion was some sort of insignia.

  After an hour of pouring over gang activity websites, I gave up. If there was some way to identify this guy, it was beyond my skills. I looked down at my watch. I had half an hour before I had to meet Aiden.

  I grabbed my purse and wal
ked into the lobby to find Charley hovering over Maya's desk as her daughter shut down her computer screen. The older woman wore another yellow sundress, but she'd added a white linen jacket over it today. "Hello, Jamie, so nice to see you again." She took my hand and squeezed it.

  "You, too," I told her.

  "Well, we're headed to lunch," Maya said. "Do you need anything before we go?"

  "No, have a great time."

  Charley hesitated, as if she wanted to say something. But she didn't. Instead she just smiled my way as she walked out with her daughter.

  I followed their lead, hopping into my Roadster and heading toward the 2.

  I stepped into Cafe Monroe precisely at noon. The rush of air conditioning was a welcome respite from the heat outside already climbing into the triple digits. The place was an indoor-slash-outdoor cafe that served breakfast and lunch, and was just blocks from the studios. Which meant that on a day like today, the indoor section was packed. I gave the hostess Aiden's name and followed her past the tables of boisterous chatter. I smiled with relief when I noticed he was seated by the French doors that led to an outside patio, but firmly on the side of the blessed forced air. A large potted palm sat opposite, on the patio, blocking the sunlight some, so instead of it flooding the round, mosaic-glassed tabletop, it formed small peaks of light, making the intricate design sparkle.

  Aiden stood as I approached, and he held my seat out for me. His smile was warm, genuine, and made my stomach curl in a not unpleasant way.

  "Hey, beautiful," he said, giving me a peck on the cheek.

  "Hey, yourself," I answered. Aiden was in his court attire—Brooks Brothers suit, shiny wing-tips, perfectly knotted tie and clean shaven cheeks. He looked like an ad for GQ, and he smelled even better, his subtle aftershave wafting across the table toward me.

  A server arrived, and we quickly ordered a pair of iced teas. I chose the avocado shrimp wrap with baby spinach, tomato, a spicy cumin dressing, and crumbled feta cheese. Aiden ordered a turkey sandwich with a side of fries. As soon as the server left, Aiden turned his attention on me. "How's your morning been?"