Secret Bond (Jamie Bond Mysteries)

by Gemma Halliday

  I nodded. "Good. Uneventful. How was court?"

  His expression lost some of its luster. "I'll be resting my case right after lunch. My last witness is this afternoon. Then it's the defense's turn."

  That was fast. But as Aiden had mentioned, it was an open and shut case. As long as the evidence was damning enough, I suppose he didn't need a mountain of it. "Who's your last witness?" I asked.

  He hesitated, as usual. It was our normal way of communicating. I'd ask a question and hold my breath, wondering if he'd answer or put up that ADA wall. It was getting to the point where I was no longer holding my breath and waiting. He either answered or didn't, and in the meantime, I studied his firm jaw and the liquid blue of his eyes.

  "Jillian. Brady's girlfriend."

  Whoa, that was surprising. "You think she has knowledge of Bernstein's death?"

  Unfortunately, he didn't get a chance to respond as our food arrived, and we took a moment to stare at our plates. My wrap was enormous, and I cut it in half. Aiden's sandwich was the same, but I watched him toy with the idea of which half to lift first. It seemed no matter what choice he made, it was going to fall apart, and he'd end up using a fork. He stuffed a napkin into his collar and created a paper bib. He took a bite and surprisingly, it all held together.

  I did the same and spent the next minute celebrating the joy that exploded in my mouth. If I'd been alone, I would've done a happy dance in my chair and probably made some orgasmic moans.

  "So, Jillian. You think she can add something about Bernstein's death?" I asked again.

  Aiden shook his head. "I don't think she has details to the murder, no. But she's a witness to Brady's character. She's lived with him for years. And they aren't married. There's no spousal privilege."

  In the immortal words of Beyoncé, he should've put a ring on it. "So what do you think she'll say?" I asked, wondering just how much trash-talk he could get out of her. I had the feeling that Jillian wasn't altogether happy with her man, but I wasn't sure she was ready to hang him out to dry either.

  Aiden gave me a tight smile. "Police have been to Jillian's place a couple of times on domestic battery. She's never pressed charges, but I'm hoping to establish a history of anger management issues."

  My heart broke for Jillian. She deserved so much better. Part of me hoped the trial was the kick in the pants she needed to finally move on.

  We chewed for a few minutes in silence. The chatter around us changed as tables cleared and new customers arrived. When I looked up, I found Aiden staring at me.

  "What?"

  He grinned and shook his head. "Nothing. You just look like you're really enjoying that sandwich."

  "It's the best. Wanna taste?"

  He shook his head. "I'll pass. I prefer a little meat in my meal. And grease," he said, gesturing to his French fries. Which, by the way, smelled like heaven. It was all I could do to keep myself from stealing one off of his plate.

  He must have seen the moral dilemma in my eyes, as he held up one crispy, delicious looking fry. "Want one?"

  I pursed my lips together and shook my head. "No thanks. I've got to fit into a slinky cocktail dress tonight."

  He raised an eyebrow my way.

  "A case," I explained. "We're counting on a cheating spouse to make an appearance at his favorite meat market."

  "It's a good thing I'm not the jealous type," he told me, a teasing grin playing at the corner of his mouth."

  I shot him an answering one. "Well, you don't have anything to worry about on this one. It's a gay club."

  Aiden laughed out loud, an explosive sound that made my stomach do that warm, curling thing again. Only this time it was tempered with a little guilt. While the sandwich was awesome, I had ulterior motives for meeting him for lunch today.

  "Hey, what do you know about Mayor Brumhill?" I asked, doing my best nonchalance act.

  He shrugged. "Ex-mayor. Well respected. I can't say I've worked with him myself." Which wasn't surprising, since Aiden had only moved to California and taken over as ADA a few months ago.

  "Have you heard anything that might raise a red flag about him? Any rumors or sour grapes from his former cabinet?" I was taking a huge gamble asking Aiden. My nosing around about a politician would raise the hairs on the back of his neck for sure.

  He took a moment, looked off outside, then returned to our conversation. "I met him at a fundraiser last month. Charming guy. Soft, doughy hands with a weak handshake."

  I grinned. "Does that mean something?"

  "Not necessarily. My daddy always said that a man's handshake showed his character."

  "Your daddy? That sounds Texan. I thought you were from Kansas City."

  "I am. My mother's hometown. But my father was born in Fort Worth and raised in Dallas, thirty minutes up the road. Mom went to college there. She wanted to live someplace warm that didn't get snow. They met and fell in love." He paused. "Then she experienced her first southern summer and wanted to return to the snow."

  We shared a laughed before he went on.

  "He followed her and proposed. He said he'd endure the Arctic if it meant being by her side. But we'd go to Dallas a couple of times a year to visit his family."

  How sweet and romantic. Something that seemed a million miles away from real life here in the cheating metropolis. I let my mind wander over the image of little Aiden eating barbeque with his southern cousins, both sides giggling at the accents. Of Aiden between his proud, happy parents—a traditional family. "They're both still alive?"

  "Yes."

  A wave of envy washed over me, but I quickly rode it out. I was used to others talking about their parents and how they needed to call or were going over for dinner on the weekend. It wasn't shocking. But every once in a while, it rattled me, and memories of Mom's death would flood my body. "That's great."

  He cupped my hand, knowing my past. I wasn't the only one who'd experienced death, though. Aiden got a faraway look in his eyes, and I assumed he was remembering his wife. I definitely didn't want to end our lunch date on that much of a sour note.

  "So, Brumhill."

  Aiden nodded, pulling his hands back to his meal. "Right. I honestly can't say I've heard any rumors about him. Why?"

  I shrugged. I'd been ready for that question. "His name came up in a routine investigation. A friend of a friend kind of thing."

  He didn't push. I couldn't tell if he believed me or not, but if I didn't get to know the ins and outs of his prosecutor work, then he didn't need insight into mine either. It was only fair, and justice was all about fairness, right? That's why the blindfolded woman held a scale.

  "So, that slinky dress?" Aiden said, switching gears. "Does it have plans for after you catch your cheater tonight?"

  I felt a flirty smile snake across my face. "What did you have in mind?"

  A slow grin showed two rows of perfectly straight white teeth. "You. Me. A night out." He paused. "Or maybe even a night in."

  There went that warmth again, spreading to places completely inappropriate to discuss in a crowded cafe. I smiled big. "I'm all yours."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Caleigh, Sam, and I were seated in the lobby of the agency when Danny came in. He wore a light blue T-shirt that highlighted the blue flecks in his eyes today with a pair of pressed, light gray pants, jacket, and matching loafers. Very old Miami Vice, but somehow it looked modern and cool on him. He'd gelled his hair, making him look polished and playful all at the same time. He looked every bit the guy out for a good time tonight.

  "Nice outfit," I commented truthfully.

  Danny let his eyes roam my little black dress. Emphasis on the little part. "Ditto."

  "I try," I said, shrugging the comment off, even though my ego enjoyed it just the teeniest bit.

  Danny set up my laptop with the feed from our hidden cameras, and then we left, Danny and me in my car, Sam and Caleigh following behind. It wasn't until we were sitting in traffic on the 101 that Danny finally asked the dreaded q
uestion.

  "So, where are we headed?"

  "A club," I hedged.

  "Which one?"

  "It's called Cock Tails," I told him, watching his reaction of out of the corner of my eye.

  He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't think I've been there. Cocktails?"

  I cleared my throat. "It's actually cock . . . tails," I told him, pausing the appropriate amount of time between the two words to infuse them with meaning.

  Danny shot me a look. "Jamie, what kind of club is this?"

  "It might be just a little bit . . . gay."

  "Sonofa-" Danny shook his head, the look on his face telling me that if we hadn't been in the middle of the freeway, he totally would have bolted. "No way. Oh, no. There's no way I'm hitting on a dude!"

  "Come on, Danny, you know I can't do it."

  "And just when were you planning on springing this little detail on me?" he asked.

  I shrugged. "I thought you'd figure it out about the time we got there."

  He shot me a death look. "That's low, Bond. Really low."

  "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but you never would have gotten into the car with me if you'd known."

  "Damn straight."

  "See?" I said. Which did nothing to strengthen my case.

  "I can't do this," he muttered. "I don't know how to hit on guys."

  "It can't be that different than girls, and you're an expert there."

  "Oh, it's different," he said, still shaking his head. "Trust me."

  "Look, it's one night. Maybe two. Just long enough for you to sweet talk him into grabbing your ass."

  His eyes flew wide, and if I didn't reel him in immediately, I knew I'd lose him altogether.

  "Please, Danny. I need you. I'm not asking for anything you can't do. It's just acting. It's not real. No one is going to truly believe you're gay." I paused. "Except our mark."

  Danny shook his head, eyes staring out the window.

  "Please," I pleaded again as I pulled off the freeway, taking the 2 toward West Hollywood. "For me?"

  "Do I have a choice?" he huffed.

  Which I took as his way of conceding. We pulled up to Cock Tails, hitting the valet line right behind Sam and Caleigh. I handed over the keys, and Danny and I got out. Me watching him so he didn't take off, him pouting like a two-year-old.

  "Here." I showed him Craig and Phillip's wedding photo. "This is our target. The dark-haired one."

  He eyed it suspiciously, like it would bite him in the nose if he stared for too long. "Nice hair."

  "See? You have something in common already." I couldn't hide the desperation in my tone.

  He must've noticed it because he took the photo, brought it close to his face, then handed it back. "Fine. Let's do this." He paused. "But you owe me now, Bond," he said stabbing a finger my way.

  I nodded in agreement. "Totally."

  Sam and Caleigh, who had been bravely pun and comment-free until this point, let out deep breaths. They must've felt relieved, too. Caleigh did her bounce-on-her-toes routine, and Danny marched ahead of us.

  "This is going to be fun," Sam whispered. I couldn't tell if she meant it or was being sarcastic.

  We allowed Danny to go in first and gave him a couple of minutes to scope out the place. Normally, I would've preferred if we had settled in first, but I didn't like the idea of leaving Danny outside alone. I wasn't 100% convinced he wouldn't still bolt if given the chance.

  As we fought through the crowd, I did a quick perusal of the layout. It wasn't a big place, half a dozen tables, a large area for dancing by the DJ station, and a chrome bar that ran the length of one wall. Danny sat at the bar, looking distinctly uncomfortable. The place was packed with customers, all men except for us, though most were on the dance floor, leaving a scant few at the tables.

  One of the guys sitting was a young Brad Pitt lookalike, from his Thelma and Louise days. He sat alone, nursing a dark stout and flirting with a server. Two others wore white Polo shirts, shorts, socks, and matching sneakers, and looked like they came straight from the tennis courts or golf course. The stark white against their tanned skin almost made them glow. They laughed and chatted and sipped what looked like mai tais.

  I approached the bar, while Caleigh went into the bathroom and Sam settled at the other end of the bar. The bartender took my order then Sam's, while we pretended we didn't know one another. I took my martini to a table in the corner, Sam stayed at the bar, and Caleigh returned, ordering herself a Cosmopolitan. Once she received it, she sat at a table beside the couple. We were in view of Danny, but if the place grew more crowded, we'd have to get closer. I took a deep breath and sipped my drink. Perfect.

  "That was the first time a bartender hasn't flirted with me," Caleigh whispered into her mic, her sultry voice caressing my ear.

  Sam smiled. Danny remained motionless.

  I lifted my collar and pushed the microphone disguised as a button. "You okay, Danny?"

  He nodded then cleared his throat, nearly blowing out my eardrum. "Just parched." He tilted his beer to his lips and guzzled.

  Uh-oh, we needed to make sure he didn't get drunk and ruin our cover.

  I scanned the crowd for our mark, hoping to make this a quick mission. While the dance area held a healthy number of patrons, I spotted Phillip easily. Even among L.A.'s beautiful people, his good looks stood out. And in person, he was even more stunning than his photograph. No wonder Craig was worried.

  Sam must have followed my gaze. "Show time," she mumbled.

  Danny turned, spotted Philip, then mumbled, "I'm not dancing with him," as he downed the rest of his beer.

  I bit my lip. "Fine. He'll need a drink sooner or later. Just sit tight."

  Danny nodded, signaling the bartender for another. Luckily, it was sooner rather than later when Phillip detangled himself from the crowd and hit the bar, planting himself on the stool directly to Danny's right. Excellent.

  "Usual?" I heard the bartender ask him through Danny's mic.

  Phillip nodded, and the bartender made him a whiskey sour. He was definitely a regular. I watched Phillip's eyes scan the other patrons, though if he was looking for someone in particular or just looking, I couldn't tell.

  Danny cleared his throat, then turned to Philip. "Hey," he said.

  I rolled my eyes. "'Hey?' I know you've got better pick-up lines than that, Danny."

  He ignored me, instead addressing Philip again. "How's your day been?"

  If Philip was interested, he knew how to play cool. "Long. You?"

  Danny nodded. "Same here. Photo shoot fell through yesterday, and I don't get paid when the model gets sent home for being young and unprofessional." He took another long drink, finishing the damn thing, and ordered another. I started keeping a mental tally.

  "You're a photographer?" Philip asked.

  That was always a good conversation starter.

  "Yeah." Danny's hand trembled as he raised the third bottle to his mouth.

  "Slow down. You don't want to get drunk," I whispered into my cleavage.

  "You said model, as in fashion or . . . "

  Danny put the bottle down. "Top cover. Ever hear of Echo St. Pierre?"

  "No, I don't follow the fashion scene. But that means you're probably expensive, right?"

  "It depends. Why? Are you looking to have pictures done?"

  Phillip turned his body toward Danny, sitting on the stool sideways. "I'm an actor. Done a few commercials, but I really want to break into film. A new portfolio would help, but I'm not sure I can afford it. I'm on a budget right now. Trying to save up."

  Sam shifted on her stool. "Saving up to leave hubby?" she mumbled.

  "Buying a new car?" Danny asked.

  "No, nothing like that. Just for my future. I'm Phillip." He held out his hand.

  Danny hesitated but then extended his. "Danny."

  He rubbed the back of his neck then turned toward Phillip. Their knees touched. Danny glanced down at the connectio
n, but there was no way to move unless he wanted to sit with one of his legs between Phillip's, or vice versa. He stayed put. "This is my first time here. What's it like?"

  Phillip glanced around the club, again as if looking for someone. "It's friendly. You won't get hassled or hit on, unless you want to." He winked.

  Danny chuckled, but his wide-eyed stare suggested terror.

  Caleigh giggled. Sam snorted. Danny shot me an evil glare, and I bit my bottom lip.

  "So, not the place a guy goes who's looking to score?" Danny asked. I was proud of him. Despite his discomfort, the suggestive tone in his voice was unmistakable.

  Phillip didn't respond at first. He toyed with the napkin beside his glass "I don't do drugs."

  "No, I didn't mean . . . " He started to place a hand on Philip's knee, but snatched it back before it made contact, rubbing the back of his neck again instead. "I-uh, so how about the Lakers? Do you follow basketball?"

  "Nah, it's not really my sport."

  It wasn't Danny's either.

  This was pathetic. I whispered, "Get on with it. Open up. Loosen up. Be friendly. Pry."

  A few more patrons moved toward the bar, and I repositioned myself just as Phillip's cell chimed. I watched him pull it from his pocket, check the readout, then frown.

  "Everything okay?" Danny asked.

  "Yeah, sure." Philip shoved the cell back into his jeans. "Just . . . the guy I was meeting tonight just cancelled on me."

  "Sucks to be stood up," Danny said.

  Philip gave him a small smile. "It's something like that."

  "So you're married?" Danny pointed to Phillip's left hand. "Was your husband meeting you?"

  "No. He doesn't know I'm here."

  Bingo. I felt myself leaning in.

  "Oh? Do tell," Danny prompted.

  "It's . . . nothing."

  "He's not going to spill to a stranger," Caleigh whispered.

  Danny drummed his fingers on the top of the bar. "So, what hobbies are you into?"

  God, this was painful to listen to. It sounded like a bad night of speed dating.

  "Not much. Auditions take up a big chunk of my time."

  "Yeah, I hear ya. I date. A lot."

  Phillip chuckled. "You have a great body. You must have the guys all over you."