Fatal Bond

by Gemma Halliday

  "So you're not interested in him adding a third wife?" I asked carefully. I'd admit, I wasn't fluent in their lifestyle, but I would have thought several wives wasn't uncommon—even expected and wanted.

  They glanced to one another again, and then Erin cleared her throat. "No, it's not that. I mean, we're not opposed to another sister-wife if that's the calling. We'd just like to…"

  "Harold can be impulsive," Colleen said. "He's forever jumping into things without thinking them through. Like the time he went bungee jumping. With his bad back. He had to wear a brace for weeks."

  Erin nodded, as if recalling the ordeal. "Exactly. Or the time he bought all of those turtlenecks from that self-help company and tried to sell them to his colleagues, not realizing he'd gotten involved in a pyramid scheme."

  I tugged on my top lip with my teeth to keep from laughing. I heard a snicker to my right, indicating Sam or Caleigh hadn't been so successful.

  Erin smiled in their direction. "Yes, we know how silly it sounds."

  "We'd simply like to make sure he brings in someone that will fit well with our family," said Colleen.

  "That he doesn't jump feet-first into something so important," Erin added.

  "So, you want us to vet his…" I paused, trying to find the right word. Girlfriends didn't feel like it fit the situation.

  "The women he's scouting," Caleigh supplied.

  I sent her a grateful look.

  Erin and Colleen nodded as one. "Exactly."

  "What makes you think he's looking for another wife now?" Sam asked.

  "There have been signs," Erin said. "Nothing we can say for certain, but we know."

  The wife always did.

  I glanced from their short, unpolished fingernails to the simple gold bands they each wore on their fingers. Coupled with their attire, it suggested that they lived modest lives.

  "Work like this could be quite expensive. And I assume you don't want your husband to know about this…expenditure."

  "That would defeat the purpose," Colleen pointed out.

  "Right." I paused. "But our fees—"

  Before I could finish my sentence, Colleen laid her open palm on the table. "Let me reassure you that, despite what the media may portray polygamist wives like, we have our own money. We can pay whatever price you set out."

  From my peripheral, I saw both Sam's and Caleigh's brows shoot up at the same time. I was certain mine did the same. I thought about the expensive car I'd practically tripped over in the lot. "Is that Tesla outside yours?"

  Colleen nodded. "Yes."

  It might have been my imagination, but I thought I detected a note of pride.

  Erin opened her brown eyes a bit wider and lowered her voice. "Ms. Bond, we'd really appreciate it if you'd take our case. This is a big deal to our family."

  Colleen nodded. "And like she said, money is not a problem."

  Who was I to turn down a paying client?

  "I'd love to," I said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  While Maya prepared the contracts, Sam took down the basics from the two women on their family, their husband, and his comings and goings. Both Colleen had Erin had two children a piece, they made their money in real estate—specifically rental units—and they'd been with their husband for seven and five years, respectively. I reassured them again that we would do our best to find out who their husband was "scouting" and let them know as soon as we knew anything.

  As I walked them to the door, Colleen turned and tugged on my hand. Combined with the deer-in-headlights look on her face, I realized it was more of a plea than a shake goodbye. I had to imagine this had been a big step for them, hiring someone to dig into their private affairs—even more so than our average clients, considering the type of secrecy they normally lived their lives under.

  Through the second story windows, I watched them link arms and walk across the parking lot to their car. They stopped at the trunk and faced one another. Erin nodded while Colleen said something. I imagined she was reassuring her that coming here was a good decision and that the girls and I would find out about this mysterious potential third wife.

  I had to admit, it would go on my Most Interesting Cases list. I'd never had a case where the wife—or wives in this instance—were okay with their husband going after other women. As long as it was the right women.

  I turned to find Sam directly behind me. One step closer and she would've received a mouthful of my blonde hair.

  "So?" she asked.

  "So…what?"

  "So, how was New Zealand?" she asked with a smile bigger than what was usual Sam-style.

  Caleigh grinned behind her, giving me an expectant look.

  "Don't ask," I responded automatically.

  "Why?" Sam frowned. "I mean, I thought you were—"

  "Don't we have work to do?" I snapped. I stepped around her and walked toward my office. I wasn't trying to be rude. I just really didn't want to talk about it.

  "She wouldn't tell me either," Maya whispered too loudly to actually count as a whisper.

  "Come on, Jamie. You were gone for a whole week." Unfortunately, Sam was not giving it up as easily as Maya had.

  I turned on my heel and faced them. "I was. Which means the stack of messages Maya gave me is huge."

  Maya raised a magnificently arched brow. "It was significant. I'm not sure about huge…"

  I took a step back and shook my head. "Super big. Gonna take all morning just to read."

  Caleigh cocked her head to the side and stuck both hands on her hips. "You're seriously not going to give us any details?"

  I took another step and bumped into the wall beside my doorway. "So many calls to return. Must go. I may have to skip dinner tonight."

  Sam opened her mouth to say something, but before she pushed a single syllable out, I gently but firmly shut my door.

  The last thing I wanted to do was go over the details of my so-called vacation. More like my humiliation. I didn't even want the images bumping around in my own brain. I certainly didn't want them dancing across my tongue and out into the open for all to hear. Sharing would've been one thing, but reliving, and seeing the pity in their eyes, would've been another. Nope, it was locked away in the vault in my mind and would remain there until I was ready to deal or I passed away from old age. Whichever came first.

  Besides, I wasn't lying when I said I had work to do. In addition to the calls, I had plenty to do to get caught up on our open cases. I walked around my desk to my chair and lifted the first pink message. I scanned the number and name I didn't recognize. I was about to dial the number, when my door flung open with a violent smack against the wall, making me flinch.

  My head shot up to find Derek filling the doorway.

  Monday morning, you just keep on giving, don't you?

  While I'd only been gone seven days, something about my dad looked a little different. I narrowed my eyes trying to figure out what he'd done. Lost weight, a haircut, a new pair of golf shorts? I couldn't place it until a smile pulled up the corners of his mouth, reminding me a little of the Joker.

  There it was. The difference.

  Derek was…happy?

  There were no lines between his brows, they weren't furrowed, and his eyes seemed to shine. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen a genuine smile from him. What had happened while I was gone? Did all of Los Angeles pop the same happy pills, inhale too much secondhand cannabis?

  "Derek." I said it more as a statement than a question. "What do you want?"

  "Is that any way to greet your old man?" He grinned at me. His tone was positively cheerful, and for a split second I was genuinely frightened.

  "Fine. Hi, Dad," I said, heavy on the sarcasm.

  It wasn't that I didn't love my father—I did. In fact, most of the women in LA over the age of forty had loved my dad at one point or another. Derek was like what Peter Pan would be if he'd been forced to grow up. A perpetual man-child who ate Captain Crunch for dinner, drank bourbon for breakfast,
and frequented strip clubs for the lunch specials. Plus, the guy had named me James Bond. His baby daughter. I was still working on forgiving him for that one.

  "What do you want, Derek?" I repeated.

  Instead of answering, he asked, "How was your trip?"

  "Why won't everyone just let me get back to work and stop asking me about New Zealand?"

  "Great, glad you had a good time," he said, clearly not listening at all. He shut my door and sat in one of the upholstered chairs across from my desk.

  "What do you need, Derek?" I asked.

  He held up his hands in mock innocence. "Who says I need something? What, I can't just come visit my only daughter?"

  I sucked in my cheek and crossed my arms over my chest. "Visit, huh?"

  "Sure." He leaned back, a slow smile on his lips. "So, how's tricks, kid?"

  "Fine. Fabulous. Great."

  "Good." He leaned forward again and clasped his hands on my desk. "Okay, listen, I need a favor."

  There it was. Did I know my dear old dad or what?

  "What have you gotten yourself into now? Spend all of your social security on hookers already this month?"

  Derek scoffed. "Why do you think it's something negative? Really, James, I thought your…vacation would've brightened your spirits."

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm busy, Derek…" I warned.

  "Okay, okay," he said, putting his hands up again. "I need your help in planning a surprise birthday party for Elaine."

  The Elaine who was contemplating leaving the state without telling him? I bit my lip, feeling an awkward position coming on.

  He waved his hand. "Before you say anything, yes, I've finally gotten myself out of the doghouse with Elaine."

  My last case had involved a trip to Las Vegas, which Elaine and Maya's mother, Charley, tagged along on. Derek had ended up in Sin City with us as well, but not because he'd been helping on the case. No, he'd been there to spy on Elaine. You can imagine how that had gone over with her.

  I left for my trip to New Zealand shortly after we all returned to Los Angeles, so Derek had had to grovel on his own. At least according to him, it sounded like it had worked. Then again, Elaine was contemplating Seattle…

  "You sure things are on surprise-party terms with you and Elaine right now?" I hedged.

  "Sure." He grinned. "What lady doesn't like surprises?"

  I had a bad feeling he might be in for one of his own.

  "I don't know, Derek…"

  "Come on, kid," he pleaded. "Look, I've got something really special in mind for her. Something she's really gonna like. I got a feeling this is just the thing our relationship needs right now."

  What their relationship needed was a dose of honesty—stat! But I'd promised to keep Elaine's secret under wraps.

  "So will you help me or not?" he asked.

  I sighed. If I left Derek in charge of Elaine's party, she'd for sure ditch him for the soggy Northwest. Derek's idea of "party" was beer and chicken wings in front of a large-screen TV during any sport season. Elaine deserved better. On so many levels.

  "Fine," I finally agreed.

  His smile dialed up the wattage, and I was nearly blinded by it.

  "But I'm just helping. Do not think that means I'm doing it all on my own."

  "Of course not." The words said one thing, but the twinkle in his eyes said another. "I'm thinking of Saturday, around noon. She likes that bar near my place."

  Derek's place was a houseboat named the Black Pearl, parked at the marina. The closest bar was a dive that smelled like day old fish.

  I shook my head. "No, Elaine likes places with champagne and decor that doesn't include Budweiser neon."

  Derek blinked at me. "What have you got against neon?"

  "I will find a different spot and let you know. Saturday may be a little soon, but I'll get Maya on a better location."

  "I knew I could count on you, James," he said. He jumped to his feet and headed to the door. Another out-of-character grin was his goodbye.

  When the door shut behind him, I let out a deep, long breath and turned my attention back to the stack of messages again.

  I only got three in before a commotion in the lobby caught my attention. I heard raised female voices and what sounded like crying. I was about to get up and investigate, when the door to my office burst open again. This time it smacked even harder against the back wall. Poor door. I wouldn't have been surprised if it was a heap of splinters at day's end.

  I looked up and stared into the tear-filled eyes of Candy, The Spotted Pony dancer whose message, I realized with a stab of guilt, I had not yet gotten to. She was dressed in an uncharacteristically casual outfit, low-rise jeans and a soft yellow crop top that had a giant sparkling silver star across her ample chest. And her eyes were red from crying.

  It looked like someone was having a slightly worse Monday than I was.

  "Candy, are you okay?" I asked as I rose and walked around my desk.

  Candy sort of stumbled forward. It was as if her feet weren't working correctly. She somehow managed to not fall on her face but land in one of the chairs.

  I shut my door, sat beside Candy, and grabbed her soft, trembling hand. Her skin felt clammy and warm. "What's going on?" I asked, my panic radar shifting on.

  Black mascara had run and made deep, black rivulets under her eyes. Her chest heaved as she tried to say something. She was going to hyperventilate if she didn't calm down. I glanced around for a paper bag, but I knew I didn't have one. I'd been twelve the last time I'd brown-bagged it for lunch.

  "Slow down your breathing so you don't pass out," I said and reached for the box of tissues beside my cup of pens.

  She tried to do as I instructed, but when she sucked in a breath, it sounded like she was being strangled. "It's…it's Apple," she managed.

  "Apple?" I thought of Candy's BFF and partner in crime. "What's wrong? Is she okay?"

  "That's just it. I don't know! She's missing," she finished on a sob.

  That panic ratcheted up a notch. "What do you mean, missing?"

  Her hazel eyes blinked fresh tears. "Something is terribly wrong. I know it. I can feel it. This isn't like her."

  I squeezed her hand. "Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning."

  She sucked in a couple of quick breaths and let the last one out slowly. "We went to a private party Saturday night." A hiccup interrupted her words, and I knew this was going to be a long conversation. "It was some rich guy in Bel Air. Apple got the hire the other night at the club," she said.

  "Did Apple know him?"

  Candy shook her head. "Not b-before that night," she hiccupped.

  I shot her a look. "Candy, you know better than that." Which was true. While she was a few years younger than my twenty-nine(ish), she and Apple had been dancing long enough to know how to stay safe from the creeps. Or so I'd thought,

  She shook her head and quickly said, "It wasn't like that. Apple asked around. He was on the up-and-up. He'd hired other girls from the club before, and all of them said they'd had a great time. Plus, you know, it was in Bel Air."

  Word of mouth was great if you were starting a nail salon. I wasn't sure how reliable it was in the "private party" sector.

  "Okay, so who is this guy?" I asked.

  "His name is Wendell Manchester."

  I made a mental note, not wanting to distract Candy while I reached for a pen and paper. "What does he do?"

  Her thin brows grew close together, and she shrugged. The poor thing looked fragile, like she'd break at any moment, so I didn't want to lecture her about how dangerous this sounded.

  "Okay, go on. You go to the party, and what happened?"

  "It was great. We danced," she said.

  I cocked a brow. "That's it? Just dancing?"

  She raised her right hand, palm facing out, as if she was being sworn in. "Yes, we were only hired to dance and look pretty. For ambiance."

  I usually achieved that by lighting candles and putti
ng on slow jams. Obviously this wasn't my kind of party.

  "But then at the end of the night, I couldn't find Apple anywhere. At first I figured she'd hit it off with some rich guy and went home with him. You know—good for her. But then she didn't show up for her shift yesterday at The Spotted Pony."

  "Maybe she was just tired?" I suggested.

  But Candy shook her head. "No, I knew something was wrong. The only time she's missed work was when she got bronchitis last year and was coughing stuff up."

  I didn't comment and didn't want to know.

  She continued on. Luckily, the hiccups had stopped. "Her phone goes straight to voicemail. And when I went by her apartment this morning, there was no sign of her. Her bed hasn't been slept in."

  "You have a key to her place?" I asked.

  Candy nodded, and her bleached blonde hair shimmied across her shoulders. "And she has mine too. Just in case, you know?"

  Just in case something like this happened.

  While I was 50 percent sure Apple was just, as Candy suggested, enjoying a little "after party" with some wealthy partygoer, I know I would have been worried if one of the Bond Girls hadn't shown up for her shift. And I didn't even have a key to any of their apartments. I also knew a missing dancer would be very low on the LAPD's radar. On the off chance something had happened to Apple, we were pretty much her only hope.

  "What was she wearing?" I asked. I really needed to jot all of this down soon, or I'd forget a detail or two.

  "Uh, a gold sparkly minidress. It's sleeveless with, like, tank top straps. Wide ones. And a pair of four-inch, open-toe, gold sparkly platforms. She looked like a present, and I joked how she only needed a giant bow to be unwrapped."

  That was cute and mildly disturbing.

  "Think back to the party. When did you last see Apple?"

  She squeezed her eyes shut and scrunched up her nose. In another set of circumstances, I'd have smiled at her goofy expression.

  "I was dancing by the pool," she started. "And I saw her go upstairs with Wendell and a few of his friends. All night he seemed to really like Apple, so I figured she was going to give them a private show."

  A small alarm bell sounded in my head. Just because a guy lived in Bel Air didn't mean he wasn't into something kinky. Or worse. What if this Wendell character wanted something more sinister than just a dance from Apple?