Dangerous Bond (Jamie Bond Mysteries Book 4) (2 page)

"Is everything all right?" I asked.

Caleigh had glanced back down to her phone. "Oh yeah, I'm sure it is."

While I wasn't 100 percent convinced right now, I had to get working on proving the Hoagies man was still eating Hoagies. How hard could that be?

*   *   *

Mrs. McCanny's conference call lasted most of the morning as I detailed exactly what Sam and I had caught Mr. McCanny doing. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, my deposition being repeatedly interrupted by Mrs. McCanny's wailing sobs alternated with shouted threats to Mr. McCanny's private parts. In the end, her lawyer sounded fairly giddy at his prospect of getting her the beach house, and I was more than ready for lunch with Danny.

I'd met Danny Flynn on my first photo shoot, when I'd been all teenage gangly limbs and nerves, and he'd been an up-and-coming photographer. He'd stepped into something of a role of big brother at the time, teaching me how to turn gangly into graceful in front of the camera. Over the years Danny had gone from big brother, to best friend, to something that I couldn't quite put a label on now. He had kissed me, and I had liked it. Where that put our relationship now, I wasn't quite sure, but I was looking forward to lunch.

I'd insisted on picking the restaurant, and as soon as I walked through the door, the heady scent of yeasty bread hit me. I inhaled deeply. I was definitely not one of those low-carb girls.

Danny stepped up right behind me and kicked the back of my heels with his sneakers. He whispered in my ear, "What the heck are we doing here, Bond?"

I shivered at his breath against my earlobe. Then I turned around and had to stifle another small shiver.

Danny was a few years older than I was—old enough that fine laugh lines were starting to crease his pale blue-green eyes, giving the look that he was perpetually smiling at some inside joke. But he was still young enough that his little black book was filled with numbers of up-and-coming models and actresses who thought he was "totes hot." In that moment, I had to agree with them. The hotter-than-average summer had tanned his skin to a warm golden brown, and his sun-streaked hair hung just a little too long, threatening to brush the top of his shoulders. He dressed casually in a dark T-shirt and jeans, though there was nothing casual about the way those jeans hugged his athletic frame.

For a moment I completely forgot his question.

Before I could answer, a woman in a brown apron and little paper hat greeted us. "Welcome to Hoagies. What can I get for you?"

I took a quick survey of the small, narrow store. It was empty except for an older man paying the cashier. The glass-enclosed buffet counter of meats and vegetables took up most of the space, but there were four tables crowded by the front windows. There was also another table toward the back. It was surrounded by a red velvet rope—the kind you'd find at a theater. It separated the table from the rest of the establishment.

"Why is that table sectioned off?" I asked the woman, whose name tag read
Debbie
.

Her eyes lit up. "That's a private table. It's for VIPs."

Danny coughed. "Hoagies has VIPs? Who?"

"Well, the company's bigwigs, but they don't visit that often. Usually it's just Roger who sits there. You know, this is the store he ordered from while losing all his weight." She smiled with pride.

Yes, I knew. It was the reason we were here and about to endure cola from a soda machine, instead of frosty margaritas at my favorite Mexican place.

I turned to Danny, pulling out my wide-eyed-and-super-excited look, and hoped he'd play along. "Does this mean I'll actually get to meet a celebrity?"

Danny frowned at me and started to take a step back. But then something shifted in his eyes, and his expression became as zealous as mine felt. He looked to Debbie. "Yeah, that would be neato."

Neato? I clenched my teeth to keep from laughing.

Debbie's smile turned down a notch. "He used to come in for lunch every day, but I haven't seen him at all this week. He's probably busy with traveling all over the world and signing autographs."

She did realize he was a sandwich rep and not the member of a boy band, right?

"Hopefully he'll show up before you leave though. What can I get for you?"

I looked up to the menu hanging on the wall, just beneath the ceiling. There were so many options. This wasn't my first time eating a Hoagies sub, but it also wasn't my regular place. The menu had definitely grown since my last time here.

"What does Roger usually have?" I asked.

Debbie's grin amplified. She grabbed a loaf of bread behind her from a rack. "That's easy. He gets the small turkey and American cheese on our whole wheat bread. It has extra fiber."

"I see."

She cut the loaf in half and started to put the one half back on the rack.

"I'll have the same," Danny said, giving Debbie a wink that had her giggling like a teenager.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I watched her cut each half of bread open. She laid the pre-portioned turkey on the bread and then topped it with triangular cheese slices. She squirted mayo—at least I think it was mayo—from a bottle and then slid the sandwiches down to the veggie section of the bar. She then piled shredded lettuce, thinly sliced tomatoes, red onions, green peppers, and black olives on top.

I was certain the sandwich wasn't going to close, but sure enough, she wrapped it up in yellow-and-green designed wax paper and slid it into a plastic bag.

After paying for both sandwiches and a couple of drinks—I insisted that lunch was on me—Danny and I sat at one of the tables against the window. We didn't say anything as we unwrapped and took our first bites. Although it was mostly a mouthful of lettuce and bread, it was pretty good.

My cell chirped, and I glanced at the caller ID. Derek. It could wait. I changed my settings to vibrate.

"So, why are we here? And what was with the starry-eyed tourist routine?" Danny asked.

I sipped on my soda. "New client. Roger's wife believes he's cheating on his diet."

Danny grinned. A dimple showing up in his left cheek made my heart beat a little faster. "You get all the good cases."

"Tell me about it," I mumbled, and then I filled him in on the details.

When I was finished, he stabbed a finger in the air. "So Mrs. Hoagies sees Roger as her cash cow?"

I nodded. "That's my guess. It doesn't matter though. If the guy is eating junk food, it should be easy enough to catch him in the act."

"Should be a switch from your usual stakeout. Gonna run surveillance on Baskin-Robbins? Krispy Kreme? Cold Stone Creamery?" Danny teased.

I kicked him under the table. "Hey, a celebrity client is a celebrity client. We make Mrs. Hoagie happy, and I'm sure she has lots of D-list friends she can refer our way."

Danny grinned again, munching down on a slice of onion. "Who knows? You get lucky, you might even get a job doing surveillance for Mrs. Jack in the Box."

I narrowed my eyes and sent him a death look. "Very funny."

"Hey, at least you keep me around for comic relief," he said, that dimple making an appearance again.

"And eye candy," I mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." I took a big bite of my sandwich to avoid saying anything I might regret.

Danny's gaze traveled to my chest and then to my face. "You look nice today. A bit overdressed for Hoagies."

I leaned closer and whispered, "Jeans are overdressed for Hoagies."

He chuckled deeply, causing Debbie to glance our way.

My cell vibrated noisily in my purse again.

"Derek?" Danny asked.

I shrugged, swallowing my bite of turkey and cheese. "Third call today."

"How's he doing lately?" While the tone in his voice was purposely neutral, I could see actual concern in his eyes. Danny and my father had been like oil and water from the very beginning, though I couldn't entirely blame Derek for not being excited about his teenage daughter hanging out with a ladies'-man photographer. However, recently Danny had taken a bullet for Derek, softening the old man's attitude toward him. A bit.

"He's fine," I answered quickly, suddenly feeling slightly guilty for not calling him back.

"Good. Glad to hear it." Danny popped the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. He stared at me thoughtfully while he chewed, before finally speaking again. "And Aiden?"

I nearly choked on my sip of soda.

"Excuse me?"

Danny raised a questioning eyebrow my way. "Internal affairs drop the case?"

I paused, biting my lower lip. The last time I had seen Assistant District Attorney Aiden Prince, he'd been standing over a dead body with a gun in his hand. The dead person in question had homicide on the mind, so in my opinion, Aiden had done the right thing—maybe the only thing. But while the shooting had been completely justified and in self-defense, an internal affairs investigation and temporary suspension had been inevitable.

"Yeah. I think. I guess so."

Danny raised his other eyebrow, doubling the question. "You don't know?"

I squirmed in my seat. "We haven't exactly talked lately."

While my past with Danny was long and varied, my relationship with Aiden had been fast and furious. Emphasis on the
had
been.

Aiden was tall, blond, and handsome in a just-stepped-off-the-cover-of-
GQ
kind of way. He was a straight-laced, by-the-book professional who was a phenomenal kisser. He also happened to still be in love with his dead wife, which had thrown a bit of a monkey wrench into our relationship. Add in the fact that somewhere in the back of his mind, I had the feeling that Aiden blamed me for the fatal shooting and his suspension, and our relationship was not exactly peachy keen at the moment.

"Are you ready to get out of here?" Danny asked, finally taking pity on my discomfort.

"Sure." I folded up my trash and pushed it into the plastic sandwich bag.

After throwing it all away and smiling good-bye at Debbie, I walked out onto the sidewalk just as my phone chirped. I glanced down. It was Derek again. What could possibly be so darn urgent?

Instead of sighing and eye rolling like my formerly stressed self would, I took a deep Zen-filled breath and put on a smile. "Hello, Derek. What's up?"

"It's about time, James. I called you hours ago." His voice sounded gruff and anything but Zen.

"It's been a busy morning. Clients." It was only a half lie, and it was much less stressful to lie than to listen to him yell at me for not doing what he wanted.

A passing car honked so loudly that I had to push my finger into my free ear.

"I'm here now though, so what's going on?" I asked.

He had no misgivings about sighing loudly and clearly. "I've been arrested."

Ouch, talk about guilt. Okay, so maybe this time Derek's needs had been urgent.

When I arrived at the precinct, I expected an officer to lead me to a holding cell, where I'd find Derek seated between a smelly drunk and a dangerous drug dealer. Maybe a small part of me, the old cynical part, hoped that would be the case, simply so he could learn a lesson. I wasn't sure why he'd been arrested yet, but I was certain he'd done something stupid. I wanted to attribute his actions to being retired and having too much time on his hands. But let's face it. He'd always been slightly reckless. As a child, his idea of father-daughter bonding had been hanging in his car eating boxed powdered donuts and listening to the Dodgers game on the radio while on a stakeout.

But—surprise, surprise—I was escorted into the detective division and found him sitting at a desk, talking with an older, plainclothes detective.

I watched for a second. The two chatted and laughed as if they were best of pals. A second officer passed the desk, and Derek drew him into the conversation. I knew Derek still had friends in the LAPD, but this clearly wasn't a man in a lot of legal trouble.

The officer nodded in my direction, and Derek turned. His brows drew together, his mouth hardened, and he had the nerve to look annoyed at me.

When I approached, he snapped, "What took you so long?"

I scoffed and instantly realized why I hadn't grown up to be a rainbows-and-puppies kinda person. "This is L.A. There's traffic. So sorry my magic carpet ride is at the cleaners. What did you do?"

It was his turn to scoff. "What makes you think I did something?"

"Because you said you were arrested. Although by the looks of things, you don't seem to be in any trouble." I turned to the detective seated at the desk. Hopefully I'd get actual answers from him.

The man was paunchy, with a balding head. His brown suit jacket hung over the back of his chair, and a mint-green tie hung crookedly from his neck. He looked like someone had put out a casting call for "typical older cop," appearing a few years older than retirement age and like he had spent one too many days eating donuts and drinking stale coffee. I'd been around enough cops in my lifetime to know that in reality most of the men and women on the force kept in shape. The job demanded it. But every once in a while, like in this guy's case, Hollywood was realistic about something.

"This is Ronnie, my old buddy from when I used to walk the streets," Derek said.

"You were a prostitute?" I asked with a smirk.

He narrowed his eyes. "And this funny lady is my daughter, James." He never refrained from using my legal name. He was so proud that he had named me after one of his heroes. The fact that the hero was fictional had never mattered.

Ronnie raised his brows. "This is little James? Wow, I remember when you weren't much higher than your daddy's knee."

I smiled, not quite remembering back that far.

Derek stared at my outfit and curled his upper lip. "It's a weekday. Why are you dressed like you're going on a date?"

Was this dress really that fancy?

"I just had lunch with Danny," I said. I'll admit my intention might have been to get under his skin at that point. Hey, a girl can only do so much Zen. "What happened?"

"Someone called the cops because I was on a stakeout."

I quirked a brow. Derek no longer took any cases, and we both knew it. Arms crossed over my chest, foot tapping, I looked to Ronnie for the truth.

Ronnie rubbed his chin. "A neighbor called in a suspicious-looking character, and the responding officers arrested him for trespassing."

"Trespassing? That's not a stakeout, Derek. Where were you?"

He shrugged as if he didn't know, but he was simply trying to stall. What the heck was he up to?

"I was just looking inside a window. I needed to see something."

"What window?" If he thought I was letting this go without specific answers, he would be in for a rude awakening.

He huffed. "I was at Elaine's, okay?"

Elaine was the woman he'd been seeing for the past few months. Which in itself had surprised me, because Derek had never been a one-woman kind of man in the past. His philosophy had always been that monogamy was for suckers. Personally, my theory had always been that a lifetime of chasing down cheating husbands had soured Derek on the idea. For as long as I could remember, he'd had a steady stream of girlfriends, none of them serious, none of them lasting longer than a few days, and none of them memorable enough to stick out in my mind.

Only lately, it seemed that Elaine had turned all of that around.

So what was with spying on her?

"We're letting him off with a warning," Ronnie said.

That would explain why he wasn't cuffed in a cell.

Relief flooded my old man's tanned face. "Oh man, Ronnie. Thanks. I really appreciate it."

"I get it," said Ronnie. "We go way back, and I know how it works. But your PI license is expired, and you don't have the same liberties as the licensed investigators do anymore. If you're caught trespassing again, we'll have to book you."

Derek stood and shook Ronnie's meaty hand. "I get it, man. I do. Thanks." With a wink, he led the way outside.

But if he thought this was over, he had another think coming.

When we reached my car, I slipped behind the steering wheel and turned to Derek as he sat in the passenger seat.

"I give up. Why are you spying on your
girlfriend
?" I used that term on purpose, to see if he'd squirm.

But he didn't. Aww, how cute. Dad and Elaine were sitting in the tree.

He ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. For a guy getting up there in age, the color may have changed some, but it was still thick.

"Well?" I prodded when he didn't answer. "What's going on with you two?"

"None of your business," he mumbled, suddenly avoiding my gaze.

But I shook my head. "Wrong, old man. When I'm dragged down to the police station to bail you out, it becomes my business."

"You didn't have to post any bail," he automatically corrected me.

I shot him the evil eye. Giving him the silent treatment. Refusing to turn on the car and let the AC wash over us.

"Fine," he finally huffed. I think he normally might've been able to out-silent-treatment me, but the lack of AC was making him sweat. Either that or the questioning. "Look, I think Elaine might be…cheating on me."

I tried really hard to keep back my giggle. But come on. Ladies' man Derek Bond afraid that
he
was being cheated on? The irony was killing me.

"I'm so glad you think this is funny."

Satisfied enough with his confession, I turned, stuck my key into the ignition, and brought my car to life. "More like irony coming to bite you on the butt. Tell me—how does that shoe feel?"

He glanced down at his worn-in Converse.

I rolled my eyes. "The proverbial one. As in the shoe being on the other foot."

He tossed a glare my way. "I'm serious, James."

I cleared my throat and pushed the snark from my brain as I pulled out of the parking lot. "Okay, so tell me why you think she's being unfaithful."

"She doesn't always take my calls."

"I don't take your calls."

"Yeah, but that's because you're my kid and a pain in the butt."

I grinned. I couldn't disagree. "Continue."

He sighed. "She's been acting different, distant. A guy just knows."

"And you thought peeking in her windows would be the solution?"

Derek shrugged, sighing again. "I don't know! Look, I gotta do something. I can't just sit around and wonder who this guy is. At the very least, I gotta know what I'm up against."

Leave it to Derek to look at his relationship as a competition.

"Fine," I acquiesced.

Derek shot me a questioning look, one bushy eyebrow going up into his hairline. "Fine?"

"Fine. I'll look into it for you." I took a right at the next corner.

"Wait—you? Oh no. No way, James," he snapped.

"And why not?"

"Kid, I've been tailing cheaters for as long as you've been alive. There's no way I'm having my
daughter
do my dirty work."

I glanced at him, and his brows were furrowed.

"Do I need to remind you that you're not a PI anymore? You were almost just arrested."

"It doesn't matter. This is my business, and I'll handle it."

I shook my head. "Derek Bond, I forbid you from looking into this."

He turned his head and stared out the window, ignoring my demand. I expected him to yell at me and tell me he was the parent in this relationship. But he didn't. So far my expectations with him had been far off today.

"I'm serious," I added. "If you get arrested again, I'm disowning you and letting you rot in jail."

He still didn't answer or even acknowledge my words.

This was not good.

I knew we were both thinking the same thing. That no matter what I said, there was no way Derek was going to walk away from this. And that left me only one choice: I needed to find out what was up with Elaine before he ended up behind bars.

*   *   *

I dropped Derek off at his car, which was still parked across the street from Elaine's small bungalow. After he drove off, I waited a few minutes just in case he was circling the block to double back. I took the time to scan through my new celebrity client's husband's itinerary, which Maya had forwarded to my phone. It showed that Roger was normally at home this time of day. In fact, according to what Maya could find out, he generally spent his afternoons at home unless he was making a commercial or speaking at a Hoagies sponsored event.

I called the office and had Maya put me through to Sam and then Caleigh. Some surveillance seemed to be the best way to keep an eye on our cheating dieter.

"Great," I said to Caleigh after she agreed to be ready. "I should be there in a few minutes."

We hung up, and I took a quick glance around for Derek's car before leaving.

As soon as I got to the office, I approached Maya's desk just as she was hanging up the phone.

"Hey, Boss. How was lunch?"

I thought of the turkey sandwich and how the taste of black olives and tomatoes still lingered in my mouth. "It was actually good." I paused. "I need you to do something for me."

"Shoot."

"This something is a bit delicate and on the down low."

Maya raised one eyebrow in my direction, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "This sounds like a fun something."

"Could you check into Elaine's recent cell activity?"

Maya grabbed a sticky pad and jotted down my request. "The one your dad is dating? Looking for anything in particular?"

"Possibly. We're looking for any sign that she's been seeing someone."

"Oh." Maya sounded disappointed. "As in someone other than Derek, right?"

I nodded. I sincerely hoped Derek was wrong. I didn't know Elaine well, but from the few interactions we had, she'd seemed to be a stand-up woman. One who miraculously had Derek doing a one-eighty on his entire view of relationships. But as much as I hoped Derek was wrong, I'd been in this business long enough to fear he was right.

"Poor Derek," Maya said, sitting behind her computer.

It wasn't normally a sentiment I had about dear ol' Dad, but today I had to agree.

I stepped into Sam's office. She was on the phone and held up her index finger when she saw me.

"Okay, sweetie, you can go to Chad's after your homework is done. I'll be checking it when I get home. Yeah. Okay, bye." She hung up and smiled at me.

"Is everything all right?" I asked.

She stood and walked around her desk. "Oh yeah. Julio's bored and wants to spend the night at his friend's house so they can play Minecraft."

"Are you ready to go?" I asked.

"Yep." She picked up her purse and followed me to Caleigh's office.

Caleigh stood in front of her desk, swiping a tube of red lipstick across her mouth. She smacked her lips together, then clicked her compact mirror shut. "Ready, ladies?"

*   *   *

We hopped into Sam's car (which had a backseat, unlike my Roadster), and pulled up to Roger's address in Orange County, just south of Los Angeles down the 5. It was a Spanish-styled mini-mansion with light-pink stucco and a tiled roof. A tall wrought iron security gate prevented us from driving to the front door without being noticed. From our vantage point though, it wasn't hard to make out the large arched windows that ran the length of the first floor. Squat, round manicured shrubs dotted the walkway. Despite Bristol's appearance and Roger's notoriety, I'd expected something more modest. Did the guy really have the money for this place just from eating sandwiches?