Dangerous Bond (Jamie Bond Mysteries Book 4) (5 page)

Well that seemed easy enough to check out. Which made me wonder just how solid it was…or manufactured. It would be handy to have been seen in public by several people at the exact time you had your husband bumped off.

"I had no reason to kill my husband. I loved him," she said is if reading my thoughts. "I had nothing to gain by his death and everything to lose."

"How so?" I asked, figuring the more I kept her talking, the more I'd get a feel for if she was lying or not.

Bristol looked down at the pavement. "It's not a secret that I like living…a certain type of lifestyle."

I stifled an unladylike snort. "You mean the one that Roger's money afforded you."

She straightened her spine. "Roger wanted me to be a stay-at-home wife. He liked taking care of me, and he loved showering me with gifts. Now I'll have to…" She hiccuped. "Get a job or something."

Since I'd been working since I was fifteen, my empathy was a little low, but that didn't mean I couldn't sympathize with her plight. If I was suddenly faced with starting over… Heck, I knew exactly how scary that was. Going from modeling designer swimwear on the beach was worlds different from trailing cheating husbands and sitting in my car for hours. That wasn't to say that modeling couldn't be a tough gig too. I just hadn't expected how much my life would change. I definitely felt for Bristol.

"What about life insurance?" I asked. "Surely someone as well off as Roger had a policy." And a hefty one at that.

She lifted and lowered her bony shoulders. "I don't know about that sort of thing. I assume so, but he never told me about any of the finances. He handled all of it. It was his money, after all."

I had a hard time believing he hadn't at least discussed it with her, but I let it go.

"And I never wanted to discuss life insurance," she continued. "It's so morbid." Her voice lowered to almost a whisper.

If she truly hadn't had a hand in his death, she must've been going through hell right now, and I felt for her in that aspect as well. Grief was an ugly part of life. One that I'd had to experience young when I'd lost my mother. But if she was pulling one over on me, I'd make certain she spent the rest of her attractive years in prison.

"What about enemies? Do you know if Roger had any?" Though, who could possibly hate a sandwich guy enough to kill him?

"I don't think anyone was angry with Roger. He never mentioned anything like that."

I suddenly got the impression they hadn't talked much.

"But I know who you should talk to."

"Who?"

"You should check out this rapper guy. He's Roger's new
celebrity
friend," she said on a sneer. "They've been hanging out a lot recently."

Roger hadn't struck me as the hip celebrity type. "Do you have a name?"

"He calls himself Heavy Cash."

I assumed that wasn't on his birth certificate. Then again, on mine was the name James.

"He's tall, big, wide, African American, and he wears black sunglasses all the time. Even when it's cloudy out," she told me.

She had to be referring to the guy that the girls and I had seen with Roger that afternoon at the mall. "You think he knows something about who'd want to hurt Roger?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Maybe
he
would want to."

"Why do you say that?"

"One afternoon at our house, Heavy Cash bent over to pick up something, and I noticed he had a gun tucked into the back of his pants."

That didn't mean he killed Roger, but I was definitely interested in why these two were friends. Roger seemed about as tame as a suburban food-chain spokesperson could be. I didn't see anyone writing rap songs about his life.

I nodded. "Okay, I'll look into it."

She gasped, pulled me forward, and embraced me in a quick hug. "Thank you so much." Then without another word, she ran two cars down to her silver BMW and hopped in.

I watched her drive off and then went up to my apartment and slammed the door behind me. After kicking off my shoes, I did exactly what I'd planned. I walked into my room and flopped onto my bed. This day had definitely been up there on the interesting scale.

The next morning, I opened my eyes and was greeted by blinding sunlight and loud banging. It took me a few seconds to realize the banging was someone knocking on my door. I flipped my covers off and shuffled to the door, seriously in need of the bathroom. I opened the door to find Danny.

He was clean shaven, dressed in dark jeans, a pale-green T-shirt that offset his eyes, and his good sneakers. He looked alert and like he'd been up for hours. His brows shot up as he took in my appearance.

I glanced down at myself, hoping I was fully dressed, and remembered I hadn't changed when I'd got home last night. Still in the blue wrap dress, which was slightly askew, I assumed my hair had some serious bedhead action going on, because the nape of my neck felt naked.

"Good morning to you, sunshine," he said and stepped inside.

"What time is it?" I turned my back to him and rubbed my eyes. The taste of stale coffee lingered in my mouth, and I could only imagine how vile my breath smelled.

"It's time for breakfast. My treat."

I groaned at the idea of not being able to go back to sleep.

"You may want to run a brush through your hair though. You're looking pretty rough."

I groaned louder and hurried to the bathroom.

Over a spinach-and-mushroom egg white omelet (my choice) and pecan pancakes with bacon and hash browns (Danny's choice), I filled him in on Bristol's late-night visit.

"So you haven't lost your client at least. That's good," he said.

I sipped my steaming hot coffee and nodded. "Yeah, swell."

He lifted a packet of sugar to pour into his cup of coffee. "Okay, so it's not
ideal
."

I shot him a look. Finding a client's husband dead was never ideal.

"But it could be worse."

"Exactly how could it be worse?"

Danny opened his mouth to speak, but then he quickly shut it with a click. "Yeah, sorry. I don't know."

"Thanks a lot," I grumbled.

"Geez, what happened to your Zen?" Danny asked, turning away from the scowl I could feel on my face.

"Someone woke her up too early," I mumbled.

Danny sipped his coffee, his mouth quirking up in a half smile. "You know, you're kinda cute when you're all grumpy like this."

Damn, it was hard to hold on to a scowl when a hot guy was calling you cute. I turned to look down at my omelet instead, stabbing a mushroom like it had done me wrong.

"So, you going to check on Mrs. Hoagies' alibi today?" Danny asked.

I nodded, grateful for the subject change. "Among other things. I've got Maya running background on his buddy, Heavy Cash."

Danny smirked. "Let me guess—he's related to Johnny Cash?"

I smiled. "Long-lost cousins," I joked.

"So what's after Mr. Cash?"

I glanced up. "What do you mean 'after'?"

"Do you have plans later?"

I paused, my fork in midair. While his tone was causal, his eyes were shifting nervously around the table, as if the answer meant something deeper to him.

"Nooo…" I slowly drew out the word. "Why?"

He did a totally-trying-to-look-causal shrug, eyes still on the table. "I thought maybe we could go out."

"Go out where?" I pressed

His eyes finally moved up to meet mine, locking on like a homing device. "Out on a date."

The mushroom stuck in my throat. The only word my brain could quickly form was, "What?"

"You know, wine, dinner, me, you. Maybe some slinky lingerie."

I stammered and stared for several seconds. Mostly because I didn't altogether hate the lingerie idea. But this was Danny. My pal, my friend. Somehow I knew once we crossed that line of seeing each other naked, that would change forever. And I wasn't sure it was a change I was ready for.

"It's not a difficult question, Bond." His words jolted me from my thoughts.

"I think I have to work." As soon as the words flew out of my mouth, I realized what a crappy excuse that was. Didn't the boss set her own hours? "I mean, you know my schedule. I, uh, don't know what the police have yet on Bristol, and there's the rapper to talk to, and I might have to go to a cowboy bar with Elaine again, and that could take a while." I was totally babbling now. I shut my mouth to keep the words from spewing out.

"Right." Danny's eyes went back down to the table, his jaw tensing. He knew I was making excuses.

I shook my head, suddenly feeling really guilty. "Let me think about it. Right now I need to get to the office."

Danny nodded on. "Sure, I understand."

But I knew that was a lie. How could he understand when even I didn't?

*   *   *

As I stepped into the agency, I still had Danny and his slinky date on my mind. The more I thought about it, the more I got annoyed at his mention of lingerie. As if one date would equal sex. As if I was like all the girls who had graced the pages of his little black book in the past. I mean, if he thought I was that easy, there was no way I was going out on a date with him!

Yes, I was totally trying to come up with reasons not to go. Because deep down I knew that if I did, there was a good chance we wouldn't even make it through the appetizers before he'd be getting a peek at my lingerie.

I passed by Maya's desk, not really paying attention to my surroundings. I vaguely heard her call my name, but I was walking too fast and was too preoccupied to stop. When I reached my door, I realized my office wasn't empty. Derek was seated in one of the leather chairs that faced my desk, waiting for me. As if my morning couldn't get more stressful.

I paused, took a deep breath, and tried really hard to find a smidgen of that Zen I'd been so friendly with yesterday morning.

Derek turned on me, his complexion pink and irritated, and gritted his teeth. "I told you to stay out of it."

I wasn't in the mood for this. I walked around my desk, threw my purse into the bottom drawer, and then sat down. "What is
it
?"

His brow furrowed, and he flapped his arms like he was about to take off in flight. "Me and Elaine. You said you were going to stay out of it. I was going to take care of it."

"You're clearly paranoid and clearly worried Elaine is cheating. So what is the big deal? I followed her to get answers for you." And then it hit me. The only way he knew I was following her last night was if
he'd
been following her too.

I jumped up and nearly smacked my knee into the side of my desk. "You followed her! You're not licensed!"

"I can handle this." His words were still gruff, but his tone had lost its angry edge.

"Next time the cops catch you nosing around, they'll arrest you. No buddy warning this time. Is that what you want?"

Something flickered in his eyes. It was a moment of fear or sadness, and my heart gave out. Well, not literally. But I sat back down and calmed down as well. "Elaine is not cheating on you." At least I was pretty sure.

Derek stood and walked out the door without another word. Had I gotten through to him? I wasn't sure. Knowing his stubbornness, I hadn't. But I had bigger fish to fry today.

I pressed the intercom, reaching Maya's desk.

"Yes, Boss?"

"I want a full rundown on Roger Claremont today. Court records, financial records, etc. Anything you can get your hands on."

"On it!" Maya chirped, sounding way more chipper this morning than I was. "Anything in particular that I'm looking for?"

"Anything even resembling a grudge or a reason to want him dead."

"Got it. Looking for enemies."

I nodded even though I knew she couldn't see me. "Right, and I'll be checking out his friends. Specifically his celebrity rapper friend."

"You shouldn't go alone." The voice wasn't Maya's.

Sam stood in my doorway, leaning in the frame.

"Oh?" I asked, leaning back in my chair and really wishing I had a caramel macchiato.

Sam shook her head. "I actually know Heavy Cash, or at least of him. Julio Senior shot one of Heavy's first music videos back when Julio and I were still together."

"And?" I led.

"And the guy is totally scary. Not the type you want to upset, if you know what I mean."

"You didn't mention this yesterday at the mall."

She shrugged. "I didn't think anything of it then. I figured he was just at the opening for his fifteen minutes of fame. He didn't strike me as the type to actually know Roger personally."

That made two of us. "What do you know about him?" I asked.

Sam thought about it for a second as she sat in a chair opposite me. "I only met him once—the one time Julio helped him. Back then he was younger and thinner. Much thinner. He was a scrawny guy who was hard. You know the type. Always expecting the other shoe to drop, so he puts up walls. He's probably seen way too much crime and negativity in his time, and he probably caused a lot of it too."

I knew the type. The actual bad boy. Not the kind who has a heart of gold and just needs the "right woman" to keep him from diving too far over the line. No, this was the kind who had lost sight of "the line" so long ago it was no longer even in his rearview mirror.

"Sounds like an awesome suspect to me."

Sam displayed a wide grin. "Want company?"

*   *   *

According to Maya, Heavy owned a studio called Big Stuff Productions in Inglewood. Which ended up being a small set of offices with a coat of dingy off-white paint and cracked tile at the entrance. Graffiti in a variety of colors decorated the parking lot, and I suddenly had a small niggle of fear for my Roadster's wheels. This looked like the sort of neighborhood where tires went mysteriously missing. It didn't get much better, as we climbed a rickety wooden staircase to the second floor and something sticky attacked my palm on the banister. I grimaced at the clear substance and fished a bottle of hand sanitizer from my purse. There was just enough left to do the job. I seriously rubbed my hands together as we entered the Big Stuff Productions. Then I tossed the empty container in a wastebasket beside a metal and fake-wood desk. It was obvious the wood wasn't real, because there was a corner missing, and the exposed part looked like corkboard.

"Can I help you?" asked a young blonde woman in pigtails, a blue halter, black booty shorts, and platform wedges. She was adding a clear coat of polish to her neon-green nails and snapping gum like machine gun fire.

But it was okay because I refused to let a little gum popping bother Zen me. I would remain calm and not grimace or roll my eyes with each pop. No matter how annoying it became.

"We're here to see Heavy Cash," Sam told the girl.

"Yeah, you and every other hopeful comin' through that door." The girl paused to give Sam and me an up-and-down. "Honey, you in the wrong neighborhood if you think you can get a recording contract dressed like lawyers." She snorted.

I looked down at my knee-length black pencil skirt and cream-colored silk sleeveless top. While it was a few notches more professional than Halter Top, I didn't think I looked
that
bad.

"We're not here for a recording contract," Sam said.

Halter Top popped her gum. I took a deep breath and thought Zen—calming ocean sounds, chanting Tibetan monks, and lavender incense.

"Whadda ya want with Heavy then?" she asked. "He owe you money or something?"

I raised an eyebrow, suddenly wondering if Heavy Cash was having a cash flow problem.

"We want to ask him a few questions," Sam responded.

The young woman looked Sam up and down again, then went back to her nails. "He's busy."

Sam narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. "Aren't we all?"

The girl grunted and blew on her nails.

Sam started down the hall, and the girl jumped up and used her body to block my associate.

"I don't think so," Halter Top said.

Sam pushed up the sleeves of her blouse and looked like she wanted to deck the young woman. Not that Sam would. At least, I didn't think she would.

"Look, just tell him that we need to talk to him about Roger Claremont," I jumped in. While I would've enjoyed watching Sam make the girl stop popping that gum, I didn't want handling an assault charge added to my day's to-do list.

The girl rolled her eyes very dramatically, huffed, and walked down the short hall. She disappeared into a room and shut the door behind her. In a moment the door opened again, and the big man from the mall walked toward us. He wore a black tracksuit, white sneakers, the same cross at his neck, and black sunglasses. Bristol had been right. He didn't even take them off indoors.

He stopped a couple feet away from us and crossed his arms over his massive chest, staring down at us. While he seemed like a rough character when I spotted him at the mall, up close and in the confines of the dingy office, the effect was amplified. He had bad news written all over him, and I suddenly understood Bristol's immediate suspicion of him. I could totally see him shooting someone over a sandwich, and the weight of my Glock in my purse suddenly felt very comforting. "Who are you?" he demanded, taking a wide stance.