Dangerous Bond (Jamie Bond Mysteries Book 4) (6 page)

"My name is Jamie Bond," I replied, trying my best to match his intimidation level. Or at least not cower under it.

"So, what's that to me?" he asked.

"We're from the Bond Agency, and we're inquiring about Roger Claremont's death. I hear the two of you were friends."

He rubbed his chin. "You a cop?"

Ah, so now we were at the uncooperative portion of our conversation. I couldn't say I was exactly surprised. People didn't always want to talk to a PI. People who usually had something to hide.

I placed a hand on my hip. I may not be able to bench press a Buick, but I had a streak of tough-girl in me. I was used to people underestimating the blonde girl. Once.

"No, but I have the assistant district attorney on speed dial. Shall I call him?"

This would've been the perfect moment to see if any fear registered in his eyes. Darn glasses.

"All right. Fine. Let's talk." He waved a beefy hand and turned to reenter the room he'd come from.

Sam and I hurried after him. For a big guy, he walked pretty fast.

The room we entered was a recording studio. Halter Top was seated at the console, with her feet up on a chair beside her. And next to that was the other guy from the mall. The recording side of the room behind a glass partition was empty except for some hanging microphones.

Heavy swatted at the girl's platforms. "Get back up front."

She rose, made a big pink bubble with her gum, and then popped it just as she passed me.

Zen, Jamie. Zen.

"Sit," Heavy told us and dropped himself into the black leather chair the girl had just vacated.

A small, brown leather sofa was pushed up against the back wall. The room wasn't large, and the furniture was worn, but the equipment looked well taken care of. Sam and I sat down on the couch.

The thinner guy wore a black suit with a silver-and-white pinstripe tie. Though he was sporting a lot of jewelry as well. I noticed two huge diamond earrings in his ears, and a lot of rings on his fingers. "Who are they?" he asked Heavy.

"They're from the Bond Agency." To us, Heavy asked. "Are you private dicks?"

He and the other guy grinned and chuckled.

I wasn't nearly as amused. "Yes, we are. Can you tell us…"

"Who hired you?" the other guy asked.

Weren't we the ones asking the questions?

"Who are
you
?" I asked, turning the tables on him.

"This is my manager, Edwin Johnson," Heavy said.

Johnson nodded in my direction.

I gave him a curt nod back before turning to Heavy again.

"Mr. Cash," I said, feeling just a little silly calling him by his obvious stage name, "we just want to know what your relationship with Roger was."

He tilted his head back. "We didn't have no 'relationship.' I don't swing that way."

I did a mental eye roll. "I mean, I was told you were
friends
with Roger. Is that correct?"

"Yeah. So?"

"We know you and Mr. Johnson were at the mall at the opening of the Hoagies store with Roger just a few hours before he died. Where did you go after the mall?"

Heavy leaned back in his chair and nodded. Then he turned to his manager and said, "These girls are good. And cute. A little too skinny, but nice T&A."

I looked to Sam. "They are aware we're sitting right here, aren't they?"

Sam narrowed her eyes at the two men. "Oh yeah."

I turned back to the pair. "So where were you?"

Heavy shook his head. "What makes you think I'm gonna tell you?"

I shrugged. "You can tell the ADA if you like…" I trailed off, picking up my phone.

"Wait a minute," Johnson said, sitting up straighter in his seat. "No need for that. We haven't done anything wrong here."

I raised an eyebrow. "Answering my question would go a long way toward convincing me of that."

"We came straight here after the Hoagies opening. We threw down some tracks," Johnson said. He looked to Heavy for confirmation.

The big guy nodded slowly. "Yeah. We were here. Cool?"

Not cool. Heavy had an alibi. Assuming his manager could be trusted, this made my suspect list fold in half, and the only one remaining was the wife. Had she killed Roger after all?

The young woman popped—no pun intended—her head back in. "Heavy, there's a call from George."

He sprung up as fast as someone his size could spring. "I gotta take this."

When he and Halter Top left, I turned back to his manager.

"How do you know Roger?" I asked, still not seeing the sandwich king and Heavy Duty there as besties.

Johnson narrowed his eyes. "Like Heavy said, they were friends."

"How did they meet?"

Johnson's eyes went from me to Sam and back again. He was hiding something.

I turned to Sam. "You want to know what I think?" I asked her, taking a turn at talking about him as if
he
weren't in the room.

"What do you think, Jamie?" Sam asked, playing along.

"I think these two had something on Roger." I glanced at Johnson out of the corner of my eye. "Blackmail, debts. Or maybe they were just shaking Roger down for sandwich money to finance their next record."

"It's nothing like that!" Johnson protested, shaking his head vehemently.

"Then tell me what it is like," I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest.

The manager leaned toward us and lowered his voice, one eye on the doorway Heavy had exited through. "Listen. Heavy needs to lose some weight if he wants to go on tour again, okay? His health isn't great. He's got diabetes. So we hired Roger to be his personal weight loss coach."

I blinked at him. "Wait—Roger isn't a personal trainer. He just sells sandwiches."

Johnson nodded. "I know. That's Heavy's kind of diet."

Sam snorted beside me. "And how has that been going?"

"He's been eating subs for every meal," Johnson said proudly. "Just a matter of time before the pounds start falling off."

I didn't even try to hide the eye roll this time.

The door opened, and Heavy returned. I thought about asking him what kind of subs he'd been eating, but I figured his weight was his business. Plus, I really didn't want to get on the wrong side of this big guy.

"Tell me about Roger," I asked the rapper instead.

Heavy looked to Johnson as if asking permission to speak. I saw Johnson give him a small nod of the head. Clearly the guy in the suit was the brains of the operation.

"Roger was a cool dude," Heavy finally answered. "He wasn't all pompous like some of those celebrities get."

Maybe because he wasn't really a celebrity, unless you were a mayo groupie. But I bit back the smart remark, letting Heavy continue.

"He was a laid-back cat. Had a thing for Guinness. Boy, that man could down a pint like nobody's business." He chuckled, and his belly shook. Then he got serious. "I didn't kill him."

No one had asked him that. Was he feeling guilty about something?

"Did he ever discuss his personal life? Ever mention any enemies?" I asked.

"Nah," he said, lowering himself into an office chair. It groaned under his weight. Clearly it didn't believe Heavy was slimming down by eating hot pastramis any more than I did.

"What about any issues at work?" I pushed.

Heavy shook his head. "None that he mentioned. Those Hoagies dudes took care of him right. You know what I mean?"

The man couldn't have led a charmed life. If he had, he wouldn't have been dead.

"Had he been getting along with his wife?" Sam jumped in.

Heavy leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Yeah, it was great, when she wasn't spending all his money and robbing the dude blind."

That was exactly what I was afraid of.

"Anything else you can tell me about Roger?" I grasped, feeling like I was losing our audience.

Johnson and Heavy shook their heads in unison. Heavy crossed his arms over his chest.

"We done?" While it was ostensibly a question, the tone in his voice didn't leave much room for argument.

I nodded, and Sam and I left before we overstayed our welcome. I wasn't sure what happened to people who overstayed in Heavy's world, but I was sure I didn't want to find out. Plus, I wanted to get out of there with four tires.

"You believe that alibi?" Sam asked as we made our way back out into the blaring sunshine.

I shrugged. "Hard to say. Johnson could have easily been lying for him."

Sam nodded. "That's what I was thinking too."

"Though, I'm not sure why he'd want Roger dead. I mean, if he was counting on him as a weight loss coach, it's better to have him alive, right?"

"Unless Heavy
wasn't
losing weight," Sam pointed out.

I glanced back up at the building. Honestly? Heavy seemed like the kind of guy who'd kill over a couple of pounds without any qualms.

"So," Sam asked as we walked back to my car (which was thankfully untouched except for a small offering from a pigeon), "what now?"

I fished my phone out of my bag and checked the time. "I figure Bristol has surrendered herself and is in police custody right now. Might be a good time to ask the ADA how solid her alibi is."

I dropped Sam off at the office and headed across town in midafternoon traffic to the DA's. That wasn't an easy feat to accomplish without stress. Let's just say that by the time I pulled up to the government building, my chanting monks and soothing lavender had turned to thoughts of a martini with a Rueben and onion ring chaser.

When I stepped off the elevator, a receptionist I'd never seen before sat behind the front desk. She was young—couldn't have been more than twenty-five. Her bright-auburn hair sat on top of her head in a confused state. I couldn't figure out if she'd just pinned up the back, not caring about the ends that lay haphazardly, or if it had been a bun and the bobby pins jumped ship. Either way, she needed a mirror and a comb.

Self-consciously, I smoothed the back of my head with my hand, making sure my hair didn't follow suit.

The receptionist looked up to me and gave me a huge smile. "Hello, may I help you?" Her voice was high pitched and lilting, and I definitely heard a Valley Girl twang.

"Hi. I'm Jamie Bond here to see ADA Prince." For some reason I ran a nervous palm down the side of my black pencil skirt.

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked.

"Uh…" I hadn't expected this to be difficult. I just needed to pop my head into his office to grill him. Our usual routine. Maybe I should've called first.

"Jamie?"

The receptionist and I both looked up toward the voice. Standing a few feet behind her was Aiden. I watched as a slow smile spread across his features, a twinkle catching his eyes that made him look like a kid who'd just spotted a candy bar. He also looked yummy enough to eat, in a charcoal-gray suit with a light-blue button-down beneath.

"Thank you," I whispered to the receptionist and walked to Aiden's side.

He watched my steps, his eyes traveling from my face to my hot-pink and zebra-print pumps to the swing of my hips. He hadn't missed a step, and I may have slowed mine down just so I could watch him watch me. By the time I was at his side, that twinkle had darkened into a deep, stormy blue, and my cheeks were getting warm. Didn't they have AC on in this place?

"What a pleasant surprise. Let's go to my office." He grabbed my elbow and led me down the corridor.

Maybe it was the soft pull of the carpet or the jelly in my legs, but my knees may have buckled once at his warm touch. Definitely not more than twice.

He pushed open his door just enough that my shoulder brushed against his chest as I entered. If I was the suspicious type, the one who didn't believe in coincidences, I'd say that he purposely made me touch him. And I'd have to say that I really didn't mind.

"Take a seat," he said and walked around the large desk to his own leather chair.

I'd been in his office several times, but for some reason it felt smaller today, and the air was heavy with his musky scent.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "Is that a new skirt? It fits you like a glove," he said.

My breath hitched. I hadn't been expecting the compliment. And while I'd had a suspicion that he was watching my butt as we'd walked to his office, it was unlike Gentleman Aiden to say so. I felt my cheeks go warm. But I had to admit, I didn't necessarily hate this new bold side.

"Um, thank you. I-I…" I almost forgot why I was there. "About Mrs. Claremont. Did she turn herself in?"

"Yes, she and her lawyer came here this morning." He paused. "And the fact that you know that means you must still be working for her."

"Yes, I am."

He raised an eyebrow. "She has other cheating husbands?"

I cleared my throat, not sure if he was flirting with me or making fun of me. "No, she wants me to look into her husband's death."

"The police are already looking into it."

"The police are looking at
her.
"

He nodded, that slow smile spreading over his face again. I noticed his eyes leaving mine and sliding lower, ending somewhere in the region of my silk blouse. "Touché."

I barely resisted the urge to fidget under his hot gaze. "Mrs. Claremont said she had an alibi for the time her husband died. She told me she was at a hair salon on Rodeo."

His eyes moved up to meet mine with deliberate slowness. If I didn't know better, I'd say he wanted me to catch him staring at my breasts. "Did she?" he asked.

"I'm assuming she told you the same story?"

Aiden nodded.

"And did you look into the alibi?"

He crossed his hands in his lap, looking very cool and unaffected—by either my questions or the sudden heat in the room. Seriously, where was the AC?

"We did follow up on her story. However, the timeline didn't fit."

I felt a frown crease my forehead. "So she wasn't at Lucerne's having her hair done?"

"She had been, but according to her stylist, the receptionist, and another patron, Mrs. Claremont left a solid hour and a half before her husband was killed. She could have easily made it home in time."

Perhaps… "But her car wasn't there," I protested.

"If I was going to shoot my spouse, I wouldn't leave my car in the driveway in case someone passed by."

He was right. I guess I'd just hoped she hadn't been lying to me.

"So you're charging her?"

He paused. "We're questioning her. Whether we formally make the arrest depends on what she tells the detectives with her now."

"Which means you don't really have a case yet?" I asked, trying to read between his lines.

He shrugged. "Our theory? She could have been in the house and left through the side or back as you and your associates were entering. As for motive—she killed him for the money instead of going through a messy and possibly less-than-lucrative divorce."

How very interesting. Not only his theory about Mrs. Claremont but also that Aiden was telling me all of this.

"Unless you have other theories…" Aiden trailed off, looking at me expectantly.

And there was the reason. I narrowed my eyes at him and shook my head in the negative.

Aiden leaned toward his desk and gave me a sly smile. "Come on, Bond. I showed you mine. Now you show me yours." The seductive edge in his voice was not lost on me. Why did I have the feeling he wasn't just talking about trading intel on Bristol Claremont?

But I shook my head again. "You know I can't break client confidentiality."

He stood up, nodded, and walked around to the front of his desk. He sat on the edge, his knees a mere inch from mine. "I understand that. And I applaud your professionalism. I respect you, Jamie Bond."

I raised an eyebrow his way. Predictable Aiden was anything but today.

"Now, if you have any other questions about Mrs. Claremont…" he started.

Then he did something even more unpredictable.

Aiden reached down, grabbed my hands, and gently pulled me up to stand directly in front of him. He tugged my body flush with his. Every nerve ending in my body was on full alert. The desire in his eyes was obvious…and infectious.

With our bodies a mere inch apart, he finished in a low, husky tone, "…you can ask me at dinner tonight."

I sucked in a breath. Was he asking me out? It felt like more of a demand, but in all honesty it wasn't one I'd have any problems complying with. I felt myself nodding dumbly.

"I'll pick you up at eight." His eyes trailed down to my chest again.

If I were the swooning type, I would've been a swooning puddle. I nodded dumbly again as his gaze moved up to meet mine. We stayed frozen in that spot, staring into one another's eyes. Neither of us moved or even seemed to breathe. I wished I was able to step into his mind and hear what he was thinking. As for my own thoughts, they were impure and involved chocolate sauce and inappropriate body parts.

The phone on his desk buzzed, and the receptionist's Valley Girl voice interrupted my fantasy. "Mr. Prince, there's an Elliot Chandler here to see you. He says it's urgent."

Aiden's chest rose and fell deeply. Then he gave me a half smile and reached back to the phone. "Tell him I'll be with him shortly." Then to me, he said, "A witness for a case. I'm sorry to cut this short."

I stepped back and cleared my throat. "No, I understand. I'll see you tonight."

I headed for the door. He followed me with his hand on the small of my back. Then he reached for the knob, but instead of opening the door, he just stood there staring at me.

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Me too." I swallowed hard. My body was still in a high-alert state. My pulse raced, butterflies had invaded my stomach, and I was so very hot. I wasn't physically or mentally ready to step out of this office. Mostly because I wasn't sure I could take a step without my knees turning to Jell-O.

"Why don't you wear that red dress? The one you wore the first time I met you."

The first time we'd met I was undercover at a charity benefit. I'd worn a red strapless evening gown.

"Where are we going?" I couldn't imagine any restaurant in the area that was a white-tie event.

"Leave that to me." He opened the door.

*   *   *

After leaving Aiden, I was pumped and hungry. According to Maya, I had new prospective clients coming in later in the afternoon, so I only had enough time for a quick lunch. I didn't want to eat alone, but mentally going through lunch candidates left me leaving my cell in my purse. Danny and I had just had breakfast together, and Derek was being…well, Derek. That left the girls. Maya was having lunch with her mom, and Sam had a dentist appointment. Caleigh said she was just going to pick up a Hoagie and eat at her desk, but maybe I could catch her before she grabbed a sandwich.

I dialed her phone.

"Hey, Boss, what's up?"

"I was wondering if you've gotten lunch yet. It's gorgeous out, and I'd rather not eat alone."

"Are we talking about Hoagies?" There was excitement in her tone.

I chuckled. "That's fine. There's one not too far from where I am now. I'm at Aiden's office."

"I'll meet you there. I'm on my way."

I parked out front of the Hoagies and waited for Caleigh in my car. My stomach had started to grumble, and I didn't want to stand in the store and salivate. To pass the time, I played a riveting game of Candy Crush on my phone and then let it charge for a bit because that game drained my battery.

Caleigh pulled up beside me, waved, and then drove ahead until she found a vacant spot.

I grabbed my phone and purse and met her on the sidewalk. We walked inside, and I was so glad to see only one customer ahead of us.

"What can I get for you?" asked the Hoagies employee.

We each ordered the Roger special, except I added banana peppers to mine for an extra kick, and Caleigh asked for a squirt of oil and vinegar. This store had a self-serve soda machine, so we took our cups and filled them with soda. Then we sat at one of the tables by the windows.

Caleigh bit into her sub and smiled. "This tastes even better than the one from earlier."

I frowned, not sure what she meant. "Earlier today?"

She nodded.

So I had called her too late. "You already had lunch?"

"Yeah, but that was like a whole hour ago, and I only had coffee for breakfast. So, really it was kinda like brunch."

I sipped my soda and marveled at her logic. It made sense.

We ate in silence. It just tasted better that way. Then while we digested, she asked how it had gone with Heavy Cash. I filled her in and noticed that she hadn't asked about my being at Aiden's office. Maybe she didn't want to pry, or she assumed I'd talk about it if I wanted to. I was grateful because I wasn't sure I could do anything but blush if she brought it up. Plus, I figured there would be so much more to tell tomorrow—after our dinner.

When we got back to the office, Maya handed me a manila folder and informed me that my new clients were waiting in my office.

When I entered, I walked around my desk and stared at an older couple. According to Maya's notes, they were Mr. and Mrs. Henderson. They were in their sixties, both fair complexioned, and the husband had light-brown hair that was graying at the temples. He wore khaki pants with a light-green polo shirt.

Mrs. Henderson had a blue-and-white floral scarf around her head, so I couldn't tell her hair color, but I got the sense that she was either bald or was close to it. Her brown eyes were clear and focused, but her face looked tired and sickly. She wore a white blouse and khaki pants as well.

People said that when couples spent their lives together, they started to resemble one another. Mr. and Mrs. Henderson definitely had that going on.

I shook each of their hands and immediately noted Mrs. Henderson wasn't swift getting up out of her chair, but her smile was bright and infectious.

I sat down. "So how can I help you today?"

The husband cleared his throat but didn't answer. He glanced to his wife with tenderness, but as he looked away, it morphed to something closer to annoyance. I raised an eyebrow, my radar perking. It wasn't common to have both spouses in my office together in the first place, let alone one annoyed one.