Unbreakable Bond Page 12

  Her apartment turned out to be a penthouse. We stepped off the private elevator, and I nearly gasped. It wasn’t as large as I imagined, but I could tell that the place had set her uncle back mega bucks. There was no way she afforded this on her own.

  A gas fireplace snuggled against the back wall beside the L-shaped stairs, opposite the elevator. The other two walls consisted of glass, floor-to-ceiling windows. To say the view was breathtaking was an understatement.

  Everyone pushed through the doors, settling onto her leather furniture, turning on the stereo, lighting a fire, despite the blowing A/C. She must have had these impromptu gatherings often. They all fell into a groove, as if each person had their own task.

  I made my way to the windows beside the stairs, calculating how long before I could slip away and investigate upstairs.

  Dakota and another woman emerged from a side room with several bottles of champagne. Corks popped, and someone handed me a glass of champagne before making a toast.

  I joined them in the center of the living room.

  "To Dakota, the best supermodel DeLine has ever known."

  Everyone cheered. I bit my tongue.

  The elevator doors opened and Garret and Chloe stepped into the room. I felt a lift of hope grab at my stomach. Maybe my Shooting Stars connection wasn't a colossal bust after all.

  Garret did a quick survey of the room, immediately meeting my eyes. He patted his jacket pocket and winked.

  Bingo.

  This night just kept getting better.

  My heels clicked across Dakota's hardwood floors as I quickly cozied up to my "supplier", despite Chloe’s scowl.

  "Where’s your friend?" he asked me.

  "She couldn’t make it."

  "I’m glad you did."

  I caught my delighted reflection in his eyes. "Me too."

  Chloe dramatically yawned then walked over to Skinny Jeans.

  "She doesn't seem to like me," I pointed out, as soon as she was out of earshot.

  Garret shrugged. "We’ve been close our whole lives. I’ve helped her out of a lot of jams. She feels she needs to look out for my best interests, too."

  "And clearly she doesn't see me as in your best interests."

  He grinned. "I'm sure once she gets to know you, she'll have a change of heart."

  I glanced her way. Although she talked to Skinny Jeans, she was still shooting daggers my way.

  I felt like telling her not to worry. Beyond tonight, I had no use for either of the Club Kid siblings.

  I grabbed Garret's arm, ignoring looks from his sister, and followed him into the center of the room where he nabbed a glass of champagne. Then he pulled me down next to him on one of the gleaming white sofas and reached into his jacket pocket.

  "Here." He held out his hand and dropped two nondescript, white pills into my palm. "Only one at a time."

  "They’ll send me to the moon?" I asked, turning them over.

  "All the way and back."

  "Thanks. I hope they weren’t hard for you to get."

  He popped one into his mouth and swallowed it dry. "Not at all. You just need the right connections."

  I raised my hand to my mouth and pretended to take a pill. I sipped from my glass, tossed my head back for affect, and dropped both pills into my clutch.

  "You know, I was a little worried when you disappeared earlier," I told him. "I wasn't sure you were coming back."

  He grinned at me. "Baby, I wouldn't pass up an opportunity like this." His hand went around my shoulders, his fingers squeezing suggestively at my bare arm.

  I looked up at him through my eyelashes. "I'm glad you weren't gone long. Your connection was nearby?"

  He nodded. "I got connections all over. Don't you worry. Anything you want, I can get."

  Scary. But I was interested in just one connection in particular tonight.

  "I got the feeling your connection was at the club," I hinted coyly.

  Garret just smiled, his eyes lazy as he watched me.

  "Don't tell me... it's that bartender with the spiked hair, right?" I fished, watching him for any indication I was on the right track.

  But he just grinned wider. I couldn't tell if it was the drugs taking effect already or if he thought he was being seductive.

  I was trying to phrase my next question, when Skinny Jeans hailed Garret from the other side of the room. My "date" turned his lazy gaze toward his friend, excusing himself as he got up.

  As frustrated as I was at not getting a name out of him, I recognized an opportunity to slip upstairs when I saw one.

  I mumbled, "Restroom," to anyone who might have been within earshot and quickly made my way up the marble tiled staircase.

  A hallway led off the landing in two directions. To the right, I spied a guest bathroom, to the left a series of what looked like bedrooms.

  I passed a guest room, neat, professionally decorated, and unused looking. Another followed, similarly outfitted with brass furniture and floral bedding that clearly spoke to an older decorating hand than Dakota's. I passed by, going for a set of closed double doors at the end of the hallway. I slowly grabbed the handles and pushed one down.

  It opened, and a hint of rose petals greeted me. I paused, listening for sounds within. I had tried to keep tabs on everyone at the party, but I couldn't be certain someone hadn't slipped up here for a little private time. Luckily, only my own breath greeted my ears. I slipped inside, quickly shutting the doors behind me.

  A small bedside lamp cast a soft glow over the room. A large, pink-clad bed took up one side of the room, an array of cocktail dresses cast off on its surface. Shoes, handbags, an assortment of cosmetics littered the rest of the room, the mess clashing with the custom furnishings in dark woods with gleaming silver fittings. A huge portrait of Dakota in a bikini hung above the bed. Tacky.

  I raided the dresser first, opening the top drawer, looking for anything that might point toward the girl's guilt. I pushed around panties, bras, tee shirts, camisoles, teddys, pjs, shorts. But the only thing I learned was that Dakaota's lingerie tended toward the slutty, and she had a distinct favoritism toward leopard prints.

  I was just moving on to the closet when I heard footsteps echo in the hallway outside the door.

  I froze.

  "Dakota?" I heard a voice call.

  It was Skinny Jeans. I quickly tiptoed to the closet, stepping into a walk-in larger than my entire office, and closed the door behind me. I backed into the corner, slowly, held my breath and stepped on several pairs of pumps. The heels knocked together, sounding explosive to my super-hyped ears.

  The bedroom door opened. "Dakota?" the guy called. "You in here?"

  I held my breath.

  Footsteps moved into the room, making a slow circle. Finally they paused, then retreated back the way they'd come, shutting the bedroom door behind them.

  I waited a beat, forcing my breathing to return to normal. It was only a matter of minutes before someone noticed I was missing and came looking again.

  I opened the doors, doing a quick scan of the closet, before deciding it held nothing more incriminating than an array of slutty clothes at designer prices.

  Feeling borrowed time tick by, I flew around the room like a whirlwind, checking the nightstands and under the bed - looking for anything that said Dakota might have been the one to hire Donna. Or that she knew who did.

  I spun through the master bath, quickly going through medicine cabinets and countless make-up drawers. While Dakota had an impressive number of prescriptions for such a seemingly young and healthy girl, none matched the pills Garret had given me.

  I was running out of places to look.

  I scanned the room, a black bookcase along the back wall the only place I'd yet to tear apart. Rather than holding a library of actual books, there were dozens of framed photos arranged on the shelves, most of them holding pictures of Dakota in various poses. I took a step toward it, grabbing a black, leather-bound book from the top shelf. I flipped it
open, greeted by an eight-by-ten glossy of Dakota on a beach. Her modeling portfolio.

  While I knew there was nothing here that related to her uncle's death, I couldn't help idle curiosity getting the better of me. I thumbed through a few pages, seeing photos of her in evening gowns, contorting into ridiculous poses that I knew only too well. There were quite a few bikini shots, a couple that I recognized as having been shot in Malibu. And one, I noticed, honing in on a photo halfway through the book, that looked eerily familiar. Dakota was posed on a cropping of jagged rocks, overlooking the Pacific, her eyes looking out to sea, her body curled protectively over itself in an artful way that somehow still looked graceful. I knew this location. And I knew that pose. It was the same one I'd been instructed to take by my photographer years ago.

  With my heart thudding wildly in my chest, I flipped the page over, checking the photographer's imprint on the back.

  And almost dropped the book when I read it.

  Daniel Flynn.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  _____

  Time stood still as I stared at the imprinted name, my mind racing.

  Okay, so Danny had photographed her. He'd photographed lots of girls. DeLine used him all the time. It stood to reason that Dakota had spent some time in front of his camera.

  What didn't stand to reason was that Danny hadn't mentioned it. I'd been searching for a link between Donna Martinez and the judge, but staring me in the face was an even more important link. One between the judge and me. Why had I specifically been picked to be the scapegoat to his murder? Was it coincidence that one of my closest friends knew the niece of the guy I was accused of killing?

  But even as I mentally chewed on that thought, I knew the answer. I'd never believed in coincidence before, and now was a lousy time to start.

  Danny purposely hadn’t mentioned her. Why?

  The book trembled in my unsteady hands. Anxiety, anger and betrayal washed over me all at once in a muddy swirl.

  Danny had wanted me to hire an attorney. He'd urged me to turn myself in. He'd gotten angry when I'd said Aiden believed me, that I was meeting with him. At the time, I'd thought it was some over-protective, macho gesture. But what if the hide he'd been protecting was not mine but his own?

  I'd known Danny for years. Even as I saw evidence of his lie staring me in the face, I had a hard time believing he would deliberately set me up to take the fall for murder.

  But he was definitely involved. And definitely hiding something.

  I flipped through the pages of the book, checking imprints on the back now, not the actual images. At least a dozen bore Danny's name. I felt sicker with each one, my stomach rolling on itself. I shut the book, shoved it back on the shelf.

  Just as the bedroom door opened, and Dakota stepped inside.

  Shit.

  Her eyes widened, then she frowned. "What are you doing in here?"

  I blinked, not prepared for an interrogation, my mind still racing with the million WTF's the portfolio had inspired.

  "Well?" she asked again, shutting the door behind her.

  I clutched my stomach, knowing damn well I appeared shaken and about to lose it. "I wasn’t feeling well and was looking for a restroom. The other one was full," I lamely explained.

  She stared at me for a long minute then scrunched her nose up. "Well, if you're gonna be sick, please don't do it in here. Like, go use the kitchen sink or something."

  I nodded. "Right. Sorry." Then I practically sprinted out of the room without hesitation. When she closed the door behind me, I figured it was the perfect time to make my escape. I slipped down the staircase, quickly grabbed my purse from the sofa, and slipped out the door before anyone even noticed I was gone.

  * * *

  A cab dropped me off back at the club where I grabbed my car and immediately drove toward the office. It was a risk, but I needed answers, and this was the only place to get them.

  I moved slowly, first checking the street for unassuming cars that looked like detectives in cheap suits lived in them, then scanning the building for any sign of new surveillance cameras. All looked clear. And eerily quiet.

  I made my way down the hall in the dark. No sense in attracting any possible attention from outside. I hit my office, then I pulled my blinds shut tight and flipped on the lamp beside my computer.

  My leather chair embraced me like an old pair of jeans, worn and comfortable in all the right places. I closed my eyes and listened to the silence, needing a moment to recoup.

  I switched on my computer while mentally replaying every conversation Danny and I'd had in the past week. Funny how one little piece of information could put an entirely different spin on everything he'd said to me.

  While I typed Dakota’s name into a search engine, I wondered if Danny had really betrayed me for the leggy model. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done something stupid over a woman. I hadn't pegged Dakota as the brains behind the murder plot, but it's certainly possible she was a better actress than I gave her credit for.

  Links to Dakota's website, Facebook and Twitter accounts popped up on my screen. Several articles showed her photo shoots in Seventeen and Glamour; one looked demure and teen-like while the other was full vamp. An interview listed her favorite movie as American Pie and her favorite dessert as apple because it reminded her of the film.

  I added Danny’s name to the search engine and received several mentions of them together on a photo shoot in Brazil. That was last year.

  My stomach rolled again. Had they known each other that long? It gave them an awful lot of time to get cozy. And an awful lot of time for Dakaota to milk Danny for info about yours truly. I wondered how willingly he'd given it.

  I browsed a few more pages, picking up little bits and pieces about Dakota that meant nothing on their own, but I filed them away for future info anyway. Then I turned off the computer and grabbed a camera from my bottom desk drawer. An old Nikon that Danny had given me a couple of years back when he was updating his equipment.

  I tucked it into my jacket beside my Glock and headed out.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was parked across from Danny’s apartment, a block down the street. I faced the door, taking a front row seat to any activity to or from the building. It was too early, too dark for him to be awake.

  But I could wait.

  * * *

  A horn honked, and I jumped. I rubbed my eyes, smearing day-old mascara and eyeliner.

  It was daylight, dawn. The sky was a pale grey, but the sun hadn’t risen yet. I blinked into the hazy morning.

  The horn blasted again, and I turned to glare. A car sat perpendicular to mine, only a couple of feet away. The windows were down, and a woman yelled obscenities at the car in front of her, which was idle at the stop sign.

  She gripped her cell phone in one hand and a coffee in the other. The older man in the front car flipped up his middle finger then sped around the corner.

  Good morning, L.A.

  Miss Obscenities drove on using the tips of her fingers to steer. She never even noticed me.

  I grabbed my cell off the passenger seat. Six o’clock. I stretched, as best as possible behind a steering wheel, and considered driving down the block to get a cup of coffee. But I didn’t want to miss Danny leave. He’d be up and out soon.

  I grabbed the camera and took a few shots of the front of his building. Then waited. My stomach rumbled, and I fished through the glove compartment for a piece of gum, a leftover fortune cookie, anything. But all I found were ketchup packets, napkins and a book of matches.

  For a brief moment I wondered if heated ketchup would satisfy the hunger.

  I played with my phone and discovered two voicemails. I dialed in and listened. The first one was from Derek, wanting a recap of the night. His tone sounded edgy and concerned.

  I made a mental note to call him later, then deleted the message and went on to the second.

  It was from Caleigh. "You haven't checked in. I'm worried. And when I worry I get
those tiny lines between my brows, and you know how I feel about lines. So call me when you get this."

  I smiled at her concern, then quickly shot her a text telling her I was okay.

  Relatively speaking.

  Movement up ahead made me look up. The building door opened, and a pair of tall, athletic blondes bounced out. Danny’s neighbors in 4B. He said they were Pilates instructors who had yet to give him the time of day. It hadn’t stopped him from repeatedly trying, though.

  They walked down the street and out of sight.

  I set the camera on my lap, my body humming, ready for action. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, trying an old meditation technique I'd learned during my first photo shoot in lingerie. Filming in see-through lace at seventeen hadn’t sounded like a nerve-wracking idea until I got onto the set and saw all the cameras and people gawking. Luckily, one of the makeup artists taught me how to tune everyone else out through relaxation.

  I continued the breaths until my pulse calmed.

  Just as the door opened, and Danny stepped outside.

  I lifted the camera and took a couple of shots.

  He blinked at the sky and shielded his eyes with his hand, as if sunlight blinded him. Knowing him, he’d just climbed out of bed and hadn’t pulled up a shade yet.

  I continued to watch him through the lens.

  He was top and shoeless, only wearing grey sweats and a smile. What was he grinning at? He glanced back at the door.

  It opened further, and out stepped Dakota, still dressed in the black linen shorts and nude colored halter she’d worn at the club.

  Her appearance sucker punched me in the gut, and all those relaxing deep breaths gushed out my window.

  "Son of a bitch."

  Dakota reached up on tippy-toes and planted a firm kiss on Danny’s mouth.

  The "special guy" who'd bought her the purse I'd admired at the club. The hushed conversation with someone in the limo. It had been Danny. Had she been telling him about me? Warning him that I was getting close?

  I jabbed and released the camera's button continuously. The shutter opened and closed in rapid speed, echoing like distant gun fire.