Lethal Bond: Jamie Bond Mysteries Book #3 Read online

  "Oh, honey," I said, "what on Earth possessed you to do that?"

  Caleigh plopped into her desk chair. "He's always going on and on about how I need to settle down and do the housewife thing, have babies, you know. With Mama gone, he's been pushing my sisters and me harder than usual. So, to get him off my back, I blurted out, 'Surprise, I'm engaged.'"

  Surprise indeed.

  She held out her left hand and showed us a ring with a rock as big as my thumb. "It's not real. Just a two-carat, marquis Cubic Zirconia. I bought it off Amazon and had it shipped overnight. Isn't it beautiful though?"

  While she admired her fake diamond, Sam and I exchanged looks again. Sam was right. Caleigh's behavior was beyond any she normally displayed.

  "This was my Mama's wedding dress, when she married Daddy. He sent it up so I could wear it, like I always said I wanted to." She sniffled. "Wasn't that sweet of him?"

  I stepped closer. "It is, but how long do you think you can keep up this pretense?"

  Caleigh shrugged. "I was kinda hoping forever."

  "Just tell him the truth," Sam said.

  Her eyes widened. She looked like Sam had raised a palm and struck her. "Are you kidding? There's no way I am going back on anything. He'd never let me forget it. Oh no, I'd endure phone call after phone call about how much I pained and embarrassed him. I'm sure he's told everyone we know from back home. That man is as stubborn as they come." Her tone had hardened.

  I thought of Derek. I knew exactly what it was like to have an interfering father who thought he knew best. About everything.

  Sam groaned. Her father was Command Sergeant Major Cross. She also knew it all too well.

  "How can we help?" I asked.

  Caleigh wiped the corners of her eyes. "Right now, he's on his way to visit my sister in Florida. He'll be here in L.A. the week after. He's staying for five days and four nights, so I only have to pretend for less than a week. It can't be that hard, right?"

  In theory, maybe not, except… "What happens when he wants to meet his future son-in-law?" I asked, hoping she'd realize how insane this was and figure out a way to call it off. There was no reason her father would hold it against her if she and her mysterious fiancé suddenly called their engagement off.

  "Well, that's where I'm planning on begging someone to play along."

  "Someone?" Sam asked. "Like a stranger off the street?"

  Caleigh scrunched up her face. "No, I asked Danny."

  Sam chuckled.

  I froze. "My Danny?" Well, not that he was mine exactly but…

  "Why is that funny?" Caleigh asked Sam, ignoring me.

  Sam glanced to me. I wasn't sure if she was looking for help or if she heard me. Either way, she faced Caleigh and frowned. "Because this is crazy. You can't pretend to be engaged."

  Caleigh stood and went back to admiring herself in the mirror. "Why not? People do it all the time."

  "What people? The ones on soap operas? They don't exactly count. Besides you can't do it with…him."

  From the mirror's reflection, I watched Sam cock her head toward me.

  It took Caleigh a moment. Then she turned and grabbed my arms. "Oh my goodness, I didn't mean to upset you. I mean, I didn't even really mean to ask Danny. That afternoon I visited him in the hospital, I'd just heard from Daddy, and I was rambling, and the idea popped into my head."

  Her eyes widened when she said, "popped," all animated-like. She let me go and took a step back. "If it makes you uncomfortable, well, I'll just find someone else."

  When she stopped speaking, she gasped for air.

  Sam had scrunched up her mouth and squinted, as if she was anticipating my response and assumed it would entail yelling or crying or something less than pleasant. Which surprised me considering she knew me well enough to know I did neither of the two. Usually.

  "It's fine," I said. And it was. Danny and I were just friends. Like Aiden, Danny could see, pretend with, and date whomever he wanted.

  "You're sure?" Sam asked, giving me her best get real look.

  "Positive." And I was. Even if the odd twist in the pit of my stomach at the thought of Danny cozying up to my hottest employee as her fiancé wasn't as convinced.

  * * *

  The rest of my morning after Caleigh's fake engagement announcement entailed listening to Mrs. Griffin ranted about her adulterous thief of a future ex-husband. She muttered words like "divorce, public humiliation, and Lorena Bobbitt." Then she dialed the police, ratted on her husband's panty heists, paid her bill, and walked out. Hopefully I'd never see either of them again, but I also hoped I wouldn't find out on the evening news that Mr. Griffin was missing his family jewels.

  After ridding myself of one pain in the butt, I went to meet the other—Derek. By the time I pulled up to the greasy roadside taco joint, he was already in line. I grimaced as I joined him. The place was clearly his choice. Definitely not mine. Mine would've included white tablecloths and actual silverware, rather than plastic sporks. Four walls would've been nice too. The fact that there were three people ahead of us and at least eight behind made me feel a bit safer about eating here. But just a bit. I couldn't help but visually inspect the area, looking out for roaches or puppy-sized rodents as Derek greeted me with his usual, "Hey, kid."

  It seemed clean, but I still had my doubts.

  Derek ordered fish tacos for both of us. Sometimes I hated that he knew me so well. Normally I'd make a stink about a guy ordering for me without asking, but the fact was, they were my fave. Plus, I was starved and had to admit everything smelled great.

  We grabbed our plates of tacos, refried beans, and rice with a bottles of water (for me) and a Corona (for Derek, whose philosophy in life centered around it always being five o'clock somewhere) and headed to an empty picnic table.

  "Since when do you eat fish?" I asked, sliding onto the seat. I would've assumed he'd order the beef, or if they had it, roasted pig slathered in barbecue sauce.

  "I've been trying to make some changes. Give the old ticker a fighting chance."

  I eyed him suspiciously. "Hmmm."

  He had dark circles under his eyes. He wasn't sleeping. I tried not to imagine what activities or sexual athletics could be keeping him awake. If this was three years ago or even three months, I'd assume he was worried about my taking over the business, but we were past that now.

  I hoped.

  I bit into my first taco. A mixture of mild fish, lemon, red cabbage, a hint of mayo, and saltiness exploded in my mouth. Oh wow, this was good.

  I must've made my everything-is-right-with-the-world face because Derek grinned and nodded. "I knew you'd like it. I know my food."

  I scoffed. Loudly. He was far from a foodie. While the tacos were great, he also used this same enthusiasm when ordering a Big Mac value meal at McDonalds.

  "What?" he asked, looking mildly offended.

  "This is your idea of fancy dining. Just because the meal tastes great doesn't mean I want to share it with flies and mosquitoes."

  He waved a hand at my words. "Pfft. What's wrong with it? You don't need a reservation. There's no wait. You can usually get a table right away."

  There were ten tables total. One was empty at the moment.

  "José, the owner and cook, is always polite, and if you're one of his favorites, he gives you extra beans."

  I glanced to Derek's plate. Sure enough, his scoop of mashed gook was higher than mine. "So you'll be extra gassy? That's wonderful."

  Derek narrowed his eyes. "And the food is delicious."

  I nodded. "I'll give you the delicious part."

  We went about stuffing our bellies in silence. Derek shoveled the refried beans into his mouth as if he was in a race. A glob of it landed on his white Polo shirt. He scraped it off and ignored the stain it left behind. He wasn't a total slob. He may not have always noticed toast crumbs on his kitchenette counter, or a coffee spoon stain, but he always showered and laundered and generally took enough care with his appearance to keep the b
aby boomer women of L.A. county swooning over his charm. But I knew that shirt would end up without pre-cleaners, and next time he wore it, he wouldn't even notice that brown spot.

  About half way through my second taco, I stopped searching for signs of an expired health inspection and managed to calm down enough to enjoy my meal.

  Then Derek cleared his throat. "So, listen, I need a favor."

  I sighed around a mouthful. "I knew a free lunch was too good to be true."

  He shook his head. "Don't be like that. This is quality father-daughter time."

  I refrained from eye rolling. "If you say so. What do you want?"

  "I'm heading out of town for a couple of days. No big deal, but I need you to cover for me."

  I paused, narrowing my eyes. "Cover what?"

  He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Elaine wanted to know where I was going."

  "And?"

  "And I kinda don't want her knowing."

  I shook my head, giving him my best I-can't-believe-your-the-parent-and-I'm-the-child look. Elaine was Derek's girlfriend, though he wouldn't actually use those commitment-worthy words. But they'd been seeing one another steadily for a couple of months, which was like a lifetime in old man-whore years.

  "I told her it had to do with you," he explained. "An infidelity case you're working on."

  Since that's all we worked on it was a safe lie. Well, all Derek knew about, at least. What I did privately at the ADA's office was none of his concern. Derek was only interested in what brought in the cash.

  "So what's the catch?" I asked.

  He took a gulp of beer. "I'm not sure she believed me, so I want you to back me up and keep an eye on her while I'm gone."

  Keep an eye on her? What was she, five?

  "Seriously? I'm not lying to Elaine so you can run off with some other woman."

  He slammed his bottle on the table. "I'm not cheating on Elaine."

  That surprised me coming from Derek. The world "cheating" implied a relationship. "So what are you doing?"

  "It's…personal. Look, just take care of Elaine for me, okay?"

  "She's a grown woman, Derek."

  "That doesn't mean she won't need a little handholding."

  I narrowed my eyes. "Why? Is something wrong with her?"

  He shook his head. "No, look, it's complicated."

  I raised a brow, not agreeing to anything until I understood at least a sliver of what he was yammering about.

  "She likes me."

  This man couldn't tell a story correctly if it was written down word-for-word.

  When I still didn't comment, he painfully sighed. "You know. She may be getting attached."

  Suddenly it clicked. "Oh, you mean she's fallen in love with you, and you don't want her doing something stupid. Like getting pissed and retaliating by cheating on you?"

  And he'd know all about unfaithfulness. Not because of his own habits. Derek liked women. A lot of them. But keeping it casual meant never having to say, "I love you" or "There's someone else." No. He knew because he'd been the Bond Agency for years. While I was posing in bikinis on the French Riviera, he was sitting on a stakeout in his Bonneville, eating a sausage and pepper sub with extra onions, watching some old geezer get it up.

  Derek ran a hand across his chin, knocking a grain of rice off his mouth and onto the table. "No worries. She's the faithful kind."

  Which suggested he'd be worried if she wasn't. What was happening to dear ol' Dad?

  "So, will you do it? Help me out?" His eyes begged.

  This whole thing reeked—or maybe that was the Dumpster on the other side of the lot. I didn't know Elaine well, but she seemed like an okay women, not deserving of lies and infidelity. On the up side, however, the old man would be out of my hair for two full days. That was dancing in the streets naked worthy.

  I sipped my water. "Fine." Why did I already feel I was going to live to regret this?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mrs. Katherine Livingston sat before my desk in a modest, gray, knee-length, A-line skirt, a white blouse with a ruffled collar, and brown penny loafers. Her brown hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and she wore no makeup, not even ChapStick. Her hands were folded on top of her brown, leather purse, which sat squarely in the center of her lap. She was the epitome of poise and restraint. And not exactly what I thought a swinger would look like.

  "How can I help you, Mrs. Livingston?" I found that asking clients why they were here, even though they'd already told Maya, was a great way to feel them out, hear the words she chose to describe her marriage. This job may have included spy gear, stakeouts, and skimpy outfits during some undercover work, but the biggest part of it was pure psychology. You had to know what the client truly wanted and how to finesse as well.

  She tucked a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. "Please call me Kate. My husband, Stuart, and I have an arrangement. An open marriage."

  When I didn't blink or gasp or whatever she expected, she continued, "Lately things are different. I don't think he's been seeing anyone else."

  I tried hard not to react, give away some telltale sign that this was all new to me. It was usually at this point in the conversation that I'd think about how the wife was always the first to know when something was wrong in her marriage. In the past three years, I never assumed that "wrong" would be a faithful husband.

  "Why do you feel he's not still abiding by the terms of your marriage?" I asked, amazed I hadn't tripped over my words. I didn't want to insult her simply because I was unfamiliar with the way things worked.

  "He's been home every night." Disgust laced her tone.

  That would do it.

  "Has anything changed for your husband lately, personally or professionally?"

  She stared into space for a moment. "Stuart is a sensitive man. He feels everything rather dearly."

  And he was okay with his wife seeing other people? I was having a hard time wrapping my head around it, but it sounded like this arrangement was more her idea than his.

  "A couple of months ago he feared lay-offs at his job, but he wasn't let go," she said.

  I looked over Maya's notes but couldn't find employment. "What does he do?"

  "He's an investment banking analyst."

  That was some pretty cash. According to their address, the Livingstons lived in a fairly swanky neighborhood in the hills just south of Studio City.

  "His brother, well actually his step-brother, Lyle, has recently gone through a messy divorce. He's spent a couple of nights in our spare room, but it was just until he found his own place. Divorce is common in Stuart's family."

  Maybe that was why he agreed to an open marriage.

  "Other than some overtime, there hasn't been anything that's caused Stuart extra stress," Kate continued.

  She obviously didn't think her husband was hiding anything from her. But no one was honest one-hundred percent of the time.

  She pulled a sheet of paper from her purse and handed it to me. "This is a list of the women he's slept with in the past. Perhaps you can talk to them and find out if he's still seeing any of them. Or maybe they know if there's someone new."

  I unfolded the sheet and stared at the computer printed list of names. At the top of the page, in bold and underlined, was the heading: Stuart's Girlfriends. Then below were the names of three women in alphabetical order by last name. Melanie Anderson, Nikki Barnes, and Marguerite Clemens. I couldn't help notice that while their last names were A, B, C, their first were M-N-M. Sometimes the universe doled out humor in the most bizarre ways.

  So not only did Kate and Stuart agree to see other people, but they also agreed to tell one another who they were? How very…civilized? Or maybe the word was business-like. Why bother to marry if it wouldn't be monogamous? Did they discuss this arrangement before saying, "I do," or was it years later when they realized they were bored? According to the background check Maya did, they were each in their mid-thirties. Certainly that wasn't old enough to warrant a midlife crisi
s.

  This definitely won an award for the weirdest case, but if Stuart was like all the other husbands we've tailed, getting the goods on him would be easy and fast. And for once we'd have a happy wife walking out of the office.

  I plastered a confident smile onto my face. "Don't worry. We're thorough. We'll find out if your husband is a cheat—er, faithful or not."

  After Kate left, I handed my notes and the printed list of girlfriends to Maya to put into the file. "Where are Caleigh and Sam?" I asked her.

  "Sam's outside, waiting for the UPS guy. He's delivering the new chair for my desk."

  Maya'd had some tingling in her hand last week, so we'd ordered her an ergonomic chair. I couldn't afford for her to get carpal tunnel syndrome, and I wasn't just referring to the money. Losing her would be devastating.

  "Why is Sam waiting though? Won't he deliver it inside?"

  Maya smirked. "Yes, but meeting him at the curb gives her a few minutes alone with him."

  I grinned. "Is he cute?"

  She let out a slight gasp. "That's right. You usually don't see him. Not only is he hot, but he's got a thing for Sam. Always asking about her. I think he's smitten."

  I chuckled. Well that explained it. Sam wasn't as flirty as Caleigh, who saw a potential mate in just about every good-looking man out there—and some not so great looking too. That wasn't to say Caleigh slept around. She just loved love. Sam, on the hand, was more practical, especially with a son. When she found someone she felt worthy of bringing into her life, it meant she was serious. And it had been a long time since I'd met any of her dates.

  The phone rang. Maya lifted the receiver and covered the mouthpiece with her palm. "Caleigh's in her office."

  I nodded my thanks.

  At Caleigh's door, I knocked before entering, even though it was partly open. I didn't want to interrupt another wedding fashion moment.

  "Come in," she called out.

  I stepped over the threshold and let out a breath. The mirror still leaned against the wall, but the gown, veil, and any signs of pre-wedding prep were gone. Caleigh, dressed in a light blue dress, sat at her desk, but her chair was swiveled toward the window looking out onto the street. Daydreaming about her nuptials?