Bond Bombshell Page 4

  In seconds we were all clawing at the skirts, sending thousand-dollar designer creations flying through the air like ribbon dancers.

  Luckily Mom and I had done Black Friday shopping every year since I was ten, and I was an expert at pawing through clothes while simultaneously elbowing other people out of the way in search of my prey. I spied the gun, peeking out from under a royal blue skirt. Andrew must have seen it too, as we both grabbed for it at the same time.

  Only I was just that much quicker,

  I scrambled to my feet, pointing the gun that I had absolutely no idea how to use at both Andrew and the screaming woman, sitting in a pile of brightly colored clothes on the floor.

  "Don't move!" I shouted.

  They both froze, blinking up at me. Then I watched their gazes ping to the front windows.

  Keeping the gun steady on the two, I stole a glance toward the front. Apparently our scene had gathered a crowd, a mix of well-dressed women and tourists standing two and three deep. All with their cell phones out filming us.

  * * *

  "Money laundering," I said, throwing my report down on the conference table the next morning.

  The boss raised an interested eyebrow at me. "Go on?"

  I sat, addressing her as well as Sam and Caleigh who were seated across the table, waiting to hear all of the gory details. Which, thanks to Caleigh's excellent hacking lesson, I'd been able to get from the police records database. As soon as the LAPD had arrived on scene and arrested both Andrew and the woman, they'd been bombarded with video evidence of our gunfight. And as soon as they'd confronted Andrew with it, he'd started singing like an American Idol contestant.

  "Apparently," I started, "Brandon's wife was involved in a money laundry scam. The owner of the boutique was laundering money for an arm of the Japanese mafia. He recruited some of the women who came into his store, like Lana, to launder the money for him. He'd hand them a bag of cash, they'd go shop for high-dollar items all over Beverly Hills with it, then return the items later for a cash refund. They'd then bring the clean cash back to the shop and exchange it for another bag."

  "You would think that women like that would know better. Why on earth were they mixed up in this?" Sam said, shaking her head.

  I shrugged. "Some were in it purely for the thrill. I guess hitting the tanning salons and spending money all day gets old after awhile."

  "Hard to imagine that," Caleigh chimed in.

  I had to agree. I wouldn't mind that kind of boredom. "But some others, like Lana, were in it for the money. The boutique owner gave them all a cut, including Andrew for keeping up the front and managing the women."

  "So, why did Lana hire us?" Jamie asked.

  A great question. And one I was infinitely glad the police had asked her when they'd picked her up last night. "She wanted an easy out," I answered. "She'd saved enough from the scam to keep up her extravagant lifestyle on her own, so she didn't need Brandon anymore. But she knew if she filed for divorce, his lawyers would be all over it, and she obviously didn't want anyone digging into her financials. She thought if she could prove adultery, she'd have him over a barrel, and he'd concede to anything she wanted, including a quickie, no mess divorce, just to keep from losing his shirt."

  "Wow," Jamie said, sitting back in her chair as she sipped her Caramel Macchiato. "Nice work, Maya."

  I couldn't help the goofy grin that spread across my face. "Thanks. But I'll admit, it was a lot of luck on my part.

  Jamie smiled back. "Good PI work always is."

  I took a moment to savor the praise, sipping from my own paper cup.

  "I'm sure the husband will be thrilled when you give him your report."

  I nearly choked on my coffee. "When I g-give him what?"

  "Your report," Jamie repeated. "It was your case. You closed it. You should have the satisfaction of delivering the good news to the husband."

  "Oh, gee, wow, I don't really…" I sputtered. "I mean he's not even our client."

  "But he will appreciate our diligent work," Jamie reasoned. "And hopefully recommend us to all of his friends."

  "Gosh, you know I just don't think I should be the one to do it. I mean, wouldn't you rather be the one to sell him on the agency?" I asked, hopefully.

  But the boss shook her head. "You know as well as I do that my schedule is booked today."

  She was right. I'd just gone over it with her a few minutes previous. Curse my efficient timing.

  "Look, I'm just not sure I can…" I trailed off, watching all three pairs of eyes turn my way, eyebrows narrowing into V's of confusion.

  I swallowed, straightened my spine, and gathered my courage. "Right. Sure. I'll…I'll stop by his office with the report this afternoon."

  * * *

  I sat in the reception area of Goldman, Pearson, & Duke, financial consultants, bouncing my knee up and down beneath my pencil skirt. I picked at non-existent lint on my blouse for the fifth time in as many minutes. And I prayed he wasn't in. Prayed he was in a meeting. Prayed he'd taken a long lunch. Prayed anything I could think of, even saying a few Hail Mary's just for good measure.

  "He'll see you now," the receptionist said, looking up from her keyboard.

  Fab. So much for the power of last-minute prayer. But I guess the fact that I hadn't been to mass in ten years wasn't working in my favor.

  I stood, ignoring the way my legs suddenly felt like jelly, and followed the receptionist down a short hallway to a door marked "Brandon Duke." While I'd visited him at his office many times while we were dating, I realized as I pushed open the door that he'd moved up in the world since then. Gone was the closet-sized space next to the copy room and in its place a corner office with a window that looked out over the rooftops of Hollywood's most prominent landmarks. I paused for a moment, the view leaving me breathless.

  At least, I told myself it was the view and not the sudden wave of nostalgia at the scent of Hilfiger lingering in the air.

  "Thank you, Sharon," Brandon said, addressing the receptionist, who nodded at him then shut the door behind her.

  Leaving the two of us alone.

  I bit my lip, holding my report in a death grip. As good as he smelled, he looked even better. His hair was slicked back, his jaw clean-shaven, only the top two undone buttons on his shirt betraying that anything about him might not be picture-perfect. He stood, gesturing to a leather chair in front of his desk.

  "Have a seat," he said, more of a command than a suggestion.

  "I'm fine standing, thank you," I answered. Hopefully this wouldn't take long. Hand over the report, thank him for his time, and get the hell out of here before memories starting chasing me again.

  "Okay," he answered, his pale eyes, piercingly intense as he stared at me. "What can I do for you, then?"

  I swallowed hard. "Our report," I said, handing the manila envelope to him.

  He took it, turning it over. "On?"

  I cleared my throat. "Your wife. Well, actually it started out being on you—"

  He raised an eyebrow my way.

  "—but I switched gears when I realized that Lana was the one with the nefarious activities under her belt. So to speak. I mean, it was the handbags, really, that tipped me off, not her belt." I was rambling. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves and the odd, unpleasant sensation stirring in my stomach at the sight of him.

  Brandon nodded, eyes still on the report. "The police called me this morning. I guess it turns out our trust issues weren't as resolved as I'd hoped."

  "I'm sorry." I paused. "I take it you weren't at home last night when they brought Lana in?"

  "Oh, I was home," he said, tossing the report on his desk. "But Lana wasn't. We've been separated for the past six months. She lives in Brentwood."

  "Oh." I guess that explained her absence during my surveillance.

  "We were seeing a counselor, and I thought we were trying to work things out," he went on, "but when I found out that she'd hired you, it was pretty clear that she didn
't feel the same way."

  "Sucks to be played for a fool, doesn't it?" I said, unable to keep the slight edge from my voice. As much as I now believed Brandon's story about what had happened three years ago, and understood why he'd kept it to himself, a small part of me still resented that he hadn't come clean to me sooner.

  But if he felt the edge, he didn't show it. He just nodded again. "Yes, it does. But I didn't think she'd stoop to something like this," he added, gesturing to the envelope on his desk.

  "So, working things out." I paused. Then asked, "Does that mean you still love her?"

  I was trying really hard not to care what his answer was.

  He shook his head. Then he brought his pale eyes up to meet mine, the intensity in them tempered with a raw emotion I hadn't seen in a long time. "I never really loved her, Maya," he confessed, his voice low and tight. "She was just a way to get over you."

  My lip started to quiver, and I bit down hard on it.

  He took a step toward me and reached a hand out, his thumb gliding ever so gently over my lower lip. "Don't do that," he said softly.

  My breath caught in my throat, a chill running through my entire body until little raised goose bumps appeared on my arms.

  His eyes softened, his head tilting to the side. "Maya," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "What happened to us?"

  I felt tears well behind my eyes.

  He leaned in closer, his lips moving toward mine.

  But I took a step back, holding up my index finger as the universal "wait" signal.

  I reached down and unclipped the broach from my lapel and pulled the wire out from my blouse.

  Brandon tilted his head in a silent question.

  "The boss likes us to record every client meeting. Company policy," I explained, laying the surveillance equipment on his desk.

  "You really are a professional," Brandon observed.

  "Much better than that hooker, huh?"

  "Stripper. Her name was Candi. She was actually a very nice gal."

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  His lips quirked up.

  "You're teasing me now, aren't you?" I asked.

  He nodded, blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

  "Jerk."

  His face broke into a full-fledged grin. "God, I've missed you."

  I licked my lips. "Yeah, me too," I confessed.

  "What do you say we get out of here?" he offered. "Have lunch and do some catching up?"

  Three years was a long time. Too long to know if there was anything between us but memories. Had I changed too much? Had he? I didn't know. But I found myself nodding anyway. "Yeah. Let's."

  He smiled at me again, showing off a row of white teeth as he reached for his blazer. "The Bond Agency, huh?" he asked, cocking his head at the name stamped on the manila envelope as he opened his office door for me. "So, does that make you a Bond Girl?"

  My turn to grin. "Something like that."

  He nodded. "It suits you. And, for the record, I never thought you were a fool."

  "For the record, I never thought you were the kind to go for a lightening bolt."

  He laughed, a deep, rich sound that rippled through me like a physical touch. Filling my belly with an odd sensation. Only this time, it wasn't unpleasant. More like something familiar that verged on…excitement? Uncertainty? Promise?

  Whatever it was, I liked it.

  * * *

  About the Author

  Gemma Halliday is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the High Heels Mysteries, the Hollywood Headlines Mysteries, the Jamie Bond Mysteries, and the Deadly Cool series of young adult books, as well as several other works. Gemma’s books have received numerous awards, including a Golden Heart, a National Reader’s Choice award and three RITA nominations. She currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area where she is hard at work on several new projects.

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  OTHER BOOKS BY GEMMA HALLIDAY

  High Heels Mysteries:

  Spying in High Heels

  Killer in High Heels

  Undercover in High Heels

  Christmas in High Heels (short story)

  Alibi in High Heels

  Mayhem in High Heels

  Honeymoon in High Heels (novella)

  Sweetheart in High Heels (short story)

  Fearless in High Heels

  Danger in High Heels

  Hollywood Headlines Mysteries:

  Hollywood Scandals

  Hollywood Secrets

  Hollywood Confessions

  Twelve's Drummer Dying

  Jamie Bond Mysteries:

  Unbreakable Bond

  Secret Bond

  Bond Bombshell (short story)

  Lethal Bond - coming soon!

  Tahoe Tessie Mysteries:

  Luck Be A Lady

  Young Adult Books:

  Deadly Cool

  Social Suicide

  Other Works:

  Play Nice

  Viva Las Vegas

  A High Heels Haunting (novella)

  Watching You (short story)

  Confessions of a Bombshell Bandit (short story)