Lethal Bond: Jamie Bond Mysteries Book #3 (3 page)

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 crisis.

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?

"You busy?" I asked and sat across from her.

"No. What's up?"

"I just spoke with Mrs. Livingston. The swinger."

Caleigh turned to me, giving her full attention. "Oh yeah? How'd that go?"

"Not exactly how I'd expected." I explained the woman's look, demeanor, and our conversation.

"It really makes you wonder about people, huh?" She looked toward the window again.

"Yes, it does. So I'm thinking you can go with me to visit the girlfriends, and I'll have Sam follow him around. See if there's anyone else he's seeing that the wife doesn't know about."

She gave me a quick smile. "Sounds good. It shouldn't be too hard to get the proof."

*  *  *

As I entered the physical therapy waiting area an hour later, Danny stepped out from behind double doors. Perfect timing.

He wore cargo shorts and a tee with two fingers in a peace sign that fit perfectly against his toned, 6'2" frame. His hair was light brown, streaked with highlights, not from a salon but the honest to goodness California sunshine, a by-product of the outdoor shoots he often worked. It was tousled now, growing a little long to skim his shoulders, but it suited him. When he noticed me, he smiled wide, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that I knew had charmed the pants off many a young swimsuit model.

I ignored the urge to be just a little bit charmed by it myself.

"How'd it go?" I asked.

He rotated his shoulder and only winced once. "Not too bad. I won't be hang gliding any time soon, but it's getting there."

I laughed. "Once you're healed, I'd like to see that happen."

"Oh, don't put it past me, Bond. You don't know everything about me." His smile grew bigger, venturing into the flirtatious zone.

"I know you're going home and will have a beer with lunch—probably Chinese delivery," I stated, doing my best not to flirt back.

He shook his head, the smile never dimming. "Can't drink on pain meds."

Concern filled my chest. "You're still taking them?"

"New script for a mild dosage and only when necessary."

We walked to the exit, stepping around a teenage boy on crutches.

Danny wasn't a pill popper. Pain would have to be bad for him to take anything. But if the new prescription was mild, at least it meant he was healing.

We stepped out into the sunlight, and I directed him toward my car. I'd thankfully managed to find a spot not too far away. "Okay, so no alcohol, but I'm right about the Chinese, huh?"

He chuckled. "Normally, perhaps, but Mrs. Rosenbaum brought over a chicken pot pie earlier. It smells amazing."

That woman knew how to cook. I'd been at his apartment once when she'd stopped by with a huge roasted chicken, potatoes, and carrots. She'd said the chickens had been on sale and she thought of Danny. We'd feasted, and he had enough leftovers for nearly a week.

Danny gave me a sideways wink. "You're at zero for two, James. What's up with that?"

I narrowed my eyes. No one but Derek called me by my legal name. "You sure you're not on drugs now. You're in an awfully good mood."

He shook his head causing several strands of hair to fall into his eyes. It made him look endearing. "Nah, just fresh air, exercise." He paused, his eyes roving my outfit, lingering on the hem of my pencil skirt. "Possibly the company." 

I gave him a playful punch in his good should. "Does that really work on girls?"

He shrugged. "Most of them." He grinned at me. "But I have other lines. If you're good, maybe you'll get to hear them."

I snorted loudly to diffuse the sudden heat in my belly as we reached my Roadster. I started to go around to the passenger side to help him in, but thought better of it. He was injured, but not incapable.  

Still trying to keep the conversation light, I joked, "Hey, I hear you're getting married soon."

He paused, giving me a funny look. "Excuse me?"

"Caleigh?"

The smile returned, if slightly smaller than before. "Right. Yeah, that came out of left field. Something to do with her father. What is it with women and their fathers? You're either trying to please them or running away from them."

I shrugged, not sure how to answer. There were women out there who had normal relationships with their dads. I just didn't know any of them.