Secret Bond (Jamie Bond Mysteries)

by Gemma Halliday

  "There's nothing to tell, so don't waste any more of your precious time," he spat out. Then he rose and walked to the back of the boat. His mug still sat on the photo, like some line drawn in the sand.

  I resisted the urge to run after him, shake him, make him talk to me. Because we were clearly just talking in circles. He wasn't going to give me answers. If I wanted to know what happened that day, I'd just have to find out for myself.

  * * *

  When I arrived back at the agency to change into my nudist gear, Maya handed me a stack of messages. I shuffled through them. Most could be put off until later. One was from Aiden. I bit my lip. I'd meant to call and wish him luck with the trial this morning, but in all the Derek drama I'd forgotten. Maybe I could squeeze in a few minutes to stop by the courthouse before the session ended today and watch him in action. Only I had a few matters to attend to first.

  I glanced up from my messages at the file cabinets that lined the wall behind Maya's desk. If I was going to get to the truth about Derek's shooting, I needed to dig deeper than Google.

  Maya looked up from her keyboard and caught me staring. "Something wrong, boss?"

  "When we first settled in here, what happened to Derek's old files?"

  "They're in there," she said gesturing behind her. "With the others."

  That's what I thought. I'd already gone through everything in those cabinets when I'd taken over the business. Derek might be a slob on his boat, but his files were meticulous. "How about anything else that Derek left behind?"

  Maya scrunched up her nose in thought. Then she swung around and pointed to the far wall. "I moved some boxes into the storage closet. They were full of odd things like a broken pencil sharpener, some Christmas decorations, a little hula girl. You know, the kind people stick to their dashboards."

  That sounded like Derek.

  "There may have been some loose papers, too." Her expression was pained. "Sorry if I missed something."

  "No, it's fine. Just curious."

  "Do you want me to dig the stuff out?" She started to rise.

  I held up my hand. "No. It's not important. I'll just have a look later."

  She eyed me suspiciously for a moment, but then the phone rang and she returned to her chair.

  I hurried to my office and slipped back into my cover-up. Ten minutes later, I was feeling far less covered, though much cooler. As if on cue, I heard the glass doors open in the lobby, then Danny appeared in my doorway, wearing the same pair of Speedos from last night.

  "Oh, no," I said. "You can't seriously want to go back there?"

  "Thought you could use the help," he said, shrugging, a carefree grin on his face.

  "Didn't you have a photo shoot at the pier today?"

  "Yeah, done."

  "This early?" I asked, grabbing my purse.

  "She was hung over from too many Jell-o shots last night. She yakked in the water."

  "Eww, remind me not to swim there." Not that I had time to even think about heading to the beach.

  "The director was pissed and told her to go home. I don't think he'll be hiring her again."

  Modeling definitely had its perks, but I didn't miss the grueling hours under the sun or standing in freezing water and pretending it was warm and inviting.

  "Since I'm free, I thought I'd give you ladies a hand."

  "So, what, you didn't get enough cougar action last night? Hot girls aren't going to mysteriously appear this afternoon."

  He pressed a palm against his chest in mock hurt. "Why do you assume I'm only about the women? Why can't this be about helping a friend with her case?"

  I gave him a get-real look and shot back, "Says he of many bedded models."

  Danny grinned and threw an arm around my shoulders. "That was a long time ago. You know I've only got eyes for you now, Jamie." He winked, and I couldn't tell if he was totally pulling my leg or there was some truth to the statement. Either way, I shrugged his arm off.

  "Why do I find that hard to believe?" I mumbled.

  "I don't know. Why do you?"

  I placed a hand on my hip and stared him down. "Okay, Casanova, what did you do last night after dropping us off?"

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Don't you mean who?"

  I shook my head. "I rest my case."

  Danny burst out laughing. "Jesus, James, I was kidding. I spent last night with a six-pack of beer and a marathon of Storage Wars. Come on, what kind of guy do you think I am?"

  I paused, honestly a little surprised by the admission. "Quiet evening in" and "Danny" were two things that hadn't ever gone together in my mind before. Maybe I was wrongly judging him.

  "Fine," I acquiesced. "You can come to the resort with me. But you're driving."

  An hour and a half and three freeways later, we found Caleigh at the pool, lounging by Martin, and Sam at the bar sipping a Bloody Mary.

  "Alcohol for lunch?" I asked, taking the stool next to her.

  "It's a virgin. Unfortunately."

  I glanced at our couple. Their chairs were side-by-side and Caleigh was on hers, practically slipping off and pouring herself onto him. Martin seemed almost uninterested.

  "That boring, huh?"

  "I'm starting to think this was a waste of time," Sam said.

  I completely agreed but ordered a glass of orange juice anyway. Danny had wandered off as soon as we'd arrived. He probably found the one woman who sagged the least. I looked around but couldn't spot him.

  Sam must've noticed my search because a grin sprang onto her face. "So you and Danny seemed rather cozy on the dance floor last night."

  I waved a hand as if to say it was no big deal. Because it wasn't. "Just reminiscing about the past." Which was truthful enough.

  "Sure." She nodded, sipping her drink, turning away and avoiding my eyes.

  "What was that?"

  "What?" She blinked up at me, all innocence.

  "That look you just covered up."

  "Nothing."

  "Look, there is nothing between me and Danny," I told her. "There never has been."

  "Right. Of course not."

  "Our relationship is purely professional. It's a friendship. It's . . . "

  Sam did some more blinking, her expression expectant, waiting for me to finish that thought.

  "It's nothing," I finally finished.

  "Hey, I never said it was anything. All I said was you looked happy dancing together."

  I sipped my orange juice. "This needs alcohol," I decided.

  Sam grinned. "I could swipe something from the mini-bar."

  She had no idea how tempting that sounded. I took a few deep breaths, inhaling the rare fresh air, scented with a mix of pine trees and chlorine. I watched the bartender pour mimosas and more Bloody Mary's for the guests, his brown bangs falling over his blue eyes, adding a touch of charm to his all-American, pre-Scientology Tom Cruise look. I allowed the morning's dead ends to slip away. And I watched Caleigh do her thing, playfully, suggestively, and even lewdly touching Martin's arm and laughing at his jokes. He smiled and chatted. He even peered at her cleavage. But there was no butt squeezing, no exchanging of room keys. Not even a suggestive leer.

  "I should've brought a book," Sam whispered.

  Unfortunately, I didn't feel like laughing. It was time to call an end to this charade. Martin was obviously more interested in getting a lineless tan than hooking up.

  I leaned toward Sam to say as much when an older gentleman, probably in his sixties, approached Caleigh. He leaned in and said something to her that caused her expression to go from playful to shocked to positively ill, all in the span of thirty seconds. What was that about?

  She nodded, and as the older guy walked toward Sam and me, Caleigh bit her lip and shrugged our direction.

  Oh, this wasn't going to be good.

  Despite the deep wrinkles around his eyes and a bad case of sun spots on both his hands, he appeared in pretty good shape. Nothing hung that wasn't supposed to.

  "
Madams," he said with a tight grin.

  "Hello, I am Samantha and this is Jamie." Sam held out her hand.

  He shook it then moistened his lips with a dart of his tongue. I was pretty certain that was more action than Caleigh had seen in the past two days.

  "Pleased to meet you both. I am Jon-Michael. I run this resort."

  Sam and I exchanged glances. Even management felt the need to work in the buff. I briefly wondered what their mission statement looked like.

  "Can we help you?" I asked, wondering if there was paperwork we forgot to complete.

  His smile relaxed and broadened. "Yes. I've already spoken with your friends."

  Plural? That must've included Danny too.

  "As you can see, we offer a comfortable and secure environment."

  "Yes," Sam said.

  The orange juice began to sour in my stomach. I didn't like the placating tone in his voice.

  "Well . . . " He fidgeted with his hands, rubbing the knuckles on his left hand to the point of distraction.

  "Is there a problem?" I asked, praying he'd spit it out and move on.

  He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "It's been brought to my attention that you lovely ladies are not enjoying our environment to the fullest."

  Sam and I frowned at one another. She held up her drink. "We are. Wonderful cocktails."

  He wrinkled his face, glanced at our chests, and shook his head. "No, dears, I mean the atmosphere. The reason we exist. I'm afraid if you aren't fully a part of the program, so to speak, then there is no reason for you to stay. We can refund any unused portion of your time spent . . . "

  I held up a hand to cut him off. "What part of the program are we not complying with?"

  His eyes widened. He waved a hand along the crowd. "Isn't it obvious?"

  Okay, so maybe I was a bit naive, or maybe I simply wanted to act dumb so I wouldn't be forced to do what I assumed he was hemming and hawing about.

  "Your clothes. They're making the other guests feel a bit uneasy. I'm afraid if you want to stay, you'll need to go au naturel like the rest of us."

  Damn, he said it.

  * * *

  If I was a cartoon, my jaw would have been on the floor. I was under the impression that the place was clothing optional, not clothing forbidden. And I was about to tell Jon-Michael just that when Sam gripped the opening to her cover-up, ready to yank it off. She paused, clenched her teeth in a snippy grin. "Could you pretend you aren't staring?"

  Jon-Michael turned six shades of red, from pink to plum, and scurried off, muttering his apologies.

  "What are you doing?" I practically hissed the words.

  She already untied the belt. "My job."

  "But if Caleigh's not getting anywhere, and this is a waste, then let's just leave."

  But as soon as the words tumbled from my mouth, everything changed.

  At some moment during my shock, Caleigh had stood and disrobed. Not only had everyone, including the women, drawn in a breath, but she suddenly had Martin's undivided attention.

  Of course.

  Sam allowed her garment to slide off her shoulders and drape over the stool legs. She eyed my statue-like stillness. "Since when are you such a prude?"

  I scoffed. I wasn't. But the sun was strong and I didn't want to burn. It wasn't like years ago. Now with the ozone layer and ultra-violet rays, one had to take extra precautions. Plus, I attached the pin camera to my cover-up. How could I capture footage if it was huddled into a ball on top of the bar?

  I took a deep breath.

  While those were all excellent excuses, even if I did say so myself, I realized it was time to man-up. Okay, so maybe I felt a bit uncomfortable disrobing in front of everyone. Was that so wrong? I'd posed half naked in front of cameras most of my life, but the truth was I was not fifteen anymore.

  I glanced around, expecting to find all eyes on me, waiting for me to shed the material. My own striptease. I half-expected the jazzy tune on the speakers to switch to something slow and exotic. But no one was even paying us attention anymore. They were chatting and sunbathing. In fact, other than Caleigh's reveal, they ignored the three of us.

  I did another deep breath, then I eased the fabric off, trying not to look too conspicuous, even though I heard Christina Aguilera singing Burlesque music in my head. I raised my glass to my mouth. The sweet, sticky juice brushed against my lips. I set it down and pushed it toward Tommy Jr. "Add some champagne, please."

  Sam grinned but didn't turn my way. She kept her barrette camera aimed at our couple.

  Caleigh and Martin stood on the far end of the patio, still within our shot, but not directly in the middle of the crowd. They leaned into one another, spoke in what appeared to be quiet tones. She smiled; he brushed hair from her shoulder. He said something, she chuckled, and he stared at the way her chest heaved. Then she leaned forward, he grabbed her ass, and our case was solved.

  "Got him." I jumped off my seat, forgetting about my birthday suit for a moment, and instinctively draped one arm across my chest and my other hand below.

  Ohmigod. I was a prude.

  "That doesn't make you stand out." Sam nodded toward my hands.

  Warmth crept into my neck and face. I let my arms hang naturally and edged back to my seat.

  "We need more," Sam said. "Martin can talk away one butt-squish. We need him propositioning her."

  Cheating husbands were notorious for weaving charming webs of lies, so I knew she had a point. I eased into a more nonchalant position. At least I hoped it appeared that way. But I was pretty certain I looked as strained as I felt. I turned my focus to Caleigh. And my drink. I ordered another. Who cared if I showed up to court tipsy?

  Caleigh and Martin continued their dance. Two steps forward, one back, and a hand on her hip. Was he suddenly pretending to be coy? Why bother? She obviously hadn't minded his hand on her ass the first time. Another ten minutes of the same routine and my patience waned. I wasn't sure if my fidgeting had to do with my nakedness or desire to get to court before Aiden's first day went by without a showing from me, but each second seemed to crawl by at an agonizing pace. I wanted to run to the car, to break the speed limit and get back to civilization.

  "Hey, you can handle this, right?" I asked Sam.

  She glanced at me from the corner of her eyes. "Sure. In a rush?"

  "I wanted to stop by the courthouse."

  She smiled. "Checking in on the ADA, huh?"

  "Something like that." I dug into my purse for my wallet.

  "We have it under control."

  "Thanks. See you back at the office." I threw cash on the bar for our drinks. I needed to find my ride. Where had Danny wandered off to?

  I slid off the stool, clutching my bag and cover-up, which I had every intention of putting back on. Jon-Michael would have to get over it. It was only a matter of minutes before we no longer needed to stay here anyway. I was struggling with the fabric in the sticky heat, when I finally spotted Danny on the far side of the clubhouse.

  I froze.

  As Jon-Michael had requested, Danny had ditched the Speedos. And I couldn't help letting my gaze stray downward. My cheeks heated to a bright red that had nothing to do with sunburn as I got a look at just why Danny's dates always left his apartment wearing big goofy grins.

  Oh, boy.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Unable to face Danny with a straight face, I slipped back to the bar and begged to borrow Sam's car. She handed over the keys, and I left her and Caleigh to wrap up the Martin case with a pretty little bow. I pressed the speed limit as I raced back to the office, changed, then made my way to the courthouse. When I slipped into a seat in the back, Aiden was standing up front with his back to me. His co-counsel, a dark-haired woman in an expensive looking suit, sat at the prosecution's table, furiously scribbling notes onto a legal pad. I was pretty sure she'd prefer a tablet, but those sort of electronics were forbidden in the courtroom. Too easy for part of the proceedings to suddenly end up on YouTu
be.

  Aiden faced the witness box. A young, pinched-faced guy who looked distinctly uncomfortable in his cheap suit sat under his scrutiny. He was wearing a badge that identified him as one of LAPD's finest, and the guy's skin was pink and a thick sheen of sweat rested on his forehead, noticeable all the way at the back of the room. Nerves?

  This room didn't have windows. I'd never been in it before, yet it still made my pulse race after my near-miss trial a few months ago when I'd first met Aiden. It was so much nicer sitting as a spectator than the accused, wrongly or otherwise.

  "Officer Wylie, you were the first to arrive to the nine-one-one call about sounds of gunfire at 346 Los Padres Drive, correct?"

  "Yes."

  "Who lives at that address?"

  He cleared his throat. "Jack Brady."

  "When you arrived, what did you find?"

  Wylie's eyes shifted to Brady, the twelve jurors, and back to Aiden, quick movements like a snake's tongue. Was he scared of Brady or the blue line? Cops didn't rat on other cops. They lived by a code, and while Aiden was one of the good guys, they were still on the other side of that line.

  "The residence was dark, and Brady's car was in the driveway. The front door was ajar, so we went inside."

  "We?"

  "My-my partner, Officer Dunne, and I." Wylie pulled at the knot in his tie.

  "Go on, please." Aiden stepped to his left, blocking the officer's view from the defense table. Smart move if Wylie's darting behavior was nerves. Without staring at Brady, or being stared at, perhaps the guy could concentrate on his testimony.

  It seemed to work. Wylie's shoulders noticeably relaxed. "We walked through each room. Nothing looked wrong until we reached the back bedroom. A lamp was on the floor; its table knocked over. There were obvious signs of a struggle."

  "Anything else?"

  "A man was on the rug, bleeding from a gunshot wound to the chest."

  Brady shot the guy in his own bedroom? What the hell happened that night?

  Wylie continued, "Jack Brady sat on the edge of the bed."