Fatal Bond

by Gemma Halliday

  I reached for my cell and called Maya.

  "Hey, Boss." Her voice had an edge to it.

  "How's it going?" I asked with hesitation.

  "If you're referring to the princess, she's in the bathroom. I'm tempted to lock her in there."

  "That fun, huh?"

  "I'm pretty sure she's insulted every job I've ever had, everything in my closet, and half the men in my life."

  I cringed. "Sorry. Hopefully, it won't be too much longer."

  "Any word on Apple?" she asked, her tone shifting from annoyance to honest concern.

  I shook my head, even though she couldn't see me. "Not really." I filled her in on the ransom call. "Can you look for any connections between Delphine King or Kent Perkins and Riverside?"

  "You think that's where they're keeping Apple?" she asked.

  I heard typing in the background as she jumped on her computer.

  "It's the best lead we have. And, you know what, actually, go ahead and add Wendell to that list."

  "Adding Wendell."

  "Also, I have the bank account number to give you. I know it's a long shot, but see if you can trace it to anything useful." I rattled it off to her.

  "Will do," she promised.

  I heard my cell chirp in my ear. "Sorry, Maya, I've got another call coming in."

  "No problem. I'll let you know what I find," she said before hanging up.

  I switched over to the other call. "Bond," I answered.

  "Hey, it's me," came Caleigh's voice.

  "What's up?" I asked, glancing at Sam and putting the call on speaker. "News on Delphine?"

  "No, she's been in her office all morning. I'm tailing Harold Hampshire. And you'll never guess where he is."

  "I give up. Where is he?"

  "The Spotted Pony."

  CHAPTER TEN

  I dropped Sam off at the office and headed to The Spotted Pony. It was located in Burbank in what wasn't the seediest location, but it wasn't the best either. I had relative reassurance that my car would still be in the lot when I came back to it, but I was 50/50 on the whether it would still have four tires or not. I was familiar with the club because I'd worked undercover there once. The tables—not the stage.

  Our case had involved a near-hysterical wife who had hired the girls and me to get the goods on her husband. She'd found his receipts from the club, and she'd suspected he was sleeping with a dancer named Luscious Lavender. After a week undercover, and an offer from the owner to dance on stage, I'd discovered that the man had been married previously. He'd lost touch with his first wife, who'd fled from the relationship three months pregnant. Luscious Lavender was actually the guy's daughter.

  It had ended well. At least for the father and daughter.

  Luscious Lavender—real name Irene Cook—had stopped working at the club after her father had insisted she live with him and his wife. She'd enrolled in the dental hygiene program at the community college, and had cleaned my teeth just last month. Unfortunately, the wife ended up filing for divorce anyway. Turns out that she couldn't stand another woman in her husband's life, even if it was his daughter.

  There were just enough patrons inside The Spotted Pony, one per table, that it looked busier than it probably was. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and when they did, I saw Candy on stage. She was swaying and seducing to some slow jazzy beat. She wore a purple polka dot baby doll with spaghetti straps and a large purple bow beneath her cleavage. I assumed one pull on the ribbon and the lingerie opened up, exposing…well, everything. Her hair was parted in the back and hung in two low pigtails. They definitely didn't look childish, but the whole thing made me think of Britney Spears in her "Baby One More Time" video.

  The men at the tables sipped on beers and coffee, and one had a tumbler of amber-colored liquid. There were several more people at the bar, which ran along the left wall. I tried not to look like I was prying as I scanned each face, finally spotting Harold at the end of the bar.

  Suddenly Caleigh was by my side. "He didn't go to Jan's today. Instead he came here. He's been talking to that waitress for an hour and paying a lot of attention to her." Caleigh nodded toward the woman.

  The cocktail waitress was maybe in her midtwenties, younger than Erin and Colleen. She wore denim short shorts, a black tank top with peeks of a purple bra underneath, and her obviously dyed fire engine red hair was pulled back into a braid down her back. She currently delivered a beer to a man at a table in front of the stage.

  "You think he's scouting her?" I asked Caleigh.

  She nodded vigorously. "He's paying way more attention to her than the dancers onstage."

  She was right. I followed Harold's line of vision, and it tracked the redhead, not even glancing in Candy's direction as she hugged the pole.

  "Do you know anything about her?" I asked Caleigh.

  She shook her head. "Not yet. I was going to ask Candy when her set ends."

  What would the wives think of her? She was about as opposite of Jan as a woman could be. Harold watched the waitress, even as Candy undid her bow among whoops and hollers from the other patrons. He didn't so much as glance at the stage. He definitely wasn't here for the entertainment. And, having sampled the dry chicken wings and watery beer myself, I knew he wasn't here for the food. Which left one reason.

  The waitress returned to the bar, set her tray down, and turned to Harold. She smiled and engaged in what looked like a rather lively chat with him. From her ecstatic smile and the way her eyes were lit up, she was either into him too or really fishing for a tip. Hard to say which. Harold looked like such an ordinary, maybe even dull, guy. He wore gray pants with a gray tie today, similar to the outfit he'd worn at the daycare. A daycare and a strip club—this guy needed some lessons in planning a date.

  I wished I was close enough to hear their conversation, but I didn't want him to recognize me. I mostly watched the back of Harold's head as they chatted, but when he reached for his drink, I caught a glimpse of his profile. A smile sat on his face as well.

  The music changed, and Candy's number ended. She headed backstage but reappeared minutes later in a short light blue robe. She practically ran to us, nearly tripping in her red platform heels.

  "Have you found Apple?" Her eyes were wide with fear, and her bottom lip quivered when she stopped speaking.

  It made my chest tighten. I hadn't filled her in on the kidnapping yet. I hadn't wanted to frighten her more, but she deserved to know. She must've been going out of her mind with worry and probably had a hundred questions. Poor girl.

  We found an empty table as far from Harold and his lady friend as possible. Not that they had eyes for anyone but each other. I kept my gaze on him and told Candy what I knew so far.

  When I got to the part where the kidnappers had taken Apple instead of Kendall, she gasped and placed her fingers over her mouth. "What if they find out she's not the daughter?"

  This was why I hadn't wanted to tell her. I couldn't handle the guilt of not having better news. "They won't figure it out. There's no reason to." I was only half-confident in my statement, but I hoped it comforted Candy some.

  "Our suspect list is short," I went on. "Delphine King, Kent Perkins, and Wendell himself."

  "Wait—I know that name," Candy said and tapped a pointy, lilac colored acrylic nail against her cheek. "Kent Perkins. Apple and I did a private party at his country club."

  Small world. "So Kent knew Apple?" I asked.

  She nodded. "Well, I mean, we danced for him once. I'm not sure he'd remember us. It was a while ago."

  She had a point. Wendell barely remembered them, and it had only been the previous weekend.

  "Do you remember seeing him at the party Saturday?"

  She shook her head. "No. Was he there?"

  "Briefly."

  She bit her lip. "You think Kent had something to do with Apple's kidnapping?"

  I opened my mouth to answer, but loud laughter sounded from the bar. I looked up to find the r
ed-haired waitress nearly doubled over. Who knew Harold was funny? He glanced over his shoulder at something or someone toward the stage. He was laughing too. It made him look younger.

  "What can you tell us about that waitress and the man at the bar?"

  Candy turned in her seat for a look. "That's Tara. Tara Owens. She's cool. She's been working here for maybe eight months. I don't know much about her, but she's friendly and never has any beefs with anyone."

  "No boyfriends or a husband that you know of?" I asked.

  Candy shook her head. "Nope. I overheard her tell one of the other girls that she's single and isn't interested in booty calls. She's looking for something serious. Wants to settle down and start a family."

  Well, she'd get plenty of family with Harold.

  "What about him? Have you seen him in here before?" I asked.

  "Yeah, he's been coming in for the past few weeks, always during Tara's shift. He sits at the bar and only talks to her. I never see him watching the stage either. A glance here and there, but only when guys are hollering at some stunt a dancer has done, like the sound catches his attention. But he's not interested in us, only her."

  It definitely sounded like Harold was scouting her.

  "Lucky girl," Candy went on. "One of the other dancers said he has money. She could tell from his watch and the car he drives. It's a Range Rover," she informed me.

  Alarm bells went off in my head. "So, Tara knows he has money?"

  Candy shrugged. "I don't know. I've never heard her talk about it. I mean, I know he offered to pay for a new starter on her car last week when hers practically died in the parking lot."

  "What did she say?"

  "She actually refused. Which, I thought was nuts, 'cause who wants to be stuck here, you know? But she said she didn't want to take advantage of his good nature."

  I glanced at the two, laughing and chatting again. The move had either been super sweet or super calculating on Tara's part. I made a mental note to have Maya look into Tara a little more closely.

  "Let's go back to Saturday night's party. There was a woman there, Delphine King. Do you know her?" I asked.

  Candy shook her head. "Should I?"

  Caleigh pulled up a photo of Delphine on her phone. It looked like she'd pulled it from a tabloid site. "This is her. She's a movie producer. Wendell pulled out of backing her latest film."

  Candy's nod started slow and sped up. "Yes, I do remember seeing her. But only briefly. She wasn't that into watching us dance." Candy shrugged.

  Go figure.

  "Do you recall if she took any particular interest in Apple?"

  She thought for a moment. "No. Like I said, she wasn't into the dancing. She mostly hung near the bar."

  "What about Kendall Manchester?" Caleigh asked. "She's Wendell's daughter. Did you see her at the party?"

  "Yes," Candy said definitively. "I remember because I saw her with one of the catering people. He was kinda into her."

  "He was flirting?" I raised an eyebrow.

  "Yeah. I know because later I heard him asking someone where Kendall was. This was later in the evening. He seemed really interested in her," Candy said.

  "Do you remember what he looked like?" I asked.

  Candy nodded. "Beefy guy. Tattoos on his arms."

  "One of them of a crown?" I asked.

  Candy's eyes lit up with recognition. "Yeah, now that you mention it, it was a crown on his arm. You know him?"

  Pete Rivera. "Sort of," I hedged, not wanting to worry her further that I had a strong suspicion the caterer in question might very well be the muscle behind Apple's kidnapping.

  Candy shook her head. "I kinda felt sorry for him at the time. I mean, there's no way a girl who lived in a place like Manchester's would be interested in a guy like him, you know?"

  I bit my tongue. I had a feeling Rivera's interest was less romantic and more felonious.

  "Does this help at all?" Candy asked, her eyes looking wide and surprisingly innocent for the setting.

  I nodded reassuringly. "It does. Thanks, Candy."

  "Is there anything I can do?" she asked. "You know, to help look for Apple? I mean, I could put up posters or something…" She trailed off, clearly not sure what the something could be.

  Honestly, neither did I.

  I shook my head. "Just be here for her when she gets back. We're doing everything we can to get her home safely."

  She nodded, tears welling up behind her eyes.

  I touched her arm and said, "Don't worry. We will find her."

  I knew I shouldn't make promises. I wouldn't have done it with a client. But I meant this one. We would definitely find her. I just hoped she'd be okay when we did.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Caleigh stayed on Harold in case he left to meet up with yet another potential wife, and twenty minutes later I pulled up to Tasty Catering. The phone number I had for Pete Rivera went straight to voicemail, and the address was a fraud. But he had to be getting paid somehow.

  The receptionist looked surprised to see me again, but she quickly called for the owner when I asked.

  Finley emerged from the back, saw me, bit his bottom lip, and wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. He seemed even more flighty that day than on our previous visit.

  "Ms. Bond," he said, clearly not happy to see me. "Here to make some request for the party you booked?"

  I shook my head. "No, I want to know about Pete Rivera."

  "Pete?" he squeaked out.

  I nodded. "He's not answering his phone."

  "He's sick."

  "And the address on his employment application is a fraud."

  "Fraud?" he choked out, his skin going a shade paler. "W-what do you mean?"

  "I mean it's a warehouse. He doesn't live there."

  "Well, I-I don't understand why he would do that."

  "What can you tell me about him?" I asked.

  He gave me a blank look like he didn't want to tell me anything.

  "How do you pay him? Who did he put down as references? What past employment did he list?" I pushed.

  "Uh…" He looked to the receptionist.

  "I'll pull up his employee records," she said, tapping a few keys.

  Finley looked like he was going to protest but instead just nodded.

  "What can you tell me about him personally?" I asked while she typed. "Ever mention friends or family?"

  Finley shook his head. "He said he's single. I don't think he has family, or if he does, he doesn't talk about them."

  "He's kinda creepy," the receptionist said. Her gaze darted to her boss, as if she was afraid to say this in front of him.

  "How so?" I asked.

  "I'd always catch him watching me, and then he'd quickly look away. Sometimes he didn't notice I'd caught him right away, and the way he'd look at my body…" She brought her shoulders to her ears and shook her torso.

  "Why didn't you say anything?" Finley asked.

  "I did. The first time. You told me to ignore him."

  If it was possible, Finley paled further. "I, uh, I didn't know…er, that is…" He trailed off, not able to come up with an appropriate response to that.

  "Here!" the receptionist said, pointing at the screen. "On his application it lists he previously worked for a garage in downtown and a housecleaning service."

  I cocked a brow at Finley. "No previous catering experience?"

  He found the floor immensely interesting.

  "What about references?" I asked.

  The receptionist shook her head. "None listed."

  My gaze shot to Finley again. "You didn't even check his references?"

  He cleared his throat. "He came cheap."

  "Please tell me you did a background check at least?"

  His beady eyes darted back and forth across the room, and more perspiration dotted his forehead. If I hadn't been blocking his way to the front door, I had a feeling he'd have bolted. "I, er, well, I was going to…"

  I closed my eyes and th
ought a dirty word. When I opened them, I pointed finger at Finley. "I want 30 percent off my party. And no Pete!"

  * * *

  Once I stepped back outside, I dialed Maya. Two rings in, she answered. "Bond Agency?"

  "It's me. Can you run a background check on Peter Rivera?"

  I heard typing. "Sure. Anything in particular that you're looking for?"

  "Any way to contact him. Addresses, aliases, friends or family he might be staying with."

  More typing. "I'll try. But some of that stuff won't be on an official record."

  Meaning his known associates would be on the police record but not readily available to the public. At least not legally. "See what you can find," I said.

  "On it."

  "Did you find any Riverside connections yet?" I asked.

  "I did. I'll tell you all about them over lunch. We're on our way to the restaurant now."

  Shoot. I'd forgotten all about lunch with Charley and Elaine. Part of me wanted to get out of it—I felt like I didn't have time to breathe let alone chat over a leisurely Arnold Palmer right now. However, I did need to eat, and Maya did have info. I'd pop in, order food to go, and pop out.

  "Right. I'll meet you there." I paused, remembering my trip to The Spotted Pony. "Oh, and I'm going to text you a name. Tara Owens. Can you do a background check on her when you get back to the office?"

  "Sure thing," Maya promised before hanging up.

  I jumped into my roadster and headed in the direction of the restaurant Maya had chosen, a café a few blocks from the office.

  As I drove, I dialed Aiden's number on speaker. He picked up immediately. "ADA Prince."

  His voice sent a sudden flip to my stomach. It was warm and inviting, and it was all I could do not to unload all my troubles on him right then. "Hey, it's Jamie."

  "Well, well, she finally returns my call."

  I bit my lip. "Yeah, sorry about that. I was, uh, busy last night."

  "Busy with?"

  "A case."

  "Ah."

  I cleared my throat. Why did I feel like I was lying to him? I mean, yes, I hadn't exactly spelled out my reason for going to New Zealand, but it wasn't as if I'd been doing anything naughty with Danny the night before when he'd called. I'd barely been talking with him. So why did I feel flushed now?