Fatal Bond

by Gemma Halliday

  I had to admit. It was a little unfair. To the shoes.

  "I'm sure you've stepped in worse," I told her, the double meaning lost on her as I practically shoved her ahead of me. Had she not been in danger of losing her balance on said heels, she might not have moved. But as it was, she staggered forward, click-clacking onto the deck.

  Derek appeared in the doorway to the galley, wearing a faded Dodgers jersey and a pair of golf shorts. He had his hand in a box of Captain Crunch and looked like he'd neither showered nor been properly caffeinated yet.

  "Need more info on those wings?" he asked, blinking at me in the bright sunlight. Then he glanced behind me and spotted Kendall. "Who's the chick?"

  "Young woman," she corrected. "God, how chauvinistic can you get?"

  I had a feeling Kendall was about to find out.

  "Derek Bond, this is Kendall Manchester."

  Derek wiped the crumbs from his hand (mostly) and offered it to Kendall.

  She just looked at it. "I'm not into touching," she told him.

  "What, afraid I'll give you something? You one of them germaphobes?"

  "No." She scoffed. "I'm like a gross-aphobe. I don't do crusty old men."

  He grinned. "Feisty. I like her."

  That made one of us. "Great," I said instead. "Can you keep an eye on her for a bit? I've got some errands to run."

  He raised an eyebrow my way. "Keep an eye on her? What's she gonna do?"

  I smiled brightly. "You never know with millennials, do you?"

  "That's not what I meant—hey, where are you going?"

  But I was already halfway down the gangplank, stepping as fast as my pumps would allow. "Thanks, Derek, I'll be by to pick her up later!"

  He might have protested more, but I didn't hear, quickly ducking back into my car and roaring the engine to life before either of them could chase me down.

  I was just leaving the marina when my phone rang. I put it on speaker.

  "Jamie Bond."

  "Jamie, it's Candy."

  "What's going on? Are you okay? Is it Apple?"

  "I'm fine," she said. Only it was a harsh whisper, as if she were afraid someone might overhear her.

  This couldn't be good.

  "What's going on?" I asked

  "I found something out about Kent Perkins. Meet me at his house."

  "What kind of something?" I asked, pulling into the left lane to make a U-turn back toward his address I had for him in Pasadena. "Where are you now?"

  "I'm inside his house," she whispered.

  Oh yeah, not at all good.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Kent Perkins lived in the Bungalow Heaven area of Pasadena, which was a far cry from the gated estates of Bel Air. Apparently he hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said the ex was taking him for all he had. The street was a typical suburban road, lined with mature palm trees, modest craftsman style homes, and detached two-car garages. Well-groomed front lawns and plastic garbage cans lined the sidewalk, waiting for the truck to come along and collect their waste. Considering the time of the morning, the neighborhood was naturally quiet. Kids off to school and adults at work. There were very few cars parked in driveways and even fewer on the street.

  I pulled up to Kent's address. It was a two-story house with pale blue siding and white trim. It boasted a square of lawn in front and a couple of hedges near the house, but nothing to set it apart from any other home on the block. I shut off my engine and stepped into the street.

  I wished I knew what Candy had gotten herself into, but I didn't hear any screams or other sounds of a struggle from inside the house. So far so good.

  Candy's green Volkswagen Beetle was parked in the driveway behind a dinged up silver Lexus that I took to be Kent's vehicle. I reached the front porch and raised my hand to knock on the white door, when it opened.

  At first I didn't see anyone. It looked dark inside, but then Candy's pale face appeared like some ghost in a horror movie. She pushed open the door slowly, and when I opened my mouth to say hi, she immediately shushed me with a finger to her lips.

  What exactly was going on here? Alarm bells went off in my mind, and the hairs on the back of my neck raised, but I nodded in agreement.

  The foyer was small, only enough room for her and me to stand in. I shut the door behind me and needed a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. It was also exceptionally cool inside. A staircase stood to my left, and the wall to my right held a key rack without any keys on it. We stepped off the ten inches of tile and onto a plush beige carpet. The room ahead was the living and dining room. To my right was a nice sized kitchen with an island. The first floor was an open style, and it looked bigger on the inside than the exterior.

  Candy stepped into the center of the main room first, and I glanced at her choice of tight yellow denim shorts and an off-white top with a deep V-neck, long sleeves that flared at the wrist, and a sash around the waist. Four-inch rhinestone-studded heels sat on her feet, bringing the stripper glam to the outfit. She'd piled her hair into a messy bun at the back of her head and wore a pair of black-framed glasses. I'd never seen her in glasses before, so I wasn't sure if she actually needed them or if they were just a part of the look she was going for.

  Long, vertical blinds were open just enough to allow a thin stream of light into the room. It scattered the shadows and gave a warm glow to the minimal furnishings. A large flat-screen hung on a far wall, and a black leather sofa and a matching recliner faced it. The dining room table held room for six chairs, but there was only one at it. It looked lonely and sad all by itself.

  There was a stale scent to the place, as if it hadn't been aired out in some time, and the kitchen looked spotless. If I had to guess, Kent didn't cook much. Maybe he ate at the country club. I thought of his Bloody Marys. That was, if he ate much at all.

  I glanced to the stairs and then the ceiling for a second. I listened for footsteps or signs of movement from the second floor, but it was silent.

  "Where's Kent?" I asked.

  "Shhhhh!" Candy admonished again.

  "Candy, you have to tell me what's going on here," I whispered.

  She bit her lip. Then she crooked one finger at me in a come here gesture and walked around the sofa. I followed, my heels sinking into the carpet as I crossed the space. I peeked over the back of the sofa and cringed.

  Kent lay sprawled there, arms and legs falling off the sofa at awkward angles.

  A flood of varying thoughts ran through my mind, and it settled on the worst. "Oh my God, is he dead?"

  Candy frowned and shook her head. "No, he's only passed out." She paused, looking sheepish. "And maybe a little drugged."

  I blinked at her. Was she serious? "Candy, what did you do?"

  She wrinkled up her face and held out her hand, displaying an inch of space between her index finger and thumb. "I may have given him a little help sleeping."

  I walked around the sofa to check for a pulse and accidentally kneed the corner of the coffee table. Pain shot through my leg, and I squeezed my eyes shut and then mumbled a few curses under my breath. I then reached down and felt the side of his neck for a pulse. Luckily, his heart was pumping. The pulse felt weak beneath my fingertips, but it was definitely there and not my imagination.

  I stood up and faced Candy. "Okay, I give up," I told her in a hushed tone. "Why did you drug Kent Perkins?"

  She tugged on her lower lip with her teeth, removing some of her lipstick in the process. "After you left The Spotted Pony, I just kept thinking about him. And that he might have Apple. So, I kinda thought maybe I'd talk to him. You know, feel him out."

  I shook my head. "How did you go from feeling to drugging?"

  She sighed. "Okay, so I thought maybe I could get him to bring me back here so I could search his place for Apple."

  "Candy!"

  "Shhhhh!"

  "Candy," I said in a whisper again. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

  "I know. I know. But I'm going nuts wa
iting by the phone doing nothing."

  I had to sympathize. I couldn't imagine just sitting at home, knowing my friend was out there in harm's way. Still, she'd taken a big risk. "What if he did have Apple here? What if he'd abducted you too?"

  She shook her head, the messy bun getting messier as tendrils fell loose. "That's why I got him drunk first."

  I kneaded a spot between my eyebrows, that headache coming back. "Okay, start at the beginning. When was this?"

  "Last night. After I got off shift. I still had Kent's number from when he'd hired us to dance at that private party at his club. So I texted him and met up with him at a bar nearby."

  "Go on."

  "Well, we had a few drinks. I just nursed mine 'cause I didn't want to dull my senses," she added, clearly proud that she'd thought ahead like that. "Then I flirted a bit and convinced him to take me home."

  If his behavior at the country club was any indication, I'd imagine it hadn't taken a whole lot of convincing on her part.

  "And when you got back here?"

  "We had a few more drinks. Then I might have slipped him a little something to help him sleep so I could search his place."

  I looked at Kent. A puddle of drool was forming beneath his head. "How much is a little something?"

  "Relax. I just crushed up a couple of Ambien in his drink."

  I turned away from the sleeping not-so-beauty. "Clearly you didn't find Apple here."

  Candy's shoulders slumped at the mention of her friend. "No. But I figured he was out, so I spent most of the night looking through his stuff for any clues that might lead to her. And guess what I found?"

  "What did you find?" I asked.

  "A house in Palm Springs!"

  I was waiting for the punch line. "Kent has a second house?"

  "Yeah, but not just any house. A super smart house. He was building it for his wife, with all the bells and whistles, when he caught her with Wendell." She paused. "Trust me, I heard all about this while he was drinking last night. The guy really hates Wendell." She smiled. "And I think he still kind of loves his wife."

  Considering the state we'd found her in, in Riverside the previous day, he needed to let that one go.

  "What does this have to do with Apple?" I asked.

  "Right." Candy nodded. "Anyway, after he…uh, fell asleep—"

  I rolled my eyes.

  "—I went through his computer and found out the smart house is in Palm Springs. It looks like he abandoned the project part of the way through, 'cause I found a lot of unpaid bills from plumbers and stuff in his desk. So, I got to thinking, what better place to hide someone than a house no one has ever lived in. I mean, no one would think to look there—it's not even finished. And it's far enough away. I mean, Palm Springs is, like, a good two hours away, right?"

  "Two and a half with traffic," I mused, thinking she might be on to something.

  "Right! So, I started looking for everything I could find on this house, and it turns out that almost everything electronic on it is hooked up to this app. You can control the lights, change the temperature, and it has these sensors that log every time someone opens a door or window. So, I found the app on Kent's phone." She pulled a slim black phone from her pocket, swiping her finger across the screen.

  "How did you get into his phone?" I asked.

  She shrugged. "I found his password."

  "You just found it?"

  "Well, I know I am always forgetting that kind of stuff, so I have a file on my laptop that has all my passwords in it. Turns out, so does Kent. Easy peasy.

  I grinned. I was impressed. Maybe I'd have to put Candy on the payroll someday.

  "Anyway, look at this." She held his phone up to me so I could see the entry log for the home. "Someone opened the front door yesterday afternoon."

  "An hour after Pete Rivera was killed," I mused, noting the time. It was exactly how long it took to drive from Riverside to Palm Springs. It could be coincidence. But if Candy was right and no one lived at the house and no one was working on it, no one should be opening the front door. And it was awfully interesting timing for a kidnapper who might be moving Apple away from the house where Rivera had been holding her and to another secure location to wait out the rest of the 24-hour deadline.

  Speaking of which…I glanced at the time on Kent's phone. Ten o'clock. We had just under an hour left. Nerves fluttered up into my chest. Nowhere near enough time to get to Palm Springs from Pasadena.

  "You think Apple might be there?" Candy asked, the hope in her voice almost heartbreaking.

  "It's possible," I hedged, shoving those nerves down. "It's worth looking into at least."

  She smiled. "I thought so too. Here." She handed me a key fob. "These are to the house."

  I took it from her and dropped it into my purse. "Thanks."

  On instinct, I took a screenshot of Kent's phone app. Just in case he got wise when he woke and tried to delete the evidence.

  Kent snorted, twitched a leg, then settled back to sleep.

  "I think it's time to go," I whispered.

  Candy nodded then grabbed a large shoulder bag from the floor and followed me to the front door. We stepped outside, and she shut it behind her. The sun warmed my face, and I took half a second to appreciate it.

  "I'll call you when I know something," I promised Candy.

  She nodded again, and we parted, each getting into our cars.

  As soon as I turned mine on, I checked the dash clock. Forty-nine minutes to deadline. As much as I had a gut feeling this might be the lead that actually led to Apple, the deadline would be long gone by the time I got there. I needed to stall.

  I dialed Caleigh as I drove toward Bel Air.

  "Hey, Boss," she answered on the third ring.

  "Hey. Can you meet me at Wendell Manchester's in twenty minutes?"

  I heard movement. "It will be tight, but yeah, I can do that."

  "Bring your laptop. I've got a job for you."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I'd first met Caleigh Presley when we'd bonded over a bag of reduced fat Cheetos on the set of a Sports Illustrated swimsuit shoot in Cancun. Not only was Caleigh cute, sweet as Southern tea, and my snack hookup, but I'd also learned she was something of a computer prodigy, having spent all of her childhood's sultry Southern summers in the air-conditioned bliss of her parents' library, hacking into anything with less than Pentagon level security just for kicks. I'd yet to meet a database Caleigh couldn't get into, and she had more nefarious know-how than anyone on the dark web.

  Skills I planned to capitalize on that day.

  I pulled up to the estate twenty minutes later, and a housekeeper buzzed me in. I waited in the open gate for Caleigh to arrive, which she did a few minutes behind me. Then we piggybacked up the drive to the house.

  We parked, and I gave Caleigh a quick rundown on what I'd learned at Kent Perkins' place and what I hoped Caleigh could do to stall the kidnappers.

  Wendell answered the door in response to our knock. He wore a black suit with an icy blue tie and, in contrast to the last couple of times I'd seen him, looked quite put together. Apparently the further he got from his actual daughter being in danger, the more composed he was becoming. I wasn't sure if that spoke to his innocence or guilt, but for the first time I could almost see what other women saw in him. Under the right situation, a guy with Wendell's looks, power, and clout might be quite the draw. Though, it occurred to me that while he surrounded himself with women, so far every one of them that I'd met had been paid to be there. When I thought of it like that, it was actually kind of sad.

  "Have you found the dancer yet?" he asked.

  "Apple," I corrected, any sympathy I might have fleetingly felt evaporating. "Her name is Apple."

  "Is that a no?" he asked. His impatient tone said he had somewhere much more important to be this morning.

  "No," I told him. I glanced behind him to where another housekeeper stood in the living room. "Can we go somewhere private?"

>   He nodded. "My study." He held up his arm and pointed toward the back of the house.

  We walked through the foyer and down the hall to the kitchen. It was immaculate, except for the couple of pots on the stove and a large mixing bowl and wooden spoon on the counter. Another housekeeper was bent at the waist, pulling some baked goods that smelled like heaven out of the oven. I was suddenly keenly aware that all I'd put in my stomach that day was coffee.

  Wendell's study was dim and the size of my living room. I hadn't gotten a good look the previous time, when Stephanie nearly flattened my face by slamming the door back shut. But now I saw it had a classic feel with a large dark mahogany desk and three matching bookcases. Two extra wide windows framed the back wall, but heavy green and gold brocade draperies covered them. The only light source came from a green shaded desk lamp. Vampires would love this room.

  Wendell walked to the windows and pulled open the drapes. Sunshine suddenly flooded his desk and the black leather chair that sat behind it. Then it sneaked past and trickled through the rest of the room, pushing back the shadows, and slithered along the hardwood floors to my feet.

  A framed painting of irises hung on one wall. I knew nothing about art, but I had the feeling it was expensive. On the opposite wall, above the bookcases, were three small framed photos of flowers. Yellow tulips, red roses, and white orchids. Who knew Wendell was a nature lover?

  Caleigh gestured to the black leather chair. "May I?" She didn't wait for an answer before plopping herself down and immediately booting up her laptop.

  "So what's the plan then?" Wendell asked.

  "Is anyone else here?" I asked him, shutting the door behind us.

  "Just the housekeeping staff."

  "Stephanie?"

  "At my office downtown. Which is where I should be. How long is this going to take?"

  "The transfer should be pretty instantaneous once we get it set up," Caleigh answered, not looking up at him.

  "Wait—transfer?" Wendell hovered over her shoulder. "What do you mean transfer? I'm not paying these criminals." He shook his head. "No way. That dancer is not worth five million."