Unbreakable Bond (6 page)

If this was the judge's wife, who the hell had come into my office?

Every fiber in my body froze in place, my swirling brain suddenly focusing with alarming clarity on just one terrifying thought.

I'd been set up.

CHAPTER SIX

_____

Who?

The word, along with a colorful array of obscenities, looped through my mind. Who was the fake Mrs. Waterston? Who’d pretend to be the wife of a Superior Court judge? Who’d hire a private investigator to prove infidelity as a ruse?

A murderer looking for a scapegoat, that's who.

Who had been naive enough to take the word of a stranger at face value?

The answer sunk to the pit of my stomach and dueled with the pastrami.

Me.

When I looked up, the bartender averted his eyes. I whipped my head around, wondering how many other Dungeon patrons recognized the woman in the footage and the woman sitting at the bar.

I glanced again at the bartender. He was intent on the register now, eyes down, forehead wrinkled in concern. Were his fingers itching to dial 911 and leave a tip? Eventually someone would point me out to the cops. And then what?

Danny touched my hand, jolting me from my thoughts. "This will get straightened out." But the pinched look on his face screamed panic more than reassurance.

I nodded. "She killed the judge and set me up to cover her tracks," I said, working through my jumbled thoughts out loud. "But why? And if she's not really the wife, who is she? What does she have to do with the judge?"

"I know a guy. A lawyer. He defended that athlete accused of murdering his wife. You know the one." He rapped his knuckles on the bar, as if the motion would dislodge the name from his brain.

"And beyond why him and why her... why me?" I asked no one in particular. "Why frame me?"

"A good lawyer will sort through it all."

"I have a lawyer."

Danny sighed and shook his head at me. "Not Levine. You need a criminal attorney."

I shivered, practically break dancing on the bar stool at the phrase. I'd been known to bend the law on occasion, but I was no criminal. Besides, who could afford a high profile lawyer? There was no reason I couldn’t figure this out before it got to that. "The footage is the key to finding out who did this," I decided, staring at the TV screen again as if it might replay.

Danny blew out a long breath. "Are you listening? Bond, this is serious."

I was listening. I’d heard every syllable he uttered, every nuance in his tone, every stab at my competence. He didn't think I could handle this.

I pushed my plate away, clanking it into my beer bottle. I couldn’t continue eating. "Lawyers hire P.I.s, Danny. Not the other way around."

"So you’re gonna hire yourself?" He raised his smartass eyebrows.

"No, I’m going on my date with the ADA." I tossed several bills on the bar and grabbed my bag.

Danny held up a hand, palm out. "Whoa. What are you talking about?"

I told him about my call with Aiden. When I was done, he looked at me like I needed committed.

"Are you crazy? You’ll be wearing handcuffs before appetizers."

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well it made me look like a petulant teenager. I only dusted off the expression for him and Derek.

"I know what I'm doing. I'm not a rookie when it comes to men," I said, driving home the point that I didn’t need an extra father. One was more than enough.

Another patron walked in as I stood and gave me the body check. My skin prickled. Maybe he was just checking out my hot pumps and short skirt... or maybe he'd seen Soledad's report and was even now counting the reward money in his head. Either way, the mingling aromas of old grease, stale beer and musty men funked my personal space. I couldn’t sit there any longer.

"I need to get out of here," I said, leading the way to the parking lot.

"So the sex kitten voice was for the Ken doll," Danny said, following me.

Sunlight blinded me, and I reached into my bag for my Gucci sunglasses, using the motion to ignore Danny's statement.

"Obviously he knows you’re the prime suspect in his case."

"You think, Sherlock?"

"Well, clearly you can’t lead with your libido."

I scoffed. "Is that what you think I’m doing? God, Danny, I'm not
you
. I want to find out what he knows. Find the fake Mrs. Waterston and nail her ass before someone nails mine, got it? I have no interest in romance, trust me."

Danny sighed and used his fingers as a wide-toothed comb, making his hair stand on end. "I don’t like it."

"You don’t have to. I have my big girl panties on. I can take care of myself."

I expected him to make a crude comment about my undergarments. Instead he said, "Fine, but I’m going with you."

I chuckled, hoping it sounded playful, even though it was laced with annoyance. "I said I could handle it."

But he ignored me. "I’ll wire you and wait outside. But you’re not going alone. Aside from wanting you behind bars, he’s a creep, probably sleeps with every woman he meets."

Well if that wasn’t the horndog calling the flirt a himbo.

But, considering I wasn't 100% sure he wasn't right, I relented. "Fine. Wire me."

And since Danny hadn’t drilled the ADA’s reputation into the concrete far enough, he added, "You can’t trust this guy."

No shit. But it was the best lead I had at the moment. I planned to slide up to ADA Prince and gently squeeze out the info I needed. By the time I was done, Prince would know a new definition of the word charming.

*  *  *

I still had hours before I needed to get ready and meet Prince, and the last thing I wanted to do was pace my apartment, possibly collide into Levine at the office again, or run the risk of being seen at the target range.

With all of my regular hangouts off limits, I chose the only other place that held sentiment.

The grass crunched beneath my pumps. Too many days without rain and temps over ninety left it yellow and pea green in spots. Even without my jacket, I wanted to melt into the ground. I’d left it in the car, along with my gun, because she didn’t approve of weapons.

At least that’s what Derek had told me years ago.

She used to frown and complain when he'd come home wearing his. Mom lived an honest life, filled with peace and kind words. When she disciplined me, she never raised her voice, even while grounding me for what felt like life. She and Derek couldn't have been more different.

I turned off the narrow dirt path and walked up two rows to the back corner of the cemetery. Propped against her headstone sat a bouquet of wild flowers. Her favorites. Their vibrant purple, yellow, and pink petals were still smooth and fresh. Someone delivered them recently.

I smiled at the idea of an old friend paying his or her respects, of someone visiting so she wasn’t lonely. Perhaps that was a silly notion, but I needed to believe she was still listening when I shared my life, still laughing at my goofs, still frowning at my mistakes.

I placed a smaller bouquet of the same blooms beside the first set and sat down. Leaning against her tombstone, I shut my eyes and pressed out the world, traveling back to a time before Bond Agency, before DeLine Models, and before the car accident.

"Do you remember that Christmas we spent in New York because we wanted to see the city and experience snow? I was so young. We went ice skating at Rockefeller Center, and you kept falling."

She’d worn a yellow scarf, and every time she went down, the frayed ends blew up and landed on top of her head. It reminded me of Big Bird and made me giggle.

"At the hotel that night, you lied in bed, your legs smothered in towels of ice. Then the next day, despite the aches and bruises, we went back and you managed to not fall…as much."

I chuckled at the memory. "You taught me how to keep going, Mom. Thank you."

Years later, I wondered if she’d fallen on purpose, just to hear me laugh. She was like that.

After a few moments of silence, I opened my eyes and filled her in on the latest. I hesitated at the part where my face was plastered on the local news, but she’d want to know every detail, so I reluctantly told.

The greatest thing about Mom was she never judged me. When I wanted to pierce my septum in fifth grade, because a hot drummer in a punk band did the same, she said, "You’d look great with a loop. Just take care of it and you won’t develop any infections. They’re easy to heal with medication though. It’ll only be swollen and filled with puss for a few days."

Needless to say, my septum remained un-pierced to this day.

"Danny's wrong," I told her. "A lawyer's not going to help me.  I mean, I can’t just turn myself in. That’s crazy. Right?"

A breeze stirred the ends of my hair. The aroma of jasmine floated with it.

Mom’s signature scent.

The left side of my brain reasoned it belonged to nearby flowers, but the daughter in me felt her presence.

"I knew you’d agree."

My purse began to ring out an unfamiliar tone. I dug inside and came out with the prepaid cell, checking the readout.

Prince.

My pulse raced, feeling like life had suddenly intruded on my sanctuary.

I glanced to Mom as if looking for her input, then answered. "Hello?"

"Jamie? It’s Aiden."

"Hi," I said slowly. "I wasn’t sure if you’d call back."

"Why’s that?" His voice was steady and business-like. Some small part of me was almost impressed with his game of chicken. It was the same tone he'd used only hours ago when he'd thought I was just a hot blonde and not a murder suspect. There was no hint of deceit in it whatsoever. He was good; I'd give him that.

A fact that made the pit of anxiety grow to epic proportions in my stomach.

"Just figured you may be too busy," I answered, trying to match his casual sound.

"I’d never cancel on a beautiful woman. So is nine still okay?"

"Great." The word came out rushed and way too eager.

"Good. How about we meet at Franco’s? Are you familiar?"

A rustic Italian restaurant off Melrose. I’d never been inside, but I heard the Roasted Vegetable Lasagna was to die for.

"Yes, I can’t wait."

"Me too. See you tonight."

The line went dead. I sat there staring at the phone, wondering if he’d actually show up or have a police cruiser waiting to escort me to the local precinct.

But my gut said to take the chance. If there was any possibility of getting answers, it was through the ADA.

CHAPTER SEVEN

_____

I'd arrived at Franco’s fifteen minutes early. Enough time to scope out the place and find a prime position for observing without being noticed. At the moment, a large wooden column was doing the trick just nicely.

Wood beams lined the ceiling, and pillars flanked the foyer. The dinning area had white linen tablecloths and dim lighting. Very atmospheric. The small bar held only a few seats, the bulk of the room taken up with romantic tables for two. Vaguely I wondered if Aiden had picked the venue before or after he realized I was his prime suspect. 

The bartender, a slim man with a wiry mustache, looked up frequently while mixing drinks. It had to be the strapless, red mini dress that accentuated my legs and cleavage. Of course, it could’ve been the way I hid, pressed to the column like a stripper.

I refused to believe it could be because he'd seen the latest broadcast displaying my face as a
person of interest
in the judge’s murder. I mean, who paid attention to those new briefs anyway?  My firm grip on denial allowed my heart to continue beating at a moderately normal level.

"Jamie, he just pulled up." Danny’s voice registered clearly in my earpiece.

Attached to the bodice of my dress was a diamond brooch with a hidden camera disguised inside. Not what I’d normally wear on a date, but tonight was all business.

"Copy that," I spoke into my chest, with a sigh of relief that he'd shown up himself.

And not sent a gang of black and whites.

The bartender frowned, probably wondering why the crazy, hot woman was talking to herself.

I offered a killer, um, no, an innocent smile and turned back to watch the entrance.

The door opened and Aiden strode in. He still wore the suit trousers he had on earlier, but the jacket and tie were removed, leaving the white button-down open just enough to catch a glimpse of his tanned chest.

He glanced toward the bar, and my palms began to sweat like a thirteen-year-old on her first date.

Jitteriness wasn’t usually a part of the routine. But nothing was usual about this encounter.

The Maitre d’ showed him to a table in the far, front corner.

From what I could tell there were no police cars out front, no flashing lights or sirens. He hadn’t walked in with any officers, and he was reading the menu.

I turned my back to the bar and asked Danny, "How’s it look out there?"

"All clear."

A hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I flinched. I spun around to find the Maitre d’—a stout man with white hair and skin as smooth as a helium-filled balloon.

"Madame, may I help you?" he asked, clearly not used to women hiding out in his restaurant.

So much for being incognito.

"I’m fine," I whispered. "I was set up on a blind date, and I wanted to scope him out first. You know."

But from the sudden creases along his forehead, he didn’t. "Shall I show you to a table so you can wait for the gentleman?"

Danny chuckled in my ear. "Smooth, Jamie."

An older couple walked inside and stopped at the host stand.

Perfect timing.

I used their presence as a shield and stepped forward. "No need. I see him now."

The Maitre d’ shot me a look that said he'd be keeping an eye on me (join the club, pal), but thankfully left me to attend to the new couple.