Unbreakable Bond (12 page)

I spotted Omar, the owner, near the bar and shouted his name. I limped over, panting like a wild dog.

He looked up and chuckled, recognizing me immediately. At six-feet, two-hundred and fifty pounds and sporting a military buzz, he resembled a bouncer more than an entrepreneur. He took in my limp and my labored breaths and uttered one word. "Who?"

"GQ," is all I got out between pants. Damn, I needed to work out more.

I barely heard the door swing open above the house music and cat calls, but I sensed him. I stepped to the side and used Omar as a human shield.

"Candy, Apple." He snapped his fingers and pointed to Aiden.

Immediately two girls working the tables jumped to attention. They were dressed in halters and skirts so short their butt cheeks were visible from beneath. Strapped to their freshly pedicured feet were glittery stilettos. They slithered over to Aiden. The pale one pressed her man-made tits to his bicep. The other leaned into him and gyrated against his hip. If I wasn’t running for my life, I would’ve enjoyed watching him squirm away.

Omar kissed the top of my head. "I saw your picture on the news. Clear yourself and be safe."

Without another word, he turned his back and continued playing guard as I snuck alongside the stage to the back offices.

I appreciated that he never asked if I killed the judge.

Chatter and laughter from the dressing area grew louder as the music softened. Light spilled onto the tarnished wood floor, and I stopped at the adjacent door. I peeked in.

Three girls were applying liquid eyeliner and brushing their hair. Luscious Lavender had stopped working here after her father insisted she come live with him and his wife. I heard she enrolled in the dental hygiene program at the community college. His wife ended up filing for divorce. Despite the biological connection, she couldn’t stand another woman in her husband’s life.

I turned away and stepped into Omar’s cool, dark office, a momentary reprieve, and walked around his desk.

During my time staking out Luscious Lavender and Daddy, I’d spent several hours working the floor. Not the stage. Serving drinks, ignoring roaming hands on my butt, and making decent tips.

When Omar discovered I was a PI, and I never did find out just how, he dragged me into his office and demanded I spill. I had, he'd laughed, then he'd agreed to let me stay as long as I needed, even showing me his secret back door exit to the alleyway in case I needed a quick escape. 

The exact route I took now.

As I threw open the door, the balmy night air hitting me square in the face, I heard tires screech around the corner. A second later, Caleigh and Sam pulled to a stop at the back door and waved me over.

Perfect timing.

Caleigh opened the passenger door and scooted toward the glove compartment. I pushed up the back of her seat and squeezed in.

Sam smiled at me through the rearview mirror, but she spoke to Caleigh. "See, I knew she’d head for The Spotted Pony."

Damned, now I really didn't want to fire her.

I leaned my head back as Sam took a left out of the alley, heading toward the freeway. I closed my eyes willing my heart rate to return to normal. I needed a long, hot shower and a cold, stiff drink.

*  *  *

We pulled up in front of Maya’s. The office was off-limits, as was my apartment, and we needed answers fast. When we stepped through the doorway of her apartment, she was pouring four, large margaritas on the rocks. God, I loved her.

I limped to the upholstered sofa and flopped onto it. My knee throbbed, and it was all I could do to not clench my teeth and bellow warrior style.

Maya handed me a drink and held out two bottles. One was over-the-counter, generic ibuprofen and the other was prescribed Oxycodone. "From when I had kidney stones last year," she explained.

I grabbed the amber bottle, popped a giant white pill into my mouth and gulped the ‘rita. Cold, frothy and with extra tequila. God bless alcohol.

I’d only been here twice. The first time when Maya moved in and the second to celebrate her twenty-fifth birthday. The second time I’d been declared the designated driver.

Luckily I wasn’t driving tonight.

Everything looked the same. Glass accent tables, navy upholstery, a few simple picture frames and no unnecessary clutter. A sleek glass and metal desk sat across from the couch. Her laptop displayed a Google results page. Obviously she’d already begun searching.

That was my girl.

Sam and Caleigh settled in with their drinks, and I closed my eyes for a moment. I pushed thoughts of Aiden aside and focused on which would soothe my pain first, the alcohol or medication.

"How’s Julio?" Maya asked Sam.

"He’s fine. It’s the babysitter that can’t stop puking. A neighbor's watching him tonight, but she’s not available tomorrow."

With everything going on, it would’ve been easy to tell her to stay home with her kid. They each deserved a day off. But even if I ignored the murder charge hanging over my head, there was still the matter of a failing business. We couldn’t afford to lose any clients, and I couldn’t afford to lose one of my girls.

"I did a reverse lookup on that number you got from Donna’s place, boss," Maya said.

I opened my eyes and sat up, trying not to wince and show my enormous discomfort. "And?"

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "It led to an optometrist’s office. Donna had an eye exam scheduled for next week."

I sighed. Another dead end.

Maya turned to her computer. "But I’ve been digging for info on the drug - Shooting Stars."

"And?" I asked, taking another sip.

"From what I could find, there seems to be a lot of chatter about it on
Twitter
. It’s in code for the most part. Here, look."

She clicked several keys and pulled up the account of someone named Sgrbabee69. The profile picture showed a barely legal young woman with glitter eye shadow and frosted lipstick.

Maya pointed to the statuses. "She’s talking to some guy about getting together and watching for shooting stars."

"Does she give any clue where they go to get the stuff?" I asked.

Maya refreshed the page and read the words, mumbling out loud. The print was too small for me to see, and I wasn’t ready to give up my comfortable position.

"Last weekend they met at Club Dante."

Invisible icy fingers trailed along my spine. "Donna worked there."

How likely was it a coincidence? Not that it mattered. I didn’t believe in coincidences.

"So that’s where I go." I braced the arm and back of the sofa to use as leverage as I stood up. The throbbing in my knee wasn’t as strong as before, but the room teetered to the left.

"Whoa." I slid back onto the cushion. Margarita sloshed onto my skirt.

"Yeah, you’re not going anywhere now, boss." Sam took the glass from my hand and set it on the coffee table.

"I don’t have time to rest."

"Too bad. You won’t make it otherwise."

As much as I wanted to disagree further, I knew I was in no condition to do anything more than sleep. The only problem was where.

As if reading my mind, Maya said, "You can stay here."

I shook my head slowly, fearing sudden movements. "No, thank you. It’ll just be a matter of minutes before they search for me at all of your places. I shouldn’t even be here now."

"Well you can’t go home, so what? A motel?" Caleigh wrinkled her nose at the idea. Unless it offered chocolate mints on your pillow cases and had a concierge, she deemed the place inferior.

Too bad my wallet couldn’t appreciate her tastes.

Danny’s place was completely out of the question, too. Not only because of the police, but I was still pissed at him and had no intention of admitting he was right about tonight. No, I needed a hideaway off the radar, with someone no one would suspect.

A tidal wave of nausea, not due to my dangerous combination of narcotics and alcohol, consumed me.

Damn.

Derek.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

_____

Daylight streamed through the port holes, stabbing me awake. I pushed my face into the pillow and groaned. Did the man not believe in shades?

After wobbling along the pier in my snakeskins last night, I'd found Derek in a "loving" embrace with a bottle-blonde wearing more make-up than Bozo the Clown. Trying to avert my eyes, I'd asked, "Can I crash here until I clear my name?"

His reply: "Knock yourself out, kid."

Luckily that had been the extent of our conversation. I had a feeling he was saving the real interrogation for this morning, when he was sober(ish) and alone.  

While Aiden and his crew would know full well that Derek was biologically linked to me, it would take a little more digging to find my dad. As a P.I., Derek had always believed in living off the radar - P.O. Box for all his mail, no home phone, utilities in a corporate name. The harder it was for an angry husband to find him the better, he'd always told me. And his security obsession had only grown after getting shot. Making the boat registered to a 'Captain Jack Sparrow, Inc.' (Derek always did have a sense of humor) the perfect secure hideout.    

The delicious aroma of dark roast weaved its way around my dull senses, awakening me further. I shrugged off the covers and stretched. After Derek had welcomed me aboard, the captain and I hadn’t spoken a word. Which meant this was the big moment. No messages to delete, no screened calls, no egg timer.

I sighed and headed to the bathroom. My headache was light, and the throbbing in my knee had gone down, but I still limped. There’d be no chasing unfaithful husbands for me for a few days.

I splashed water on my face and noticed an unopened, packaged toothbrush. I couldn't help a grin. Why did I get the feeling Derek was used to unexpected overnight guests?

I tore open the package and squeezed white paste onto the bristles. After feeling a bit more human, I hobbled toward the scent of coffee and found a full pot in the galley. On the counter, nestled between the microwave and a box of Cap’n Crunch sat a coffee can of fresh cut wildflowers.

The same ones at Mom’s grave.

A sudden wave of nostalgia hit me. After Mom had died, Derek had refused to talk about her. Even though I was young at the time, I'd understood somehow that it was just too painful. But as the initial shock and pain had subsided some for me, morphing into a dull sense of loss that never quite went away, it had frustrated me that no one ever mentioned her. But Derek had stood fast. She was gone, and that was all there was to say on the matter. I guess over the years I'd just stopped associating Derek with my mom. The small reminder that he still thought of her was comforting. Okay, maybe the guy wasn't all bad.

I poured a cup and sat at the table, gazing out to sea.

Small waves rippled the water. Over the horizon, the sun rose, coloring the grey sky with strokes of orange and yellow. It looked like another horrendously hot day approaching.

Giggles pinpricked the quiet.

I sucked in a breath. Great. Bottle-blonde was still here.

I grabbed my coffee and started toward the cabins when Derek appeared in the doorway.

"Morning," he grumbled then reached for my mug, taking a healthy swig. Hair tousled, dressed in shorts and tank, he didn’t look ready to tackle the day. And I definitely didn’t want to spend the day with a bear.

Another giggle sounded, and I turned to find Elaine, from the news station, in the doorway. Her hair was mussed, her make-up smudged on one side, and her cheek bore a wrinkled pillow impression. In person, she was shorter than she appeared on camera. Kinda like the reverse effect of a car’s side view mirror.

I looked away, trying with all my might not to imagine the two of them together.

"Don’t mind him," she said with a smirk. "He’s always grouchy before the first cup, which is why I showed him how to operate the machine’s automatic timer."

How domestic of them.

He waved away her words and gulped the hot liquid. Like a super hero in a phone booth, he went from scary, old geezer to attractive, old man in seconds. He stood taller and more alert. He smiled at us, looking from one to the other. "Elaine, this is James."

"Jamie," I corrected automatically.

She extended her squat arm and wrapped her hand around mine. "Good to meet you. He talks about you all the time."

I raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Really?"

She widened her eyes, giving off an innocent look, but I doubted there was anything naïve about this woman. "Oh yes. He’s always mentioning the agency. Wondering how it’s going."

I smirked. "Yes, his love for the cases is exceptionally touching."

He shot me a look, then handed me back my mug (empty) and reached into the cupboard for one of his own.

Elaine glanced at her watch. "Well, I need to get to my place to change before work. It was super nice meeting you though, James."

"Jamie."

She ignored me, turning her attention to the captain, murmuring some thankfully unintelligible sweet talk that had even Derek blushing by the time she was done.

I poured myself a fresh cup, headed back to the table, sat down and stared at the water, trying to block out the scene.

Giggles and wet lip smacking erupted that reminded me of junior high braces, sneaking under the bleachers, and heading back to class chewing flavorless gum that wasn’t mine. Ick.

I rolled my eyes and considered throwing myself overboard.

"Call you later," Elaine finally promised.

I turned in time to catch Derek playfully slap her on the butt.

She walked out, and Derek sat opposite me at the table.

"How’s the leg?" he asked. "That limp seemed bad last night."

"Fine."

"Want to tell me what happened?"

"No."

"So, what’s going on with the Martin case?"

I rested my head on the table. This would be the longest day of my life. "Don’t you have something to do?"

Someone else to torture.