Unbreakable Bond (16 page)

I'd known Danny for years. Even as I saw evidence of his lie staring me in the face, I had a hard time believing he would deliberately set me up to take the fall for murder.

But he was definitely involved. And definitely hiding something.

I flipped through the pages of the book, checking imprints on the back now, not the actual images. At least a dozen bore Danny's name. I felt sicker with each one, my stomach rolling on itself. I shut the book, shoved it back on the shelf.     

Just as the bedroom door opened, and Dakota stepped inside.

Shit.

Her eyes widened, then she frowned. "What are you doing in here?"

I blinked, not prepared for an interrogation, my mind still racing with the million WTF's the portfolio had inspired.

"Well?" she asked again, shutting the door behind her.

I clutched my stomach, knowing damn well I appeared shaken and about to lose it. "I wasn’t feeling well and was looking for a restroom. The other one was full," I lamely explained.

She stared at me for a long minute then scrunched her nose up. "Well, if you're gonna be sick, please don't do it in here. Like, go use the kitchen sink or something."

I nodded. "Right. Sorry." Then I practically sprinted out of the room without hesitation. When she closed the door behind me, I figured it was the perfect time to make my escape. I slipped down the staircase, quickly grabbed my purse from the sofa, and slipped out the door before anyone even noticed I was gone.

*  *  *

A cab dropped me off back at the club where I grabbed my car and immediately drove toward the office. It was a risk, but I needed answers, and this was the only place to get them.

I moved slowly, first checking the street for unassuming cars that looked like detectives in cheap suits lived in them, then scanning the building for any sign of new surveillance cameras. All looked clear. And eerily quiet.

I made my way down the hall in the dark. No sense in attracting any possible attention from outside. I hit my office, then I pulled my blinds shut tight and flipped on the lamp beside my computer.

My leather chair embraced me like an old pair of jeans, worn and comfortable in all the right places. I closed my eyes and listened to the silence, needing a moment to recoup.

I switched on my computer while mentally replaying every conversation Danny and I'd had in the past week. Funny how one little piece of information could put an entirely different spin on everything he'd said to me.

While I typed Dakota’s name into a search engine, I wondered if Danny had really betrayed me for the leggy model. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done something stupid over a woman. I hadn't pegged Dakota as the brains behind the murder plot, but it's certainly possible she was a better actress than I gave her credit for.

Links to Dakota's website,
Facebook
and
Twitter
accounts popped up on my screen. Several articles showed her photo shoots in
Seventeen
and
Glamour;
one looked demure and teen-like while the other was full vamp. An interview listed her favorite movie as
American Pie
and her favorite dessert as apple because it reminded her of the film.

I added Danny’s name to the search engine and received several mentions of them together on a photo shoot in Brazil. That was last year.

My stomach rolled again. Had they known each other that long? It gave them an awful lot of time to get cozy. And an awful lot of time for Dakaota to milk Danny for info about yours truly. I wondered how willingly he'd given it.

I browsed a few more pages, picking up little bits and pieces about Dakota that meant nothing on their own, but I filed them away for future info anyway. Then I turned off the computer and grabbed a camera from my bottom desk drawer. An old Nikon that Danny had given me a couple of years back when he was updating his equipment.

I tucked it into my jacket beside my Glock and headed out.

Fifteen minutes later, I was parked across from Danny’s apartment, a block down the street. I faced the door, taking a front row seat to any activity to or from the building. It was too early, too dark for him to be awake.

But I could wait.

*  *  *

A horn honked, and I jumped. I rubbed my eyes, smearing day-old mascara and eyeliner.

It was daylight, dawn. The sky was a pale grey, but the sun hadn’t risen yet. I blinked into the hazy morning.

The horn blasted again, and I turned to glare. A car sat perpendicular to mine, only a couple of feet away. The windows were down, and a woman yelled obscenities at the car in front of her, which was idle at the stop sign.

She gripped her cell phone in one hand and a coffee in the other. The older man in the front car flipped up his middle finger then sped around the corner.

Good morning, L.A.

Miss Obscenities drove on using the tips of her fingers to steer. She never even noticed me.

I grabbed my cell off the passenger seat. Six o’clock. I stretched, as best as possible behind a steering wheel, and considered driving down the block to get a cup of coffee. But I didn’t want to miss Danny leave. He’d be up and out soon.

I grabbed the camera and took a few shots of the front of his building. Then waited. My stomach rumbled, and I fished through the glove compartment for a piece of gum, a leftover fortune cookie, anything. But all I found were ketchup packets, napkins and a book of matches.

For a brief moment I wondered if heated ketchup would satisfy the hunger.

I played with my phone and discovered two voicemails. I dialed in and listened. The first one was from Derek, wanting a recap of the night. His tone sounded edgy and concerned.

I made a mental note to call him later, then deleted the message and went on to the second.

It was from Caleigh. "You haven't checked in. I'm worried. And when I worry I get those tiny lines between my brows, and you know how I feel about lines. So call me when you get this."

I smiled at her concern, then quickly shot her a text telling her I was okay.

Relatively speaking.

Movement up ahead made me look up. The building door opened, and a pair of tall, athletic blondes bounced out. Danny’s neighbors in 4B. He said they were Pilates instructors who had yet to give him the time of day. It hadn’t stopped him from repeatedly trying, though.

They walked down the street and out of sight.

I set the camera on my lap, my body humming, ready for action. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, trying an old meditation technique I'd learned during my first photo shoot in lingerie. Filming in see-through lace at seventeen hadn’t sounded like a nerve-wracking idea until I got onto the set and saw all the cameras and people gawking. Luckily, one of the makeup artists taught me how to tune everyone else out through relaxation.

I continued the breaths until my pulse calmed.

Just as the door opened, and Danny stepped outside.

I lifted the camera and took a couple of shots.

He blinked at the sky and shielded his eyes with his hand, as if sunlight blinded him. Knowing him, he’d just climbed out of bed and hadn’t pulled up a shade yet.

I continued to watch him through the lens.

He was top and shoeless, only wearing grey sweats and a smile. What was he grinning at? He glanced back at the door.

It opened further, and out stepped Dakota, still dressed in the black linen shorts and nude colored halter she’d worn at the club.

Her appearance sucker punched me in the gut, and all those relaxing deep breaths gushed out my window.

"Son of a bitch."

Dakota reached up on tippy-toes and planted a firm kiss on Danny’s mouth.

The "special guy" who'd bought her the purse I'd admired at the club. The hushed conversation with someone in the limo. It had been Danny. Had she been telling him about me? Warning him that I was getting close?  

I jabbed and released the camera's button continuously. The shutter opened and closed in rapid speed, echoing like distant gun fire.

Danny leaned into the kiss and grabbed Dakota's ass.

She pulled away, giggled and waved as she walked down the road to her car.

He turned and went back inside.

I gripped the edge of the camera until I thought I’d snap it in two.

My best friend was now my prime suspect. I couldn't trust anyone.

I clenched my teeth until I thought the enamel would crack.

God, I hated it when Derek was right.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

_____

I counted to ten, but blood still pounded in my ears. I’d been duped.

Before I could chicken shit my way out of this confrontation, I tossed my camera onto the passenger seat. I grabbed my keys, hopped out, locked the door and stomped to his building. It’s not that I was afraid of confrontations. I got right in the middle of them every time I hunted down a husband. They were usually someone else’s mess though.

Palm flat against the blue painted wood, I pushed past the lobby door and walked up two flights of stairs. By the time I reached Danny’s floor, my panting matched my heart rate. Fast, uneven and full of anger.

I glared at the gold painted 3C nailed to his door. I didn’t bother to knock but turned the knob.

The door swung fast, slammed against the back wall and ricocheted toward me. My heels clicked-clacked across the hardwood floors. I stopped in the middle of the room. "Where are you?" I demanded of the empty space. His place was tiny, small enough to fit neatly inside Dakota’s bedroom. But, it was tidy by bachelor standards, the bulk of it being taken up by a tan sofa and a wall of photographic equipment.

Danny poked his head out from the kitchen, confusion lighting his face the second he saw me.

He stepped into the room, an empty coffee pot in hand. "James? What are you doing here?"

"I know," I told him, my words coming loud and fast.

He shrugged and tried to look nonchalant, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "You know what."

"Everything," I bluffed.

"That covers a lot of ground."

"You really want this conversation to go down this way?" I asked him. "After everything we've been through?"

The confusion deepened, though I could see another emotion peeking through. If I had to guess, it looked a lot like guilt. "I don't know what you're talking about, Jamie."

"I'm talking about you screwing a possible murderer. Then screwing me to cover it."

His mouth twitched again. "You're not making any sense."

He was actually going to stand here and try to deny it? Would I need to run downstairs and show him the pictures?

"Why?" I asked. "Just tell me why you did it? Is she really that good in bed?"

His eyes narrowed. "Who are you talking about?"

"Dakota Hall!" I yelled, the name screeching out of me. "I saw her leaving your place, so the denial thing is just a waste of time."

He paused. "So what?"

"
So what
? So you slept with her!"

Danny blinked at me. "Yeah, I did. I didn't realize I needed your permission."

"Christ, Danny," I said, running a hand through my messy wig. "How could you do this to me?"

"Look," he said, taking a step backward. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. But whatever it is, you gotta simmer down, Bond." He turned his back on me and headed toward the kitchen.

My heart thumped against my rib cage, his suggestion to "simmer down" only having the opposite effect on me. I leapt forward and grabbed Danny’s arm, squeezing his bicep, trying to hold him back.

"I'm not done with you yet," I growled.

His eyes darted to mine. Instead of their usual paleness, they reminded me of the Pacific Ocean during low tide, dark, dangerous.

We both knew I couldn’t pin him down, but he must’ve seen the determination in my face because he tossed the coffee pot onto the sofa and wrapped his hand around mine.

His grip crushed my fingers, prying them off one at a time.

I snatched my hand back and slapped his face.

He took a step back, clearly stunned. "What’s wrong with you?" he yelled.

"You." I raised my hand and slapped him again, feeling the bubble of hurt and anger welling up in my throat. I hit him again, his arms going up to his face protectively.

"How could you do this to me? Over some dumb bimbo? You'd throw away our entire friendship over some hot little piece of ass."

"Stop!" Danny said, grabbing my right wrist.

But I noticed he didn't deny it, didn’t defend himself.

The fingers of my left hand curled into a fist.

"Why would you frame me for murder?"

I punched his bicep.

He grunted and flashed me a look of disbelief, but didn’t utter a word. No acknowledgment. No defense. No apology.

"What have I ever done to you?" I asked.

I raised my fist again and aimed for his face. But when I swung, something stopped me.

A large hand engulfed mine, preventing my next attack.

"That’s enough," whispered a deep voice.

I froze.

I knew that voice.

I spun around to find myself face to face with Aiden.

I blinked, trying to register his presence here.

"What the hell are
you
doing here?" Danny asked, practically growling his words.

But Aiden didn't answer him, just slowly guided my arm down and around my back.

"Wait, what are you doing?" I asked, even as the slow realization hit me.

A uniformed police officer stepped into view behind Aiden and snapped a handcuff around my wrist.

Aiden let go and stood in front of me. His right eye was swollen and turning a pale shade of purple where I'd caught him the night before.

He withdrew a sheet of paper from his jacket’s breast pocket. It looked like an official document, but I didn’t concentrate on it.

Instead I glared from him to Danny, not sure which one I hated more.

The officer tugged my other arm around and tightened the cuffs. Then Aiden uttered the words I dreaded most.