Deadly in High Heels (23 page)

"Ha ha. Very funny."

"Hey, cut the old man some slack, huh?"

"You left me six messages?" I prompted, hoping to get this over with.

"Is that all it takes to get my daughter to call me back these days? Just six."

"I was feeling generous."

"So, how did the judge thing go?" I could hear him popping something in his mouth. Probably Cap'n Crunch, knowing Derek. "Got anything yet? You know, James, you gotta move fast with these high profile clients. They expect instant gratification, if you know what I mean."

"Things went fine with the judge. We nailed him last night."

"Hey, good for you, pal. So, which one of the Bond Girls did you end up taking with you? That blonde one? God, she's hot."

I tilted my head to the side, and checked my timer. Three minutes left.

Shit.

Don't get me wrong, I love my dad. Honest. In fact, I'd venture to say there wasn't a woman in all of L.A. County that hadn't at one time or another fallen in love with Derek Bond. Think L.A.'s answer to Magnum P.I. Laid back, charming, and a real man's man. Unfortunately I'm a girl's girl, so you can see where we butted heads.

Plus, there was the fact that, hoping I'd come out a bouncing baby boy, Derek had named me James. James Bond. Yeah, I know. How do you forgive a guy for something like that?

"She has a name, Derek. It's Caleigh. And, yes, I took both her and Sam."

"Which one's Sam? The one with the legs?"

"They all have legs."

"Yeah, but not like hers, honey."

I looked at the timer. Two-thirty. "Don't you have company to entertain, Derek?"

"You wouldn't be trying to get rid of your dear old dad, would you?"

"Heaven forbid."

"All right, all right, I'll let you go, James. Just tell me who you're working tomorrow?"

"Shankmann. Married seven years. Doing the nanny. We're sitting on the place during his lunch break."

"We?"

"I'm taking Danny."

Derek paused, silence overtaking the other end of the line. "I don't trust him, James."

"His photos are excellent, and you know it."

"I didn't say his pictures were bad. I said I didn't trust the man. He's a player."

"Takes one to know one," I mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Listen, Derek, I can handle Danny. I'm a big girl. I'm a trained professional, remember?"

"I'll go with you."

"No!" I jumped up from the sofa, banging my shin on the coffee table. "Ow! Shit."

"What was that?"

"Nothing," I mumbled rubbing my leg. I could feel an unattractive lump growing there already. "Look, I'm doing Shankmann at noon. I'm taking Danny.
You
are staying home with Miss Tricks there, and if you don't, so help me God, I'll call Dr. Pederson and remind him you haven't had your annual rectal yet."

Derek chomped down hard on a Cap'n Crunch nugget. "Oh that was a low blow, James."

"Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

"Fine. But call me when you nail him. And I mean it this time!" he shouted, then hung up on me.

Just as the egg timer buzzed.

That's it, I
really
needed a drink.

*

After I'd counted to ten, done a couple calming yoga breaths, and popped the top on a Corona, I flipped the TV on and walked over to the windows, staring out at the valley below me.

When I'd moved here from New York three years ago, I'd instantly fallen in love with this apartment, not because of its size – lord knows the twelfth floor loft was one step up from a shoe box – but because of the windows. They spanned the entire back side of the open room, laying all of Hollywood sprawled out in front of me. On particularly clear days, of which I admit there are few below the smog level, I could see all the way from my point in Studio City almost to the ocean.

As I drank in the view I vaguely heard the newscaster ramble on from the TV about two shootings in Compton and the fact it was going to be another scorching July day in the triple digits tomorrow, but I tuned it all out. Instead, I watched as the last remnants of day disappeared behind the horizon, painting the sky a pale, dusky blue. One by one, twinkling lights began dotting the landscape, anonymous beacons replacing the fading shadows of palm trees and billboards. I closed my eyes, letting the day melt away.

Until I heard the television spit out a familiar name.

"... breaking news about Judge Thomas Waterston."

I turned just in time to see the judge's picture flash across the screen. In two quick strides I was across the room, grabbing the remote and upping the volume.

"I repeat, this is breaking news, Tom," the young, Hispanic newscaster said into her microphone.

"Do the police have any idea how long ago this may have happened?" a male voice, presumably Tom, responded off camera.

The reporter shook her head. "No. The police are being very cautious at this point about what information they release as this is breaking news."

"What is breaking news?" I demanded of the screen.

"Do they have any leads so far?"

Again she shook her bobbed head. "They are talking to witnesses who saw the judge at a charity fundraiser last night, but beyond that, we really don't have much information at this point, Tom."

The fundraiser? I felt the Corona burning in my empty stomach. Mixing with a sensation that felt a lot like dread.

The screen switched back to the newsroom, training on a man sitting behind the anchor desk in a dark suit.

"Thank you, Soledad," he said with a practiced look of concern. "Once again, for those of you just tuning in…"

I leaned forward and turned the volume up again.

"…the body of Judge Thomas Waterston has just been found at the Beverly Hilton hotel. Police confirm that he died from a gunshot wound to the head."

I stared openmouthed at the screen. Holy shit.

The wife killed him.

UNBREAKABLE BOND

Jamie Bond book #1

available now!

Also available:

Secret Bond
(Jamie Bond book #2)

Lethal Bond
(Jamie Bond book #3)

Bond Bombshell
(Jamie Bond short story)