Lethal Bond: Jamie Bond Mysteries Book #3 (7 page)

"What's the plan, boss?" Sam asked.

The address Maya had given me listed a unit 104 on the ground floor as belonging to Rocco. The curtains were drawn, and there was no sign of life inside. I dialed the office. "Not sure yet."

"Bond Agency, how may I help you?" said Maya.

"It's me. Can you run a plate, please?" I rattled off the numbers and letters of the SUV and waited for her to do her magic. Even if Rocco were a low level dealer, there's no way that swaggering guy would be caught dead in any of the other junk-yard rejects at the curb.

One of the men at the corner stared in our direction. He'd been watching us since just after we'd arrived. Now he pointed to us. It was time for us to make a move. The last thing we needed was them coming this way and causing a scene. We'd never get to speak to Vanessa then.

I looked to Sam and said, "How do you think we should play this?"

"She has kids, so…"

"Social workers." It was the easiest way. Into the phone, I said," Got anything yet, Maya?"

I heard her fingers clicking on the keyboard. "Yes. It belongs to Rocco Diaz."

Damn. If he was home, we couldn't talk to…

"But he has two cars registered to him, and the other is a Ford Mustang."

What was the likelihood that he let his girlfriend drive the sports car with the tiny backseat not big enough for two car seats?

"Thanks, Maya," I said and hung up. "I think that's her car."

"Sure hope so," Sam said.

I turned to the rearview mirror and pulled my hair back into a makeshift bun. I grabbed my jacket from the back seat and shrugged it on, all while keeping my eye on the guys. So far, they remained on the corner, but more were watching us now.

Sam wiggled her skirt low enough so it almost met her knees. Thankfully her top was long enough to meet the top of the skirt and not show off her navel. Last I knew, social workers didn't go to work with skin showing.

We stepped out of the car, and I opened the trunk for more supplies. I kept a small box with random items for just these occasions. I pulled out an empty manila envelope, an old auto body receipt from my last tune-up, and a couple of pages from last year's edition of Vogue. The black leather handbag in them was to-die-for.

I stuffed the papers into the folder, grabbed a clipboard, then dug to the bottom of the box for a pen. I slammed the trunk down, and we went across the street. The walkway was worse close up. My heels got stuck twice in the cracks, and once I twisted my ankle with such a jerk that I almost went down.

Safely at the door to 104, Sam knocked while I peered into the windows. The curtains might have been drawn, but they were threadbare. I spotted two young kids seated on a ratty sofa. They were watching SpongeBob on a big, flat screen TV. Part of the wallpaper was torn off the wall above it, and a back window looked like it hadn't been washed in a year, but on the coffee table sat a Juicy handbag and an iPad.

The front door opened, and I jerked back. The woman was probably in her mid-twenties. She wore red skinny jeans, a pink ruffled blouse with tiny white flowers, and gold sandals. Maybe she was colorblind?

"Can I help you?"

I flashed my fake badge. The generic one that didn't have a specific seal or insignia. Danny had made it on his computer, like a high-schooler hoping to buy alcohol. "Hi, we're from Child Protective Services, and we'd like to speak with Vanessa Estevez. Is that you?"

Her eyes widened for a second; then a twitch began at the corner of her mouth. "What do you want? My kids are well fed and cared for."

"May we come in, please?" I asked, not wanting to have this conversation outside, just in case the corner guys decided to investigate the two strangers.

Vanessa hesitated, looking to each of us and then inside her home. "We're about to leave."

"Just for a minute," I said with a reassuring smile, or so I thought.

But she stood firm and didn't allow us access.

"We're not from INS or the IRS," Sam said, jumping into the conversation.

I took her lead. "That's right."

I wasn't sure if Vanessa was legal or not. Maya hadn't mentioned anything. But she relaxed her shoulders and took a step back. "Okay."

I smiled and stepped over the threshold. Sam followed on my heels.

As I suspected from outside, the interior needed new wallpaper, new flooring, and even the furniture was unlivable. The kids glanced up at us but then went straight back to watching their cartoons. A boy and a girl, they wore new-looking footie pajamas—one was a dinosaur and the other a princess. The girl clutched a baby doll, and I thought of Danny and his progressive teachings. They didn't exist in this home.

Vanessa led us into the small kitchenette and pointed to the lopsided, round table. "Please sit."

Sam and I took a seat. I leaned on the table, and it titled toward me. I removed my arms and sat back, praying the spindly chair legs wouldn't crush beneath my weight.

"Coffee? It only does one cup at a time, but I can make it twice," Vanessa asked, pointing to a shiny, new Keurig Brewer. It sat beside an old stove with grease buildup on the back wall. Everything else was clean though—the counters, the table, even the floor. It was worn and spotted from wear and tear, but it was obvious Vanessa took pride in what they had.

I shook my head. "No thank you. We're here about…" I looked down to the folder, flipped it open, and pretended to read from documents. "Um, Rocco Diaz. There's no employment listed, and we're inquiring about his income, co-workers…"

"He's a good man. He plays with the kids and bathes them." She twisted her hands together and stared at her children. "They love him."

"I'm sure they do," I said in between her frantic pleas to inform us he was a great father. Her nervousness was making me jumpy.

"Just the other day, he took them to the park. Not the one down the street because it's not clean and the swings are broken, but one someplace else. Where the rich people live. They had so much fun. The kids came back exhausted and took a long nap. They're good kids."

I opened my mouth to interrupt, but she kept on talking.

"I know this place isn't that nice, but I keep it clean, and we buy the kids what they need. We pay our bills on time. Never late. The kids start school in one and two years. I stay home with them, and I never leave them alone. Never." Her voice cracked. "If Rocco and I want to go out and be sexy, we take them to my mother's in Riverside. No babysitters. Ever.

Sam looked away again. She stared into the living room. As a single mom, she didn't have that luxury. Julio spent most of his time at school or with sitters. Our job demanded flexibility. Did Sam feel bad about that? She never talked about it. The only conversations we had about Julio were on how great he was doing in school, or how he had a crush on a girl named Cherry. And how in high school, that name would haunt her. She'd be forever asked if she'd been popped yet.

"My son can write his own name, and my daughter knows how to count to one hundred. Aye, Papi, show these nice ladies how you write your name," she called out to the little boy.

He looked up, dazed for a second. I doubted he'd been following our conversation.

"No," I said loud enough for him to hear. "That's fine."

He turned his eyes back to the television. That must've been one enthralling sponge.

"We don't smoke. Well, I don't. Rocco used to, but he gave it up over the summer. He's gone two months without a cigarette. And we don't drink, except on special occasions. Like we had a bottle of champagne on New Year's Eve. I buy lots of milk and chicken for the kids, to keep their bones healthy. I try to buy fruits but sometimes they're expensive, or the stores in this area don't have them fresh. They're rotten."

Oh dear God, did this woman ever shut up? I wasn't trying to be mean. Granted, I just hinted that we could take her kids away, but if she'd stop talking long enough to listen to what we wanted, we'd already be gone.

"Ms. Estevez, we're here to talk about Mr. Diaz's job," I shouted over her.

"He works hard, and he buys us nice clothes. I show you?" She pointed down the hall.

The last thing I wanted was a fashion show, especially considering what she currently wore. I shook my head. "There's no need for that. We just want to make sure he has the means to support your children, otherwise…"

I let the threat hang and immediately felt like a jerk for doing it. She obviously felt scared or threatened already, or she wouldn't have been rambling so much.

Sam glanced at me then turned to Vanessa. "We don't want to cause you any problems. It's obvious that the kids are well dressed and safe."

Spying the chipped paint on the ceilings, I felt Sam pulled that last word out of her butt, but didn't comment.

"We only want to know where Mr. Diaz works, so we can make sure. This visit is just a simple check."

Sam totally watered down my threat, my edge, but when Vanessa asked, "Oh, that's all?" it didn't seem to matter.

"That's all." Sam reassured her with a smile.

Vanessa expelled a breath. "Okay. He works at the car shop on Century. Ventura's."

"Thank you," I said.

"Is that all?"

I nodded. "Yes."

We stood, thanked her again, and smiled at the children on our way out. Vanessa clicked the door shut behind us.

As we hurried back to my car, I glanced at the guys at the corner. A new car had arrived, and one of the men was leaning in the driver's window. Once settled in the driver's seat, I pulled out my phone and called the office.

"Bond Agency." Maya must've been busy because her greetings are usually more extravagant.

"Maya, get me the deets for a Ventura's on West Century." In this part of town, I doubted they had mechanics who could afford to keep Vanessa and her kids in Juicy and Apple products. Obviously Rocco's dealing had something to do with their assets, so was the car shop on the up-and-up or a front for drugs?

"Okay, boss, hold on."

I covered the mouthpiece with my hand and asked Sam. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Would you mind if I took an hour off, too? I'd like to pick up Julio from school and spend a little time with him before the sitter arrives."

Sam hired an older woman to watch Julio after school, but Rosa also helped her own daughter with her grandson. This meant Julio was home alone for an hour before Rosa got to Sam's house. He was a smart kid. Knew to never use the stove unless supervised, to not answer the door, and what to do in an emergency. Sam didn't usually worry about him.

I couldn't help but wonder how much Vanessa's ramblings had affected Sam, caused her to second-guess her own mothering. "No problem, I'll drop you at your car." I paused. "You sure you're okay?"

She shrugged, but I could tell there was more she was keeping back. I didn't say anything, just waited for her to open up. Hopefully it would be before Maya got back on the line to give me the address.

Finally she said, "Telling a mother you're from social services is a scary thing. You hear stories about how CPS takes kids away for small things, and you feel like you have little control."

"But if you love your kids and raise them well, there's no reason for CPS in your life. Plus, you're a great mother." She had no reason to compare herself to Vanessa. Sam may have been a single parent, but she was able to give Julio more than Rocco's kids had, and I wasn't thinking of fancy gadgets.

She gave a half-smile. "I know I am, but I'm not always around. I'm pretty sure Vanessa thinks she's a great mother too. And she may be, but one look at this block and we assumed the worse."

She was right.

"Okay, boss, you ready?" Maya's voice filled my ear.

I took down the address she rattled off.

I dropped Sam off and drove to the shop, but half an hour later I still couldn't get Sam's words out of my head. I thought of Sam with Julio and what a great kid he was: smart, funny. That made me think of Danny again and his new revelation about kids of his own someday. Who knew, maybe he would be a good dad. I wondered…would I be a good mom? My own mother had passed away, leaving Derek to raise me. Which had hardly provided a stellar example of parenting. I'd fallen asleep in the back seat of his car on late night stakeouts more often than I had in brand new footie pajamas in my own bed. For that matter, did I even want kids? Let's face it, my life was hardly conducive to leading a Girl Scout troop or heading the PTA bake sale. Then again, if a guy like Danny could surprise me, maybe I could surprise myself…

A horn honked, pulling me from my thoughts. I'd swerved into the next lane. Jerking back, I smiled apologetically at the car beside me.

The driver of a black Benz flipped me the bird.

Stay aware, Jamie. No sense in getting into a wreck because of some crazy daydream.

CHAPTER SIX

If I'd been paying more attention when Maya gave me the address, I would've been prepared for the spidery feeling that crawled along my skin as I pulled up to Ventura's. It looked like a regular body shop: parked cars, oil cans, spare tires, greasy rags. But a scary air of silence mingled with three thugs positioned around a white Camaro. They all glanced up when I pulled in.

I should've driven away, but that wasn't my style. Besides, how else would I get answers?

Then two beefy guys with tattooed sleeves for arms walked over. I swallowed hard when I realized one of the tats was a snake eating a mouse. Yuck!

I switched off the car, grabbed my phone (in case I needed to dial 911), and stepped out. "Hi," I said to Snake Man.

His gaze wandered from my toes to the top of my head and rested on my chest for several seconds before finally finding my eyes. His face contorted into a snarl. "Are you lost?"

His tone was so full of menace that it took me a moment to swallow and respond. "I've been hearing a strange sound and saw your shop. I'm hoping you have time to take a look."

He walked around the car, examining the exterior, but also keeping his gaze on me. I couldn't figure out if he was gauging my reaction or wanting to steal my hubcaps.