The Hill (10 page)

Why hadn't he told her this when he was alive? Better yet, why not tell the Brodys? If he felt so bad about it, why not tell the people it affected the most?

The police commission. It had to be related to his time on the commission. It coincided with the events of Detective Brody's downfall. Maybe unraveling this mystery would help reveal the reason behind Brody's suicide.

That alone should motivate Judd. The fact that his father had taken his life bothered him more than the suspicions surrounding Joseph Brody. Maybe she could use her pull to give Judd some closure on the issue. That would be worth more than any retainer she could pay him.

“Excuse me.” She leaned forward in her seat. “I need to make a stop first. Take me to the financial district.”

The taxi driver nodded and took the next turn.

When he pulled up in front of the building, she said, “Wait here. I'll be about ten minutes.” She dashed into the building and back up to the BGE offices.

When she saw London, Celine reddened up to the roots of her hair and jumped off the edge of her desk, where she'd been flirting with one of the guys from marketing. “Did you forget something, London?”

“Yeah, in my office.” She brushed her fingers in Celine's direction as she started for the office. “I'll get it.”

London closed the door behind her and pressed a button to drop the blinds over the windows. She moved behind the desk and extended her foot beneath it to feel for the lump beneath the carpet. When she located it, she pressed down with her foot.

She ducked under the desk and lifted a piece of carpet. Then she slid a panel of the floor to the side and reached in for her father's laptop.

When he'd showed her this hiding place, he'd told her that nobody knew about it, not even Mary.

She'd seen him put this laptop in here before and hadn't thought about it when he'd passed away, since all the main BGE business resided on the desktop computer in this office. But this had been his private laptop, and if her father had had any secrets they would be on this computer.

Just like she'd kept her secrets on her laptop—the one that had been stolen from her place yesterday morning.

Maybe her father had had the right idea with a secret hiding place.

She replaced the panel and carpet and then smoothed it with her hand. She shoved the laptop into her briefcase.

Leaving the blinds closed, she swung the door open.

Celine had returned to her chair and was typing away on her keyboard. “Did you find everything okay?”

“I did, thanks.” She slowed her gait. “I forgot to mention that I'm going to get a new phone. I don't have mine anymore.”

Celine stopped typing and shoved her glasses onto her nose. “London, is it true that a security guard at your building was murdered last night and that you found his body?”

London stumbled to a stop. Did everyone know the rest of the story? “Yes, I did. The police don't want me to say anything about it right now.”

“That's so creepy. Is that why you have tall, dark and gorgeous looking out for you?”

“A little extra security never hurt anyone.”

“Especially extra security like Judd Brody. He can guard my body anytime.”

London had no idea what kind of expression just crossed her face, but it had Celine backpedaling. “I—I mean, I'm sure he's professional and all and you don't see him like that. And I don't see him like—or I wouldn't see him like that if he was guarding my body...I mean, if he was my bodyguard.”

London tried a stiff smile. “I know what you mean. He's a good-looking man.”

“Well, have a great day.” Celine waved and dipped her head toward her monitor again.

London traipsed toward the elevator, the added weight of the laptop causing her briefcase to bang against her hip. She'd probably just confirmed to Celine that she thought of Judd as much more than a bodyguard. Maybe she never should've invited Celine to call her London. Mary still called her father Mr. Breck, even after his death.

She could be a different kind of CEO than her father and still be successful, couldn't she? Of course, she didn't even know what a successful CEO looked like. Did it mean having everyone around you address you by your surname?

Too bad her father hadn't left her a rule book—
Being a CEO for Dummies.

She scrambled back into the taxi. “Okay, on to Napoli's.”

She still beat Judd to the restaurant. She got a table for two by the window and watched out for his arrival. She heard him before she saw him—the distinctive growl of the Harley's engine.

He rolled the back wheel to the curb and lifted the helmet from his head. Sliding from the bike, he tucked the helmet beneath one arm and strode into the restaurant.

Worn denim encased his long legs and his boots clumped across the wood floor of the restaurant. He pulled out the chair across from her. “Waiting long?”

Actually, she'd just arrived, but he didn't need to know she'd made a stop. “Not too long. You changed.”

“I couldn't keep running around in a suit all day.”

“I hear you.” She tugged at the lapels of her jacket. “Did you get everything you need for my place?”

“I packed a bag. I'll pick it up after lunch.” He tapped the table. “The service isn't usually this slow here. You don't even have a drink.”

“I, uh, waited.”

Two minutes later Judd had an iced tea in front of him and she had a sparkling water. Fortunately the waitstaff hadn't recognized her, or if they had, they didn't let on.

“Nothing from the police yet about Griff or my phone?”

He crunched a piece of ice and held up his finger. “Got a call from Detective Curtis. As we figured, the texts sent to your phone came from a disposable phone that can't even be pinged. It must've been destroyed already.”

“Great.” She squeezed the slice of lemon into her water. “I suppose I can understand why the burglars murdered Griff. He saw them and they wanted to keep him quiet. But why involve me? Even if I hadn't discovered the body, I would've found out about the murder.”

“Scare tactic.”

“But why? They already broke into my place. All this would make more sense if they sent me some kind of message. Are they trying to scare me into doing something or not doing something? How can I comply when I don't know what they want?”

“You're attributing way too much logic to a couple of thieves and murderers. Maybe one's a psychopath and likes playing mind games.”

She slumped in her seat. “That makes me feel a lot better.”

His hand shot out and covered hers for a brief moment. “I'm sorry. You didn't strike me as the type of client who wants me to hide things. You asked how Griff died yesterday, and I told you because you deserve the truth. But maybe you don't want that truth.”

“Just give it to me.” She sucked the lemon juice from her fingers and her mouth puckered.

Judd's blue eyes deepened in color and intensity. She had not calculated her actions to get a response from him, but it seemed to happen naturally.

If they'd met in a bar or at a party, they'd be in bed by now. Or maybe the old London would've headed down that path. The CEO London would shake his hand and leave him her card.

“I promise to always tell you the truth.” He held up two fingers like a Boy Scout.

He'd tell her the truth but deny the attraction that sizzled between them.

It gave her an excuse to keep her secrets, too.

Over lunch, they seemed to come to an unspoken agreement to keep it light. He told her funny stories about his jobs, never once revealing the names of his clients. She shared the details of her mishap in Qatar.

“The sheikh must've been furious to discover you'd taken the diamond without actually joining his harem.”

She dabbed her eyes with her napkin, struggling to control her laughter. “I kept telling him it would never happen. It's not my fault he believed that diamond would seal the deal.”

“I suppose it had nothing to do with the fact that you'd been admiring it, leading him to believe he'd found the key to your heart.”

“It wasn't my heart he wanted to unlock.” She set the napkin back in her lap.

“Didn't he have you arrested? How'd you get out of that?”

She rubbed her fingers together. “Connections and payoffs. It's the way the world works.”

“I suppose you learned that at an early age.”

“We all get our life lessons.” She shoved her plate away from her. “What about you? What life lessons did you learn?”

“Shoot first, ask questions later.”

“At five? You learned that lesson at five years old?”

He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Maybe four.”

“You're lying.”

“Are you done picking at that salad?”

“Why, do you want the rest?”

“I have work to do.” His tone was hard. He caught the waiter's eye. “You're not paying me to sit around eating lunch.”

“But I am paying for lunch.” She made a grab for the check when the waiter left it on the table, but Judd beat her to it.

“I wouldn't call this a working lunch.”

“Sure it was.” Her lashes fluttered despite her best efforts to keep a poker face. “What would you call it?”

He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “We didn't discuss business.”

So he wouldn't call it a date even though that was what it had felt like to her. “We got to know each other a little better, and that's business. How are you going to do your job if you don't know your client?”

“You think I knew that pop singer I worked for over in Hawaii?”

“I think this is a little different. You were protecting her from hormonal teenagers. We have no idea yet what you're protecting me from. Don't you think getting to know me better will help you figure out where the threat's coming from?”

“Are you telling me that sheikh from Qatar is out for revenge?”

“I did give the diamond back.” She folded her hands on the table and pursed her lips.

“So we can cross him off the list.”

“Anyone else you've crossed off the list?”

“Nope. I'm glad I got to meet a lot of the players at your office today—your cousin, your half brother, your fiancé, your fiancé's father.”

“Roger is
not
my fiancé.” She flicked her fingers against his forearm.

“Will I get a chance to see them again? Most of them viewed me as the hired help, which works.”

“There's something coming up this weekend, a social event.”

“Argh.” He sank his head in his hands and grasped his hair. “Another suit? I've worn more suits and tuxes this week than I have all year.”

“What are you worried about? You certainly do them justice.” Her gaze meandered across his wide shoulders. He looked better in a tux than any man she'd ever seen. It had to be because it looked as if he could burst out of it at any moment.

“They're uncomfortable.” He ran his finger along the neckline of his T-shirt as if just thinking about a shirt and tie was choking him.

“Are you going to suck it up for the sake of getting close to my adversaries?”

“I will suck it up.” He pushed back from the table and picked up his helmet. “But right now I'm going to scan your place for bugs.”

“Can I borrow your phone?”

“What for?” He dragged it out of the pocket of his jacket.

“I need to call another taxi.”

“Hop on the back of my bike.”

She plucked her pencil skirt away from her thigh. “In this?”

“Can't you just suck it up so I don't have to wait for you?” He pointed to her legs. “If you're that modest—and I've heard otherwise—you can always put my jacket around your waist.”

“Oh, hell, why not?” She slung her briefcase across her body. “It's not as if I'm not wearing underwear.”

“I think you'll discover most CEOs do, but then, what do I know?”

Once outside, Judd grabbed the handlebars of his bike and flipped up the kickstand as she fished her sunglasses out of her purse.

“What's this?” Judd swiped a piece of paper from the seat of his bike.

“A ticket?” London shoved her glasses on top of her head.

Judd hung his helmet on one handlebar and snapped the paper open with both hands. “It's a newspaper article.”

“Maybe it's trash that blew onto your bike. The wind picked up this afternoon.” She slipped the helmet from the bike and fiddled with the strap.

“London.”

Judd's tone of voice stilled her fingers. “What is it?”

“It's an old newspaper article about the SFPD police commission—and your father.”

 

Chapter Nine

London's stomach dipped as her gaze scanned the sidewalk for the messenger. Were they being followed? “You're kidding.”

He waved the neatly clipped article in her face. “No.”

“Does it have a date?” She held out her hand, wiggling her fingers.

He handed the article to her. “No date, but it names your father on the commission, so what year was that?”

She scanned the words of the article. “Theodore didn't say, did he? But he mentioned it was at the time of the Phone Book Killer. Wait, the article even mentions the Phone Book Killer.”

“Who put this on my bike and why?”

Her father's laptop burned a hole in her briefcase. She shouldn't have any secrets from him. Well, almost none.

“I think we need to get to the bottom of this, Judd. It all means something. No way would my father leave me a note about your father if it weren't important, if he didn't know something or wasn't involved in some way. My father wouldn't randomly feel sorry for your family. I wouldn't call him a cold man, but he wasn't overly sentimental, either.”

“I guess we can do some research on the commission at that time, but I don't see how that's helping you with your safety, especially if someone is following you.”

She shrugged. “Let's change the contract. You're a P.I. in addition to a bodyguard. I'm making an amendment to our arrangements. I want you to help me with this mystery, the purpose behind my father's note. I'll up your retainer.”

“No need. You're paying me plenty to cover a few searches on the internet.”

“We can do more than that.” She patted her briefcase. “I have something to show you when we get back to my place.”

“Related to that newspaper article?”

“Related to all of it.”

“Then let's get going. I need to pick up my equipment at the office first.”

He straddled his Harley as she creased the article and dropped it into her purse.

He tilted the bike to the side and she hiked up her skirt almost to her hips and climbed on. Once seated, she wrapped the arms of his jacket around her waist, draping the soft leather over her thighs.

He revved the engine, and they zoomed away from the curb. After darting in and out of traffic, he rolled to a stop in front of the building that housed his professional digs.

While he jogged up to his office, she stayed seated on the bike, not wanting to rearrange her skirt again.

He returned with a black bag and tapped her leg. “I need to put this in the saddlebag.”

She shifted and curled back her leg as Judd opened the saddlebag and stuffed the black bag inside. His hand brushed her bare calf, and then he cinched her ankle and placed her foot back on the footrest.

“Don't want you falling off.”

This time London held on to Judd for dear life—not because he took the turns any faster than last time or sped up and down the hills any faster, but because she didn't want to pretend anymore that this attraction didn't exist between them.

In Judd, she'd found a kindred free spirit. He didn't pass judgment on her past actions. He was down-to-earth and had no pretensions and treated her like a normal person.

That lunch had felt too much like a date, and she felt too connected to him now to return to some kind of professional relationship, which they'd never really had to begin with.

So she snuggled against his back, as close as the helmet would allow, and gripped his hips with her knees.

Judd pulled up to her building. With the motorcycle idling at the curb, London scrambled off, tugging at her skirt beneath the leather jacket around her waist. She pulled off the helmet and handed it to Judd when he climbed off the bike.

A new security guard greeted them in the lobby, and London crossed the marble floor to introduce herself. “I'm London Breck. You're the new guy?”

He stood up, holding himself as stiffly as a military man. “Yes, ma'am. I'm Paul Madden.”

“Nice to meet you, Paul. This is Judd Brody. He's my...bodyguard.”

If Paul found it odd she had a bodyguard, he didn't let it show on his stern face. He shook Judd's hand. “Sir, if you need anything from me, I'm at your disposal.”

When they got to the elevator, Judd dipped his head and whispered in her ear, “He's a far cry from Griff.”

“Too bad management didn't have him in place yesterday. Those thugs never would've gotten into my home.”

Judd tensed beside her when she unlocked her door, but this time not a magazine was out of place.

As soon as the door shut, he dug into his bag and said, “I'm going to do a quick sweep of this room before we check out the computer, and then you can show me what you got.”

While Judd scanned the great room, she dropped her briefcase and got some water. Watching him do his thing, she pulled the laptop from the case and settled it on the coffee table.

When he was done, he stuffed his instruments back into his bag and sat next to her. “Are you ready?”

She flipped open the computer and said, “It's in here. It's my father's laptop.”

“You took it from the office?”

“Yes.” He didn't have to know where, exactly.

“I'm confused. Haven't you already been working on your father's computer? How could you take over his duties without all his files and data at your fingertips?”

“Not—” she tapped the keyboard to wake it up and entered the password “—this one.”

“Is that his personal computer?” In two long steps, he was at her side.

“It's personal and business. He used it to back up important files from his work computer, but I know he kept other information on it.”

“Who else had access to it since his death?” He leaned over her shoulder, his hair tickling her cheek.

He had one lock of hair that always curled into his eye, and her fingers tingled with the thought of brushing it back from his forehead.

She clicked a few more keys, launching some folders. “Nobody. My father locked up this laptop. I'm not sure anyone knew of its existence except me, and maybe Mary. But even Mary didn't know where he hid it.”

“Okay. Let's get searching.” He patted the cushion of the couch and she sat down. He sat next to her and she dipped toward him, her shoulder brushing his.

Her bare thigh pressed against the rough denim of his jeans, but this time he didn't move away from her. Progress. Maybe the lunch had changed the direction of his feelings, too.

She blew out a breath. “As you may know, my father and I weren't that close.”

He leaned back against the couch and rested one booted foot on his knee. “From all the news stories about you over the years, I figured you were Daddy's little princess.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I don't know. You pretty much did as you pleased, and he'd always rescue you. Didn't it work like that?”

“I suppose so, but he didn't consider me his princess—more like a thorn in his side. I often think he left me in charge of the company to get back at me for all those years of hell I put him through.”

“And if he did?”

“I deserve it. I did put him through hell.”

“You were a little girl without a mom.”

Her nose tingled and the memory of rose-scented hugs feathered across her senses. She stretched her lips into a smile. “I don't know if I can blame all my craziness on being motherless.”

“Sure you can.” He traced the line of her jaw with the rough pad of his finger.

“Do you?”

His finger froze at the end of her chin and he sucked in a breath. “I had a mother.”

“Yes, yes, your mother, but you missed your father.” She dabbled her fingers down his forearm. “Is that what made you the tatted-up, Harley-riding badass?”

His chest rose and fell with a deep breath, and London held hers, wondering if she'd gone too far with him.

His thick, dark lashes fell halfway over his eyes and his mouth lifted at one corner. “Naw, I'm just naturally a badass.”

She punched him in the arm to break the tension that had built up between them. She'd rather plant a kiss on his sexy mouth, but she knew Judd Brody wanted to be the hunter and not the prey.

He rose to his feet, stomping his boots. “I will leave you to deciphering your father's secret computer while I continue searching the rest of your place.” She let him go, watching him from the corner of her eye as he pawed through his bag, pulling out unidentifiable bits and pieces.

“I'll start upstairs and work my way down.”

She waved her hand. “Be my guest.”

He pointed to his motorcycle boots. “Should I take these off? I should've asked you that before.”

“I'm not that picky. Take them off if you want to.”

“Since I may need to climb on top of some chairs, maybe I should.” He pulled off his boots and lined them up at the fireplace.

The masculine shoes looked incongruous in her decidedly feminine place, but she liked them there.

After she watched him disappear up the stairs, she turned her attention back to her father's computer. She tried searching for t
he words
police, commission, Brody, Phone Book.
Nothing.

She reread the article that had been left on Judd's bike. It discussed her father's appointment to the police commission. Richard Taylor had also been on the commission at that time. Had he left the article for Judd? Why?

Had it come from Mary? Somehow she couldn't picture her father's secretary skulking around the streets of North Beach looking for Judd's motorcycle.

Who had left it for him and why? Or maybe it was intended for her? If someone knew she had Judd on her payroll, maybe he figured Judd would turn the article over to her.

It could be same person who'd texted her. She let the article drift to the coffee table. How had that thought crept into her head? Her father's note about Joseph Brody's innocence had nothing to do with the current threats against her. In fact, she'd been using Spencer's note to escape the realities of the break-in, Theodore's beating and Griff's murder.

She typed in another search, and while scanning the results, realized she'd been searching for files only. She entered
police
again and expanded the search to all items.

She blinked when several picture files appeared in the list. He'd kept pictures on this laptop?

She clicked through the pictures and discovered several of her father with the commission. He must've scanned those onto this computer.

She dragged them all into another folder and printed them out. Then she clicked on the pictures icon.

She gasped and the hand hovering over the directional mouse trembled when she saw the picture folder called “Madeline.”

He couldn't. He didn't.

Lodging her tongue in the corner of her mouth, she double clicked on the folder. Neat yellow folders organized by date populated the monitor. She clicked on the first chronological folder.

Her eyes flooded with tears and she covered her mouth with one hand as her gaze locked on the blond-haired tot in the sandbox. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest as she launched each picture in succession. Each image sucked more air out of her lungs until she felt suffocated.

Where had he gotten these? Why?

A heavy step on the stair had her snapping the laptop closed on the bright-eyed girl with the happy grin.

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and then wiped
her hand across her nose. She coughed. “All clear?”

“Haven't found anything yet. Have you?”

Oh, yeah. She'd found more than she'd bargained for.

“Some pictures.” She opened the laptop and closed the Madeline folder. “One of my father and the rest of the police commission the year he was appointed.”

“Well, that's something. He must've taken the trouble to scan those in, since I don't think digital cameras were all that common twenty years ago.”

He aimed some device at the wall and moved it across the area.

“I was thinking the same thing. It must mean something for him to have taken that trouble.”

Judd held something that looked like a microphone up to the four corners of the room.

London ran her hands over her warm face and scooped her hair into a ponytail. “Is that thing supposed to beep or something if it finds anything?”

“Sort of. I can't detect any evidence of bugs in your place. It's lookin' good.”

“That's a relief. Maybe it's over, Judd.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone tried to ruffle my feathers, but it's not working. Maybe they're done now. I attended the board meeting today as CEO.”

“I'd feel better about that theory if Griff's body hadn't been hanging outside the trash room of your building. That's more than ruffled feathers, wouldn't you say?”

“Of course. I didn't mean to make light of Griff's death at all. Maybe that part of it was a big mistake.”

“And the text messages leading you to his body? Those were a mistake, too? Somebody wants to do more than ruffle your feathers, London.”

She jumped up, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “If someone wants to kill me, why doesn't he just take his best shot?”

“Hey.” He dropped his microphone and took her by the shoulders. “Don't say that. Nobody's going to hurt you. Not while I'm on the job.”

She didn't break away from him and he didn't let go. Instead she stared into those fierce blue eyes—ferocity on her behalf.

“Judd, do you think it's all connected?”

“What?”

“The threats, the note, the article, your father, my father—us.”

His grip on her shoulders softened into a caress. “How?”

“I'm not sure. It occurred to me when I was looking through the pictures on my father's laptop. Why now? Why did Mary deliver the note? Who put the article on your bike? Someone's tracking our movements—yours and mine.”