Carol Ericson - The Hill

The limo sported a dent in the left front panel and a smashed window. The cops had tried to lift prints from the vehicle, but hadn’t had any luck.

She opened the door and shivered at the sight of Theodore’s blood on the leather seat. She’d get the car detailed at the same time she dropped it off for bodywork. Peering under the seats, she spotted Theodore’s cell phone and pulled it out.

He had left the sliding partition between the front and back seats open and a heap of material caught her eye—Judd’s dinner jacket. A thrill of excitement zipped up her spine. Now she had an excuse to call him. Then she remembered his abrupt goodbye. Victor at the house could earn his salary by returning Judd’s jacket to him.

Grabbing the handle of the back door, she yanked it open. She fell across the seat and buried her face in the fine material of Judd’s jacket, inhaling the masculine scent that clung to its folds.

“Ms. Breck?”

She recognized Anna, the housekeeper’s, voice, and rolled to her back, hunching up on her elbows. “Hello, Anna.”

“Are you okay?”

Anna’s lips twitched with disapproval and London knew whatever response she made, Anna would never think she was okay. Anna had been around since before her mother died, had been around for all the craziness and the acting out and...all the other stuff.

“I’m fine. Victor told you what happened to Theodore, didn’t he?”

“Foolish man.” Her nostrils flared. “He should’ve let them have the car.”

“That’s what I told him, but he said he was protecting me.”

Anna’s face puckered as if she’d just sucked a lemon. “Are you going to get the car fixed?”

“Yes, I was just—” She plucked at Judd’s jacket. “My friend left his jacket in the car.”

Anna screwed her face up even more, leaving no doubt about what she thought London and her so-called friend had been doing in the backseat of the limo.

She should’ve been so lucky.

“Maybe Victor can return it to him.”

“Of course. Are you staying, Ms. Breck?”

“No. I just wanted to get my friend’s stuff.” And roll around in it while I think of his hard body.

The old London would’ve voiced those exact words just to see Anna’s face implode, but the new London, the CEO London, kept those thoughts to herself.

“You can give your friend’s items and an address to Victor. He’ll be happy to return them.” Anna’s rubber-soled shoes squelched on the damp flagstones as she went back to the house.

When London heard the front door shut, she collapsed against the seat again, against Judd’s jacket, her arm dangling to the floor of the car. Her fingers met the stiff cummerbund Judd had discarded and something else—something soft and fuzzy.

She closed her hand around it and held it above her face. She drew her brows together. It was a beanie, a watch cap. No, a ski mask.

A ski mask with a white zigzag down the front.

Chapter Four

Judd tossed his cell phone onto the desk and leaned back in his secondhand chair, which squeaked in protest. He wanted to find out how Theodore was doing, but he couldn’t get anything out of the hospital and he didn’t have any pull with the SFPD with his brother Sean still on a leave of absence.

He watched the pedestrians in the street from his small second-story office in North Beach. He had only one room with an old desk, two chairs, a bookshelf and a dying plant, but it kept his clients away from his apartment.

Yawning, he scratched the stubble on his chin. He’d had a cancellation and should be using the downtime to do some paperwork, but he hated paperwork. He needed an admin assistant, but didn’t like people poking around his business, and there wasn’t enough room in this office for a second person.

He grabbed his phone again and traced the edges with his fingertip. It would be easy enough to leave a message for London at the BGE offices. She did still have his dinner jacket from last night. He could use that as an excuse.

Smacking the phone against his palm, he swore. Why did he need an excuse? She wasn’t the queen. He could call her if he wanted to call her.

He dropped the cell on his desk again. He knew damned well her wealth and power weren’t deterring him from contacting her. It was the way she made him feel—and those feelings had danger written all over them.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Let it go, Brody.”

“Let what go?”

He stared at the vision outlined by the open door of his office as if he’d conjured her from his mind. London had one hand on her hip and the other supporting her on the doorjamb. Faded denim encased her long legs and a pair of high-heeled boots hit just above her knee. A green sweater with a dipping neckline matched her eyes, and she’d pulled her silvery-blond hair into a ponytail that fell over one shoulder.

Danger.

“How’d you find me?”

“You’re kidding, right?” She launched into the room, sweeping a bag from the floor on her way in. “I have BGE’s formidable resources at the tips of my fingers.”

“How’s Theodore doing?”

“He’s out of danger. I called his daughters this morning, and one is coming out in a few days.”

“That’s good.”

Dropping the bag at her feet, London scanned the room. “This sort of reminds me of Philip Marlowe’s office.”

“Um, I don’t have any palm trees swaying in the Santa Ana winds out my window.”

She spun around, arms flung out to her sides. “You know what I mean—cramped quarters, battered old desk, piles of paper all over.”

“You make it sound so...charming.” He pointed to the bag on the floor. “Are those the rest of my clothes?”

“Yes.” She folded her hands in front of her, an expectant look on her face.

She must’ve wanted to see him, or she would’ve sent one of her lackeys over here. Did she want him to ask her out? Continue their game of flirtation? Take her across his battered old desk?

He cleared his throat and wedged one motorcycle boot against the edge of the desk—just in case.

“I—I have a proposition for you.”

A pulse thudded in his throat. He liked propositions from beautiful women. He could sweep all this junk off his desk in two seconds. “Yeah?”

“I want to...hire you.”

He crashed to earth but kept his expression immobile. “To do what?”

“To do what you do.” She flicked her fingers in the air. “To be my bodyguard.”

He clenched his jaw. Bad idea. Instead of dating him, did she think she could keep him on a chain, yanking him this way and that, barking orders? He didn’t roll that way.

“No.” He let his foot drop heavily to the floor.

She blinked and then widened her eyes. “Why not? That’s your profession, isn’t it? If it’s the money—”

He held up a hand. “I know you’re good for it, but I don’t do that type of bodyguarding.”

“What type?” She tilted her head and her ponytail swung to the other shoulder.

“The general you-can-be-my-lapdog-and-carry-my-shopping-bags type.” He pushed to his feet and folded his arms across his chest, flexing just in case she didn’t get the message.

Her lips parted and a rosy flush spread across her cheeks. “I’m not—you’re not—it’s not like that.”

“Really.”

“I need a protector, not a lapdog.” She reached into the bag, pulled out his dinner jacket and tossed it onto the desk. She threw the cummerbund over her shoulder onto the floor. Then she straightened to her full height, plus five-inch heels, clutching a black watch cap to her chest.

“I need protection from this.” Pinching the cap between two fingers, she dangled it in front of him.

His eyes narrowed as he took in the ski mask with the white lightning bolt down the front of it. “Where’d you find that?”