Carol Ericson - The Hill

“It was in the backseat of the limo.” She jiggled it so that it danced between them. “One of the carjackers, because Theodore confirmed there were two, must’ve lost it in the struggle. The same ski mask he wore when he attacked me outside the hotel last night.”

“Let me see it.” He held out his hand and she dropped it onto his palm. He stretched it out and traced the white pattern. “It’s definitely the same one.”

“Someone attacked me last night and then followed the limo and for whatever reason tried to steal it from Theodore.”

“Sure looks that way.” He poked his fingers into the eyeholes of the mask. “Maybe he got a good look at your diamonds and decided to go for them again.”

“Then there’s the note.”

“The note?” He jerked his head up as London plunged a hand into her purse.

She pulled out a white piece of paper and waved it at him. “I got it last night at the benefit. Someone dropped it onto a waiter’s tray and he delivered it to me.”

“Would you stop—” he snatched the note from her “—waving things in my face.”

He unfolded the notepaper and read aloud. “‘Your father was murdered. You could be next.’”

“Looks like they planned to make good on that threat last night.” She hunched her shoulders and hugged her waist.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“The note? I honestly never connected it with the events of last night. I thought the first was an attempted robbery and the second a carjacking. It occurred to me briefly when I saw Theodore in the hospital this morning and he said something about trying to protect me.”

He flicked the paper with his finger. “The wording is weird. ‘You could be next’? Why didn’t he write ‘you are next’? ‘You could be next’ implies a conditional situation. You could be next if you do this or that.”

She snapped her fingers. “That’s why I need you.”

“The two events are definitely connected, but we don’t know if they’re related to this warning.” He slid one corner of the note beneath the blotter on his desk. “Do you think your father was murdered?”

“I didn’t before last night. He had heart disease and he’d already had bypass surgery, but he didn’t take care of his health—drank too much, had too much stress and his exercise consisted of walking from his golf cart to the tee.”

“Was an autopsy done?”

“For a man as wealthy as my father? Of course. Atherosclerosis—blocked arteries.”

“The note could be some kind of scam.”

“I thought of that.”

“What would the motive be?”

“Money, always money.” She hooked a thumb in one pocket of her tight jeans. “So do you accept my proposition? I’ll make it worth your while.”

He kicked the leg of the single chair opposite his desk. “Have a seat.”

She perched on the edge of the wooden chair, clutching the arms. “Does this mean yes?”

“Uh-huh.” He yanked open a desk drawer, pulled out a file stuffed with blank contracts and dropped it on the blotter. He raised an eyebrow at her stiff posture. “Relax. I just want to review my terms with you. I’m not gonna require your firstborn or anything.”

A blush rushed up her throat, flooding her cheeks and turning her creamy complexion a mottled red.

He needed to tone down the teasing. She couldn’t seem to handle it in her agitated state. He also needed to keep this as professional as possible to cool the attraction between them. He’d be no good as a bodyguard if he spent his time lusting after the body he needed to guard.

“Here’s my standard contract.” He flipped open the file and slid a stapled set of papers toward her. “If you want your attorney to review it...”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” She plucked it from the desk and flipped through the pages. “Since it’s a boilerplate, can we make adjustments as needed? I have several events coming up—there may be some travel.”

“Of course. There’s a section of the contract that deals with that—page three. Once you review and sign it, I’ll ask for a retainer and we can get started.”

“How much?” She dipped her hand into her purse and pulled out a checkbook. “I want you to get started right now. I don’t need to review the contract. I trust you. You already saved my life once, and you were there for Theodore.”

He sat back in his squeaky chair and steepled his fingers. Finding that ski mask had really spooked her, or maybe the note had done the trick.

She didn’t even blink an eye when he told her the amount for his retainer. She scribbled out the check and slid it in front of him. “Where do we start?”

“Before we get started, I have a question for you.” He picked up the corner of the check and tapped the edge on the blotter. “I’m assuming Breck Global Enterprises has a security force.”

“We do.”

“Why not enlist their help? You could probably pluck a bodyguard from the staff—someone already vetted and polished up to the BGE standards.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. “They’re not my people. I haven’t been at the company that long.”

“You don’t trust them.” This introduced a new twist to the plot. “Who’s been running BGE since your father’s death? I’m assuming you’re still...getting up to speed.”

She jumped from the chair and it spun out behind her and hit the wall. “I am still getting up to speed, but I’m a fast learner and I’ll get there.”

“Wow.” He raised one eyebrow and settled his boots back on the desk. “You need to chill. If you act this defensive around all the muckety-mucks at BGE, they’re going to seriously doubt your abilities even more than they apparently do now.”

“Damn.” She turned and hit the wall with her palm. “It’s just that everywhere I turn, I have people questioning me. It’s Dad’s fault. He never groomed me to take over the company.”

“Did he groom someone else? Another relative?”

She puffed out a breath and swung the chair back in place. “Not really. He acted like he was going to live forever, even after the bypass. My cousin Niles has an interest in the company, and my half brother works there. He’s a numbers guy. To answer your previous question before I went ballistic on you, Richard Taylor has been running the show since Dad’s death. He and...his son have been my constant companions lately.”

He rubbed his knuckles against the stubble of his beard. This looked to be an easy job—expectant relatives or coworkers got their noses out of joint when the old man handed over the reins of his company to his inexperienced daughter, and they decided to use a few threats and scare tactics to get her to decline the responsibility and return to her partying ways.

Gripping the back of the chair, she leaned forward, her silky ponytail falling over her shoulder. She parted her luscious lips and the scent of her expensive perfume washed over him.

This could be an easy job, or it could be very, very hard.

“You think you can help me?”

“That’s what you’re paying me for.” He picked up the check and dropped it into his desk drawer. “First things first. I want to have a look at your place, check out the security there. When’s a good time for you?”

“Right now, but you saw my building. It’s like Fort Knox.”

He shoved out of his chair and hunched over his desk. “Are you going to let me do my job, Ms. Breck, or are you going to try to run the show?”

“London. Call me London. After all, we shared a beer and a dance and...other stuff.”

It’s the other stuff that had him worried. “You didn’t answer my question, London.”

“I have enough shows to run, Judd. You can have this one.”