Taken by Tuesday (Weekday Brides Series) (3 page)

“It’s going to be great,” Meg said as they stepped onto the back patio and took in the view of the city below.

“The house . . . the grounds . . . all this
is
amazing. The men showing up with cameras when you least expect them, and even when you do expect them, that is going to be a pain in your ass. You might think it’s funny the first couple of times, and then you’ll just be ticked.”

“How bad can it be?” Meg asked with a laugh.

“It shouldn’t be awful for the two of you, but you never know. After the first few times the paparazzi show up, snap a few pictures, and realize that Judy is Michael’s sister, and that you’re her friend, they will probably dry up. When Michael is back in town, they’ll show up again. It’s like they have a tracker on him. They hop the fence, risk being taken to jail for trespassing . . . you name it, they do it.” Karen moved to the center of the courtyard and turned toward the house.

“Has anyone ever tried to get into the house?”

“Not when I was here. After the divorce, there was one break-in, but Michael wasn’t home when it happened. That’s when Neil and Rick upped the sensors and alarms.”

Judy had used a key to unlock the door and an electronic sensor to disarm the house alarm.

“Cameras all over the place.”

Judy twisted around and looked to the eaves of the house. There were a couple of domed cameras she recognized from those she’d seen in department stores. “I see them.” Judy pointed above their heads.

“Yeah, but there are even more you don’t see.” Karen pointed toward a decorative light post that would illuminate a path to the back of the yard. “That one covers the back. There are others on the three identical posts on the side of the house and in the front. A camera watches every car that enters. There are motion detectors that hit the floodlights and can be a huge pain when the wind kicks up. You’ll usually get a call from security when they sense any unexpected activity.”

“Why not just shut off the motion detectors when the weather is foul?” Judy asked.

“Because that’s when the camera-toting buttheads show up. They understand the security better than you do.”

Meg shrugged. “So they snap a few pictures and move on . . . who cares?”

“I guess if you only had to worry about a few unflattering pictures in the tabloids, that would be fine. But there are fanatical creeps out there, too. Michael’s fame comes with a price.”

They moved around the yard, and Karen showed them more sensors, more cameras, and then moved back into the house. “There aren’t any cameras inside the house. Michael refused them. Sensors monitor every door and window.” The three of them moved to the control panel and Karen went through a few steps to show them how the security system worked. How to set the alarms when they both were away . . . when they were in for the night and didn’t want the alarm going off when they walked into the kitchen for a glass of milk. There were panic buttons hardwired into the system and even a three-digit number that called security directly from the house phone.

“So who watches the cameras?”

Karen shrugged. “Depends who’s on. Neil has a team monitoring twenty-four/seven.”

Judy ran a hand through her hair and tugged it behind her neck. “Does Rick watch?”

“Sometimes.” Karen’s grin grew a little bigger.

“What?”

Karen laughed. “Nothing.”

Judy glanced at Meg and noticed her larger-than-life smile as well. “What?”

Where Karen might hold herself back from saying what she thought, Meg did not. “We’re here less than two hours and you’re asking about Rick.”

“I asked if he monitors the house, watches the cameras.” The question was legit inside her head. “It’s not a personal question.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Meg shook her head.

“Was that a personal question, Karen?”

Karen bit her lip and shook her head. “Nope. You did not ask a personal question about Rick. A little word of advice, however . . . conversations outside have microphones that record them. Just so you know . . . in case you want to ask questions about Rick.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“That’s just crazy.”

Karen grabbed a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator and leaned against the counter. “So, what’s first on your list, girls?”

Meg sat on one of the stools surrounding the kitchen island. “I’m starting my job search tomorrow.”

“And I’m going to drive by the offices in Westwood so I know where the heck I’m going next week.” Judy had a little more of a slush fund than Meg and wouldn’t have to find a job the very week she started her internship.

“How many hours a week are you putting in with the internship?” Karen asked.

“I was told thirty to forty.”

“That doesn’t leave a lot of time to work for pay.”

Judy cringed. “I know. Not in the business sector in any event. I waited tables in Seattle, I can look for something like that.”

Meg groaned. “If I never wait on anyone ever again it will be too soon. I need to land something clean where I won’t get my ass pinched.”

Karen and Judy both laughed.

“You have a business degree, right?” Karen asked.

“Yeah.”

“Hmm . . . well, Samantha’s looking for help at Alliance.”

“What’s Alliance?” Judy asked.

“It’s an elite matchmaking firm.”

“A dating business?” Meg asked with a frown.

“No, much more than that. Very exclusive and only for the überrich. We match couples based on their long-term plans. Some executives need a temporary wife to land a position at their job, or a girlfriend to get their ex off their backs.”

“Where do you find the women who agree to this?” Judy asked.

“Everywhere. Industry parties, fundraisers, there are plenty of women looking for a short-term contractual agreement with a payout when the ‘relationship’ dissolves.”

Awareness slapped Judy upside the head. “Oh my God! That’s how you met Mike!”

Karen wiggled her eyebrows and shot a glance at Meg.

“Oh, please . . . Meg is my best friend. She knows you and Mike were married in name only. It makes sense now.”

“Michael needed a wife and I wanted to open up a safe house for runaway or abandoned kids. It was a win-win for both of us. More so for me since I met Zach.” And Mike’s career had just kept on skyrocketing after the divorce. Seemed her brother always had another starlet on his arm in the tabloids, but none worthy of introducing to his family. Maybe he just wasn’t ready to settle down. Who could blame him? He had the world at his fingertips and few homelife responsibilities.

Judy understood that. She wanted to find herself before she invited anything steady into her world. The thought of a temporary and fake relationship in order to put some money in her accounts didn’t sound half bad.

Meg must have been thinking the same thing when she asked, “How do you screen people for this service? My guess is there are a lot of wackos out there that might try and sue, or have issues that could really mess with a spouse, temporary or otherwise.”

“Samantha places everyone in our directory through a very thorough background check. I don’t care how hidden someone thinks their skeletons are, Samantha finds them. And in order to work for her, you have to be willing to go through her check. It’s imperative that nothing in our files is leaked.”

“Sounds very cloak and dagger,” Meg said.

“Nothing so dramatic, but the people we deal with have serious money and expect complete secrecy. The pay isn’t bad and with The Village taking more of my time and Gwen busy with the baby, we could use the help.”

“Where is the office located?” Seemed Meg was seriously considering Karen’s suggestion.

“Samantha started the business in a two-story house in Tarzana and the office is still there.”

“How do you keep a house in a residential neighborhood secure?”

Karen laughed. “Oh, hon . . . first of all, Rick lives there now, and let’s face it, he’s a huge roadblock to anyone who might want to break in. And second, the security at that house makes this one look like a child’s lock on a paper diary. Gwen and I lived there before I married Michael, and before I moved in, Eliza was there with Samantha. Seems like anyone who lives in the house is destined to get married within a year.”

Meg cringed. “Remind me never to move in.”

“Not interested in happily ever after?”

Meg shook her head. “Wouldn’t mind happy for now with a paycheck, but forever . . . yeah, no . . . not for me.”

Karen glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Well, I gotta go. Let me know if you’re interested, Meg . . . and Judy, Samantha even pays finder’s fees for male and female clients. You’ll probably find yourself in some really flashy parties hanging out with your brother. Something to think about.”

Chapter Three

It took five days for Rick to find an excuse to
drop by
the Beverly Hills residence. Never mind the paying client was in Germany filming his latest blockbuster, or that the use of the key-in code was probably nothing more than laziness on the end of the houseguests. Instead of fishing out the key fob from the bottom of a purse, they punched in numbers. Bottom line, the key fobs told him exactly who was coming and going from the home, and the key-in codes were meant for the groundskeepers and maid. Not Judy and Meg.

Rick watched the monitors on the Beverly Hills home more than he needed to, and listened in more than he should. Bottom line, he wanted to see how Judy was settling in. The paparazzi had yet to clue in to the fact that two very attractive and desirable women now occupied Michael’s home. Rick thought for sure pictures would fill the tabloids the moment the girls moved in. They hadn’t. The girls had been painfully silent outside, and Rick was no more privy to their lives than the neighbors were.

That sucked.

The second chime on his alarm told him that someone had entered the Wolfe home. Michael’s stage name was how he labeled the Beverly Hills estate. Rick glanced at the monitor and noticed that Judy actually used the electronic device this time . . . but her roommate hadn’t. It was time for a tutorial and he was more than happy to deliver it.

The Ducati made the ride from Tarzana to where Hollywood’s elite lived a breeze. The motorcycle had been a gift from Neil. His friend had serious taste and knew how much Rick missed his Mustang, which had been destroyed not long ago.

The two cars in the drive had become familiar over the last week, Judy’s economical Ford and Meg’s beat-up Toyota that should have been put out of its misery several years before now.

He let himself in and hoped the noise of his arrival would alarm the girls.

Unfortunately, neither Meg nor Judy noticed the alarm of the gate to the home opening or even the noise of the powerful motorcycle idling in the drive.

Rick wiggled the lock on the front door, found it open, and let himself in. “Hello?”

Music from the east end of the house caught his attention.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Hello?”

Irritation brewed on the surface. It was one thing to use the wrong key-code to get in the house . . . it was something completely different to have a would-be stranger standing in the foyer . . . an armed stranger with two young women in the house, alone.

“Judy?” Fuming, Rick started toward the music, ready to read the riot act.

Outside the first guest room, he heard Judy’s voice from inside. She was singing, off-key, to the music on the radio.

He paused and listened.

God, she was awful. Couldn’t carry a tune to save her life, but damn it, he shouldn’t know that about her by just walking in the door.

Noise from the other bedroom made him shift his direction and head into the main living room of the house. As much as he’d like to see his little pixie naked, he wouldn’t do so by sneaking up on her in her own bedroom.

He walked around the main living space of the large home for several minutes, checked out Michael’s side of the house and the garage before returning to the living room.

The women still hadn’t noticed his presence.

Eventually the water turned off and the music was turned up. Rick made himself comfortable on the couch and opened an
Architectural Digest
magazine.

“Good Lord, Gardner, how many times do I have to tell you, you can’t sing!” Rick heard Meg yelling at Judy down the hall.

“You can say that again,” Rick muttered.

Meg rounded the corner, looking behind her, and before Rick could say hi, she twisted, saw him, and screamed.

Rick placed his hands in the air, but it took Meg a few seconds to realize who he was.

She finally stopped screaming and grabbed her chest. “Shit. Holy . . .”

“What is it?” Judy ran into the room, water falling from her hair and a towel covering her naked body.

Meg sucked in air and seemed to have trouble catching her breath. She pointed toward him and Judy followed her hand.

She grasped the towel tighter. “What the hell?”

Meg was still doubled over. Suddenly, Rick’s brilliant idea of showing up unannounced felt entirely wrong. Before he could explain his presence, Judy knelt beside Meg. “Do you need your inhaler?”

Meg nodded and Rick heard her wheeze.
Oh, damn!

Judy ran down the hall and returned seconds later. He managed to move to Meg’s side right as Judy thrust the medicine in Meg’s hand. She sucked in two deep breaths and closed her eyes as if savoring the oxygen.

“You OK?” Rick asked.

“No thanks,” she sucked on her inhaler again, “to you.”

Judy glared at him and managed an indignant pose even wrapped in a towel. “Think you can get her some water while I find some clothes?”

Rick ran his hand over his short hair and moved into the adjacent kitchen. He returned to Meg’s side with a bottle of water while she sat on the arm of the couch.

“You scared me to death.”

“Wasn’t my intention.” Well, it was . . . kind of. Had he known what Meg’s reaction would be, he would have waited outside. He handed her the water and watched as she slowly brought her breathing under control.

“You’re asthmatic?”

Meg rolled her eyes. “What was your first clue?”

Yeah, that was a stupid question.

“Comes on like that when I’m
scared to death
.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You should be!” Judy heard his half-ass apology as she walked in the room. She’d managed a tiny pair of shorts Rick was sure were illegal in a few states and a tight knit top. Her hair was still wet, her skin still pink from her shower.

He swallowed, hard.

“You both have slipped into some bad habits since you moved in.”

Meg glanced at Judy and they both glared at him.

“The fact that I walked in and made myself at home should stand as a warning. Not that I thought you’d react like that.”

Meg shrugged.

“You have keys,” Judy told him.

“Keys I didn’t need to use to get in here. This isn’t Utah, Judy. Lock the doors and use your sensors to get in and out of the gate and to disable the alarm on the house.”

“I put in the key code,” Meg told him.

“Yeah, I figured it was you, but the codes are meant for the hired help, not you two. It’s important that we know who is home. And unlocked doors are just sloppy.”

“Paranoid much?” Judy asked him.

“There are more people that live on this block than everyone combined in Hilton, Utah. The days of keeping your doors unlocked are over, babe.”

Judy bored holes in him with her glare. Maybe
babe
wasn’t the best choice of endearments.

“You know, Mr. Annoying, we’re not children.”

Rick flashed his dimpled smile and let his gaze move down her frame. “I can see that, Utah.”

She actually growled at him.

“What would you have done if it was anyone else sitting in here?”

“I would have hit the alarm.”

He paused, smiled.
This could be fun.

“All right.” He stood and grasped her hand, ignored the heat of her palm, and placed her in the hall in the spot from which she noticed him the first time.

Meg watched from the other side of the living room while Rick moved back to the sofa and sat.

“Meg, on your call. Judy, let’s see how quickly you can get to that alarm.”

Rick picked up the magazine again and sat back on the sofa, not that any would-be attacker would be as relaxed as he was. Still, he wanted to give Judy a chance.

He thumbed through the pages . . . waiting.

“Go!”

Rick was up, over the coffee table, and had his arm around Judy’s waist, her backside pressed against him before she managed four steps. She struggled in his arms, attempted to elbow his ribs. His steel grip kept her from landing any punches as he pushed her against the wall, immobilizing her. “Your towel would have already fallen, babe,” he whispered.

She relaxed in his arms and he loosened his grip. “Your foreplay needs some work, Rick.”

He laughed and drew in the floral scent of her shampoo before letting her go.

“Well that was entertaining,” Meg said from her perch.

Judy moved out of his reach and smoothed a hand over her torso.
Lucky hand!

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea for the two of you to take some self-defense classes,” he told them.

“I doubt we’d stand a chance against a Marine, regardless.”

Rick lost his smile for a moment, not liking the thought of Judy at the mercy of one of his old mates.

“Still not a bad idea.”

Meg pushed off the chair. “How about we just lock the doors and use the right keys?”

“What about when you’re not home?”

“Wow, Rick . . . don’t take the job as hospitality ambassador for the city.”

“It’s a shitty world, Utah. No reason not to be prepared.”

Judy placed her hands on her hips. “I think Meg and I will be just fine, thank you very much. Now if you don’t mind, we were getting ready to go out.”

“Out?”
Where?

“Yeah, and before you ask . . . no, you’re not invited.”

It killed him not to ask, but he accepted her dis and moved toward the front door. “Lock the doors and use your key fobs, ladies.”

Judy gave him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

Rick narrowed his eyes and walked out of the house. Behind him, he heard the lock click into place.

His motorcycle had a small compartment where he kept a few toys. He found a small tracking device, removed his cell phone from his pocket, and synced the two together.

He moved to Judy’s car, opened the driver’s-side door, and tossed her jean jacket in the front seat. Then he placed his hand on the underside of the steering column and stuck the device where no one would see it.

“I take my job seriously, Utah. Get used to it.”

On a map, Westwood wasn’t a long distance from Mike’s Beverly Hills home. Driving there at seven thirty in the morning, however, would test the patience of a saint.

Wearing a pencil skirt, a silk blouse, and sensible heels, Judy hustled from her car after finding a parking spot near the top of the structure. Her excitement over her first day as an intern was clouded by the mad dash to the elevator and the realization that she was going to be late if there was anyone else attempting to get to the lower floors.

At two minutes after eight, she walked up to the receptionist at Benson & Miller Designs and waited while the lady on the phone finished her call.

“Hi, I’m . . . ah, I’m Judy Gardner. The new intern.”

The blonde behind the desk looked to be in her early twenties and seemed to have a genuine smile. “Is it that time again?” the woman asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Intern time. Seems we just did this.” She picked up the phone and dialed. “Mr. Archer, your intern is here. Great.”

The receptionist hung up the phone and pointed down the hall. “Go down the hall, take the first right, and you’ll see offices lining the left side of the building. Three down and you’ll find Mr. Archer’s office.”

Judy hiked her purse higher on her shoulder and started down the hall.

The phone rang behind her. “Benson and Miller Designs, how may I direct your call?”

The greeting alone brought a smile to Judy’s face. She was here. Chasing a dream of becoming a world-class architect. The soft brown and taupe color palette of the office soothed the space and highlighted some of the more recognizable designs of the talented staff. Each photograph had a spotlight from above, giving the hall a museum quality. She didn’t have time to study the buildings. That would have to come later.

She found Steve Archer standing over his overburdened desk with a phone in his hand. Judy stepped into his office with a smile. “We haven’t heard back from engineering on the soil report, Mason.” While Steve spoke into the phone he had poised between his shoulder and his ear, his hands dug into the pile of paper to the left of his phone. “As soon as I have it I’ll send it to your secretary.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s five minutes after eight. I haven’t even had my coffee yet, let alone checked my e-mails. I know . . . I got it.”