The Hill (7 page)

Yawning, she slipped the phone into the front pouch of her hoodie. It buzzed again, tickling her tummy.

She pulled it out and typed in a reply—
wrong number.

As she wiped the crumbs from the counter, another text came through. She tossed the dish towel into the sink and dragged out the phone again.

She froze.
Take out the trash, LONDON.

Was this some kind of joke? Had April had one of her fellow club hoppers text her? But what did it mean?

The phone continued to buzz in her hand as the text came through over and over. Take out the trash? She glanced at the empty pizza box. She had to take out the trash anyway.

She tucked the pizza box beneath one arm and grabbed her key. With the text message indicator still buzzing, she locked her door behind her and trudged to the end of the hallway to the little room that contained the trash chute.

She licked her lips and shoved open the door. The silver lid of the trash chute gleamed in the dim closet. She lifted the lid with two fingers and the smell of garbage wafted into the small space. Wrinkling her nose, she dropped the pizza box down the black hole and let the lid fall back into place.

The clang resounded in the closet.

She pulled out her phone and spoke to it. “There, are you happy?”

It must be April playing some kind of joke. Maybe she'd meant take out the trash and make room for a new man? It had to be April.

When London got back to her condo, she tapped April's name in her contact list with a less-than-steady finger.

April answered with a breathless voice. “Change your mind?”

“No. Who's sending me texts about the trash?” She held her breath, hoping for April's laughing admission of guilt.

“What?”

“Are you having someone text me messages about taking out the trash?”

“London, what are you talking about? Look, I'm in a taxi on my way to the Bay Club for cocktails. Then it's off to the new place. If you've changed your mind, meet us there.”

“You didn't put someone up to texting me?” Her voice rose to an unnatural high note.

“About trash? No. You're losing it.”

She just might be. While she'd been on the phone to April, the text had come through five more times.

What trash? Was her stolen stuff in the trash? Had the burglars had second thoughts? Maybe they'd seen the police here. How the hell had they gotten her number?

All the trash chutes on this side of the building led to a larger bin in a room off the lobby. Was that the trash she should check? She didn't want to do it alone.

Jerome was downstairs. He could come with her.

Once again, she pocketed her still-buzzing phone and left her condo. A couple got into the elevator with her on the third floor and she nodded at them.

The woman jabbed the button for the lobby. “Did someone break into your place today?”

“Yeah. Turns out Griff was giving the paparazzi access to our building.”

The woman's nostrils flared and she sniffed. “That's very unfortunate. I hope he's gone.”

“I think he is.” Thanks to Judd.

The elevator opened onto the lobby, and the couple continued out the front door, where a town car waited for them.

Jerome looked up from the monitor. “More pizza, London?”

“No, I keep getting a weird text from some unknown person telling me to check the trash. I looked into the chute upstairs, but there's nothing there.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Just because you get a text from someone doesn't mean you have to do what it says.”

“I know.” She placed a shaky hand over the buzzing phone in her pocket. “I just have a feeling—maybe my missing stuff is in the trash bin down here. Can you check it out with me?”

His gaze darted between the empty lobby and the working monitors on the security desk. “I don't want to leave my post, especially since Griff basically broke the camera down here and there's no coverage on the lobby, and there's still no coverage on the garage.”

She turned toward the door that led to the trash room and crossed her arms. “I'm still a little on edge after the break-in.”

“Tell you what—” Jerome reached under the security desk and held up two slanted blocks of wood “—prop the doors open with these. I can sort of see into the hallway.”

“That'll work.” She took the doorstops from him and marched toward the first door. She shoved open the door and kicked one piece of wood beneath it to hold it open.

The chill from the cement floor in the hallway caused a rash of goose bumps to spread across her arms. She eyed the metal door at the end of the hallway. “The trash room is that door at the end, right?”

“Yeah. Prop that one open, too, when you get there.”

“Sure thing.” Her voice rang out brighter than she felt. Maybe she should just turn off her phone, forget the whole thing tonight and have Judd trace the call tomorrow.

The phone buzzed again with the same message, as if taunting her. If she planned to hold on to her job and execute her responsibilities at BGE, she'd have to show these goons they didn't scare her.

“Okay, I'm heading down the hallway. Maybe management should put a camera over here, too.”

Jerome called back from the lobby, sounding very far away. “I'll suggest it. There's nothing out there or in the alley where the garbage trucks pull up.”

London threw back her shoulders and proceeded down the corridor, her flip-flops smacking the cement. She grabbed the handle and pressed down, nudging the door with her hip. It opened with a creak.

“This door needs oil.” She cocked her head. “Jerome?”

“I hear ya. Maybe I'll suggest that, too. You see anything in there?”

“Just a couple of big trash bins.” She pinched her nose.

A soft, rhythmic tapping sound had her stumbling backward. “Are there rats out here?”

“I hope not, or that's another suggestion.”

Crouching down, she shoved the doorstop in place and rose slowly, brushing her fingers against her yoga pants.

A bag of trash hurtled down the chute and London pressed a hand against her heart. “Scared me.”

“What?”

“Nothing, just some trash coming down.”

“It
is
the trash room.”

She grabbed the edge of the bin and found a foothold on the edge, peering inside. Yep, trash. No computers, no camcorders, no jewelry.

Someone had decided to yank her chain with those texts—maybe the burglars, maybe not.

The tapping noise started again and she jumped off the bin. Her gaze wandered to the other door in the room. “Jerome?”

“You done in there?”

“Yeah...no.” She took a step toward the metal door. The tapping had turned into a soft scraping sound coming from the other side of that door.

“What's this door in here?”

“Leads to the alley, same as the sliding door. We roll up the sliding door on garbage day so the trash collectors can pick up the bin and empty it.

She hadn't noticed the warehouse-style corrugated metal door behind the bin.

“I-is it locked?”

“Just from the inside, but what do you want to go outside for?”

“There's a noise out there.”

“Probably cats.”

“Probably.” She edged toward the door and placed her hand on the cold handle. She swallowed and pushed it open.

The door hit something hanging from above. Looking up, she peered around the edge of the door and then wished she hadn't.

A man's lifeless body hung from the awning above the door—a celebrity magazine sticking out of his pocket.

 

Chapter Six

Judd rubbed circles on London's back as she rocked back
and forth. Every once in a while, she'd stop rocking and a tremble would roll
through her body. When that happened, her teeth would chatter and she'd hunch
her shoulders, giving him the urge to take her lithe form in his arms.

He resisted the urge.

The SFPD homicide detective, one of his brother's colleagues,
tapped the plastic bag containing London's phone. “We can trace the texts, but
most likely it'll come back to a throwaway phone. People who commit murder do
not leave messages from traceable phones.”

Judd's hand paused on London's back. “You're probably right,
but it's worth a try. You might get lucky.”

Unlike Griff. The SOB had gotten involved with the wrong
people. He thought he'd hit the jackpot and picked up some extra cash. Now the
crime-scene techs were downstairs and the coroner was probably on his way.

Detective Curtis planted his hands on his knees and pushed to
his feet. “Thanks for the info, Judd. Why someone, especially a former cop,
would allow a couple of guys wearing obvious disguises into an exclusive
building like this one is beyond me.”

Judd got to his feet and shook Curtis's hand. “I guess your
pensions aren't big enough. Griff did it for the money.”

“You said he had an envelope stuffed with bills?”

“Yeah, payment from the burglars.”

“Well, whoever killed him took that off him, too.”

London raised a pair of wide eyes, peering at them through a
veil of hair. “Griff didn't have a family, did he? He never mentioned a wife and
kids to me.”

“I'm not sure, Ms. Breck. We've contacted his employer for next
of kin, although the other security guard said Griff had been divorced for a
while.”

Judd saw Curtis to London's front door since she'd retreated
behind her hair and the blanket he'd draped around her shoulders.

“You take care, Ms. Breck. I called Captain Williams at home to
let him know what happened, and he was glad I did. We'll notify you if anything
breaks. In the meantime, I'm leaving you in good hands.”

Judd thanked Curtis and returned to London's side. “How about a
glass of wine? Some tea? Water?”

Her head jerked up. “I didn't hear your conversation with
Detective Curtis earlier. Was Griff dead before they strung him up or d-did they
hang him?”

“You didn't hear that conversation for a reason. Do you really
need to know that?” She needed wine, and he wandered into her vast kitchen to
look for a bottle.

“Yes.” She knotted her fingers and he could see how unsettled
she was. “I need to know everything.”

He banged open a few cupboards. “Wine?”

“In the wine cellar.”

Oh, yeah, he vaguely remembered a step-down room, dark and
oaky, filled with racks upon racks of bottles.

She must've noticed the confusion crossing his face, because
she flicked her fingers toward the kitchen. “There's a top-rated
Wine Spectator
pinot grigio open in the fridge.”

Of course, pinot grigio in the fridge. Who didn't have a
Wine Spectator
top-rated pinot grigio in the fridge?
Whatever the hell that meant.

He pulled open the door, grabbed the bottle of wine off the top
shelf and snagged himself a top-rated Judd Brody bottle of beer in the process.
She could open a bar with the stock she had on hand, and a coffee shop with all
the coffee gadgets littering the kitchen, and probably a flower shop to top it
off.

He lifted a glass from the cupboard, poured in the wine and
twisted off the beer bottle's cap. He needed a drink after his epic fail. He'd
figured the intruders had broken in as another scare tactic, but they'd just
added murder to their repertoire—and they'd wanted to make sure London found the
body.

Why?

Were they really threatening her life if she didn't give up
control of BGE? He'd have to take a look at the players in that corporation,
although it could be someone outside the corporation—a competitor or disgruntled
former employee.

He sat down next to London and placed her glass on the coffee
table in front of her. She deserved to know what she was facing.

“They killed Griff before they hanged him. They choked him,
probably with a garrote.”

She took a gulp of wine and pressed the back of her hand to her
lips. “Why?”

“So he wouldn't identify them, because he talked to the cops,
or maybe just to get rid of him and tie up loose ends.”

“Do you think Griff was telling the truth about the disguises?
Maybe they didn't have hats and beards. Maybe they'd just warned Griff to keep
quiet and he had no intention of telling us anything about them.”

“If so, he misplaced his loyalties.” He rolled the damp beer
bottle between his palms. “Who's Captain Williams? The name sounds
familiar.”

“He's a captain in homicide. Your brother probably knows him.
He and my father go way back, and he's been trying to get the chief's position
for years.”

“Williams, yeah.” He took a sip of beer. “You need to replace
your phone, get a new phone number.”

“I'll do that tomorrow.”

“Today.” He tapped his watch. “It's after midnight.”

She ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. “I'm used to
the general trouble fame causes—paparazzi, media, gossip. But this...it's
serious.”

“Damn straight it is. It was serious when they beat Theodore to
a pulp, and now it's deadly serious.”

“I don't understand what they want. Why don't they, whoever
they are, give me some demands?”

“Maybe they don't have any demands.”

“You mean they just want to kill me?” She threw back another
gulp of wine.

“I don't think so. It's not as though they didn't have their
chances to do that—in the hotel alley, here in your place or down in that trash
room—an idiotic move on your part, by the way. Why would you go down there on
your own after what's been happening?”

He saw the color rise in her face when he called her actions
idiotic. “I planned to take Jerome with me, and he was right in the next
room.”

“Not close enough.” He chugged the rest of his beer and
stretched. “I'm staying here tonight.”

Her wine sloshed over the rim of the glass. “I beg your
pardon?”

“I'm going to camp out—” he bounced his fist on the cushion
next to him “—right here.”

“Do I have to pay extra for that service?”

“You'll see it on my bill.”

“If I'm going to be charged for the twenty-four-hour coverage,
you might as well stay in style. I have several guest rooms, beds already made
up.”

“I think I need to stay right here. Unless, of course, this is
a top-rated
Couch Spectator
couch.”

Even though the strain of the evening still clouded her eyes,
the corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “You don't want to know how much that
couch cost, but you're welcome to it—as long as you remove your motorcycle
boots.”

“I'll remove more than my motorcycle boots.”

He ignored the look from her narrowed eyes and pushed up from
the couch with his empty beer bottle in one hand. “If you're going to be ready
for your meeting tomorrow morning, you'd better get a good night's sleep. And
since I'm going with you to the office, I'm going to hit the sack, too.”

She reached for her glass, almost knocking it over, but swooped
in before it hit the table. “Y-you're coming with me?”

“Yep.”

“In what capacity?”

“Bodyguard.”

“Should I introduce you as my bodyguard?”

“Sweetheart, you can introduce me as whatever you want or don't
introduce me at all, but you should keep mum about the activities of the past
few days.”

“I'm probably not going to be able to hide the fact that a
security guard was murdered in my building and I found him.”

“So? Your involvement ends there. Don't you ever keep
secrets?”

“Sure.” She jumped from the couch and turned toward the
kitchen. “I'll get you a blanket and pillow for the couch.”

She rinsed her glass in the sink and then disappeared
upstairs.

True to his promise, Judd sat down and pulled off his boots. He
stuffed his socks inside and placed them beside the couch. Then he chucked a few
throw pillows onto the floor to make some room. The couch had to be six feet
long, but that still wouldn't accommodate him from head to toe.

No doubt he'd find more comfort in one of London's guest rooms,
but he could keep better watch down here by the front door, and he didn't want
to be in some soft, comfortable bed with London in her soft, comfortable bed
somewhere down the hall. He didn't need the distraction.

“I brought a sheet to tuck in around the couch and a blanket
and pillow. Do you think you'll need another blanket?”

“You keep the temperature warm in here. I'm good.”

She shook out the sheet and handed him one corner. “I'll help
you.”

The sheet billowed as they each grabbed an end, and some
flowery scent wafted into the air. They secured it around the edges of the couch
and Judd tossed the pillow onto one end.

“Perfect.” He poked a few buttons on his watch. “What time is
your meeting tomorrow morning? I'll need to go home first and change, and then
I'll meet you in the lobby of your office building.”

“Do you know where it's located?”

“I did some research on you after I left today.”

Her eyebrows jumped. “Did you discover anything
interesting?”

“Let's see.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Lots of crazy
parties, wild friends, escape from boarding school, a few arrests, exotic
travel. Typical life of an idle rich girl.”

“Ouch.” She clamped her hands over her stomach as if he'd
stabbed her.

“Hey, no judgment here.” He turned off the lamp beside the
couch. “Get some sleep, London.”

She crept away in the darkness and turned at the bottom of the
stairs. Her whisper floated across the room. “I'm changing all that.”

Before he could reply that it didn't concern him one way or the
other, she'd jogged upstairs, and a door slammed in the recesses of the
condo.

Probably a good thing he hadn't had time to answer. She seemed
sensitive about her wild-child image. And besides, he would've been lying—it did
concern him.

Everything about London Breck concerned him.

* * *

J
UDD
 
ROLLED
 
UP
 
his motorcycle jacket
and stuffed it into one of his bike's saddlebags. Leaning forward, he ran one
hand through his helmet hair and then tugged on the lapels of his suit
jacket.

Sean had helped him pick out the suit. As fastidious about his
clothes as he was about everything else in his life, his brother knew a good
suit and a good tailor. Judd felt at ease that he'd fit in with any of these
financial types at Breck Global Enterprises.

He ambled from the parking garage into the lobby of the
building where BGE occupied the top four floors. He parked himself next to a
potted plant and watched the twirling glass doors from the street to the
lobby.

A tall, cool blonde with her hair in a loose bun sailed through
the doors. London shoved her sunglasses on top of her head and hoisted the
soft-sided black briefcase over her shoulder.

When Judd stepped into her path, a hitch hampered her long
stride but didn't stop her. He matched her step for step on the way to the
elevator.

She pressed the button and cranked her head to the side, her
gaze scanning him head to toe. “Nice suit. You look like Secret Service with
those sunglasses.”

He took them off and slipped them into his front pocket.
“Better?”

“How'd you sleep last night? I didn't think you'd be gone when
I got up.”

His pulse quickened. “Everything okay this morning?”

“Fine.” She stabbed the button again. “So were the
accommodations satisfactory?”

“Fine.” He'd slept lightly. A few bumps in the night had had
him bolting upright, but he'd put them down to the settling of the building.

A few other people joined them in the elevator.

London shifted toward him, close enough for him to see the
sparkle from the dusting of powder across her nose.

“Here's the agenda for the morning. I'll look over my email and
return any calls. The meeting starts at nine o'clock. I'll try to point out all
the players to you beforehand, and maybe you can hang out in my office during
the meeting and go through some company files.”

“Sounds good.”

The doors to the elevator swished open, and Judd stepped back
and held the door for the others. Silence reigned as the car delivered the other
three to their destinations.

When the doors closed behind the last person, London turned to
him. “If anyone asks, you're just additional security.”

“Got it.” He saluted. “Nice to meet you, I'm additional
security.”

She drummed her fingers against his biceps. “Very funny. Did
you hear anything more about Griff? Is it in the paper?”

“I haven't heard anything, and I didn't see it in the
newspaper, but it's probably online.”

“I know nothing.” She traced her fingertip along the seam of
her lips.

Sleeping downstairs last night had been the best move he
could've made. This woman, with her hard shell on the outside and squishy, soft
insides, had gotten under his skin. Her reputation as a hot party chick had
hooked him, but her wit and self-deprecating humor were reeling him in.