The Hill (15 page)

London playfully grabbed his finger. “You know that's not going to happen, Richard. We would be just awful together and you know it.”

“I'd love to have you as my daughter, London.”

“The two of us can play pretend father-daughter without the marriage.” She released his finger. “Now, if you'll excuse us, Judd and I have a little business to discuss. Don't forget your contribution tonight.”

“I thought the ticket
was
the contribution.”

“You know me better than that, Richard.” She nudged Judd in the back and he nodded at Taylor.

She whispered, “It's midnight already. People are going to start leaving once they've eaten their fill.”

“Stay here, London. I can do this on my own.”

“I know you can, but I want to be with you.”

He ran a hand down her bare arm. “You don't have a coat. Who knows if the guy's even there. We might have to wait out in the cold for him.”

“I can fix that.” She stopped at the coat check and hunched over the counter. “I'm so sorry. I forgot my ticket, but I see my cloak right there, the black one.”

“No problem.” The woman handed over the cloak and London slipped her some cash.

“I hope you plan to return this.” He snatched the cloak from her arm and draped it over her shoulders, pulling the neck closed over the sparkling emerald.

“Of course. Now let's blow this joint.”

“Have you noticed that you start using what you believe is gangster slang whenever we're about to do a little investigating?”

She emitted a very ungangster-like giggle and tucked her hand in his pocket. “May as well get into the spirit of things.”

He took her shoulders, spinning her around to face him. “This isn't a joke, London. It's not one of your madcap adventures. You've been the victim of some crazy stuff this past week, and a man was murdered and left for you to discover. You do exactly as I say. Got it?”

Her eyes had gotten bigger and bigger with every word of his tirade and she nodded. “I didn't mean to make a joke about it. I—I mean, I haven't forgotten Griff or Theodore. I know it's serious, Judd.”

He kissed her forehead. “Let's be careful.”

Taking her hand, he tucked her against his side, and the silk of the cloak rustled as it brushed against him.

The night air felt refreshing after the warmth of the opera house. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath of cool air. They crossed the street and circled around to the back of the symphony hall, London's heels clicking on the sidewalk beside him.

He leaned in close. “I have my gun in my shoulder holster. If anything funny happens, duck on my word.”

“Got it.” She whispered in his ear. “What word?”

“Duck.”

They reached the corner of the building and he turned first, keeping London behind him. His nostrils flared at the smell of cigarette smoke wafting toward them. Then he spotted the pinpoint of red light in the darkness.

He took one step toward it and cupped his hand around his mouth. “It's Brody. Walk this way.”

A dark shape shoved off the wall of the building and the cigarette sailed into the gutter.

The man strolled toward them, taking his time. Just as the gas station attendant had mentioned, the stranger had a cap pulled low on his face. He kept to the shadows of the building and stopped about five feet away from them. “You alone?”

Judd recognized the voice from the phone call. “I'm with a friend.”

“Cops?” The man's body jerked.

“No cops.” London stepped out from behind Judd. “Just me.”

“London Breck.” The man laughed until he started hacking.

London exchanged a look with Judd. “That's right. Is that okay?”

He waved a hand and then shoved it into his pocket, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes, crinkling the plastic that encased the box. He shook one out. “Smoke?”

“No, thanks.” Judd shifted his weight to his other foot since the leg felt heavy—too much standing around. “Get to the point.”

“You know your old man's partner was killed in a shoot-out, right?”

Judd hunched his shoulders. “Yeah—a meeting a snitch set up that went south.”

“That snitch didn't kill Rigoletto.”

“He was tried and convicted.”

“He was set up—sort of.”

“How is someone sort of set up?” Judd blinked his dry eyes. That cigarette smoke was getting to him.

The man tapped his cigarette on his wrist and stuck it between his lips. “He agreed to the setup.”

London's cloak rustled beside Judd, and he pressed his hand against the small of her back.

“Why would he do that?”

“Lots of reasons that aren't important now. Don't you want to know
why
he was set up? That's the important stuff.”

“Okay, shoot.”

The man held up his hands. “I ain't armed, boss.”

“Go on.”

“The cop that was gunned down, Rigoletto? He knew somethin', him and your old man.”

Judd's heart thudded against the holster strapped across his chest. “What did they know?”

“That—” the man spit out grains of tobacco “—I can't tell you.”

“How do you know the shoot-out was a setup?”

“I shared a cell with Otis Branch—the snitch. He told me someone hired him to take out both cops, but he only got one.”

Judd sucked in a breath, which only made his mouth drier. “There was a hit put out on my father and his partner?”

“That's right, but Otis missed Brody. When he saw what went down with Brody about six months later, he figured they'd gotten him another way.”

Judd's head pounded, and each thud let loose an explosion of pain. He rubbed his heavy eyes.

London gave him a sharp glance and spoke up. “It couldn't have been Russell Langford, the real Phone Book Killer, who set up Detective Brody. Why would he have any interest in Joe Rigoletto?”

The man clicked a lighter and the flame illuminated his face from below, giving him a ghoulish look.

Judd almost laughed but felt London's piercing stare. He reached out and held up the wall of the symphony hall with his hand.

The man lit his cigarette and took a long drag.

The smoke made Judd dizzy, and he propped a shoulder against the building.

“That's the point. Russ Langford was the Phone Book Killer, but someone besides Langford was setting up Brody. That whole sideshow was just a gift to Langford.”

London squeezed his arm through his jacket and it felt so good. Lead weights tugged at his eyelids. He just wanted to find a warm, comfortable bed with London curled up next to him.

“Did Otis ever tell you who hired him?”

“Said he didn't know, but they paid him a lot of money, which he stashed away for his wife and daughter.”

London looked at him with raised eyebrows. Was she expecting something from him?

She sighed and asked, “Why didn't he say anything when he was arrested? He just took the fall.”

“That's what he got paid to do. He figured if these people could arrange the execution of a cop, they'd have no problem taking him out, or his family. He did his time and his wife got the dough. It's not as if Otis was any stranger to life in the big house.”

The man's words rushed through Judd's head. He tried to make sense of them, but they tumbled one after the other.

“That's all I gotta say.” He shrugged off the wall. “Thought Brody here would wanna know.”

He hesitated and took a pull on his smoke.

Interesting.
Or it would be interesting if he weren't so damned tired.

London broke away from his side and fished in her evening bag. She took several steps toward the man, and Judd tried to lift his arm to stop her. She shouldn't get so close.

But his arm wouldn't obey the command from his brain.

London murmured something to the man and he turned and sauntered down the street, his lit cigarette swinging at his side, before disappearing behind the building.

“Judd!” Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she shook him. “Are you okay? You just stopped talking and you look like you're about to topple over.”

“Sick.” His tongue felt five sizes too big for his dry mouth.

She took his arm. “Our car should be waiting in front of the opera house. If not, I'll text our driver. Just hang on to me.”

He laid an arm heavily across her shoulders, but didn't want to lean on her. What if they both fell down? He could fall on top of her—in a fountain. Naked. The laugh that clawed its way up his throat sounded more like a bark.

She stumbled beneath his weight as they made it back to the front of the opera house. A few people littered the steps of the building and the sidewalk, but he couldn't think of anything to say to them.

“Your car, Ms. Breck.”

“Thank you. Please hurry. Mr. Brody is ill.”

Was he? When did that happen? He couldn't be ill. He was on a job. He had to protect London.

Rough hands grabbed him and bundled him into the back of the limo, and he slumped against London, who was already sitting on the leather seat.

“Hey, be careful. He's not well.” She pressed her cool hand against his forehead as the door slammed after them.

He licked his lips. “Water. Give me water.”

The car roared to life, throwing him to the other side of the backseat, his head hitting the window. A crack of pain splintered his skull and he blinked. “Water.”

He heard the crack of a plastic lid on a bottle, and then London held it to his mouth. He sealed his lips around the rim and chugged it so fast it ran down his chin.

“Judd!”

He sat up. “More water.”

The fog in his head loosened, and he tensed every one of his muscles. He knew how to get out of this. He had to get out of this.

London turned toward him, another bottle of water clutched in her hand. This time he took it from her and downed it.

“Why are you so thirsty?” Her wide eyes glimmered in the darkness of the car. “What's wrong?”

“I've been drugged.”

 

Chapter Fourteen

London's heart flip-flopped, and she stretched out her
hand for the call button.

“Don't.” Judd circled his fingers around her wrist and jerked
her arm down.

“If you've been drugged, you need to go to the emergency
room.”

He crouched down in the seat and shook his head while reaching
inside his jacket. He mumbled a curse. “He took my weapon.”

Adrenaline spiked through her body, and she grabbed the seat,
her fingernails digging into the soft leather. “Who? The driver?”

“Yeah. It's going to be okay. I didn't finish the last club
soda—it tasted funny.” He tossed the empty bottle to the floor of the car.
“Another water.”

Her hand shook as she offered him another plastic bottle. “Why
would someone drug you?”

“To get to you.”

Her eyes darted to the dark privacy glass that shielded them
from the driver. “What are we going to do?”

“Since I don't have my weapon or any way to get to the driver,
we're going to have to exit this car.”

She swallowed, pulling the borrowed cloak up to her chin.
“While it's moving?”

“Do you prefer we wait until he takes us to some location not
of our choosing and delivers us to the person who planned this abduction?”

“Abduction?”

“That's what this is, London. Whether they plan to kill me
first before we arrive or off me once we get there, they want you.” He tipped
the rest of the water down his throat and wiped his mouth with the back of his
hand.

“You're in no condition to jump from a moving car.”

“On the plus side, I probably won't feel a thing when I land.
There's a reason drunk drivers never seem to get badly injured in
accidents—their bones are like rubber, and that's how I feel.”

“I wondered what was going on with you when we were talking to
our informant. He said some pretty explosive things that barely got a reaction
from you.”

“First things first. We need to get out of this car the minute
it slows down—while we're still in the city, while there are still traffic
signals.” His fingers curled around the door handle.

“What if he locked us in back here?” Her teeth chattered and
she covered her mouth with one hand.

“I don't think so. He figures I'm going to be knocked out in
several minutes, and you're more likely to ask him to take me to the emergency
room than to catapult from the car and leave me.” He narrowed his eyes at her.
“Would you?”

She smiled behind her hand. “What would be the fun in
that?”

“Keep this cloak wrapped around you.” He tweaked the material
with his thumb and forefinger. “It'll restrict your movement, but you don't have
much mobility in that dress anyway, and the cloak will protect you if he takes
off and you fall out of the car.”

“We need your motorcycle helmet.”

“We need a lot of things.” He squeezed her knee. “Hang on to me
when I give the word. I can break your fall if I have to.”

“Judd.”

“Yeah?”

“I'm scared.”

“Piece of cake. The driver's already hit a few red lights. Now
that we're ready, we're going to take advantage of those. If he sees the alert
for the open door, he might try to take off. Don't let that deter you. Jump and
clear the car—moving or not.”

She dipped her chin. “Got it.”

London held her breath. She scooted even closer to Judd,
pressing her thigh against his, clutching his arm with one hand.

The heavy tint on the windows obscured their location, but the
car still trundled along surface streets. Once they hit the freeway, if that was
where he was headed, they wouldn't have a chance.

The limo slowed, and Judd poked her leg. The car idled.

“Now!” Judd threw himself against the door, pulling her with
him.

As predicted, the driver stomped on the gas and the car lurched
forward with one of her legs still inside.

Judd yanked her free and they both stumbled into the
street.

Headlights blinded her. A horn blared. A set of brakes
squealed.

“He's stopping.” Judd grabbed her hand and headed down the
street, threading his way through traffic as drivers yelled and honked at
them.

He shouted above the din, “We want to stay in public view so he
won't take a shot at us or try to run us down.”

London stole a peek over her shoulder. “He's on the phone.”

“Probably giving his boss the bad news. Keep walking.”

They escaped the traffic in one piece and turned down a side
street, where a few bars bustled with business.

He pulled her through the first door. “We're going to get a
taxi back to Nob Hill.”

Fifteen minutes later, London closed her eyes in the backseat
of a taxi heading home. “I don't understand what just happened.”

Judd put a finger to his lips and then pressed it against
hers.

They didn't utter another word until she shut the door to her
place and locked it. She stood with her back pressed against the door. Then her
knees weakened and she folded at the waist.

Judd was beside her in a heartbeat, catching her in his arms.
He scooped her up and cradled her against his chest as if she were a kitten
instead of a five-foot-ten-inch woman with gangly arms and legs.

He carried her into the great room and settled her before the
fireplace. He dragged an ottoman to her back and she leaned against it while he
hunched forward and started the gas to light the logs in the fireplace.

“Do you want another cognac? Just sip it for your nerves.”

“Sure.” She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms
around her legs. “Are you all right? Shouldn't you go to the emergency
room?”

He poured from the decanter they'd sampled earlier in the
evening. “I think it was a little codeine, that's it. I recognized the effects,
and once I realized what had happened I was able to deal with it.”

“It was someone in the opera house, someone at the gala.”

“Someone you know.”

She stretched her chilled fingers to the dancing flames. “Do
you think whoever it was knew about our meeting?”

“I don't think so, and that's probably what saved me. If I'd
been drugged and then packaged into that limo right away, I probably would've
passed out before I knew what hit me. Instead we walked outside. The cool air
combated some of the effects of the drug.”

“If you hadn't acted so quickly, who knows where I'd be right
now? Who knows where you'd be?”

“I should've realized something was up when that club soda left
a funny taste in my mouth.” He loosened the cloak at her throat. “Distracted.
I'm too damned distracted to do my job.”

“Stop.” She slapped at his hands. “You saved me again. If
that's you distracted, then I'm not sure I could handle your intensity
undistracted.”

He opened the cloak and she shrugged out of it. He draped it
over the arm of the couch. “Is that poor woman ever going to get her cape
back?”

“After I dry-clean it.” She flicked the straps of her dress off
her shoulders. “Are we going to call the police and report the limo driver?”

“Did you get his name? License number of the car? What exactly
are we going to report? He picked us up and was driving us home.”

“Y-you were drugged?”

“And how do I prove that? I'm telling you, it was codeine, a
common enough drug.”

Sighing, she hooked her little finger in the strap of her shoe
and pulled it off her foot. “Were you clearheaded enough to hear what our ex-con
had to say?”

“I heard, I comprehended the words, but I haven't been able to
get my head around them yet.”

“He said the shooting of your father's partner was planned, and
someone intended the same fate for your dad, too.”

“But Otis missed, so someone set my father up to take the fall
for those murders to get him out of the way or shut him up.”

“That's the gist of it—and it worked.”

“But shut him up about what? Did the guy mention that?”

“He didn't know. Otis didn't know, but when all that stuff
started coming down on Joey Brody, Otis figured it was part of the same plan
he'd been involved with.”

“It's crazy.” Judd pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his
eyes. “I need to tell my brothers.”

“My father knew.”

Judd opened one eye. “Knew what?”

“He knew about the setup of your father and his partner. That's
how he knew Joey Brody was innocent.”

“Do you know what you're saying?”

“My father was a tough businessman. As far as I know, he was an
ethical one, but somehow, some way, he had knowledge of what went down twenty
years ago.”

“And someone doesn't want you to find out what that was.”

“That's it, Judd.” She sat up, curling her legs beneath her.
“There's someone worried about exposure—the murder of a cop, the obstruction of
a police investigation of a serial killer, the planting of evidence.”

“Driving of another cop to suicide.”

“Do you think he knew? Do you think your father realized what
was going on?”

“If he did, why didn't he just expose the perpetrators? Why
jump off a bridge?” He smacked a fist into his palm.

“I don't know, but maybe once we find the proof, you can get
some answers. Someone is trying very hard to protect the lies of the past.”

“Who has the most to lose? Richard Taylor has been with your
father from the beginning, hasn't he?”

“Pretty much.”

“I'd like to have a look at your father's computer. If he went
to such great lengths to hide it, there has to be a good reason.” Judd peeled
off his jacket and dropped it onto the chair.

London sucked in her bottom lip. Her father hadn't hid his
laptop because of those pictures, unless he'd wanted to hide the pictures from
her. No. He'd told her the location of the laptop, showed her how to get to
it.

Through half-closed eyes, she watched Judd strip down to his
undershirt and slacks. She didn't need to keep secrets from him. Showing him the
pictures on her father's laptop might be the perfect way to tell him. If he
judged her and she lost him...well, she'd never had him anyway.

Nobody owned Judd Brody and nobody ever would. He'd do as he
pleased. Even now he preferred to call in his brothers rather than put forth an
effort for a father he'd dismissed as weak.

Would he dismiss her as weak, too?

“Yeah, we'll look at his computer tomorrow. Like I said, I
brought it back to the office, thought it might be safer there with all the
stuff going on in this building.”

He slid behind her, pulling her back between his legs. Then he
kissed her neck. “We'll hit the real estate office first, and then go to your
office for the laptop.”

The warmth from the fire on her face and the warmth from his
kisses on the nape of her neck soaked through the rest her body, and she felt as
drugged as if someone had spiked her drink, too.

She curled her arms around his legs and rubbed her hands along
the insides of his thighs, crumpling the smooth material of his slacks.

His legs tightened around her and his hands slipped beneath her
low-cut dress to cup her breasts. When his thumbs toyed with her nipples, she
melted against him.

And then he took her, and the fear and tension of the evening
drifted away. Maybe nobody would ever own Judd Brody, but Judd Brody owned
her—mind, body and soul.

* * *

T
HE
 
NEXT
 
MORNING
,
London climbed on
the back of the Harley in her pantsuit, feeling right at home. Judd hadn't
bothered to exchange his jeans for a suit today, and he'd replaced the weapon
the limo driver had taken from him last with another gun from his small
arsenal.

They careened through the streets, leaving Nob Hill for the
Sunset where Bay Realtors had an office—the same office that Judd had called
last night.

When they reached the realty office, London slid from the bike
and Judd slotted it into a parking space. He locked the helmet on the side of
the bike and slicked back his hair.

She put a hand on his arm as they crossed the street.
“Remember. We're not going to barge in there demanding answers. We play it by
ear.”

“I do this for a living, lady, and sometimes demanding answers
is the way to go.”

A bell jingled on the door when they entered the realty office
and a man and a woman with their heads together, huddled over a desk, both
glanced up.

The small office gave London hope. This didn't look like the
type of office where strangers roamed in and out using the telephone. Of course,
the caller could've been a client.

The two Realtors kept talking, and Judd whispered in her ear,
“Doesn't look like either one of them recognizes us or is surprised to see
us.”

The man straightened up first and put on his best Realtor's
smile. “Good morning. What can I do for you?”

Showtime. London cleared her throat. “We're interested in this
area and were wondering if you have any listings.”

The man made a detour to a desk and swiped a binder from the
corner of it before approaching them. “Certainly. I'm Jonathan Quick, and you
are?”

“I'm Connie and this is my husband, J-Jim.” They hadn't decided
on pseudonyms, but Constance was her middle name and Jim had a nice, generic
ring to it. And of course, they had to be husband and wife. After the lovemaking
they'd shared last night, anything else would be indecent.