The Hill (3 page)

“Yes, of course.” The butler snatched the pouch with long, bony fingers and pressed it to his heart. “Thank you, Mr. Brody, for looking after Bunny's treasures.”

“I think someone else is looking after her treasures now.”

He left the butler standing at the door with his mouth gaping open, launched off the porch and grabbed the handle of the car door.

He fell onto the seat and ran a hand through his hair. “On to Sneaky Pete's.”

The car lurched forward and London fell against his shoulder. She took her time getting back into her own space. So she felt it, too?

He'd better maintain control. The drive to the Haight wasn't that long—not nearly long enough for what he planned for London.

He cleared his throat. “Do you live in Pacific Heights?”

“No.” She shook her head and her hair shimmered. “I live on Nob Hill, but my father has a place here. I'm not moving.”

He shot a quick glance at her luscious lips, now pressed into a determined line. His simple question had changed the mood in the car.

London kept her hands in her lap and stared out the window. She seemed to have lost interest in their flirtation, so maybe he wouldn't be getting lucky with an heiress tonight.

Theodore pulled the car to the curb, but this time Judd didn't beat him to the door. Theodore opened London's door with a wrinkled brow beneath his cap. “I don't like this, Miss Breck.”

“It's all good, Theodore. Do you want to join us for a drink?”

He crossed his arms, resting them on his big belly. “I don't drink and drive. Never have, never will.”

Judd clambered from the car and eyed the seedy bar with the psychedelic mural on the outside wall and a flickering red neon sign. “I'll take care of her, Theodore.”

“Thank you, sir.”

London heaved an exaggerated sigh, but she didn't protest. “You can take the car home, Theodore. We can get a taxi later.”

“I have my own code. I take you somewhere, and I bring you back. Call when you're ready.”

“If you insist.” She winked at Judd.

“Hold on.” Judd shed his dinner jacket, shrugged out of his cummerbund and pulled off his bow tie. He tossed them into the backseat of the car. “I don't want to be overdressed.”

London tugged her motorcycle jacket closed over the sparkly material of her dress. “You have a point.”

Judd opened the door of the bar and ushered her through. The neon motif from outside carried forward to the interior. Standard-issue neon beer signs flashed on the walls, and a jukebox in the corner cranked out a hard-rock tune. If smoking in bars were allowed in this city, this would be a smoke-filled room.

Instead patrons cracked peanut shells and dropped them on the floor as they gathered around tables or hunched over the bar. A few couples danced on the wood floor of a small room off the main bar. Nobody looked at them twice.

Rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt, Judd led London to a table near the jukebox and slid onto the wood bench across from her. “Come here often?”

“Every once in a while.” Her gaze scanned the tattoos spilling down one of his arms, and she pointed to the long bar of scarred wood. “We can order at the bar. The waitresses here are few and far between.”

“I'm in no hurry, are you?” He caught the eye of a waitress in a pair of short shorts and a tie-dyed T-shirt tied under her breasts.

She scurried over, balancing a tray of drinks with one hand. “What can I get you?”

“I'll have a beer, whatever you have on tap.”

“I'll take the same.” London turned wide eyes on him. “How did you get her to come over here so fast?”

He shrugged. “I just made eye contact. It works better than yelling.”

Her gaze dropped from his face and meandered across his chest, where he'd undone the first few buttons of his shirt. His flesh warmed in the wake of her inventory.

“Yeah, whatever.” She folded her arms on the table. “So what do you normally do for a living when you're not helping out friends guarding jewels for rich, frisky matrons?”

“Guard jewels for rich, frisky matrons.”

“Really?”

He stretched his legs out to the side of the table. “I'm a private investigator and bodyguard. Usually my assignments are more long-term than this one. I just got back from a job in Saudi Arabia.”

“I know a few people in that part of the world.” She flashed her teeth in more of a grimace than a smile and drummed her fingernails on the table. “Is it interesting work?”

“It can be. There's a lot of travel involved, which I like.”

“I like to travel, too.” She stopped fidgeting and pressed her palms together. “Things will be a little different for me now, now that...”

“Your father died. Sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“He left you in charge?”

Her eyes narrowed and glittered. “You sound surprised.”

“You sound defensive.”

She puffed out a breath, blowing a strand of hair from her eyes. “Let's just say I'm dealing with a lot right now. Lots of unhappy people never expected Dad to put the reins of Breck Global Enterprises in the hands of his flighty daughter.”

“You're his only child?” He knew that, of course, even if he didn't follow San Francisco society closely, except when he needed to for his clients. But he stubbornly wanted to pretend he knew nothing about her famous family.

“Only legitimate one.” She rubbed her chin. “I do have a half brother. I'm sure my father would've preferred me as the bastard and Wade as the legitimate son. You have three brothers, right?”

He raised his brows but held his response as the waitress delivered their drinks and a bowl of peanuts.

The waitress asked, “Do you want anything to eat?”

“No, thanks.” He tipped his chin at London. “You?”

“Not after all that rich food at the benefit.”

He sipped the dark, malty beer through the thick head of foam and met London's purposeful look over the rim of the glass.

“Three brothers? I know one's a cop in the city, and then there's the one who was working with that writer.”

“You seem to know a lot about my family.”

“The Brody family is in the news almost as much as my family.” Her lips puckered and she blew on the foam in her glass.

“For very different reasons.” He shifted his gaze away from that kissable mouth. He'd let her make all the moves.

“While you're all busy delivering justice, the Brecks are delivering...money.”

“Both equally necessary. Besides, I don't deliver justice. I just look out for pretty people and their pretty things.”

He didn't believe in justice—not after losing his father when he was practically a baby and then his mother to drugs and alcohol. Sean had been a great big brother, but a sibling was no substitute for a mom and dad.

“Thank God for that.” London clinked her mug with his.

The song on the jukebox had changed to a slow ballad all about how love hurt, and Judd took a swig of beer. Hell, love didn't hurt, not if you dropped it in its tracks.

London rapped her knuckles on the table between them. “You wanna dance?”

“You're kidding.”

“There are some couples out there.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the postage-stamp dance floor.

“That doesn't mean we have to join them.”

She tugged on his rolled-up sleeve. “Come on. I promise not to jump on the tabletop.”

Her cool fingers brushed against his skin, causing a thudding ache in the middle of his belly. “Have you been known to do that? Jump on tabletops?”

Her fingernails dug into his forearm. “Don't pretend you don't know about me, Judd Brody.”

Busted.
He jumped from the booth. If this was some weird mating ritual she had, he'd play along.

When they hit the dance floor, he pulled her snug against his body. Who did she think she was toying with, some upper-crust rich boy? He didn't play games. If a woman signaled interest the way London was doing, he'd take her up on the offer every time.

Wrapping one arm around her slender waist, he reached up with his other hand to tuck her head against his shoulder. Her breath warmed his skin through the thin material of his shirt.

He rested his cheek against her bright hair, and the golden strands stuck to the stubble of his beard. Reaching between their bodies, he opened her leather jacket and drew her close, his chest pressing against her soft breasts beneath the silvery material of her dress.

She shifted and her soft lips touched the side of his neck.

He gritted his teeth to suppress the shudder threatening to engulf his body. Her expensive perfume enveloped them, and for the first time in a very long time and a very long line of women, he felt on the edge of losing control.

Then the door to the bar burst open and Theodore, bloodied and battered, staggered into the room and dropped to the floor.

 

Chapter Three

London screamed at the bloody mess that was Theodore's
face and twisted out of the comfort of Judd's embrace, pitching forward. Judd
curled one muscular arm around her waist to steady her.

He tucked her behind his large frame and strode toward
Theodore, who had collapsed in a heap.

She made a grab for Judd's belt and hooked two fingers through
the loop, following him as people cleared a path to Theodore's inert form.

Judd yelled over his shoulder at the bartender, “Call
nine-one-one. Now!”

He crouched beside Theodore, feeling for his pulse. “Towels, I
need some clean towels to stop this bleeding.”

“I-is he still alive? Has he been shot?” London had never seen
so much blood. She unbuttoned Theodore's shirt at the neck.

“He's still breathing, and I don't see any bullet wounds.”

The waitress who had served them earlier rushed from behind the
bar with a stack of white towels. “Is he okay?”

“He's lost consciousness.”

One of the bartenders knelt beside Judd with a pitcher of
water. “Ambulance is on the way. Do you need this?”

London dipped one of the towels in the water and dabbed
Theodore's split lip as Judd pressed another against the gaping wound on his
head.

Taking Theodore's big hand in hers, London squeezed it and
whispered, “You're going to be okay.”

The wailing sirens scattered the crowd of people hovering over
Theodore. When the EMTs rushed in, Judd talked to them as they worked on their
patient.

Once the EMTs bundled Theodore into the ambulance, a police
officer approached Judd. “Do you know the victim?”

Judd turned to London. “He's her driver.”

“Black limo? License number—” the officer flipped open a
notepad “—BGE21?”

London's heart fluttered in her chest. “That's right. What
happened to Theodore? Where's the car?”

The officer tapped the pad of paper against his chin. “The
car's registered to Spencer Breck and Breck Global Enterprises.”

“That's me.” London waved her hand. “I'm Breck Global
Enterprises.”

The cop's eyes widened for a second and then shifted to the
diamond necklace around her throat. “Of course, Ms. Breck. The car—your car—was
found idling at the curb by the park. The driver's-side door was open and it
looks as if the car had rolled partially into the street and then was hit by
another car.”

Judd's head shot up. “Was there blood near the car? On the
seat?”

“Exactly. It appears that someone pulled the driver from the
car and beat him on the street. His plans to steal the car were probably
thwarted when it rolled into the street and got hit.” The officer's eyebrows met
over his nose. “And you are?”

“Judd Brody.”

“Brody...”

“He's my friend. Is that what you think this was? An attempted
car theft? Of a limo?”

“Could've been kids looking for a joyride.” He scratched his
chin and eyed Judd. “Aren't you...?”

Judd sliced his hand through the air. “I don't think kids
could've done that much damage to a big guy like Theodore.”

Good to know she and Judd were on the same page. Wedging her
hand on her hip, she said, “I don't think kids would be out to steal a
distinctive limo, either.”

“That might be just what they wanted. We don't have any
witnesses. I'm amazed your driver made it this far in his condition. He
should've just called the cops himself.”

The officer asked them several more questions and told her
where the ambulance had transported Theodore. He had a daughter in New York and
one in Atlanta, and she intended to call both of them just as soon as she
checked up on Theodore herself.

How could this happen? Theodore had never run into any trouble
driving her father around. She couldn't even keep her employees safe. How was
she supposed to run a company? Maybe she did need Roger's help.

She arranged for a tow service to take the limo back to her
father's place, and Judd called a taxi.

London twisted her fingers into knots. “It's all my fault. I
should've insisted that he take the car back instead of waiting around in this
crappy neighborhood.”

“The only people who deserve blame are the dirtbags who tried
to jack Theodore.” He brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek with the rough pad
of his finger. “There's no way you were going to convince Theodore to leave you.
He takes pride in a job well done.”

“You're right, but we should've gone somewhere else.” She
shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “I need to stop being the
wild-child free spirit.”

He wedged a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head back.
“Who says?”

His soft touch and low voice caused tears to prick the backs of
her eyes. How had he gone from sexy alpha male on the dance floor to this man
with the understanding eyes? And why was she falling under his spell so
quickly?

She jerked her head away and ducked to peer through the window.
“I think our taxi's here.”

They climbed into the backseat and she put her hand on his
forearm, which tensed beneath her fingers. “Your jacket's in the back of the
limo.”

“Don't worry about it. I don't think I'll be needing it anytime
soon.”

“Where do you live?” She leaned forward in her seat.

“We'll have him drop you off first.”

She gave the taxi driver her address and fell back against the
seat. “I hope Theodore's going to be okay. Maybe we should follow the
ambulance.”

“And have you create a media circus? Not a great idea. Theodore
lost a lot of blood, but I've seen guys a lot worse off than that after fights.
I think he'll pull through.”

“Thanks to you. Is all that first aid—” she waved her hand in
the air “—part of your job?”

“Yeah. I spent several summers working as a lifeguard in Santa
Cruz, so I had all that training, which comes in handy now.”

She closed her eyes. Was there anything this man couldn't
do?

Too quickly, the taxi pulled in front of her building.

Judd tapped the driver's shoulder. “Wait here. I'll be right
back.”

He took her hand to help her from the car and dropped it all
too soon as they walked to the front door of her building. She entered the code
to open the door and turned on the step. Under better circumstances she'd invite
him up for a cocktail, see if his slow seduction on the dance floor would come
to fruition.

Now she just wanted to wash her hands, still smudged with
Theodore's blood.

“Thanks for everything tonight, Judd Brody.”

“You're welcome, London Breck. Do you need me to walk you up to
your place?”

She pointed inside the lobby at the security guard sitting at
the desk watching TV monitors. “Twenty-four-hour security here. I'm not the only
celebrity in the building.”

“Good, but don't forget how the evening started, with you being
attacked in an alley.”

Judd didn't even know about the threatening note. “I guess
Theodore and I both had targets on our backs tonight.”

His brow furrowed. “Yeah, you did.”

He obviously wasn't going to sweep her into his arms for a
good-night kiss, no matter how much she needed the comfort, so she stuck out her
hand. “Good night.”

“Goodbye.” He gave her hand a hard squeeze and then turned
away.

Ouch.
That had a ring of finality
to it. Why shouldn't it? They were two strangers thrown together by two
extraordinary events. They'd shared a little flirtation, but so what? A man like
Judd Brody must have had many little flirtations to his credit...and many
notches on his bedpost.

She had more important matters to think about anyway. She waved
to the security guard as she crossed the marble-tiled lobby. She had to grow up
and take charge of a multibillion-dollar enterprise—and Judd Brody couldn't help
with that at all.

* * *

T
HE
 
FOLLOWING
 
DAY
,
London scooted
the
 
plastic chair closer to the bed
and patted Theodore's arm. “I don't get why someone would want to carjack a
limousine. And why did you go to the bar instead of calling the police?”

Theodore moved his head from side to side and groaned.

“Keep still.” She reached for the plastic cup on the table
beside his hospital bed and held the straw to his swollen lips.

He sipped some water and then waved it away. “Pulled me out of
the car, and I lost my phone in the fight. I wouldn't let them...wouldn't let
them take the car.”

“That's just silly. Why are you protecting a heap of metal? You
should've let them have the damn thing and saved yourself.”

“Couldn't let them. Had to protect you.”

“Me?” She folded the sheet under his side. “I wasn't even
there. I was perfectly safe at the bar with—at the bar.”

She'd fallen asleep thinking about Judd's arms wrapped around
her on the dance floor, about the way the warm skin of his throat felt against
her lips. Then she heard his goodbye. Curt. Final.

“If they got the car...they could get you.”

Her gaze darted to his face and she flashed on the threatening
note from last night. “What does that mean?”

But Theodore had closed his eyes, and his breathing
deepened.

His nurse bustled into the room. “Is he sleeping? I gave him
something for the pain.”

“How much longer will he be here?”

“You'll have to ask him. You're not next of kin, and we can't
reveal those details.”

London rolled her eyes and rose from the chair. “His medical
expenses are covered by an insurance policy with Breck Global. I have his
medical card.”

“If you can drop that off at the nurses' station, they'll take
care of getting that to billing.”

Ten minutes later, London retrieved her Mini from the
hospital's subterranean parking garage and decided to check out the limo, which
the tow truck had brought to her father's place. Why had Theodore thought he was
protecting her by not allowing the carjackers to take the car? Maybe he hadn't
wanted them to get the keys or the car registration, but the registration listed
the address of BGE, not her place in Nob Hill.

She maneuvered through the traffic on Van Ness and turned
toward Lafayette Park, rolling through the well-ordered streets with their
manicured lawns. The tow-truck driver must've used the remote control in the
limo for the gate, because he'd parked the car in the driveway.

London opened the front gate to the mansion with her key. The
couple who looked after the house was still living here. London didn't have the
heart to turn them out any more than she could let Theodore go.

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.