Taken by Tuesday

Chapter Ten



Rick had to admit, he’d not spent this much attention on the details of a date since he dated Sally Richfield, the lead cheerleader in high school and the second girl he’d ever slept with. He learned then that it didn’t take a lot to sway a teenage girl, but he didn’t know that going in and planned every detail of the date from the kind of flowers Sally liked to her choice of entrée. In the end, Rick had her in bed, where she returned for over a month before her steady boyfriend swayed her back.

No, Rick hadn’t worked as hard to date a girl since Sally. Judy was entirely different. She wasn’t playing hard to get because of a desire to attract an ex. She wasn’t saying no because she wasn’t interested. No, Judy was skittish because she was attracted and for some reason that eluded him, afraid to let herself go. Maybe after a night at the Getty, Rick would know the reason why.
     



A special event was taking place on the summer evening, some kind of Greek festival complete with special food and picnics on the grounds where guests could enjoy the sunset. He was fairly certain Judy had no idea about the event or she would have known how difficult it was to obtain tickets for the evening. Rick knew people . . . and those powerful people always had tickets to events as snooty as the one at the Getty on Friday night.

Rick knew nothing about art. He could take an AK apart blindfolded, but telling the difference between a Monet and a Rembrandt . . . not his gig. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself by pretending knowledge. Instead, he’d ask Judy. Let her educate him.

The phone on his desk rang, catching him off guard.

“Rick,” he answered.

“Hey, Smiley.” Neil used his old nickname from the service.

“What’s up?”

“Have you clicked into Michael’s today?”

Clicked into Michael’s meant the video and audio feeds. And since this was one of the days he wasn’t exclusive to monitoring, he hadn’t. He’d been busy researching the Getty and attempting to acquire the necessary tickets.

“No.” Rick walked with his cordless phone to the office space with the monitors. “Is there a problem?”

“Not sure. I’ve seen a car parked outside the gates a couple of times. Might be the paparazzi. He seems to have something he’s pointing at the gate when one of the girls leaves.”

The video feed outside Michael’s gate didn’t host any cars when Rick turned on the monitor.

“Do you have a recording?”

“I do. I’ve sent it over. It’s probably nothing. My guess is just some hopeful attempting to make a buck when Michael was in town. Odd that he didn’t clue in that the actor left a few days ago.”

Rick clicked into the feeds Neil sent him. Sure enough, a car sat outside the gate and took pictures of Meg and Judy leaving. He didn’t seem to wait long before he moved along, only to show up another time to do the same thing again.

“Are there any clear shots of this guy’s face?”

“None.”

“Hmm. Think we should alert Judy and Meg?”

Neil snorted . . . or let loose some sort of noise that resembled a snort. “Need an excuse to stop by?”

“No. In fact, I’ll be there tomorrow night to pick Judy up.”

Neil fell silent, then he asked, “Personal bodyguard?”

“No. Just personal.”

Neil laughed, encouraged him to watch the feeds, then hung up.



A lot of the staff left the office early on Friday. Taking advantage of the lack of eyes, Judy stretched the plans she’d been drawing up on a drafter’s table and spent some time attacking the details of her idea for the performing arts center.

At five, the office cleared out completely. Judy kicked off her heels and tuned in her radio station from her phone. Traffic right at five always sucked, so staying an extra half an hour would actually grant her a less stressful drive home. Going into her date with Rick stress-free would be a plus. Rick picking her up would give her a few more minutes to get ready.

She was singing along, off-key, to one of her favorite songs and mapping out details of an acoustic ceiling that would have to house several catwalks and rows of lighting, when she heard someone clearing their throat behind her.

A little startled, she swiveled to find Debra Miller, as in the Miller of Benson & Miller, standing behind her with a smile on her face. “I sure hope you draw better than you sing,” she said with a tiny lift of her eyebrows.

Judy scrambled with the control of her cell phone to turn down the volume. Heat met her cheeks. “Oh, sorry . . . I didn’t think anyone else was still here.” How embarrassing. She’d barely waved at Debra Miller in passing, knew who she was but had not yet needed to actually talk to the woman. She was in her midforties, dressed as a successful businesswoman should be, and slender enough to attract men half her age if she wanted to. Her dark hair shaped the side of her face. Artful, tasteful, and not overly done, her makeup looked as if she’d just applied it.

Debra Miller offered a short laugh and glanced over Judy’s shoulder to the design on the light table. “I think I’m the last to leave, except for you. What are you working on?”

Judy actually scrambled in front of the desk, blocking Debra’s view. “It’s, ah . . . just . . .”

Debra looked around her, her lips stopped smiling. “The Santa Barbara Performing Arts Center?”

Oh, God. She wasn’t supposed to be working on this. In fact, no one knew she even had the specs for the place. Was she overstepping her limitations as an intern?

“I’m just playing. It’s nothing I’ve been asked to do, Mrs. Miller.”

“It’s Ms.,” she corrected while she moved to Judy’s side and stared at the design. If it was anyone other than Debra Miller, Judy would have shoved in and kept her from viewing an unfinished design.

“Oh, sorry. Ms.” Flustered, Judy started to fidget.

“Don’t be. The Mr. to my Mrs. was an a*shole.”

Judy let out a nervous laugh.

“What’s this?” She pointed to a pop-out design for the sound barriers that often hung over the main auditorium in performing art centers.

“Acoustic panels that drop from the ceiling.”

Ms. Miller pointed to the main drawing where the ceiling didn’t show the panels, but instead held the vaulted expanse seen in any of the California missions up and down the state. “Why aren’t they here?”

“They’re portable.”

Judy lifted the drawing to show one below that demonstrated their use. “My brother—”

“Michael Wolfe? The man who drew production to a halt on Monday?”

“Uhm, yeah. Sorry about that. He’s not in town very often.”

“It’s OK, Judy. I’m just sorry I wasn’t here to meet him.”

Phew. Why was her heart beating so fast?

“So, your brother . . .”

“Right.” The room felt ten degrees warmer. “Mike always complains about auditoriums that are meant for live theater hosting concerts, or concert halls that attempt live theater not having the right acoustics.”

“What do you mean?”

Judy pointed to the stage. “During a concert a band will have stacks of speakers amplifying the performers. Yeah, a good sound guy can work with what the auditorium has to offer, but most are used to big empty spaces without the aid of vaulted ceilings and acoustic panels of any kind. There are a couple of outdoor concert venues in Santa Barbara, but not many indoor ones. I’d think that any performing arts center that houses five to eight thousand people would be ideal for concerts.” Excited about her design, Judy forgot to be nervous and she kept rattling. “A performing arts center should always keep in mind the perfect balance for stage performers. Yeah, they wear a mic now, but most stage actors understand about projecting their voice and if an auditorium can hold in the sound of a single voice on stage . . . nothing captures the attention of an audience more. It’s magical.”

Judy flipped back to the top drawing.

“Having the panels there when they’re needed, and gone when they’re not . . . I think it might make this the best choice for all kinds of entertainment. The panels themselves can be redressed to set the mood. Lighting can be used for effect.”

Ms. Miller flipped through her design a second time. “How long have you been working on this?”
     



“About a week. Mainly at home . . . for kicks.”

“For kicks?”

“Sure. Helps keep up some of the skills I learned in school that haven’t been put to use yet. It’s exciting. Isn’t it?”

Ms. Miller stared at Judy for a long minute. “I’m trying to remember if I was ever in love with design as much as you appear to be.”

“I do love it. I think an artist might feel the same way when they place a brush to a canvas.” She looked down at the design. “Even if the end result isn’t beautiful for anyone but the artist, the journey is worth the effort.”

Ms. Miller offered a half smile. “Well, Judy who is drawing up an entire project just for kicks. I want to see this design when you’re done.”

The air stood still. “Y-you do?”

“I do. I’m not going to lead you on. I think some of the elementary design ideas are just that, juvenile. Your insight on the building, however, is thought-provoking and worthy of a second look.”

“It is?”

Ms. Miller gave her a full smile now. “It is.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Judy. This has to continue to be a side project for you. It wouldn’t bode well to give an intern something like this when I’ve had junior architects working for me for half a dozen years that never get off the strip malls.”

Judy gave an enthusiastic nod. “Got it. Thanks.” She extended her hand to shake her boss’s.

Ms. Miller left her standing with a slack jaw and giddy excitement swimming up her spine.

Judy turned toward her stack of papers and did a full-on happy dance. She turned in a full circle and her eyes fell on the clock. Six twenty. “Oh, shit!”

She rolled up her plans, shoved them into the tube used to transport the large drawings, and scrambled to leave the deserted building. Halfway to the elevators, she realized she didn’t have her purse. She ran back to get it.

The parking lot was practically empty. The low ceilings and dark lighting never bothered her when she walked to her car during the day. Abandoned, it felt isolated.

Judy reached into her purse and removed her cell phone to check the time. She was so late. Rick would just have to wait.

What sounded like a coin hitting the concrete floor behind her had her jumping at the noise. Two cars, several yards apart, sat at the far side of the lot, closer to the elevator. She knew she was probably just being paranoid, but the feeling of eyes on her made her walk backward for several steps before she turned around.

The hard body of a man stopped her. Before she could look up, he had an arm around her throat and was pulling her into the deep shadows of the parking lot. The tube holding the plans dropped to the floor and rolled away.

Terror stunned her, kept her from all cohesive thought.

She struggled against him and opened her mouth to scream. Meaty fingers clamped over her mouth.

“Shut up, bitch!”

This isn’t happening. Oh, God.

“You’re not so tough now, are you?” She felt his breath, smelled something minty.

Processing the man’s words added confusion to the horror when the man pinned her body against his and the wall of the garage. He slid something over her head, giving her a chance to yell.

His hand clasped over her mouth again as he pulled her away from the wall far enough to slam her against it. The back of her head hit hard enough to see stars in the darkness of the cloth that kept her from seeing her attacker.

He was going to kill her. She felt it deep inside.

Something sharp scratched her arm, leaving hot pain in its wake.

“It would be so easy . . . so f*ckin’ easy.” It took his hand crawling up her thigh to make her fight with every ounce of strength she owned.

It took both of his hands now to control hers. Using her feet, she kicked, most of the time landing against the air.

She landed on her purse when they fell to the floor. Her one hand still clenched her cell phone. Why she managed to hold on to it, she didn’t know.

Her knee landed a shot and her attacker slammed her head a second time. A warm trickle of blood started to flow down her neck. Nausea rolled up her throat.

“Not much of a fighter, are you?”

She shook her head, attempted to yell behind his hand that clamped over her mouth.

The man holding her shifted and tears started to roll down her cheeks. The only thing she could see was the dim light of the garage through the cloth. His shadow loomed over her. Please God. No.

“Next time,” her attacker said against her ear right as something hit the side of her head, and the world went dark.



I’m being stood up.

Rick paced the inside of Michael’s house, more than a little irritated that the clock on the wall told him Judy wasn’t there. He didn’t see her as the kind of woman to play this kind of game. A phone call, a text . . . anything was better than this.

A little itch in the back of his throat told him his Judy wasn’t that kind of woman. She was honest with him when she didn’t want to go out, and wouldn’t hesitate to tell him to his face that she changed her mind.

He was about to give up and take the walk of shame back home when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket.

Judy’s name filled the screen.

He hesitated, wondering what her excuse would be . . . or would she just tell him no again?

He pressed answer and lifted the phone to his ear. He forced a smile and said, “Hey, babe.”

At first, there was nothing. Then every cell in his body turned ice cold. “Rick?” Her voice was soft, scared. Judy sucked in a cry. “Rick?”

The skin on his arm stood on alert. “Judy? What is it? Where are you?”

“Rick?” She was crying full-on now.

“Judy?” He wanted to crawl through the phone. “Honey, what . . .”

“Let me help you,” he heard the voice of a woman and the shuffle of the phone. “Rick Evans?”

“This is . . . what’s wrong? What happened?”

The sound of a siren added to the alarm inside his head. Rick ran to the front door and jumped into Michael’s Ferrari, which was already waiting for his date.

“Mr. Evans, Judy is on her way to the ER at UCLA. She asks that you meet her there.”

With a direction, Rick sped from the estate, the cell phone to his ear. “Is she OK?” What kind of stupid question was that? Of course she’s not OK. “What happened? Car accident?”

“No. I’ll let her explain. I’ll tell the doctors to expect you.”

The call disconnected, giving Rick two hands to drive bat-shit crazy all the way to UCLA.