Taken by Tuesday

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.”

Mr. Archer hung up the phone. “You’re late.”

Judy froze. She really had hoped he wouldn’t have noticed. “Uhm . . . the off-ramp—”

“Is messed up. Yeah, I know, has been for months. Leave fifteen minutes earlier. Interns are expected to be here on time, if not early.” He still fumbled on his desk, searching for something.

“I’m sorry.”

He tossed his hand in the air. “Never apologize and never give any excuses, Lucy. I only want to hear how you’ll fix it so you won’t do it again.”

Right. “I’ll leave twenty minutes early tomorrow.”

“Perfect.”

“And it’s Judy.”

Mr. Archer had to be in his midthirties, but his hair was thinning and though he wore a nice suit, it looked like he’d been in it for several hours. “What?” he asked, never taking his attention off his desk.

“My name, it’s Judy, not Lucy.”

“Right . . . OK.” He found the paper he was looking for and whipped it in front of his eyes with a smile. “There you are.” He moved around the desk and out of his office with swift, determined steps. Judy had nothing else to do but move out of his way and follow behind.

In the center of the office were several cubicles along with a dozen light-table workstations. “You can put your purse here,” he told her, pointing toward an empty cubicle.

Judy tossed her purse under the desk and nearly jogged to keep up with her mentor.

“Coffee’s in here.” He pointed toward a small kitchen. “The fridge is for lunches. It’s emptied every Friday so don’t leave anything there over the weekends.”

“OK.”

He kept walking, rounding another corner and down a dark hall. He opened a door and they stepped into a well-lit room with several copy machines.

Steve opened the lid of one, clicked in a command, and waited for the copy to come out the other end. “As you can see, we have paper size, drafting size, and even a blueprint copy machine in here. Did you work on these in school?”

“Not this new, but—”

“There are guide sheets on the side of every machine. If something about the instructions doesn’t make sense, ask someone. You don’t want to be responsible for jamming these machines. It will take you half the day to find the problem and we can’t be without them that long.”

She wanted to ask if they had someone who fixed them in the office, but he was already walking out of the room.

The next door they moved through was the mail room. It was Monday, and the Saturday mail had been delivered and sat in a large bin right below the massive slots with several dozen names.

“This is where you’re starting.”

Judy actually stumbled. She knew being an intern meant she’d be doing a lot of the busy work at first . . . but the mail room?
     



“Everyone expects their mail ready by nine. If you’re smart, you’ll jump in here again before you leave for the day to get a head start on the next day.” Steve turned to leave her to the daunting task of sorting. “I expect you in my office at nine fifteen. I have a nine thirty meeting and I’ll need a few minutes to tell you what you need to do next.”

And then he was gone.

A blur as he pushed out of the mail room without so much as a Welcome to Benson and Miller.

“Holy shit.” How much coffee did he have this morning?