He had to admit that he’d allowed events outside of his control to dictate his life, just as much as London had. Why did she want this CEO gig so badly when she hated it and was ill suited for it?
London jogged downstairs, a pair of black jeans stuffed into some boots and a powder-blue sweater that looked as soft as a cloud hugging her body. She made casual look decidedly upscale...and hot.
Judd tapped on the window. “That’s the Bohemian Club.”
She sidled next to him and leaned her forehead against the window. “Yeah, it’s the old Fleck Mansion. Now that creepy men’s club has it. My father was a member.”
He mulled over the implication of her words, but before he had a chance to respond, she spun away from the window and called over her shoulder, “This time I’ll wear my own motorcycle jacket.”
“Is that the one you wore over that fancy dress the other night?”
“Yep.” She pulled it from the closet in the foyer.
“Trying to make a statement?”
“I know I should’ve worn some tasteful stole or even, God forbid, a mink with that dress.”
He opened the front door for her and narrowed his eyes. “You own mink?”
“No, I do not. Why? Would you throw red paint on me if I did?”
“I, uh—” he cleared his throat “—sort of have a thing for animals.”
“Do you have any?”
“A fish tank.”
She tilted her head as she took the helmet from his hands. “That’s quite a commitment.”
“I like animals. My brother Sean got me a mixed-breed mutt when I was a kid, and that dog, Prince, was my best friend.” He secured the helmet on her head and buckled the chin strap, resisting the urge to flip up the visor and kiss her.
How did she manage to get this stuff out of him? He hadn’t told anyone about Prince in years. When that dog died the year before he enlisted in the marines, it broke his heart. He didn’t need to go that far and tell her that.
She tipped up the visor. “What happened to Prince?”
“Died of old age.”
She studied his face for a few moments and then tipped the visor back down. “Where are we eating?”
“Do you like Indian food?”
“Sure. I know a place—”
He cut her off. “I know a place. It’s on the edge of the Tenderloin, close to Union Square, so it’s not too dicey.”
He straddled the bike and tilted it to the side so she could climb on the back. “Hang on.”
She obliged him, and his blood simmered as she tightened her arms around his waist. He could ride forever with London hanging on to him. He could use a long ride up the coast right now—take her away from all this, away from BGE, set her free.
Instead he wove through the city streets, stopping at signals as the transients shuffled in the crosswalks and the lights of the shops twinkled in Union Square beyond.
He pulled up to the curb in front of the restaurant. He shook his finger in her face as he loosened the strap on the helmet. “Don’t get any ideas about slumming it in any bars down here.”
“Don’t worry.” She pointed to the sidewalk. “This street is okay, but the one back there is sketchy.”
“Funny how the good, the bad and the ugly exist side by side in this city, isn’t it?”
“That’s part of its charm.”
“Would you live anywhere else?”
“No, would you?”
“Don’t think so.”
They stepped into the restaurant and the smells of curry and meats sizzling from the tandoori oven blasted him.
Judd requested and got a table by the window so he could watch his bike. He didn’t want any more surprises—no newspaper articles pinned to his seat.
London stuck to the vegetarian dishes, and he stuck to drinking water.
He tapped her empty wineglass. “Feel free to have a drink. I never have even one while I’m riding my bike, but I don’t mind if you do.”
“I’m good. I hate drinking alone.”
He tore off a piece of naan and dipped the bread in a green chutney. “Tell me about this fund-raiser you’re dragging me to.”
She huffed out a breath. “I’m not dragging you there. You want to see some of the players in action, right?”
“Sure I do. Where is it?”
“It’s at the War Memorial Opera House.”
He stopped chewing and took a gulp of water. “It’s not the ballet. Tell me it’s not the ballet.”
“It’s not the ballet...exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“My father was a big supporter of the arts in the city, and this is his annual fund-raiser for the ballet and the symphony. There are a few members of the ballet troupe who attend, and they usually perform—not a full-scale ballet or anything.” She smirked. “Not a big fan of the ballet, I take it?”
“You could say that.”
“It should be painless.”
“Tux required?”
“Naturally.”
He shook his head. “Never had to wear a tux for the pop princess.”
They spent dinner covering dangerous ground again—sharing stories, feelings and more than a few laughs. He kept telling himself that London needed this break, that keeping her stress level down made his job easier.
That was what he told himself.
They finished dinner and on the sidewalk Judd handed London the helmet and grabbed his handlebars.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he leaned the bike back on its kickstand. “I have a call coming in.”
London clamped the helmet between her arm and body. “Take it.”
He pulled the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the display. “Unknown number. Hello?”
“Is this Judd Brody?”
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“Not important.”
“I’d say it is, since you called me.”
London tapped him on the arm, and he looked at her and shrugged.
“I have some information. Are you interested or not?”
“What kind of information?”
London kept tugging on his sleeve and he held a finger to his lips even though she hadn’t said a word. Then he punched the speaker button for her.
“I’m not gonna say too much over the phone. I have the goods on how it all started.”
London folded her arms around the helmet and hugged it to her chest while mouthing words he couldn’t understand.
“How what all started? If this is legit, just tell me.”
“Oh, it’s legit, but I’m not staying on this phone long enough to give you the whole story. I’ll meet you after that party tomorrow night, in the alley behind the symphony hall at midnight.”
London sucked in a quick breath.
“How do you know about that?” Judd gripped the phone, his knuckles turning white.
“Stop asking so many questions and just be there...be there if you wanna find out what happened to Joey Brody.”
Chapter Eleven
The line went dead and Judd stood on the curb staring at the phone.
London snatched it out of his hand and hit the redial button. The phone rang, but nobody picked it up.
He’d recovered from his stupor and shook his head back and forth, his shaggy hair brushing the collar of his leather jacket. “What the hell is going on?”
She pushed Redial again, her heart beating double-time. “It sounds to me as if the pieces are coming together.”
“If someone wants to start passing on info about my father, that person would be better off giving it to my brother Sean. He’s the cop. He spent most of his adult life trying to figure out what happened.”<
br />
She disconnected the call again. “Sean’s not working with me.”
“What does that mean?” He grabbed the handlebars of his bike and kicked up the stand.
“My mystery, your mystery—they’re linked. You have to see that now, Judd. Someone left that newspaper clipping about my father on your bike, not mine.” She stuffed the helmet on her head and grabbed the straps with both hands. “Why now? Why you? I’ll answer your questions. Now because your father has been cleared of the suspicions around him, and you because you’re helping me.”
“Hop on, and redial that number once more before I start the engine. We can try it again at the next light.” He shoved the keys in the bike’s ignition.
She punched the button again and the phone rang three times. Then a woman answered it.
“Who’s this keeps calling? Jonny, baby. Is that you?”
London asked, “Who’s this?”
“You called this phone. I ain’t sayin’ squat.”
“Wait, wait. Someone called me from this phone. I’m just trying to figure out who it was. Is this your phone?”
“This is a pay phone, bitch, on one of my corners. You tryin’ to shake your moneymaker in my territory?”
London choked. “Absolutely not, girlfriend. Some skank called my man from this phone, and I wanna know who it is.”
The woman laughed. “Bitch, this is a working girls’ corner, so if someone’s calling your man from this phone, he’s gettin’ a little something-something on the side.”
London screamed, “Where is it? Where is this corner?”
“It’s at Sixteenth and Folsom in the Mission District, baby. And you can tell that skank Daisy sent you.”
“Thanks, Daisy.” London ended the call. “Did you hear all that?”
Judd twisted around in his seat with raised eyebrows and an open mouth. “Maybe you would make a good CEO after all.”
Daisy’s corner was a few miles south of them, and after convincing Judd he didn’t need to take her home first, they rolled down Folsom Street, crossing underneath the freeway. The Mission didn’t lack for nightlife, and a mixture of transients, hookers, partiers and clueless tourists milled around the streets.
When they idled at a red light, she tapped on Judd’s shoulder and yelled in his ear, “It must be in that gas station.”
He nodded once and when the light changed, he veered into the right lane and turned into the station.
A few ladies of the night gave Judd the once-over, watching him dismount from the bike. When London slid from the seat, took off the helmet and shook out her hair, the streetwalkers dispersed, on the prowl for likelier johns.
Judd ambled toward the phone booth, its glass scarred and cracked. “This must be it.”
She held up her finger. “Hang on. I’m going to do a redial of the number to make sure.”
He rested his hand on the receiver while she pressed the redial button on his cell phone. The shrill ring from the phone booth startled her, even though she was expecting it.
Judd picked up the receiver and spoke into the mouthpiece. “I’m amazed this thing still works.”
“Well, it does, and this is the phone he used to call you. Turns out Daisy’s no liar.”
Replacing the phone in its cradle, Judd turned outward, facing the rest of the gas station and the street. “We verified the phone, but the caller didn’t hang around to see if I could trace it.”
“We could ask in there.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the cashier’s window.
“The clerk’s sitting behind bulletproof glass. I doubt he’s going to give us anything.”
“You’re a P.I. You haven’t greased a few palms in your day?”
He rolled his eyes. “If I did, I’m sure I didn’t call it greasing palms.”
“Oh, do they only say that in the movies?”
“Pretty much.”
Judd hunched toward the window and rapped on the glass with one knuckle.
The clerk turned away from the TV he’d been glued to and drew his bushy brows over his nose. “What do you want? I know you’re not buying gas.”
“I could.” Judd tipped his chin toward the pay phone. “Who have you seen use that phone in the past half hour?”
“Nobody.” The cashier turned back to the fight on TV.
Before London could reach for her purse, Judd dragged a bill from the front pocket of his jeans, wadded it up and rolled it into the tray beneath the window. “Past half hour? The man before the hooker answered the phone.”
“There’s no hooking around here.” The cashier snatched up the bill.
“Of course not.” Judd dug into his pocket again. “The man before that sweet girl was on the phone with her pastor?”
This time the man turned to face them. When he reached for the second bill in the cash tray, Judd plucked it away.
The cashier scratched his black stubble. “I might’ve seen a guy on the phone earlier. White guy, baseball cap. He might’ve even come up here to buy some smokes.”
Judd dipped into his pocket again, and crumpled the money in his fist, which he rested on the metal ledge of the cashier’s window. “Smoker, huh?”
“Ten gallons on number two!” a man yelled from the pumps.
The cashier flipped a couple of switches and returned his focus to Judd’s face. “He was a hard-looking dude, prison tats on his neck, nose broken a few times. I’d guess ex-con. Middle-aged, around forty. Can’t tell you much else. He was wearing sunglasses—at night—and he had that cap low on his face. Clean shaven. And I never told you nothin’.”
“Nothing at all.” Judd flicked the rolled-up bill into the tray and slipped a twenty in after. “And give me twenty bucks on number four.”
London grabbed his arm as he strode back to his bike. “Ex-con. Do you believe him?”
“I believe the cashier thinks the man was an ex-con. Whether he was or not is another issue.”
“But we’re meeting him tomorrow, right?”
“We?”
“It’s my function, it’s my case and you’re working for me.”
“Ouch.” He picked up the nozzle, squeezed a few times and replaced it in the pump. “I was wondering when you were going to play that card.”
“What card?” She folded her arms, knowing damn well what card. “There is no card. I want in on this information. It’s all part of the same investigation.”
He climbed on the bike and tilted it for her to straddle the back. “You’re getting kind of carried away with this P.I. stuff, aren’t you? You’re supposed to be a CEO. CEOs don’t zoom around on Harleys meeting ex-cons.”
Wrapping her arms around his waist, she slipped her hands beneath his T-shirt and dug her nails into his flat belly. “Now who’s playing a card?”
“What card?” He tensed the muscles in his stomach so that it felt as though her nails were scraping granite.
“The CEO card. Do you think you can stop me from doing something by pointing out it’s not something a CEO would do?”
He laughed and started his engine. “Thought it was worth a try.”
“You know, I can always hire another P.I.—one who appreciates my efforts.”
“No other P.I. can give you what I can give you. Now, can you get your claws out of me?”
She flattened her hands and rubbed her palms against the rigid muscles of his belly. Then he took off and she flew against the backrest.
The rumble of the Harley’s engine didn’t allow for any more conversation, but when it became clear Judd was heading back to Nob Hill and not his place, she shouted in his ear at the next stop sign, “Are you going to get your stuff?”
“Tomorrow.” He revved the engine and continued.
Did that mean he wasn’t goi
ng to spend the night in the empty unit? If so, she’d have to convince him otherwise. She needed him tonight, needed him close. The two of them were on the verge of a big discovery, one that involved both of their families.
On the next downhill, she fitted her body against his, resting her helmeted head against his back. For a fleeting second, she wished all the turmoil would just go away and she could ride off with Judd into the sunset.
Her lips curved into a smile. Where would they be without the turmoil? He craved it as much as she did. Judd Brody was an adrenaline junkie through and through.
When Judd pulled up to her building, she held her breath. Would he come up?
He cut the engine and twisted around in his seat. “Where can I park this thing for the night?”
She released a long breath, fogging up the visor. She flipped it up. “Let me off and I’ll enter the code for the garage. You can park it next to my car.”
“Do you have an extra toothbrush?”
“Of course. You can stay on my couch again tonight until we get things set up next door.”
He steadied the bike for her and she climbed off. Removing the helmet, she approached the keypad for the garage door and entered the code.
The gate slid open and Judd rolled his bike down the driveway.
She waved him toward the parking space behind hers and he wheeled the bike into place.
When he got off, he pointed to her Mini. “You’re kidding me. That’s what you drive?”
“You know how it is driving in this city. Isn’t that why you ride a Harley?”
“One of many reasons.”
He stroked the handlebars of the bike, and she shivered. Oh, to be caressed by those hands like that.
He smacked his hand against the seat and she jumped. “Are we going up or are we just going to stand around an exhaust-filled garage admiring my bike?”
When they got to her door, he held up the key to the other unit, swinging it around his finger. “I’m going to do a sweep of the place next door. Do you have a big garbage bag? I’ll at least get rid of some more of that junk and that pillow.”
She gave him a plastic bag. When he left, she rummaged through the cabinet in the master bath for a new toothbrush. She also folded a blanket on the edge of the couch and added the pillow he’d used the other night.
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