by Shawna Seed
Henry? He’d met her exactly once. Oh, she understood. She understood all too well what Julien was doing.
That didn’t mean she had to let him get away with it.
Genevieve looked Julien square in the eye. “It doesn’t really have anything to do with dedication to the job,” she said. “I want to do this for you.”
“I know,” he said. “But what am I going to do if anything happens to you? How would I live with that?”
She really hadn’t considered it from his perspective.
“If we can’t be together,” Julien said, “can we at least do our best not to hurt each other?”
It wasn’t what she wanted, but Genevieve knew it was all she was going to get. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“I’m sorry about the swearing,” Julien said. “I worked in a newsroom too long. You get immune to it. It wasn’t directed at you.”
He scooted his chair back. “Tell me everything you and Thomas did, start to finish.”
Genevieve ran through the entire episode, from the time Thomas called until the time he dropped her off.
As soon as she was done, Julien was up and walking around the room, poking his head into the bathroom and opening the closet door.
“OK, here’s what happened,” he said. “You were taking a bath – that’s why you didn’t answer when I called.”
He pulled a plastic hotel laundry bag from the closet and put it on the bed. “Give me the uniform and the gloves. Actually, you know, you’d better give me the shoes, too.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to get rid of it all, that’s why,” Julien said. “Let’s just hope Thomas has enough sense to do the same.”
When Genevieve woke up the next morning, she called Julien first thing, as instructed. He was at her door an hour later with a latte.
He was quiet, almost brooding. She tried to ask him once what he’d done with the things he’d taken away from the hotel room, but he simply gave a little shake of his head.
Genevieve was in a mood herself. She’d slept poorly, endlessly replaying her decision to go to the museum with Thomas. Julien was right, of course. It was dangerous and ill-considered. Worse, it had gained them nothing.
And what did she have to look forward to? Another day spent sitting around Julien’s house with nothing to do but toss balled-up pieces of paper for Mona to chase and surf the Internet hoping for inspiration to strike.
Once they had finished breakfast and were back in his car, Julien surprised her by heading away from his house.
“Where are we going?”
“Nordie’s Rack,” he said. “We need to get you some new shoes.”
Julien had confiscated her ballet flats. The result was that she was hopelessly overdressed for a day spent lounging at his house: black skirt, white T-shirt paired with a pale blue cardigan, and the heels that she’d taken to Paris.
“Not that you don’t look great,” Julien said.
He turned out to be surprisingly helpful in the store, scouring the top rack of the size sevens and persuading her to try a funky black wedge she might have overlooked otherwise.
She changed shoes in the car, putting her heels in the shopping bag.
“Now what?” It was only 10:30, and she had nothing to do.
“Do you want to hit the bookstore? I could put the hammock up for you,” Julien said. “You could just hang out, lose yourself in a novel.”
“I don’t want to lose my...”
Genevieve’s phone rang. She fished it out of her bag and checked the display.
“It’s Thomas.”
“Be really careful what you say,” Julien said.
“I will,” Genevieve said, hitting the answer button. “Hey, Thomas. We’re in the car. I’m going to put you on speaker.”
“Oh,” Thomas said. “Who’s we?”
“Julien and I.”
“Well, I was just running out to the cheap coffee place and thought I’d share the latest museum gossip with you.”
Something in his tone seemed forced. Genevieve shot Julien an alarmed look.
“Do you remember Jerrold, the security guard? They had a going-away thing for him in the break room last night, and I guess people were trading off responsibilities and doing jobs they don’t normally do. Somehow somebody hit the wrong button and erased all of the security video from last night. Can you believe it? What a screw-up!”
Genevieve exhaled; she hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath. Julien smiled, ever so slightly, and offered her a fist bump.
“Wow, that is a screw-up,” Genevieve said.
“I thought you’d like that one. Oh, and remember the thing I told you about the Kaufman collection? My friend says the deal is truly off and the new home will be announced next week. Remember, you heard it here first.”
Genevieve laughed. “I will remember that, if, in fact, it ever actually happens.”
Thomas laughed too. It was good to hear him laugh. “I’m at Coming Soon, and there’s a demolition notice on the wall. Could it be that Coming Soon is really coming?”
“I’ll believe it when I see the wrecking ball,” Genevieve said.
She and Thomas said their goodbyes and hung up. Julien turned down his street, waving to a neighbor who was walking a dog, pulling over and motioning to another driver to go ahead at a spot where it was difficult for two cars to pass. A house was under renovation, and a dumpster for construction debris was parked in front, restricting the traffic flow.
As he turned into his driveway, an idea came to Genevieve, and she put her hand on his arm.
“Do you know how to search property records?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“Property records?”
“Someone’s buying up property around the Hilliard,” Genevieve said. “Coming Soon has a demolition notice, the cheap coffee place lost its lease because of new owners, and Thomas said our other favorite lunch place closed.”
“It’s Santa Monica, Genevieve,” Julien said. “Property gets developed.”
“But it’s not the good part of Santa Monica,” Genevieve said. “And this thing about the Kaufman collection...”
“I thought he was leaving it to some little college nobody ever heard of – I remember reading that in the paper.”
“Thomas heard they had a big fight over the architect and now he’s looking for another home for it,” Genevieve said. “And if the Hilliard’s in the running...”
Julien looked at her over the top of his sunglasses. “Do you really think the Hilliard’s in the running?”
“I know it sounds crazy,” Genevieve said. “Why would he pick a third-tier museum like the Hilliard? But why would he pick some little school nobody ever heard of? And if the Hilliard were getting it, it would need room to expand.”
Julien put the car in reverse.
“Thank you,” Genevieve said.
“Once you’ve destroyed evidence of a felony for someone, a property records search isn’t such a big thing,” Julien said.
First they went by the building that had housed her favorite lunch place and noted the address. Then they went by the cheap coffee place, wrote down the address and bought takeout coffee.
Their next stop was Coming Soon. When they got there, Genevieve studied the demolition notice dubiously. “What of this info do you think is useful? Samby Properties. What kind of name is that?”
Julien pulled out his phone and snapped pictures of the notice. “There,” he said. “Now you don’t have to write down any of it.”
“Hey, Gen!”
Startled, Genevieve looked up to see Keisha, one of the Hilliard guards, greeting her. She was accompanied by Romesh and the new guy Genevieve had met a couple times.
“Oh, hi,” Genevieve said.
“You’re looking good, girl,” Keisha said. The comment was directed at Genevieve, but Keisha was 100 percent engaged in sizing up Julien. “Real good.”
“Thanks, Keisha,” Genevieve said. “
I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d get coffee. Can’t believe something’s finally happening on this corner.”
When the guards had moved down the street to the coffee place, Julien said, “This notice came from the city. Let’s go over to Santa Monica City Hall and see what we can find.”
At city hall, Genevieve hung back and watched Julien work his charm. A woman there saved them a trip to county offices, calling and confirming that Samby Properties also bought the other two buildings near the Hilliard.
Unfortunately, the information about Samby Properties was scant.
Genevieve and Julien sat on a low wall outside city hall to plan their next move. “Looks like a holding company,” Julien said, studying the copies they’d received from the city. “They file their paperwork with the state, not the county, so it’s all in Sacramento.”
“Do you know anybody who can look that stuff up?”
“Well, Meg’s good at it, but she’s not going to do me any favors,” Julien said.
“Did you ever find her earrings for her?”
“You heard that, huh?” Julien sighed. “You probably think I was a real shit to her.”
Genevieve held up one hand to forestall him. “Does it really matter?”
“Actually, yeah,” Julien said. “I care what you think. It’s not like I hooked up with her and then blew her off. She told me she just wanted to keep it casual, because obviously we don’t work as a couple, and then a day later she’s on the phone yelling at me because I broke some unwritten rule of the new arrangement. That’s when I told her I was done with her. It wasn’t a great choice of words, I admit that.”
“That’s messed up.”
“It was,” Julien said. Then he laughed. “What is it about you that makes me want to tell you everything?”
They sat for a moment, Julien swinging his long legs against the wall, Genevieve thinking.
“Do you know how Stimson Miller made all his money after the war?”
“Stimson Miller, the typist? I’m going to say he opened a chain of secretarial schools,” Julien said.
Genevieve laughed. “Real estate development. I read up on him yesterday, while you were working. On paper, he doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”
“Other than he probably gobbled up miles of orange groves for strip malls, you mean?”
“Well, other than that,” Genevieve said. “He gives away boatloads of money, and not just to the Hilliard.”
Julien snorted. “Shall I run down the list of absolute bastards who sit on the boards of big charities? What else did you learn about Stimson Miller?”
“He was married to the same woman for more than sixty years,” Genevieve said. “She died last year. He has a daughter. He lives in Malibu.” She turned to Julien.
“Want to drive up and look at his house?”
Julien agreed to a drive past Stimson Miller’s house (“You know it’s going to be behind a big wall, right?”) but wanted lunch first.
After lunch, they hit the Pacific Coast Highway, headed north. The day was edging from cloudy to sunny. A mist hovered over the ocean, turning it a deep shade of blue.
As they passed the manicured campus of Pepperdine University, Genevieve said, “It’s amazing that anyone could go to school someplace so beautiful.”
“Texas Tech wasn’t beautiful? Where is Texas Tech, anyway?”
“Lubbock,” she said. “Where did you go to school?”
“Cal. Where I majored in disappointing my mother.”
“Oh, it can’t have been that bad.”
Julien laughed. “I went off the rails for a while. My high school girlfriend dumped me freshman year. She went to school back East and discovered I wasn’t the only guy who was ever going to think she was cool.”
He turned, and the car climbed a steep road.
Genevieve looked back to see the Pacific glittering in the afternoon sun. Except for one SUV, they had the road to themselves. “Oh wow,” she said. “It’s gorgeous.”
Julien smiled. “The Golden State.”
“So what happened after the big breakup?”
“I responded, naturally, by going to parties, getting mediocre grades and seeing how many girls would sleep with me,” Julien said.
“I’m guessing the answer was, a lot,” Genevieve said.
Julien merely shrugged.
“Guys like you terrified me in college,” Genevieve said. “I never even had a boyfriend until I was a sophomore.”
“Which raises serious questions about Texas men,” Julien said. He tossed his phone into her lap. “Check the map – how many miles to Stimson Miller’s house?”
The car hugged the edge of a narrow two-lane road. On one side was a steep drop down to the canyon floor.
“Hard to believe this is so close to LA,” Genevieve said. “It feels like the middle of nowhere.”
Behind them, a battered Jeep Cherokee slowed and turned, and a black SUV sped up behind them.
Julien glanced up in his rear-view mirror. “Jeez, buddy, back off.”
The SUV inched a bit closer. It was now only a car length behind them.
Julien glanced in his mirror again. “What is it with this guy?”
A car passed going the other direction, and the SUV backed off. But as soon as the passing car had disappeared around a curve, the SUV picked up speed.
Genevieve sneaked a look in the side mirror. Her stomach lurched.
“Didn’t Melvin say one of my neighbors had seen an unfamiliar black SUV?”
Julien glanced at her, then up at the rearview mirror. “There’s roughly a million black SUVs in LA, Genevieve.”
The SUV driver sped up again. He was half a car-length behind them. Genevieve took another look. “Does this seem like regular tailgating to you?”
“Melvin’s in my phone, under M. Call him.”
Genevieve picked up the phone. “No service.”
“Try yours.”
Genevieve bent down and pulled her phone from her purse. Before she could dial, though, she was suddenly thrown forward, smacking her forehead against the Audi’s dash. The phone tumbled from her hand.
“Shit!” Julien put his hand on her shoulder, just for a second, before grabbing the wheel with both hands again. “Are you OK?”
“I hit my head, what just...”
“He bumped us,” Julien said. “Did you get the phone?”
Genevieve looked down. “I dropped it. I think maybe it went under the seat?” She started to bend down to search for it.
“Don’t do that! You could snap your neck. Forget the phone. Sit back.”
“This is crazy,” Genevieve said. “What’s he doing?”
“Trying to force us over the side of the canyon would be my guess.”
Genevieve turned to gape at him just as Julien took a curve very fast, throwing her hard to the right.
“I always figured I’d have a heart attack and be discovered dead on the kitchen floor by the cleaning woman,” Julien said, not looking away from the road. “So, this is an improvement. At least I’m not alone.”
“Is that supposed to be funny? Because it’s really not.”
They were on a particularly curvy stretch of the road, which made it hard for Julien to maintain his speed. Genevieve glanced back and saw that the SUV was only two feet off the bumper. The driver’s face was close, close enough for Genevieve to make out his features.
“Jesus, I know that guy! He’s a guard! At the museum!”
The SUV crept closer still.
“What should we do?” Genevieve grabbed Julien’s phone from the console and checked the display. Still no service.
The road straightened a bit, and Julien floored the accelerator. The Audi shot ahead again.
“I have an idea,” Julien said. “Erica and I used to train up here sometimes, if I can just remember the spot...”
“What are you going to...” Genevieve turned around to check on the SUV. It was gaining again. “He’s catching up! If any
thing happens to me, my poor dad...”
“Genevieve, we’re going to be OK,” Julien said. “Just stay calm. Is your seat all the way back? Check the button, it’s on the side.”
“What difference...” Genevieve fumbled for the button and pushed it. The seat didn’t move. “It won’t move.”
“That means you’re as far from the airbag as you can be. You need to hang on, because I’m going to...”
At that moment, Julien jerked the wheel hard to the left. The car squealed across the blacktop and bumped onto a gravel cutoff.
The SUV tried to follow, but the turn was too tight, and its center of gravity was too high. Genevieve watched over her shoulder as it rose on two wheels, wobbled and then began to roll over with a tremendous groan.
When she turned her head, she saw Julien’s biceps straining as he fought to steer them to safety. But the road angled sharply downhill, it was gravel, and it was narrow.
“Shit,” Julien said.
And then the tires lost their grip on the gravel, and the car left the road.
Genevieve screamed as a tree filled the windshield.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Their eyes met, and then Julien yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, insuring that the driver’s side would take the brunt of the impact.
The collision was deafening, a sickening combination of splintering wood, cracking glass and shrieking metal.
The car immediately filled with smoke. Genevieve began to cough and was desperate for fresh air.
The window on Julien’s side was spiderwebbed with cracks; the door, crumpled. His body was slumped to the right. His eyes were closed, and blood was trickling down the left side of his face.
Genevieve gave a little involuntary cry and strained for his right hand, which rested – palm up, not moving – on his thigh.
She put her thumb on his wrist. His pulse was strong.
Julien’s eyes opened, and he began to cough.
“We have to get out,” Genevieve said. “Something’s on fire.”
Julien reached out and turned the key, shutting off the car. He sniffed the air. “That’s from the airbags. Are you OK?”