“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 asshole.”
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 fuckin’ 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.
Chapter Eleven
Sometimes it took defining moments in your life to explain where clichés came from. The term “the longest fifteen minutes of my life” never had a real meaning until Rick was pacing an emergency room lobby waiting for Judy to return from a CAT scan. Damn it if no one would even tell him what she needed a CAT scan of. No one would talk to him at all. Yes, Judy Gardner was there, yes, he was OK to see her when she returned, but, no, they weren’t at liberty to tell him anything else.
His only savior of sanity was the knowledge that she wasn’t rushed to surgery and that she was at least in a condition to tell the staff that she wanted to see him.
“Mr. Evans?”
He shot from his small corner of the lobby, rubbed a hand down his chin, and said, “That’s me. I’m Rick Evans.”
The nurse nodded toward the doors she stood behind and Rick proceeded to follow her into the bustling belly of the ER. She led him a few steps into the department and found a quiet corner before she stopped. “I’m Kim,” she introduced herself.
Frustrated that he wasn’t being led straight to Judy’s bedside, he shuffled his feet. “Where’s Judy?”
“Down the hall.” She nodded in the opposite direction.
Rick turned away from the nurse only to stop with her stern warning. “Mr. Evans! I need a word with you first.”
Rick hesitated, knowing on some deep level he didn’t want to hear what the nurse had to say.
“She’s banged up pretty bad.”
“What happened?”
Kim looked at the plain tile floor, which had seen more grief than either of them ever would in their lifetime. “She was attacked.”
Rick held his breath, his nose flared, and his fists were poised at his side ready for battle. “Attacked?”
“I’ll let her explain, but she wanted you to have some idea as to why she’s here. She’s upset, of course. We’re waiting for the CAT scan results and the doctor is going to need to stitch her up.”
Rick only half listened. Someone attacked her. Who? Why? How?
“Tell me the police have someone in custody.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t even think they have a description yet.”
Rick met Kim’s eyes. “Take me to her.”
The short span of hall was a maze of people and medical staff going about their day. At the end of the maze sat a single door. Two uniformed officers were talking with the medical staff. Rick noticed them eyeing him as he walked through the door.
One look. It took one look to understand what might drive a man to murder.
His innocent small-town spitfire lay on top of a three-inch mattress on a gurney with IV lines and monitors. Dried blood ran down the side of her face, bruising already evident at her temple. Gauze covered one arm and around her head. Finger marks bruised her cheek. Her eyes were closed when he walked in so he moved slowly in her direction.
Kim caught his arm and cleared her throat.
The noise brought Judy to attention. “Rick’s here,�
� Kim said.
Judy couldn’t open all of her right eye.
“Hey, Utah.”
Two soft words and she was instantly in tears and reaching for him.
He moved to her side, fumbled with the side rail of the gurney, and pulled her gently into his arms. “Shh. I’m here. You’re OK.”
“I didn’t see him.” She clutched his back as if he was a life raft and she was sinking into an abyss.
“Shh.” He rocked her, slowly, and wished to hell that he could take away her pain.
“I stayed late. The parking lot was empty.”
Rick didn’t like the image her words knifed into him.
Her words grew soft. “I was almost at my car when I heard him. I thought he was going to kill me. Oh, God, Rick, I’ve never been so scared.”
Rick knew he was a big man, knew he needed to hold his muscles at bay while he held her and learned about the man responsible for her condition.
“Do you know who it was?”
“No. I never saw him.” She moved away from him long enough to look in his eyes. “I never saw him. When I woke up he was gone.”
“When you woke up?”
Her story was fragmented, her eyes unfocused. “He left me in the garage. One of the employees in the building found me.”
Rick clasped both her hands. “Have you called Zach and Karen?”
She shook her head, her eyes swelling with new tears.
“You don’t want them finding out about this from the media.”
Judy cried in his arms for ten more minutes before she let him go long enough to leave the room for the phone call to her family.
Rick spoke with Karen first, encouraged her to drive, knowing that Zach would probably get them both in an accident en route. Lord knew Rick nearly lost it on several turns on the way to the ER. His next call was to Neil. With no humor in his voice, something even Neil seldom heard, Rick offered only the facts he knew. Made the demands any Marine would.
“Judy was attacked in the parking garage of her employer.”
Taken by Tuesday (Weekday Brides Series) Page 10