The Hill. Carol Ericson

reporters...and the vaguely threatening notes. Her father had passed away just last month—of natural causes. Surely she could be excused for having a headache and leaving the shindig early.

      She plucked her phone from her purse and called her driver. “Theodore, I’m ready to go. Meet me in the side alley. I don’t want to go through the front entrance.”

      “Paparazzi stalking you again, Ms. Breck?”

      “You have no idea.”

      “On my way.”

      When she entered the ballroom, she located her cousin, who was telling some risqué story and taking liberties with the truth. She crooked her finger at him and he broke away from his adoring audience.

      “I’m getting out of here. People already think I was terribly brave making an appearance so soon after Dad’s death.”

      “Especially since he did go off rather abruptly.”

      Was everyone drinking the same water? Lifting her shoulders, she said, “He did have heart disease.”

      “Although all his money allowed him to manage it quite well.”

      “Did you send me a note tonight, Niles?”

      “A note?” His tweezed eyebrows shot to his hairline. “What are you talking about?”

      “Nothing. Never mind.” Had she really expected him to confess? Of course, maybe she’d just put him on notice.

      She flicked her fingers at the room, still buzzing with activity. “Could you please do the honors for me? Announce the winners of the silent auction, thank everyone for coming and so on and son on.”

      He patted her arm with his long, thin hand. “I’d be happy to, my dear. You go home and get a good night’s sleep and dream of your billions.”

      She sighed. “You’re not exactly in the poorhouse, cousin.”

      “Ah, but your father was the lucky one—and the greedy one.”

      “I already have a headache. Let’s not get into family politics.” She kissed the air somewhere near his cheek and pivoted on her heel.

      She nearly bumped into Bunny Harris at the coat check, hanging on to a much younger man’s arm, but not the man with the sunglasses. “So sorry, Bunny. Are you off already?”

      “Don’t worry, London. I made a sizable donation to the cause. Your father was one of my oldest friends. I’ll miss him.”

      “Thank you.” London’s gaze strayed over Bunny’s shoulder to her model-handsome companion lounging against the coat-check window.

      Bunny slid her ticket across the counter with one manicured fingertip. “Oh, this is...”

      “Lance.” The man reached around Bunny, extending his hand. “Ms. Breck.”

      “Nice to meet you.” She shook his hand and then dropped it. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

      Lance draped Bunny’s fur around her shoulders and they descended the escalator to the lobby of the hotel.

      Shaking her head, London dipped her hand into her purse for the claim ticket and felt the note. She pulled it out with the ticket and examined the block letters written with a black felt-tip pen.

      She’d hold on to it for a day or two in case there was a follow-up and then turn it over to Breck Global’s security team. It could very well be that reporter trying some angle.

      The coat-check clerk plopped her leather bomber jacket on the counter. “Cool jacket.”

      London smiled, handed her a tip and headed for the escalator, hugging the jacket to her chest. When she hit the first step, she gathered the skirt of her long dress in one hand and lifted it.

      She glided into the lobby and a bellhop sprang to life. “Do you need a taxi, Ms. Breck?”

      “No, thanks. My driver’s waiting.” Technically, Theodore was her father’s driver, but she didn’t have the heart to let him go, even though she felt silly with a driver.

      She stuffed her arms into her jacket and pulled out her phone to check the time. If Theodore had taken the car back to her father’s Pacific Heights mansion, it shouldn’t take him more than ten or fifteen minutes to get here.

      She parked herself in front of a rack of flyers and studied the trips to Alcatraz and the wine country for a few minutes. Then she glanced over her shoulder at a few people crisscrossing the lobby. No photographers, no Ray Lopez, although they could be waiting for her out front. She pushed through the side door of the hotel. Lifting her skirts, she traipsed down the steps and shoved open the heavy metal door to the outside.

      It slammed behind her.

      The dark alley glistened with moisture. Theodore hadn’t made it yet. She squinted toward the street, partially blocked by a Dumpster.

      He must’ve taken the car somewhere else on his break. She turned toward the side door and grabbed the handle, pressing it down. The door didn’t budge.

      A footstep crunched behind her, but before she had time to turn around, an arm hooked around her throat.

      She should’ve braved the paparazzi.

Chapter Two

      Locked in a stall in the men’s room, Judd slipped the velvet pouch crammed with jewels into the inside pocket of his dinner jacket. He patted his .45 tucked into the shoulder holster on the other side.

      He had no idea where Bunny Harris would wind up with that gigolo she’d picked up tonight, but at least her jewelry wouldn’t be with her.

      He shoved out of the stall and nodded at the man washing his hands at the vanity, who’d caught his eye in the mirror. The dude had been talking to London Breck earlier—probably a relative. As far as he knew, the richest woman in the city didn’t have a husband or even a boyfriend. The tabloids linked her with a new man every other month...not that he followed the tabloids except for business.

      The man at the sink and London had the same look—blond, Nordic, cold. Although London was a beautiful girl, she wasn’t his type, even with all those dollar signs after her name.

      Judd washed his hands, accepted a warm towel from the attendant and slipped a five in his basket. He turned toward the door.

      “Care for a spritz?”

      Judd stumbled to a stop and glanced over his shoulder at the mirror.

      The Breck relative held up a bottle of cologne, aiming it at him. “It’s a good scent...manly.”

      “That’s okay.” Judd held up his hands. “I’m good.”

      He heard the hiss of the spray bottle behind him as he dodged through the bathroom door. Rich people.

      Checking his watch, he jogged down the escalator. Bunny had told him she’d send her car back for him at the side entrance to the hotel. He waved to the hotel clerk and gave a fist bump to one of the bellhops.

      “Later, man.”

      He took the steps down to the side door two at a time and pushed through to the alley. Darkness enveloped him as his shoes crunched broken glass. He tilted back his head to look at the lights on the outside of the hotel, which had been smashed.

      His head jerked up at the sound of scuffling down the alley, and he noticed a car parked at the end, blocking the entrance to the street, contributing to the darkness.

      He plucked a small but powerful flashlight from his pocket and aimed it in the direction of the noise.

      A man wearing a ski mask looked up from the woman he was dragging behind him by the throat.

      “Hey!” Judd sprinted toward the scene.

      The