“Why?”
I took out my trusty extendable mirror and started checking the underside of the car. I’d started regularly checking my vehicles for bombs back when Sonny Vegas had decided he didn’t care for me. I’d kept looking for them in LA when I joined the Castellanis, because most of the time Sandro and I rode together, and he was always a target. I was making a name for myself as well back then, and there was more than one person who would’ve liked to take me out.
These days, no one would waste the fertilizer on making a bomb to get rid of me. But I kept up security checks out of habit. You never knew when Sonny Vegas might decide he’d let things go too easily, or when a rival Family might want to keep tabs on your whereabouts, or the Feds might want to keep up with the gossip.
Miller watched me closely with a mystified expression. “What are you even doing?”
I ignored the question and collapsed the mirror back down again. “You need to not park this around here,” I told him as we climbed in.
“You know, I was worried about that, too? But no one’s jacked it yet.”
“Yetis the operative word there, Trouble.”
He grinned as he started the engine and slid on his Ray-Bans. “Come on,” he shouted over the sudden blaring of the radio. “Who’s gonna mess with me when they know I’m with you?”
There were so many assumptions in that statement that I didn’t know where to start. For one thing, I’d done my best to prevent my neighbors from knowing anything about me, or my line of business. For another, Miller wasn’twithme.
Or at least…
And third, I thought quickly, letting the previous idea go, until today there had been no reason for anyone to think this carwasconnected to me. But all my thoughts flew out of my head as Miller took off from the curb, tires screeching.
Itwasa nice ride.
“Take a left at the end of the block,” I hollered. I directed Miller to the garage-cum-workshop where I took my own car regularly to keep it running. Enrico was a good guy who didn’t discriminate between Porsche and Pinto, and I liked the way he ran his business. He kept his mouth shut and he knew when to look the other way. He also rented out parking lots by the month. I’d used his services before, and I knew he’d keep an eye on Miller’s car while he was in my neighborhood.
“Okay, Trouble,” I said, after I’d arranged a lot for Miller, “let’s hit the road. Malibu is quite a drive from here.”
“Not in this car,” he said serenely, and put his foot down.
It was like taking off in a fighter jet, and I had to grab my hat to make sure it didn’t fly off my head.
* * *
Anaïs Beaumont’s house was right on the beach in Malibu, and the drive out along the coast would have been beautiful, if not for the circumstances. As we got closer, I saw Miller’s knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel.
I was worried, too, and only got more worried when we arrived. It was a white stucco, Spanish-style three-story house, built down the cliff toward the sea view rather than rising into the sky, the kind of place that would be a candidate forArchitectural Digest. On either side were empty lots that hadn’t been built up yet, or maybe had been torn down. It meant no nosy neighbors for now—not that there would be in this area. The kind of people who lived here craved privacy.
From the road, there was a short driveway down into the front court, which was leafy and green with plants and climbing vines. One day, I could tell, those vines would strangle the whole damn house. Right now, they looked chic and sparse.
The entrance level had a three-car-wide garage and a front doorway.Whata doorway. The glass and wrought iron offered a view straight into the house, and was a strange pick for a celebrity, I thought at first, but then I saw the point of it. Anyone coming to the door from the inside would be seen, but that was thepoint. The foyer was a stage set to show the occupant to best effect from the moment they appeared. Still, it made for… “Poor security,” I muttered under my breath.
“I know, right? She should at least have gotten bulletproof glass,” Miller said.
“Bullet resistant. No such thing as bulletproof.”
“Sure there is, unless you’re telling me the movies lied to me.” He gave me a grin that reminded me of the very first night I’d seen him out at the Beartrap. Weeks ago, now. I’d been watching him for a long time.
Crazy to think we’d only started talking a few days ago.
“Anyway, the ironwork would help some if someone was trying to break in,” he went on. “Wouldn’t it?”
I pulled my mind back to the job. “Don’t suppose she keeps a key under the mat?” I asked, looking the door over.
“Don’t need one,” Miller said, pointing to a keypad to the right. “If I know Annie…” He entered a six-digit number, and the lock pulled itself back with a zipping noise. He reached out to turn the handle, but I swatted his hand away.
“Igo first, Trouble. You come behind and turn off the alarm for me. You know the code for that, too?”
Miller gave a faint smile, but the concern etched back on his face. “As long as she hasn’t changed it, yeah.”
