Code blue, p.3
Code Blue, page 3
That was my life.
Lived out of a suitcase, pretty much.
When I went back out to the living room, Jeremy was standing in front of my trophy cabinet.
“Division champion, MMA. California state winner, mixed martial arts. MMA Grand Champion.”
“Yeah, there’s a few.”
“A few? There’s like twenty.”
“I was going to pack them away,” I admitted. I wasn’t sure why I was telling him this. “But they’re a good reminder.”
“Of what? That if someone broke into your place, they picked the wrong guy because you can kill people with your bare hands?”
I smiled. “The aim is to incapacitate or injure in a self-defense situation. Not kill.”
He stared at me. “But you could?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “Yes.”
“Jesus.” He turned back to the trophies. “All the years I’ve known you, I never knew this. I mean, I know you’re good at what you do, and we’ve all seen that one video of you in that tournament or whatever it was. The one you showed us that time.”
“Regional titles.”
His eyes darted to mine. “Yeah.”
“That was a long time ago.” And I hadn’t set out to show the band and managers. I’d shown my team and they’d all heard about it and came to watch it.
Jeremy nodded slowly. “Do you like doing bodyguard work?”
“Sure,” I replied. “When the person I’m looking after listens to me, it’s great.”
He snorted and a smile won out. “What’s that like?”
“I don’t know,” I deadpanned. “You good to go?”
He looked around my place one more time. “Yep. You get everything you need?”
“Yep.”
“Then let’s go. I need a hot shower and food.” Then he stopped. “Oh. I hope you like to eat out. Don’t expect there to be actual food at my house.”
“We won’t be going out to eat this week. Too risky.”
He seemed genuinely surprised by this. “What am I supposed to do for food?”
“We can order in. I can have one of my team go pick it up. I’d rather we didn’t have a trail of different delivery people turning up to your place every day. Or we can have groceries delivered.”
“I don’t cook.” He shook his head. “I mean, I used to. But I hate it, and I was never good at it. Just ask the guys.”
“I’ve seen your grilling skills. Remember that week we spent in Vermont at Roscoe’s uncle’s farm?”
His mouth fell open. “Hey. I grilled that meat just fine.”
“You charcoaled it so much I considered sending it for carbon dating.”
Jeremy laughed. “Fine. Then you’re cooking. But I’m telling you now, I don’t eat that grilled tofurkey and quinoa shit. I like good food.”
“Deal.” I chuckled and paused at the door. “Stay behind me this time, and when we get outside, you go first and I’m behind you.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Sounds like a proposition, Steve. You trying to hit on me?”
There were so many things I could have said, wanted to say. A witty reply, maybe even the truth. Instead, I rolled my eyes and opened the door.
CHAPTER THREE
Jeremy’s house was huge. I’d been to all the band members’ homes at one point or another, and although they were all in the Hills of LA, each worth an absurd amount of millions, they were all different. Each home reflected their own personality, tastes, and lifestyle.
Maddox’s home, which he now shared with Roscoe, was huge, with vast open spaces, lots of marble and glass. Like a museum, almost, but considerably warmer now, more lived in now that Roscoe lived there.
Wes’s house was art-deco style. Huge, but designed and built by some famous guy in the ’70s, now totally decked out with every modern thing you could imagine.
Luke’s house was . . . well, Luke and Blake live together. Luke’s house was in the Hills, and Blake owned a beach house in Malibu. The beach house was mind-blowing and great for weekends but a bit of a trek to downtown LA for work every day, whereas Luke’s house was closer. It was also a prime party house, with its own movie theater, indoor half-basketball court, pool with a waterfall. Blake was there so much, he ended up moving in. According to everyone, they had bedrooms at opposite ends of the house and a constant stream of women in between.
The guys all spoke of many nights spent at Luke’s place. I wasn’t privy to everything that went on there, and I didn’t want to be either. Seeing them let loose was great, but seeing them with women wasn’t. Well, seeing Jeremy getting cozy with a woman wasn’t fun for me. Not that I’d seen him do that lately . . .
But Jeremy’s house was different. It was a Mediterranean-inspired Spanish Colonial mansion. The outside was white stucco over adobe brick walls, arched doorways, wooden beams, and a clay-tile roof. There were several tiled courtyards, the biggest off his main bedroom. Every other bedroom had a tiny balcony with decorative iron railings. The gardens were full of palms and vines and tall hedges.
Inside were white walls, terracotta floors, wrought iron, colors of rusty oranges and blues. Most of the artwork was wood or cloth, all textured and earthy.
Very warm and homelike.
Just like Jeremy.
The entire estate was outlined by tall stucco walls that, thankfully, boasted a canyon drop-off on the other side. If someone wanted to scale the outside walls, they’d need nothing short of climbing gear. Not impossible, but enough to keep most people out.
He had one neighbor with which his property shared a border. A tech celebrity who made his fortune making a social media app and selling it to Google. He sold his next one to Apple. Jeremy said once he’d never even seen the guy.
The house was also part of the Beverly Park gated community, meaning access to the front of the house was very limited. Visitors had to go through the community gates and then Jeremy’s gate. No random person could easily even approach Jeremy’s front gates. Not without some serious tech, serious connections, or an army tank.
Maddox and Roscoe lived just a ten-minute drive away, and I was fairly confident they’d be frequent faces over the next few days.
I was hoping this would all be over in a matter of days. As happy as I was to spend all this time with Jeremy, I didn’t want it like this.
As we walked in, I went first, Jeremy behind me, and Riko followed. We entered into a foyer and through to a living space that opened to the kitchen. There was a formal living room to the left, complete with a grand piano, and from what I could see, a hall that perhaps led to the bedrooms. The place was huge, so it was hard to tell the immediate layout. It was quiet and a little dark until Jeremy unarmed the alarm system and hit a button on the wall and all the blinds began to rise.
The view was outstanding.
“I need a shower and food,” Jeremy said. He went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of flavored mineral water, then, ever so casually, went to a cupboard and retrieved a glass. “You guys want a drink?”
I resisted sighing. We weren’t here for a drink or for any socializing. “Riko and I will do a perimeter check while you shower. I’ll go with you first just to check your room and the rest of the house.”
Jeremy began to smile and he quirked an eyebrow. “Very bold offer.”
God, if only he knew . . .
That was his second insinuation in the hour of me suggesting anything between us. Maybe he was just being playful.
Maybe I should just stop dreaming.
“Then afterwards,” I added, ignoring his comment, “if you could show Riko to a guest room. I’m fine with a couch or the floor.”
Jeremy swallowed half his drink but managed to give me an odd look. “Christ, Steve. I have five guest rooms. You’re not sleeping on the floor.”
Riko cleared his throat. “He has before. On tour or when you guys do those all-nighter film shoots. We’ll crash on couches or on chairs. He takes the floor.”
Jeremy appeared horrified by this. “Nooo. What the hell is Arlo doing not providing adequate arrangements?”
“He does,” I said. “We always have adequate hotel rooms, but sometimes we work longer than usual and we need to get some sleep where and when we can.”
“Well, it’s still bullshit. And you,” Jeremy said to Riko. “Letting the old man sleep on the floor. Jeez.”
Riko fought a smile and I gave Jeremy a flat stare. “I’m not an old man. And as team leader, it’s my job to look after them.”
“You look after them. You look after us,” Jeremy said. “Who looks after you?”
No one.
“I manage just fine.” I looked around the large room. “Your bedroom?”
Jeremy hummed. “Slow down, big guy. You can at least buy me dinner first,” he joked, but he led the way. His third insinuation . . .
Was I imagining this?
His bedroom, as it turned out, was up a set of stairs, which meant it was away from all the other bedrooms, and as we reached the landing, I understood why.
His bedroom by itself was probably twice the size of my entire apartment.
His bed was huge and very luxurious looking. There was a sofa and a table before a massive arch with glass doors that I imagined were custom made. They opened out to a private terracotta tiled patio that overlooked the saltwater pool below.
His walk-in closet resembled a department store, and his private bathroom was enormous. Christ. Even his shower was about the size of an elevator.
Everything looked incredibly expensive.
“All clear?” Jeremy asked.
I turned around to see him toeing out of his shoes. He kicked his sneakers over toward the closet. Then he pulled his shirt over his head, leaving his sweatpants low on his hips. His abs flexed and moved, his V disappeared under the waistband.
“Ah, yeah. All clear.” I turned back to the view. “Can we open the back doors to take a look outside? Any rooms you don’t want us in?”
He stopped at the bathroom door. “You can go wherever you want. The panel to unlock the back doors is by the sliding glass door in the kitchen. The code is 0540.”
“Thanks.”
I left before he could get any more naked in front of me.
Riko and I did a quick check of every room, of which there were a lot: a gym, an office, a studio-looking music room, plus the guest bedrooms and the huge garage. We put our bags in a room each, and when that was done, I unlocked the backdoors and we did a perimeter check.
It was late afternoon, and the air was warm in the last days of summer. The sun was setting over the ocean, shades of orange reflecting off the pool, and if I wasn’t here to do a serious job, I might’ve let myself take a moment to appreciate the view.
Riko let out a long breath. “Wow. Could you ever imagine living here?”
I snorted. “Not on my salary. Not in my lifetime.” I went back inside, took out my phone, and checked in with everyone else.
I was finishing my call to Robbie just as Jeremy came out, freshly showered. He wore gray lounge pants and a plain black T-shirt, no shoes. His dirty blond hair was a bit longer than he usually wore it now, wavy when wet.
The smell of him, his deodorant or body wash, whatever it was, as he walked past me made me lose my train of thought.
“Everything okay, boss?” Robbie asked on the phone.
“Yes,” I replied quickly. “Report in at 2200.”
“Sure thing.”
I ended the call and found Jeremy smiling at me. “Everything okay, boss?”
I almost told him to shut up, but then I remembered who I was speaking to. “We need to go through some things.” I had my small notepad, which I flipped open, and clicked my pen. “Name of your security company and a phone number. I need to speak with them. Ideally, I’d like them to come around tonight, but that might not be possible. I also want you to make a list of any groceries or personal items you need so I can have them ordered—”
Jeremy put his hand up. “Stop.” He patted his belly. “I’m starving. I’m actually starting to feel a bit sick because I need to eat.”
“Oh, sorry. Of course. What do you want?”
His answer was immediate. “Korean BBQ. Grilled pork belly and spare ribs and that bulgogi stuff, with kimchi and japchae. Oh, and the rice. Gotta have the rice.” He went to a cupboard and pulled out a tray that was apparently full of takeout menus. “This is my favorite restaurant and they deliver—”
I took the menu. “I’ll order it and have it picked up,” I said. “No one comes to the gate that we don’t know.”
Jeremy stared at me for a few seconds before obviously deciding not to argue. “Fine. Whatever. I need to call my mom.” He left the menu with me, walked out the backdoor, and threw himself on a lounge chair by the pool. “Hey, Mom . . . Yeah, I’m fine. Listen, there’s something I have to tell you and I don’t want you to panic . . .”
I had Riko stand by the door, and I went and ordered enough food to feed a small army and had one of our company runners pick it up.
Jeremy came back in and went down the hall, coming back a few moments later with a folder and handed it to me. “Here’s the security info.” He went back to the kitchen. “You ordered food, right? I might have some crackers or something in here . . .” He opened a set of kitchen cupboard doors and pulled out a sliding vertical shelf. It looked pretty bare.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, sure. If I don’t eat after a while, I feel a bit weird. It’s a blood sugar thing. I’m not diabetic or anything. Been like this since I was a kid though. If I use too much energy and don’t replace it, I get a bit shaky and nauseous.” He found a box of wafers, inspected them with a grimace before opening them and shoving one in. “Fucking Maddox made me do too many hours of dance practice today, and I only had half a sandwich all day.”
Opening his fridge, seeing it almost empty, I poured him some juice. “Drink this. How did I not know this about you?” I asked. “How much time have we spent together over the last however many years?”
I could recall him always eating or having some kind of snack in his hand, or someone was always passing him something to eat. I just assumed he ate a lot because of the workload. I knew it wasn’t my job to make sure they ate, but still.
“When we were in Vermont that time, you never told me then,” I added. “Or even mentioned it, to be honest.” I wasn’t sure why I was so hurt over this.
He took the juice but kinda brushed my concern off. “Because Roscoe’s Aunt brought down so much food we did nothing but eat that week, remember?”
That was true.
“It’s no big deal. I usually have something with me, or Ryan does. There’s always food at the offices or on tour. But I stayed at Madz’s place last night, and then we had to go into the offices this morning without notice.” He shrugged and shoved in another wafer. “Then the whole stalker-video thing and FBI case . . . I wasn’t up for eating much. I only ate half the sandwich because Blake made me.”
“We’re putting in a grocery order.” I looked in his pantry shelves. “How do you not have food here?”
“Because I don’t cook, and we just got back last week from a two-month tour. I slept most of last week, to be honest.” He inspected the wafer box again. “I think these are expired. They’re awful.”
I took the box and checked the use-by date. They were fine. “They taste awful because they’re whole wheat water wafers with 95 percent less fat.” I handed them back. “Eat some more.”
He shook his head. “I feel better already. But you ordered food, right?”
“Yes. How . . . how did your mother take the news?”
He rolled his eyes. “I told her not to panic, but of course she did. I told her it was nothing. The cops’ll find this crackpot and nothing will come of it. This kinda shit happens all the time.”
“Not to you it doesn’t.”
He shrugged. “I mean, you only have to read half of what they say about us on the internet.”
I wasn’t sure if he just told his mother this or if he truly believed that himself. But this wasn’t about them as a band. This was about him, very specifically. Just him.
“I told her she can’t tell anyone. If the press finds out, it’ll be a circus.”
I nodded slowly. “Good.” I studied his face for a second. He looked a little better. “You feel okay now?”
He shoved in another cracker. “Yeah. Though these damn wafer things have the nutritional content of cardboard.”
“Let’s get started on a grocery list. We’ll get it picked up and delivered first thing.”
“They do that?”
I stared at him. “This is LA. You can get anything delivered.” And I do mean anything . . . I took my notepad and pen. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Iced coffee. Ryan usually gets it for me.”
“I meant food.”
He made a face. “Um . . .”
“Scrambled eggs? Or bagels? Corflakes?”
He laughed. “I haven’t had cornflakes since I was like sixteen.” He sighed. “I’ve missed cornflakes.”
I scribbled it down. “Cornflakes goes on the list. You have soy milk, right?”
“Yeah. How do you know that?”
“I remember you joking about it with Maddox a few years ago. He dared you to drink cow’s milk and they were gonna take bets to see how long it took to go through you.”
He laughed. “God, my friends are such assholes. Just so you know, I can have some dairy, just not a great idea for me to have a lot.”
“What about lunches and dinners? What would you like this week?”
“Uh, how about you suggest some things?”
“What about some tofurkey and quinoa salad shit?”
He peered at my notepad. “Can you write down a sense of humor? Do they sell those at the farmers market?”
I smiled. “I believe they do, yeah. What about some meat and salad wraps and fruit for lunch? Dinner we can have fish—”
“Not fish. Anything but fish.”
“You ate three servings of that fish in Singapore three weeks ago.”
