Saving Sophie: Book Seven In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series

by Cate Beauman

  “I haven’t seen you in awhile. How are you?”

  “Good.”

  “Do go on, Stone.”

  He smiled.

  “Have you been by the office lately?”

  Abby asked but they both knew the answer. He’d ignored her and Jerrod last night when they came barreling down the hall, pawing at each other with their tongues shoved down each other’s throats. “Yeah.”

  “Have you noticed the cleaning woman?”

  “Sure.” He’d noticed her all right. She was gorgeous, and she didn’t say much, which worked just fine for him.

  “Do you know her name?”

  “Nope.” He picked up his trowel, sliding more grout among the empty spaces where the new pedestal sink would eventually go.

  “Well, what do you know about her?”

  “Not much.”

  “Wow, two words. You actually said two words in a row. I think this might be a record.”

  He grinned. “What do you want, Abby?”

  “Holy crap, a whole question. I’m going to pass out.”

  “I’m hanging up.”

  “No. Don’t do that. Do you know what nights she works?”

  “No.”

  Abby sighed in his ear.

  “Monday through Friday, I guess. Why?”

  “No reason. Just curiosity.”

  He narrowed his eyes. During the week he helped cover Abby’s protection in Maryland, then the two days he’d had solo duty here in LA and one long damn plane ride with her to New York City, he learned that Abby had a million questions and a purpose for every one of them. “Bullshit. What’s up?”

  “I can’t get into specifics, but I think she’s had some trouble.”

  He shrugged off her concern. If the blond had problems, she could handle them. She was a big girl. “Okay.”

  “Stop with all the compassion.”

  He let Abby’s frustrated comments slide off his back. He took care of himself unless he was paid to take care of someone else.

  “Maybe if you see her—”

  He already knew where this was going, and it was going to end here. “I’m on duty all this week.”

  “Yeah but—”

  “I’ll be in The Hills for the most part. I probably won’t see her.”

  “But if you do—”

  “Abby.”

  “Just give her a once over and make sure she’s okay.”

  He said nothing as he scooped up more grout.

  “Can you do that? Stone?”

  He huffed out a breath. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “Promise?”

  He didn’t make promises to anyone. “If I see her I’ll give her a once over.”

  “That’s all I can ask.”

  “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “You wanna come over for dinner?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll make that garlic chicken you liked.”

  “Who says I liked it?”

  “You grunted and nodded your head.”

  He bit his cheek instead of chuckling. The last thing he needed to do was encourage her to keep talking.

  “I guess I’ll see you around.”

  “Bye.” He hung up before she could say anything more and slid his phone away, then scooped up more grout, concentrating on his bathroom floor. He had no desire to worry about some cleaning woman with trouble on her hands.

  ~~~~

  Stone stepped from the elevator and let himself into the Ethan Cooke Security Offices expecting to hear the vacuum humming in one of the rooms beyond, but there was only silence. Frowning, he checked his watch—eleven-thirty. The blond was usually finishing up right around now, which concluded with the hum of the Hoover somewhere in the distance.

  He moved down the hall, certain he would see her gathering trash in the cart she pulled with her most nights or spot her putting the buckets and vacuum back in the supply closet, but she wasn’t there. He shrugged, turning, ready to head home. It had been a long damn day with his ten-hour duty, but he said he would check on Abby’s mysterious cleaning woman. Now he could tell her he’d tried.

  The blond probably quit. She always wore jeans and a simple t-shirt to change the trashes and chase away the dust, but he knew high-end when he saw it. Whoever she was, she wasn’t used to swabbing toilets to earn a few bucks. With a shake of his head, he moved toward the bathrooms in the dim light, catching an armful of woman as she rushed from the men’s room, crashing into him.

  Screaming, she tried to jerk away.

  “Whoa.” He dropped his hands from surprisingly firm arms. “Take it easy.”

  “Sorry,” she shuddered out, swiping at her long braid with trembling fingers.

  He took a step back. “I didn’t think anyone was here.”

  “I got a late start.” She swallowed as she met his eyes, looked down, then glanced up just as quickly. “I just finished with the bathrooms.”

  He grunted, studying her. Was she always this jumpy? He’d never paid much attention other than when she bent down to grab the trash bag next to his desk. She had an excellent ass.

  “I’m going to—I have to put my stuff away.” She picked up the bucket she’d dropped.

  He made a noise in his throat again, staring. She was a stunner—blonde hair, blue-eyes—or maybe gray, full, lush lips that didn’t smile, all set in an oval face. Her skin was flawless and creamy, like the airbrushed models he kept away from the prying paparazzi. She definitely had the whole package.

  “Sorry for bumping into you,” she mumbled.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve gotta go.” She licked her lips. “Bye.” She turned and booked it down the hall, taking her cleaning supplies with her.

  He watched her open the closet door and lean her forehead against the wood as she pressed her hand to her heart. Interesting…but not his problem. He started toward the main lobby as the closet door closed, picking up his pace, not wanting to share an elevator with the jittery woman. He descended thirty floors and walked through the parking garage to his mint-condition 1966 Mustang, listening to the rain pound as he took his seat behind the wheel. The drive home was bound to suck in this downpour. He was probably looking at a good hour back to the Palisades. That’s what happened when he played Good Samaritan. He should’ve been in his bed sleeping, but he’d driven himself into the city to check on the blond, because Abby’s curiosity got the better of him.

  Shaking his head, he turned over the engine and circled his way to the ground floor, taking a right out of the exit. He turned his wipers up to full blast as the woman walking on the desolate, dark sidewalk in the sheets of rain caught his eye. He squinted, recognizing her as Abby’s new pal from upstairs, and swore. “Not your problem,” he muttered to himself even as he slowed and pulled over to the curb. Leaning over to the passenger’s seat, he rolled down the window. “You want a ride?”

  The blond glanced his way, her clothes plastered to her short frame. “No thanks.”

  “You’re soaking wet.”

  She stopped under the streetlight. “That’s okay. I’m walking to the bus stop right over there.” She pointed to the empty glass enclosure half a block up.

  “If that’s the way you want it.”

  “Yes, thanks. I should hurry. It’s the last bus of the night.” As she spoke, the bus slowed at the stop sign and drove off. Gasping, she ran after her ride. “Wait! Stop!” The bus was halfway down the block before she slowed, her shoulders slumping as she continued walking.

  He sighed, pulling up next to her again instead of driving off the way he wanted to. “Just get in. I’ll take you home.”

  She reached for the door handle, hesitating, as water streamed down her face.

  “You’re not getting any drier standing out there.”

  She opened the door and took her seat. “Thank you,” she murmured through chattering teeth.

  Stone cranked up the heat, wincing as she dripped all over the antique leather interior. “Where to?”r />
  “Uh, East Sixth and Sanford Ave.”

  He stared at her. “East Sixth and Sanford Avenue?”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head and made a left, starting down Sixth Street. The rain slowed to a drizzle as they stopped for several lights. With each block he drove, the neighborhood grew more hopeless and the graffiti on the surrounding buildings increased. He passed bangers and addicts looking for their next score. Hookers waited for their Johns on the corners. Stone slid the pretty, classy blond a look as he turned on Sanford. “You’re telling me you live down here?”

  She held her hands clasped in her lap. “Yes.”

  “What the hell are you doing down in Skid Row?”

  She shrugged. “It’s that motel right there.” She pointed to a rundown by-the-hour establishment.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “No.”

  He rolled to a stop, not daring to box himself in with the group of trouble standing at the corner watching him. He itched for the gun he wasn’t carrying.

  “Thank you.” She reached for the handle.

  “You’re seriously getting out of this car?”

  She licked her lips. “Yes. Thank you again.” She stepped out and hurried toward the dilapidated building with the ‘O’ and ‘L’ glowing bright in the mostly burnt-out sign. The men at the corner whistled and hollered her way, wanting a piece of that, as she rushed up the stairs to the second floor, unlocked her door, and closed herself in.

  He stared as the light blinked on behind dingy curtains in the window. “Unbelievable.” He hesitated, then started back down the road, shrugging off his concern. Blondie was a big girl. If this was where she hung her hat, that was her problem.

  ~~~~

  “I’m worried sick, Clyde.” Eric sat in his La-Z-Boy with his feet up, flipping the ring he’d given Sophie between his thumb and index finger, blinking when the morning sun glinted off the diamonds and silver, accentuating the superior cut and quality of the gift she’d thrown in his face. Ungrateful. Stupid and ungrateful.

  “I understand, Eric. I absolutely do. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

  “You haven’t heard anything? There’s no news whatsoever?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “It’s been a month.” His private investigator hadn’t been able to come up with anything either. Somehow Sophie had managed to vanish.

  “Her credit card and bank accounts haven’t been touched and her purse is missing, but I still believe she left of her own accord. You found her ring on the bed. If foul play was involved, someone would’ve wanted that, I suspect. It’s a beaut. It’s apparent she was in a hurry to be gone with the way she closed up her shop.”

  He grit his teeth as he thought of the fool she’d made of him. Everyone was talking about Sophie Burke ditching him. For that alone he wanted her found. He’d expected the cops to bring her back the morning he woke from his stupor, but they’d had no luck. He’d kept the beer and whatever she’d drugged him with to himself. She’d make that up to him when the time came. “We’re supposed to get married in eighteen days.”

  “And I feel real bad about that. Unfortunately there’s not much I can do from a legal standpoint. There was no crime committed. It sounds like a case of cold feet. She’ll come home, Eric. Just give her a little time.”

  Oh, Sophie would come home all right. She was too dumb to stay gone for long. And if he needed to help things along, he would. “I didn’t want to bring this up. I hate to.” He added a hint of anguish to his voice for the sake of Bangor’s Chief of Police. “I checked my safe yesterday. There’s about five thousand dollars missing.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” He smiled. “She broke my heart and stole from me, Clyde. I thought I knew her, and God knows why, I still love her. I still want to marry her.”

  “Do you want to press charges?”

  He let his breath shudder into the phone. “I think—I think I have to. No. No, I can’t.” He grinned, trying hard not to chuckle. The good officer was eating it up.

  “If you’re sure she took it, you have every right to your money, son.”

  “I don’t know…” She thought she’d outsmarted him when she slashed her prices and sold off all of her ugly jewelry the day she closed shop. And she’d been skimming from her books since early March. She owed him, just about five thousand dollars. Sophie wasn’t allowed to have money. Everything she earned belonged to him.

  Clyde sighed. “I’m going to encourage you to file charges. I sure hate to say that. Sophie’s a sweetheart, but five thousand dollars is a decent chunk of change. Why don’t you come on down to the station and we’ll fill out a report?”

  Five thousand was nothing. He demanded ten times that for his paintings, but paying Sophie back meant everything. She had almost five weeks to make up to him, and the humiliation he’d suffered, well, that was priceless. “I just want her to come home, Clyde. I need her. I miss her so much. I have the art show coming up next week in Boston. I wanted her with me.”

  “Hang in there. We’ll get some posters hung and get her name in the system. We’ll get this figured out.”

  “If you think that’s best.”

  “I do.”

  “I’ll come down soon.”

  “I’ll see you when you get here.”

  “Thanks.” He hung up and grabbed the photograph of Sophie’s smiling face from the end table. “You think you can outsmart me?” He laughed at her stunning image and smashed the picture to the wood floor, splintering the glass. “You’re too damn stupid to outsmart me. You’re nothing without me.” He stomped on her face with the heel of his shoe and made his way to the front door. He had a police report to file. Sophie would be coming home real soon.

  Chapter Four

  Sophie looked at her watch, huffing out a frustrated breath. She was just going to make it to the bus stop, and that was only if she hurried. No matter how she streamlined her routine, coming into the office later wasn’t working. Making sure she avoided another run in with Abby Quinn was vital, but her work was suffering as a result—so was her paycheck.

  She spritzed more Windex on the mirror, swiping quickly, then moved to the last sink, glancing at the time again with a shake of her head. She was losing an hour’s pay each night, and her income was already meager at best. She’d redone her budget this afternoon while she snacked on the apple she’d designated as her lunch, and the new adjustments weren’t pretty.

  Now that she was staying at the motel, her financial situation had become even direr. The place was horrible. By day her room was disgusting at best, no matter how she scrubbed it. By night, room 22 was downright scary. Squeaking beds and prostitutes moaning through paper-thin walls competed with gunfire and police sirens. And the bugs skittering on the floor… She shuddered thinking of the roaches and trash bag in which she kept her belongings to keep them clean.

  She needed more than this part-time job if she planned to get herself out of her current situation. If she ever wanted to open her own shop again, she was going to have to do better than this, but working under the table left her few options. She had no doubt that if she tried for something different, Eric’s private investigator would find her the second her employer filed her W-2.

  Going back to Stowers House was tempting, but she couldn’t risk it. Abby had probably forgotten about the whole thing, but she wasn’t willing to find out. Bugs and her by-the-hour neighbors were better than Eric’s beatings. Even if she had to live in that motel for the rest of her life it would be better than seeing him again. He’d told her more than once that if she ever left he would kill her. Eric always meant what he said.

  She scoured the sink until it shined, threw her rubber gloves in the trash, and pulled open the door, noting that Stone’s light was on down the hall. He was here late for the second night in a row. She needed to pop her head in and thank him again for yesterday. He’d been kind to drive her home, and
he’d actually spoken to her—not a conversation per se—but he’d done more than grunt. His voice was deep, and he smelled good, like expensive, sexy cologne. And his face. She’d finally gotten an up-close-and-personal, full-on look when they crashed into each other in the shadows. His longer hair and sharp cheekbones should’ve made him appear feminine somehow, but they didn’t. They accentuated the guarded intensity in his brown eyes. And there was nothing wrong with his full, serious mouth and strong jaw with hints of dark stubble either. He was so tough and…hot, but that didn’t matter. She had a bus to catch.

  Focusing on what she needed to do, she put her cleaning bucket away and grabbed her hoodie, which was still damp after last night’s soaking. She slid her bag on her shoulder, already bracing herself for another long night in the ghetto.

  ~~~~

  Stone heard the closet door close and shut his laptop. He’d been pretending to type up a report for the last hour while Blondie hustled around doing whatever it was she did. He’d packed up his stuff twice, ready to leave, then pulled everything back out, trying to figure out why the hell he’d come in the first place. He didn’t belong here. He was caught up on his work, and his living room walls were waiting to be patched and painted. He should’ve taken a right when he left his duty in The Hills, but he found himself on the 101 instead, heading downtown.

  Blondie had been on his mind all day, no matter how hard he tried to shrug her off. Her haunted eyes and unbelievable living arrangements were impossible to forget. Even when he’d reminded himself that she wasn’t his problem and he didn’t really care, she kept sneaking back under his radar. She didn’t belong down in that section of town. If she didn’t smarten up, she wasn’t going to live very long.

  He slid his laptop in its case for the third time as she quickly walked his way, giving a quick knock on the doorframe.