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

by Cate Beauman

  “Um, hi.”

  He glanced up, taking in her smooth complexion and glossy hair slicked back in a tight braid. “Hey.”

  “I’m in a hurry, but I wanted to thank you again for the ride last night.”

  He zipped the case closed. “No problem.”

  “All right.” She gave him a small, uncomfortable smile as she adjusted the backpack on her shoulder. “Well, thanks again.” She spun away.

  “Wait.”

  She stopped, hesitated, and turned back.

  “You want another lift?”

  “Oh, no thanks. I’ll just take the bus.”

  He shrugged. Now what? “Suit yourself.”

  She nodded and left.

  He hurried after her instead of avoiding her the way he’d tried to not even twenty-four hours ago. He couldn’t let her go back there.

  She tossed an uneasy look over her shoulder as the elevator doors opened and she stepped inside.

  He slid in before they closed. “I’m on my way out.”

  She crossed her arms and hunched herself in the corner, looking down.

  “You sure you don’t want a ride?”

  “No thanks.”

  “You still staying in the same place?”

  She glanced up. “Yes.”

  He nodded and leaned back against the control panel, pressing the red button with his elbow, sending the car to a jerking stop.

  Her eyes widened as her gaze flew to his. “What—what are you doing? I’m going to miss my bus,” she hollered over the piercing alarm.

  “You’re putting me in a hell of a spot here, Blondie.”

  “What do you mean?” She swallowed, moving further back into the corner.

  “You’re living in a shit hole in an even shittier part of town. I’d hate to see that face of yours in the Times. The least you can do is let me take you home so I know you get there safe.”

  “I don’t mind taking the bus.”

  He glanced at his watch, fairly certain she wouldn’t be riding any buses tonight. “Have it your way.” He pressed the red button, sending the car down.

  “I don’t understand,” she said quietly. “Why do you care where I live?”

  Hadn’t he been asking himself the same thing all day? “I wish I knew.”

  The elevator stopped on the fourth floor. “You might as well get out with me.”

  “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t say I didn’t try.” He got out, watching the door close her inside, and turned toward the parking garage more than a little relieved she’d let him off the hook. He’d offered to help and she shot him down. There was nothing else he could do—or wanted to do. The doors opened again before he’d taken two steps.

  “Wait.”

  Pausing, he looked over his shoulder.

  “I’ll—I’ll take the ride. I’m pretty sure I missed my bus.”

  He nodded, trying to figure out why her acceptance annoyed him when he was the one who made her miss her bus in the first place. “Let’s go.” He pushed the door open, letting her into the garage ahead of him. “The Mustang right over there.” He pointed to his black beauty.

  “I remember.”

  He got in, leaned over, and unlocked her door.

  She took her seat, mumbling her gratitude.

  He grunted, turned over the engine, and pulled out of his spot as Staind’s guitar riffs filled the car. He twisted down four stories and gunned it through the yellow light across from the entrance, glancing her way as she sat against the door, her hands clasped tight around the bag in her lap. She looked so stiff and uncomfortable. Taking a chance, he decided to try for a conversation. Her smooth, quiet voice wasn’t exactly hard on the ears. “So, I’m curious, why East Sixth and Sanford?”

  She shrugged. “It’s by the bus stop.”

  He nodded, accelerating through the next green light. She’d summed it up easy enough. Points for her. There was nothing wrong with a woman who didn’t feel the need to talk all the damn time. They cruised along the rough streets in silence as he made his way down block after block, finally turning on Sanford. Dozens of blue lights reflected off the rundown buildings the closer he got to the motel. “Looks like some action up at your place.”

  She slid him an uneasy glance as she clutched her bag tighter in her arms. “I guess so.”

  He stopped several feet from the police barricade, assessing the situation, watching CSI carry evidence bags out of the room next door to the one she’d closed herself in last night.

  She reached for the handle. “Thank—”

  “You’re not getting out here.”

  She paused. “I have to.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “This is where I live.”

  Was she thick? “You see that van right there?” He gestured to the white vehicle with the back doors open.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s the ME. This is a murder scene.”

  She swallowed as her gaze darted from the van to the motel. “Maybe—maybe they can give me a different room.”

  “Forget it,” he said with more heat than he meant to.

  She flinched, gripping the door handle tighter.

  He frowned, surprised by her reaction. “Do you really expect me to leave you here while they roll a corpse out of the building? They’re not going to let you anywhere near that place for hours.”

  She bit her lip as their eyes met.

  “You’re putting me in that bad spot again. Let me bring you to your sister’s or mother’s, girlfriend’s or boyfriend’s.”

  She stared down at the floor.

  He steamed out a breath, realizing she had no place else to go. This just kept getting better and better. Why the hell didn’t he just let her get out? Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “You got a name?”

  “Sophie.”

  “Sophie.” Classy and quiet. The name fit her well. “You can stay with me tonight.” He smiled as her eyes darted to his. “I wasn’t planning on sleeping with you. I have an extra bed, a cot in the place I’m renovating. You can figure something else out for tomorrow.”

  “I don’t—”

  He reversed before she could finish her refusal. He wasn’t any more excited about tonight’s arrangement than she was.

  Chapter Five

  Sophie stared out the windshield, trying to catch glimpses of the ocean in the dark as Stone headed north on Highway One. For the last ten miles of their drive, she’d breathed in the salty scent she desperately missed. It had been too long since she heard the violent crash of water against the sand. Eric had broken her spirit the day he forbade her from going anywhere near the place she loved most.

  Sighing quietly, she closed her eyes, listening, savoring, remembering her daily walks along the beach with her mother before mom’s yearly checkup changed everything. They’d only gotten to the ocean once more after the devastating diagnosis. The cancer had moved quickly, eating away at the beautiful woman she’d adored.

  She gripped her backpack, willing away memories of her mother’s frail, sick body, concentrating instead on her turn of good luck. By some miracle, the tough, handsome stranger at her side had more or less rescued her from spending the night in that horrid motel room.

  She slid him a glance, watching the warm breeze play with his hair as she caught another whiff of his cologne. She was sitting next to a virtual stranger in the dark while he drove her to some mysterious location. What in the world was she thinking, and why wasn’t she afraid? Stone, last name still unknown, was gruff, direct, and more than a little rude, but he hadn’t left her in the ghetto to fend for herself. She could only be grateful. “Thank you again.”

  “Yeah.” He slowed and took a right, heading up a dirt road to the hills high above. The Mustang twisted and turned for a good quarter mile before finally making it to the top.

  Sophie stared as Stone parked, taking in the tiny Airstream trailer, second car resting on blocks not far from a basketball hoo
p, and the small cottage in need of siding with its new windows reflecting the glow of the full moon.

  “This is your house?”

  “Yup.”

  “It’s lovely.” Or it could be. There was certainly potential.

  “Not yet,” he said, pulling his keys from the ignition.

  Now what? She gripped her bag tighter, her stomach suddenly jumpy as her brain felt frozen and her cheeks hot, the way they always did when she didn’t know what to do or say next. And somehow the wretched sensations were worse than usual. Stone made her nervous. Not the way Eric did; this was different. Stone’s presence was so…primal and unapologetically sexy, which tied her up in knots. “I—I—”

  “I’m tired.”

  She swiped at her hair. “You’re tired?”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his fingers over his forehead.

  He didn’t want to talk. Thank god. She let loose a quiet breath of relief. “If you’ll just tell me where the cot is, I’m sure I can find it.”

  “I’ll take you inside.”

  She wanted to tell him he didn’t have to, but she nodded, fighting the need to stare at her bag as he held her gaze.

  He got out and she followed, shouldering her backpack, standing next to him as he unlocked the door. She studied his face in the shadows, watching his long lashes brush his skin with every blink. Her gaze trailed over sharp cheekbones and powerful, tanned arms, darker in the play of light. She’d never thought a man beautiful before, until now.

  He stepped inside and flipped a switch.

  She walked in behind him, blinking against the shock of bright light pouring from the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. She glanced around, taking everything in. The room was much bigger than it appeared from outside and smelled of sawdust. Drywall had been hung, framing large, gorgeous picture windows facing the ocean. If she listened closely, she could just hear the surf.

  “Watch your step. I haven’t gotten to the floors yet.”

  She looked down, realizing she was standing on plywood.

  He walked away, down the unfinished hallway and into another room. He poked his head out. “You coming?”

  “Oh.” She moved in the direction he had, glancing over her shoulder at the tiny kitchen with dingy appliances. She passed two rooms along the way that were little more than two-by-fours and wiring, hurrying into the open space where Stone stood among more of the same. “This is nice.”

  He tossed her a baleful look.

  She licked her lips as heat rushed to her cheeks, cursing herself for saying something so foolish. “I mean—”

  “It will be.” He threw a fitted sheet and two blankets on the cot’s mattress. “I’m assuming you can make your own bed.”

  “Yes.” It was hard to relax under his penetrating stare. He was so big. Not as tall as Eric, but Stone had her by a good seven inches. However, where Eric was long and lean, Stone was broad and powerful. Despite his brawn, he didn’t invoke a heart-stopping fear the way the monster in Maine did.

  Frowning, he took a step closer until they were standing almost toe-to-toe. “They’re violet.”

  “Huh?” She stood perfectly still, waiting for him to give her some space.

  “Your eyes. They’re violet.” He gripped her chin between his thumb and index finger, moving her face from side to side. “I thought they were blue, then gray, but they’re violet.”

  She swallowed as his rough, calloused fingers pressed gently to her skin, sending her pulse scrambling. “Yes.”

  He let her go, stepping back. “Contacts?”

  “No. The real deal.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It’s pretty rare. A genetic mutation.” She shrugged, giving him a small smile. People had been commenting on her eye color for as long as she could remember but no one had ever touched her like that when they did.

  “Huh. I’m going to bed.”

  She blinked at the abrupt change in subject. “Okay. Goodnight.”

  “Night.” He walked from the room, stopped, and turned back. “The bathroom’s through there.” He pointed to the half-closed door down the hall to the left. “And there’s some food in the kitchen.”

  “Thank you.”

  He turned and left.

  The front door closed, and she set down her bag, glancing around at the hammer, pliers, and other tools scattered about the skeleton of a house. She moved to the windows, opening them, breathing in the fresh air, smiling as she listened to the rush of waves several hundred yards in the distance—a welcome change from gunshots and moans. Stone’s view had to be amazing.

  She peeked her head in the small space that was probably going to be a closet, then moved to the next room across the hall, looking out another grouping of glass facing the driveway. She watched as Stone’s tough frame filled the doorway of the camper before he shut the door behind him.

  She went to her bed, slipped the fitted sheet in place, and fell back against the soft mattress, grinning. She was safe. For the first time in years she was actually safe. She laughed in delight, treasuring a sensation she hadn’t felt in so long. She lay still, closing her eyes, listening to the waves. Tomorrow she would stare out at the mighty Pacific and sink her feet in the warm sand while seagulls cried and flew overhead.

  Letting loose a huge sigh, she rolled to her side, looking at her backpack. She rushed to her feet, grabbing her plastic baggie full of travel toiletries, then pulled out the white t-shirt and sweat-shorts she’d taken from the donation bin at Stowers House, and made her way to the bathroom. Flipping on the light, she gaped.

  “Wow,” she whispered, stepping further in, instantly captivated by the intricate tile patterns covering the shower wall. The whole room was spectacular—a work of art—with the glass shower stall and multiple jets, beautiful marble flooring, and pretty pedestal sink. If this little piece of elegance was what Stone had in mind for his entire house, the place was going to be a masterpiece.

  She undressed, turned on the shower, and stepped into the warm spray, reveling in the idea that she could stand here and not have to watch bugs crawl along the walls or keep one ear trained on the door, forever fearful someone would find a way to work their way past the chair she always wedged below the doorknob. She closed her eyes as water cascaded over her head, letting the tension release from her shoulders.

  This was all hers. For one night she would sleep soundly. Eric wouldn’t be searching for her here on Stone’s cliff top. Tomorrow she would be forced to go back to the motel. Everything would go back to normal when the sun came up, but for now, she planned to savor every second of her reprieve. Who knew how long it would be before she had an opportunity like this again?

  ~~~~

  Sophie opened her eyes, expecting to see water damage and filthy paint covering the motel ceiling. Frowning, she stared up at two-by-fours set in place every few feet instead. The rush of waves filled her ears as she turned her head slowly, stretching, waiting for the typical discomfort of a stiff neck and sore ribs after a night of rest on the three wooden chairs she lined up and slept on instead of the disgusting bed. She yawned huge, enjoying the serenity of her perfect Wednesday morning.

  She’d planned to stay up and savor the sound of the ocean, but somehow she’d blinked and the sun was up again. She yawned for the second time and glanced at her watch, her eyes widening in surprise. Eleven o’clock? “Crap.”

  She jolted up and hurried out of bed, pulling the sheets she’d used off the mattress, and folded the two blankets. Stone was bound to think her a lush. She moved toward the kitchen, hating the idea of eating his food, but she hadn’t had a real meal since breakfast at Stowers House on Saturday. Apples and peanut butter and jelly were getting old. She opened the fridge, spotting eggs, milk, beer and some unidentifiable black stuff she would stay far away from. Checking the date on the eggs and milk, she smiled. Scrambled eggs were a must.

  The front door opened and she froze, guilty for getting caught helping herself, even t
hough Stone had invited her to before he walked off last night.

  He stumbled in, bare-chested, wearing ripped jeans he hadn’t snapped. He was magnificent, looking like a model on a billboard with all those bumps and ropes of muscle. She’d never seen him in anything but slacks and a polo or the tuxedo he wore when he stood next to movie stars on the red carpet in the celebrity gossip magazines from time to time. She looked away, realizing she was staring. “Um, I was going to have a quick breakfast and get out of your way.”

  He grumbled something, his voice much deeper after sleep.

  “I can go now if you’d rather.” She glanced down wistfully at the egg carton in her hand and stepped right as he did, then left.

  “Move, Blondie.” He gripped her waist, picking her up in the small, crowded space.

  Gasping, she clutched at his warm, firm shoulder, breathing him in as he turned with her in his arms, set her down, and made a beeline for the beat-up counter and coffee pot. She blinked as he grabbed the tin of coffee and scooped. Twice he’d touched her in a way no one ever had. Eric was always so proper unless he was beating her—then he was just plain vicious. She and Stone barely knew each other, and he’d put his hands on her again. Why did she want him to do it again? She cleared her throat, shocked by her own thoughts as he set a cup beneath the drip instead of the glass server.

  “Milk,” he said.

  She frowned.

  “I need the milk.”

  “Oh.” She reached into the fridge, pulling out the half-gallon.

  He snatched the container, pouring the two-percent in while the coffee still drizzled into the cup. He lifted the half-full mug, swallowing the contents down as he jammed the glass catcher in place.

  She knew she stared, but she couldn’t look away as he put his mug back under for the second time.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” she said with a start. “I just—I’ve never seen anyone drink coffee like that before.”

  He smiled. “Some people need crack. I need coffee.”

  She grinned. “I was going to make some eggs if that’s okay.”