Private Bodyguard

by Tyler Anne Snell

  “I’m sorry but no. He’s currently unavailable. The best I can do is pass along a message.”

  “No,” she said a little too quickly. She tried to sound calm as she continued. “It’s personal. I’d really like to talk to him myself.” She wasn’t about to announce the real reason behind the call.

  “Hold on, then,” he said. She didn’t hear anything on the other end of the line and looked at the phone to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. “We’re about to leave the police station and head home. You can meet us at the house, but we have to ask that you keep this meeting and whatever information you have private until Nigel has talked to you. This family has had enough false accusations and rumors started lately.”

  “Sure thing. I completely understand.”

  “Thank you. We’ll see you soon.”

  Darling ended the call, shocked at how easy it was to get a meeting. She supposed it made sense that the Markses wanted to go ahead and squash any remaining gossip within the town or general public. Charisma Investments was going to suffer thanks to the actions of Lamar Bennington and Robert Jensen. They didn’t need any more bad press.

  She returned Oliver’s phone to the nightstand and watched as the bodyguard continued to sleep. He looked so peaceful, she decided not to wake him. She wasn’t a child. The danger was gone. She could go tie up this loose end without him. Her kidnappers weren’t out there to get her. She could be back within the hour.

  Bending low, she pressed her lips to his temple. He didn’t stir.

  She wrote a quick note and left.

  Laughing at the fact that the last time she had been at Nigel Marks’s home she’d been arrested, she thrummed her fingers against the steering wheel as she drove. It was amazing how a week could change everything.

  The gate to the Markses’ house was shut, but Darling could see a car parked in the driveway beyond it. She pulled up to wait at the gate and rolled down the window. George Hanely had never been one of her favorite people. He might not even let her in.

  However, he never came.

  She sat up straighter to see into the gatehouse. No one was inside.

  “Getting lazy, George?”

  She put the car in Park and opened the door. Pulling her crutches from the backseat, she made her way to the window. George was probably lounging, watching one of his daytime soap operas or whatever it was the man did all day. She looked inside, ready to scold the gate guard but stopped short.

  George was sprawled out on the floor, facedown.

  Darling tried the doorknob and let out a breath of relief when it opened with no resistance. She knelt beside the unconscious man, almost falling in the process.

  “George?” She felt for a pulse and was happy to feel the beat against her fingers. “Hold on. I’ll call for help.”

  She got back up and looked to the phone on the desk. Oliver was going to be upset that she had yet again found herself connected with the police in such a short span.

  “Don’t move.”

  Darling froze, hand hovering above the phone.

  Turning slowly, she felt her stomach bottom out.

  George Hanley was not only coherent but also sitting up and smiling. A gun was in his right hand, pointed at her, but that wasn’t what put ice in her blood.

  In the palm of his left hand were her two daisy earrings.

  “Just so you know how serious I am.”

  * * *

  AN ANGRY CHIRPING pecked at the haze of sleep around Oliver until, finally, he had to make it stop. Rolling over, he grabbed his cell phone and gave it a stare that could kill before turning off the everyday alarm. It was meant to make sure he was wide-awake by noon, which, to him, was a time that no man should sleep past. Even on his days off. Although, given recent events, he had meant to deactivate it the night before. But then a beautiful private investigator had let him into her bed, twice.

  All thoughts of the alarm and pretty much anything else had gone out the proverbial window the moment their lips and bodies met.

  Afraid he had woken her, Oliver rolled back over, ready to laugh that they had slept in. He was disappointed her side of the bed was empty. The rest of the room was, too. In fact, he couldn’t hear any movement in the apartment.

  “Darling?” he called, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He stretched wide and noticed a note on the nightstand.

  “‘Tying up a loose end with Nigel. Didn’t want to wake you. Be back by lunch,’” he read aloud.

  He read it again as if it would make more sense. It didn’t. Of course the maddening woman wouldn’t give him more information than that. What loose ends were left?

  Oliver picked his phone back up and went to his recent call list. He sighed and made a mental note to take her by the police station to get her phone back. Now there wasn’t a way to reach her directly. He was about to put the phone down when he noticed the most recent call was placed earlier that morning. Darling had used to his phone to call Nigel.

  It was a bold move. One she wouldn’t have made unless she had a solid lead on something.

  Suddenly Oliver’s calm wasn’t as resolute. A sinking feeling of apprehension slunk in.

  He dialed the number again and put it to his ear.

  It went straight to voice mail.

  “Okay,” he said to the empty apartment. “Time to get dressed.”

  Five minutes later Oliver was in his rental and driving toward Nigel’s vacation home. He could have called Thomas, Grant or Nikki to let him talk to Darling if she was with Nigel, but after his talk with Nikki the previous day, it didn’t feel right. Darling wasn’t in trouble. He was just being overprotective. Jane Doe’s, or rather Jean Watford’s, killers had been caught. The men who had taken Darling were being held...or were they?

  He rolled his shoulders back. The seed of doubt that had sprouted in his mind was growing, but there was no need for it, he tried to reason with himself. Yet it was a pill he couldn’t seem to swallow. The closer he got to the vacation home, the more his nerves pricked. Why, he wasn’t sure, but he knew he wouldn’t shed the sudden restlessness until he set his eyes on a certain sneaky private investigator.

  Oliver was sorely disappointed that no one seemed to be home when he arrived outside the gatehouse. No cars were in the driveway minus one he believed to belong to George. His aversion to calling Nikki was starting to ebb. He pulled his phone out just as it buzzed against his palm. It was a Maine number but not one he recognized.

  “Oliver Quinn,” he answered, getting out of his SUV to look into the gatehouse for its guard. He mentally snorted at its emptiness. He was probably goofing off somewhere, not doing his job.

  “Hello. I think this is the number I was supposed to call. Barb said some people were looking for me?” a female responded, uncertainty clear. There was a blanket of noise in the background.

  “Harriet Mendon?” Oliver guessed.

  “Yeah, that’s me! Now what’s this about?” She didn’t sound mad or scared. Only curious. An older Darling, he quickly mused.

  “The woman at the gas station you stopped at on the way out of Mulligan the other night—the one with the red hair—was—” Oliver paused and changed where the statement had been headed “—she died the next morning.” There was a tiny gasp, but she didn’t interrupt. “There was a guy—a bad guy—who thought whatever it was you two talked about might have been something that could have hurt him. We just wanted to make sure if you saw him to call the police, but you shouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. He’s with the police now.”

  “Oh, wow, I leave Mulligan for the first time in ten years and suddenly it gets exciting,” she answered after a beat. “I am sorry about that young woman, though. She was so happy and vibrant. Made me feel young again just talking to her. How did she die?”

  “I’m not sure
,” he lied. Jean’s death was probably already splashed across the local paper. Harriet would be able to read about it all when she got back. Oliver didn’t want to rehash the details.

  “What a tragedy. I can’t imagine what the man thought she told me. We only talked for maybe a minute. Nothing out of the ordinary. She was just excited to meet up with her dad and relax for a few days.”

  Oliver stopped, his hand against the SUV door.

  “Her dad? I thought she was in Mulligan on business,” he said, recalling the reporter’s words from the previous night’s news.

  “I don’t think so. I remember her specifically saying she was going to spend time with her dad and enjoy some downtime,” Harriet said. “She was smiling ear to ear. Does that sound like she was about to work to you?”

  “No,” Oliver answered. “It doesn’t sound like work had anything to do with her visit to Mulligan after all.”

  Oliver didn’t extend his conversation with Harriet Mendon past the new information. He also didn’t question the validity of what the woman had gleaned from her chat with Jean. The security footage had shown a happy young woman, not someone about to dive into a stressful, secretive business world.

  No, Jean Watford was about to go to meet up with her father.

  She had been on the way to meet Nigel Marks at the Mulligan Motel.

  All at once, the clues and lies made sense. The pictures of Nigel and Jean over the past year—meeting in secret—with the two of them enjoying each other’s company without any sexual or provocative contact. The pain and surprise Oliver had picked up on when Nigel had been told about Jean’s death.

  In Orion’s research on the Marks family, Oliver couldn’t recall a single detail about a daughter. Half, step or otherwise. Jean Watford must have been one of the best kept secrets of Nigel’s life.

  That’s what Darling was referring to as her loose end, Oliver realized. That’s why she had called Nigel. She had figured it out, and the always curious Darling needed confirmation.

  But where was she now?

  Oliver took another look at the house. His feeling of unease had grown so strong, he felt as if it was a tangible object he could wield to cut open the gate. Had the entire story of Jean Watford joining Charisma Investments been a lie? If so, where did that leave the motive for her two supposed killers?

  A new puzzle was coming together just as the old one was falling apart.

  Oliver flew through his contacts until he found Grant’s number. He hesitated and passed the name, going straight for another. He pressed Call next to Nikki’s name, not willing to make the same mistake twice. Knowing her, she was still in town and would remain there for the duration of the contract. “Yes?” she cut right to the chase. Oliver could hear several voices in the background.

  “Are you still with Nigel?”

  “Oliver, you know I can’t divulge information like that on a current—”

  “Is Darling with him?” Oliver’s voice had dropped to an almost icy plane of existence. Nikki picked up on it immediately.

  “No. We’ve been at the new Charisma building since this morning.” He could hear her moving away from the group of people next to her. She spoke louder. “Why?”

  “She called him while I was asleep and then left a note saying she was coming here to talk to him. I’m at the vacation house now.”

  “Unless she called him before five this morning, she didn’t talk to him,” Nikki said with certainty. “He’s been in board meetings all day, trying to clean up this mess. He literally hasn’t left the room in hours. The room has a glass wall and everything. We’ve been able to see him at all times, and not once has he made or picked up a call.”

  “Could he have done that when you looked away?” Oliver reasoned.

  “Here, he’s coming out now. Let me just ask.” He could hear her annoyance at not being taken at her word, but Oliver needed to know what had been said during that call.

  It could be nothing.

  It could be everything.

  Muffled voices filled his ear. It was a white noise that did nothing to break the silence of the outside world around him. He stood back from the gate and wondered if Darling had come here at all. If George hadn’t been at the gate, she would have had to leave. Why wasn’t George there to begin with? It was paramount he be at his station when the house was empty. To make sure it stayed that way.

  Oliver went to the gatehouse and tried the door. It was locked. He cupped his hand and looked inside. Everything seemed normal.

  “Oliver,” Nikki said, bringing his focus back. “Nigel said he never talked to Darling. He can’t even find his phone.”

  “He’s lying, then,” Oliver responded with grit. “My phone said the call was made.” He didn’t need to look again to know that was true. It not only was received but also lasted almost a minute.

  “Well, Nigel didn’t speak with her.” Nikki kept talking, but Oliver didn’t hear it.

  “I need you to get Rachel to track George Hanley’s cell phone,” he ground out. Oliver tried the doorknob again, and when it didn’t budge, he took a step back.

  “What? Why?”

  Oliver didn’t answer as he threw his shoulder into the door. It splintered at the lock and swung open.

  “Oliver?” Nikki’s confusion was turning into anger.

  “Because I’m pretty sure George Hanely took her.”

  “How do you know?”

  Oliver had scanned and rescanned the gatehouse each time he had made a sweep while on duty. George was a neat person. Every item in the small room had always been in a specific spot and order. His DVDs all were stacked nicely next to his television, his books were ordered next to his security tapes, and even his chair had always been pushed beneath the desk when he was occupying it. Now Oliver saw a room out of order. A few of the books were strewn across the desktop, the chair was on the other side of the room and one of the DVD cases lay in the corner, cracked open. However, it wasn’t the unusual state of the space that caught his eye. It was the set of crutches poking out from beneath the desk that coaxed a concerned Oliver into the gatehouse. The blood on one of the pads only threw fuel onto the burning fire within him.

  “Her crutches are here. Nikki, I need you to track him now,” Oliver repeated, more urgent than before. “Please.”

  This time Nikki didn’t hesitate.

  “Give me five minutes,” she answered. Her voice had taken on the calm of the determined woman he knew her to be.

  “Let me talk to Nigel,” he added. Again she didn’t even pause.

  “What’s going on?” Nigel asked a few seconds later.

  “George Hanley took Darling,” Oliver said. “I need you to tell me why.”

  “What? He took her?”

  “Yes. Now, what the hell would he want with her?” Oliver was moving around the room, looking for something that might clue him in to where the gate guard had gone.

  “I have no idea!”

  “Come on, Nigel. I talked to the man. He seemed to worship you, said you two were great pals. Think!”

  “You’re mistaken,” Nigel said hurriedly. “Mr. Hanley is close with my son, Jace, not me.”

  Everything stopped for a moment.

  “Hello?” Nigel asked, bringing Oliver out of his icy thoughts. He only had one question left.

  “Did Jace know that Jean Watford was your daughter?”

  As if he was standing in front of the millionaire, Oliver could see the older man had reached the same conclusion as he just had.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was a three-story building with cracked gray siding and a crumbling roofline. There was a workshop in the back, attached by a makeshift walkway that hadn’t fared well against the weather. The several acres around e
ach were untouched and gave clear sight lines to the road in the distance.

  Darling took in all of these details as George drove up the long dirt drive. She had been to this abandoned house hidden near the heart of town before with Derrick who had said knowing its location might help with future cases considering the amount of criminal activity that happened there from time to time. It was dubbed the Slate House and hadn’t been occupied in almost twenty years. The local teens really liked it as a location to drink in private, considering its next neighbor wasn’t even in shouting distance.

  A shiver ran up Darling’s spine.

  Perhaps that’s why George was taking her there, as well.

  “Why?” Darling asked the gate guard for the third time. Her chin was throbbing, but with her hands bound behind her back, she couldn’t touch her face to assess the damage. She took solace in the fact that before George had managed to wrestle the plastic zip ties around her wrists, she had been able to do some damage of her own. Her crutch had made an excellent bat. The bleeding gash on his forehead was a testament to that.

  George didn’t slow the car until they were next to the workshop’s outside door at the back of the house. He cut the ignition without answering her yet again. Never had she hated the silence more.

  “George, why are we here?” she asked, expanding her earlier question in hopes he would answer. Instead he opened his door and got out.

  For one wonderful moment, Darling thought he’d leave. That he would just walk off and give her enough time to figure out an escape route. But George didn’t do that. He turned to the back door and opened it, and for the first time since he’d yelled at her to get into the car while simultaneously shoving her, he spoke.

  “Someone wants to talk to you.”

  He reached into the car and grabbed for her. Darling tried to shrink away, but George was faster than he looked. He caught her jacket sleeve and tugged hard.

  “Don’t fight it, private eye,” he snarled as he struggled to pull her out and up. “You brought this on yourself.”