JT’s cell rang. He glimpsed at the readout. “Damn. I have to take this. I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time.” She needed a few minutes to gather the tethers of her temper. Rex was harassing her, yet somehow she had become the villain and he the victim. She walked to the window and stared out at the lush grasses of the manicured lawn while JT’s murmurs echoed from the hallway. Her phone chimed on her hip, alerting her to a new text. She yanked her cell from the leather holder and gaped at the two-word message.
Nice try. 26.
Her hand shook as she read and reread Rex’s latest message. “No,” she whispered. “No.” This wasn’t happening.
“Wren? Are you okay?”
She turned slowly to JT as reality blindsided her. “He isn’t going to stop.”
“What happened?” He walked to her and rested a supportive hand on her arm. “What’s wrong?”
She held up her cellphone. “He sent me another one.”
He took the phone. “Let me take you down to the police station.”
“I—”
She heard someone knock against the doorframe. “Hey, JT. Cooke, you ready to go?”
She glanced over to where Tucker stood, wearing khaki slacks and a navy blue polo top. “Tucker.” She pulled the phone from JT’s hand and hurried to him. “Another one. He sent another one.”
Tucker frowned as he studied the screen she held up.
“I thought his ‘date’ with the police would put a stop to this—at least for a little while.” She shook her head. “But it won’t. He’ll keep doing this, because he can. No one’s going to touch him, and he knows it.”
“We’re going to handle it.”
“How? By calling the cop so they can question him with his lawyer at his side, then tell him he’s free to go? Not even twenty-four hours, Tucker, and he’s back to his games.”
He took her chin between her fingers and held her gaze. “We’ll handle it. Trust me.”
Something in his intense stare made her believe him, and she nodded.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“I have to get my stuff.” She turned toward the table and jumped, having forgotten that JT was still there.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”
“I don’t—I don’t think so.” She looked to Tucker for confirmation.
Tucker shook his head. “The cops are going to have to handle this one. Wren will have protection until this bastard makes a mistake. And he will make a mistake.” His eyes left JT’s to capture hers. “They all do.”
Wren secured her laptop, then gathered her catalogs and other items, tossing them in her briefcase. She wanted out of there. She wanted to go home and pretend this wasn’t happening.
Tucker walked over and slid the straps of her laptop case and bag on his shoulder.
“Wren, I’m sorry for what you’re going through. If you think of anything, anything at all…”
She nodded, took JT’s hand, and kissed his cheek, fighting against the tears pooling in her eyes. “You’re a good friend. I’m lucky to have you.”
He patted her shoulder. “Be safe.”
“I will.” She stepped back, blinking the worst of her emotions away, refusing to allow Rex Richardson to upset her any further.
“Come on, Cooke. Let’s get you home. Later, JT” Tucker wrapped his arm around her waist.
The solid strength in his gentle hold comforted her. As much as she wanted to depend only on herself, she leaned into him as they left the library and walked out the front door.
Amazing scents wafted from Tucker’s humble galley kitchen as Wren thwacked and chopped away at an assortment of vegetables. Hints of garlic, thyme, and rosemary teased his stomach as he sucked in a breath with his next arm curl. The gym wasn’t an option with the current situation, and Wren’s silence on the ride home had been a none-to-subtle hint that she wanted to be left alone. Her stalker’s latest text had shaken her—enough that she’d been willing to take the comfort he offered on their way out the Cartwrights’ door.
She didn’t want to be afraid, she didn’t want to need him, but she was and she did. Wren was going to have to get used to him being around for a while. Ethan had assigned him to the sassy package in the next room until they got this situation figured out.
They had a long way to go. He’d called in the new text to Owens as soon as they arrived at the apartment and sent a copy of the message via e-mail to the station. There wasn’t much else he could do; he and Wren both knew it. She’d held his gaze for several seconds after he hung up, shook her head in disgust, then marched herself into his kitchen and started pulling food from his refrigerator at random.
Beads of perspiration tracked down his face and chest as he finished his last rep. He set down the thirty-five pound dumbbells and wiped at the sweat with a tattered gym towel. He took a deep breath and stretched his biceps. That last set was a bitch.
Bending at the knees, he reached for the weighted ball, and suddenly his bedroom window smashed. Tucker dropped, rolling automatically as a slice of heat grazed his temple and something landed on the floor next to him with a heavy thump. He lay on the carpet among the shards of glass, blinking several times, then rushed to his feet as reaction set in. His heart jackhammered and adrenaline coursed through his veins as he ducked past the window yelling, “Wren!”
Her small frame crashed into his as they collided in the hallway. He wrapped an arm around her and turned, taking the brunt of the force as they slammed into the wall.
“Are you okay?” they asked at the same time. “I’m fine,” they spoke in unison again.
He gripped her upper arms, studying her for himself. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, but you’re not. You’re bleeding.” She pulled out of his hold. “Let me get a towel.” She dashed away.
He was bleeding? And then he felt the warm drops dribbling down the left side of his cheek. He touched his fingers to the throb at his eyebrow and temple and looked at the considerable mess covering his hand. “Son of a bitch.” He wiped his bloodied palm on his shorts. Injuries would have to be dealt with later; he needed to figure out what the hell just happened. He hurried back to the bedroom, cautiously peeking from the side of the gaping hole in the window, then searched for the object that had busted out the entire bottom pane of glass. He crouched in front of a brick wrapped in duct tape next to the edge of his bed, studying the bold black letters written in permanent marker: SHE’S MINE!
“What happened?”
His gaze flew to Wren standing in the doorway. “Stay there. I don’t want you messing up the scene.” Or seeing what was there to see.
“Was it a rock?”
“A brick.”
“Oh my God. You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”
He walked back to where she stood in the hall. “We need to call this in.”
“In a minute. Come here.” She grabbed his still soiled hand and pulled him to the living room. “Sit down. You’re bleeding all over the place.”
He settled on the couch and winced as she applied pressure to the ache along the side of his head. “Easy.”
“You’re bleeding pretty good.”
“Hurts like hell.”
“I’m sure. I’ll be right back.” She dashed toward the bathroom.
“Don’t even think about pouring that stinging shit on my face.” He would sit on her before that happened.
She came back with another clean towel and a dripping washcloth, kneeling in front of him again. “Let me see.”
He leaned further into the cushion as he eyed the cloth wearily. “What’s on that?”
“Water. Now let me take a look.” She pulled his hand and the bloodied towel away from his temple
and sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s pretty deep. I’m going to clean your wound some—make sure there isn’t any glass in it, then we’ll apply pressure and get the bleeding stopped.”
“You keep surprising me, Cooke. I had no idea you were a nurse, too.”
“My parents are doctors.” Brows furrowed, she moved in close, settling her body between his thighs, dabbing gently at his wound.
“Must be in the genes.” He hissed out a breath as she continued her painful work.
“No. I went through a long disappointing phase where I thought that if I tried to be interested in something my parents were, they might pay attention to me.”
“Didn’t work, huh?” He wanted to reach out and play with her long, wavy strands of silky black.
“Nope. Nothing did. I tried learning about medicine, being extra good, even extra bad. When I was ten I woke up and smelled the coffee and realized Grant and Renee were too wrapped up in themselves to have time for their children.”
She said what she did so matter-of-factly. He studied the exotic beauty carefully tending his wounds and finally understood a small piece of Wren Cooke. Under the layers of self-confidence and success remained the remnants of an unhappy childhood. The Cooke children had grown up in the lap of luxury, much like he did himself. The only difference was he and Staci had been lucky enough to have parents that gave a damn.
“Doesn’t look like we have to worry about flushing out any glass. You’re going to have a heck of a bruise though. How do you feel about stitches?” She set the clean cloth on his cut. “I think you’re going to need them. Here, hold this.” She took his hand, settling it on the towel against his gash, then folded the unsoiled edge of the washcloth and swiped at the drying blood on his pecs and stomach.
He grabbed her wrist, stopping her movements. “They’re stupid.”
She frowned. “Huh?”
“Your parents. They’re stupid for missing out on something special.”
She held his gaze, swallowing, and stood. “We need to—”
Something crashed through the living room window, and Wren screamed. Instinct had Tucker gripping her arm and yanking her to the floor. He covered her body with his, protecting both their heads with his arms. The sound of Wren’s rapid breathing filled his ears, though he could still hear cars rushing by on West Sunset. He gained his feet, hurrying to the edge of the window. No one was there. Tucker turned back and spotted another brick wrapped in duct tape by the couch. He could see the words YOU’RE MINE! from where he stood.
“It’s getting worse.”
His gaze whipped to Wren, who was staring at the message sent for her.
“It’s going to get worse every time.” She glanced at him, then at the darkness boring in through the busted window as she curled her arms around her legs. “How does he know I’m here?”
Tucker had his theories. He walked to her, crouching in front of her, resting his hands on her knees as her phone jingled with a text alert.
She looked at the cell as he picked up the phone from the coffee table and read I’m just getting started. Tucker clenched his jaw against the ball of helpless rage icing his stomach.
“What does it say?”
“I’m going to call Owens.”
She gripped his wrist. “What does it say, Tucker?”
He puffed out a breath as he met her eyes. “‘I’m just getting started.’”
She nodded. “He’s never going to stop.”
“Yes he is.” He gave her knee a gentle squeeze.
She picked up the bloodied cloth on the floor and pressed it to his temple. “You’re still bleeding.”
“We’re going to get him.”
She said nothing.
“We’re going to get him, Cooke.”
Forty-five minutes passed in a blur of questions and answers. The Crime Scene Unit packed away their cameras and aluminum fingerprinting powders while Tucker stood in the hallway close to his open front door, listening with half an ear as Detective Elena Revas spoke with Wren on the couch.
“We found the devices,” Owens said. “One on Ms. Cooke’s vehicle and another on yours.”
Tucker nodded. “Figured as much. We’d only been home half an hour when the first brick came crashing through the window, and I know he didn’t follow us home—I took the long way and didn’t spot a tail.”
“Seems like you’ve got a bead on this guy.”
He shrugged. “Just makes sense. Wren typically works ‘til seven at least—usually at her office the last half of the day—hence the late flower delivery to Cooke Interiors yesterday evening. We cut out early this afternoon when she got the last text. He knew she was here at my place—a deviation from her pattern—a good two hours earlier than she should be. If he didn’t follow us physically, he followed electronically.”
“Never should’ve left the force.” Owens shook his head mournfully. “We’ll see if we can get the GPSs linked to an e-mail address or cell phone.”
They wouldn’t, but Tucker nodded anyway. Whoever they were dealing with was too smart for such a stupid and obvious mistake.
“Looks like this case is escalating quickly.”
“Maybe you’ll start taking it seriously.”
“Fuck off, Campbell.”
“Look, I understand the situation you’re in and I don’t envy you, but we’ve got a serious problem on our hands.”
“On two fronts. I’ve got the DA on my ass pressuring me to wrap this up before the media grabs hold, then I’ve got a woman being threatened who insists Rex Richardson is responsible for the whole damn thing and there’s not a fucking shred of evidence connecting him in any way.”
“Rex groped her on a date and left a message admitting he was a jerk.”
“Let’s lock him up and throw away the key,” Owens scoffed. “Give me a fucking break, Campbell. You haven’t been off the force long enough to be firing bullshit like that back at me.”
Tucker squeezed at the back of his neck, knowing Owens was right. They didn’t have jack shit to work with.
“I’ll drag Rex’s ass into the station, but we both know how it’s going to end.”
“Yeah.”
“Excuse me, Detective Owens.” A beat cop stepped up next to him and Tucker. How the hell was this kid old enough to wear a badge? He had rookie written all over him. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”
“This about the Cooke case?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go ahead.”
The young officer glanced from Owens to Tucker. “Okay. Uh, the alarm just activated at Ms. Cooke’s home.”
Tucker’s cell started ringing as the newbie finished his sentence. He stepped away and answered. “Cooke.”
“Tucker. It’s Mia. We’ve had an alarm activation at Wren’s house. The police are on their way now and I’ve let Jackson know. He’s heading over.”
“Tell me what’s up with the sensor panels.”
“Looks like the upstairs double doors are the point of entry.”
“Upstairs,” Tucker muttered to Owens and the Rookie.
Owens held up his finger in a “wait a minute” gesture. “Find out who’s taking the call,” he said to the rookie. “Discreetly. I don’t want anyone overhearing.” He gestured to Wren.
“Hold on one second, Mia,” Tucker said as he waited for the answer.
The rookie turned away and radioed in. “Who’s responding to the alarm activation on Costas Drive?” The dispatcher responded and the officer turned. “Lou and Smitty.”
Wren stood with Officer Revas, shaking the officer’s hand. Shit. “Mia, I’ll call you back.”
“Okay.”
Tucker hurried into the apartment, heading Wren off. “Hey. Did Elena get your statement?”
“Yes. What did Detective Owens say?”
“Honestly, not much.”
She huffed. “I figured. Officer Revas said we can start cleaning up.” She glanced around at the mess on the floor. “Where’s your vacuum?”
Wren seemed steadier than she did an hour ago. “You don’t have to clean my apartment.”
“Did you call your cleaning crew?”
He grinned. “Yeah, they said they wouldn’t be able to make it.”
She chuckled and stepped closer, raising herself on her tiptoes to examine the butterfly stitches and Band-Aids the paramedic had placed over his cuts. “Look sore. Lots of bruising. Do you have a bag of peas?”
She smelled so damn good. “Probably.”
“When everyone leaves we’ll get that iced, and I’ll start dinner again.”
“My own personal nurse.” He winked. “How do you feel about sponge baths?”
She laughed, her full-out laugh he hadn’t heard since the last gathering at Ethan’s.
He skimmed his finger along her chin. “Not gonna lie, Cooke. I love that sound.”
She sobered instantly and stepped back. “Where’s the vacuum?”
“Hall closet.”
“Campbell.” Owens popped his head in the doorway. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Yeah. Be right back,” he said to Wren as he followed Owens to the stairwell. “What?” Whatever it was, he already knew he didn’t like it. Tension tugged at his shoulders with a vengeance.
“Cops are setting up a scene at Ms. Cooke’s house. Looks as though someone helped himself to her underwear drawer. Her panties were sliced at the crotch and strewn about the bed.”
Tucker’s stomach curdled with a rush of anger. “Get your ass down to that station and bring the fucker in before I go find him myself.”
“Take it easy, Campbell. You know there are procedures we have to follow.”
Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) Page 8