“You have procedures you have to follow. I play by a different set of rules now. I better not see him anywhere near her, or I’ll take care of things my own way.”
“Don’t say shit like that. Something happens to him and I’ll have to come looking for you.”
“Guess you’d better get to him first.”
Owens eyed him as he took a step toward the lobby. “I’ll keep in touch.”
“We’re leaving,” Tucker said as he officially made the decision he’d been tossing around since this afternoon. This was the best solution until he and Ethan could think of something else. “I’m taking her away for a while.”
“Where?”
“Colorado. Ethan has a safe house in the mountains. We’ll hunker down there for a couple weeks or so until we can figure some of this out.”
“You’ll have your cell, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll keep in touch.”
“Thanks.”
Several officers walked by with their kits, following the detective out.
Tucker heard the vacuum begin to hum in his apartment. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the wall, instantly regretting it as a deep throb shot through his skull. “Damn it.” He righted himself immediately and clenched his fist at his side. This was no longer harmless harassment. Texts, flowers, and a dead cat hinted at trouble. Tracking devices and break-ins to screw with someone’s underwear screamed lethal obsession. It was time to pack Wren up for a while and get the hell out of LA. He pulled his phone from the elastic waist of his gym shorts and punched in Ethan’s number.
“Cooke.”
“It’s Tucker.”
“What’s going on?”
“We need to go. We’re heading to Colorado.”
“What’s going on, Campbell?”
“They found a tracking device on her car, and mine. He threw two bricks through my windows with messages letting me know she’s his, and he broke into her house about fifteen, twenty minutes ago.” Tucker closed his eyes as he hesitated with the rest. “He ripped up her panties and threw them all over her bed.”
“Fucking bastard,” Ethan spat.
“Let me grab some clothes and my toothbrush and we’re outta here. I’ll call Collin or someone else to drive us to the airport. Jackson went to the scene. I’ll check in before we leave. And it wouldn’t hurt to have you book our flights under the business. This guy’s going to hunt for her when he figures out she’s gone.”
“You can’t go to Colorado.”
“Why the hell not?”
“The snow’s made the roads impassable, not to mention the plumbing issues. George checked on the place last week before the blizzard hit. The pipes in the downstairs bathroom burst. He had to shut off the water completely until he can get it fixed.”
“Well it’s a good thing we don’t have a crisis on our hands or anything.” He ran his fingers through his hair in utter frustration.
“I’m looking into another house out East.”
“Doesn’t help us much now.”
“Bring her here. We’ll keep her—”
“That’s not a good idea, and you know it. Last thing we need is to get one of the kids mixed up in this. Think like the CEO of a security firm and not like her brother.”
“Fuck, man, this is my sister. How about Europe? We have connections—”
“Arrangements to Europe will take too long. This needs to happen now. I know where I can take her.” He clenched his jaw, wanting to rescind the offer even as he said it.
“Tucker?” Wren stepped into the hall.
He didn’t hear the vacuum shut off. He turned to face her.
“Are you okay out here?”
He stared at the gorgeous woman, who was wearing his gray hoodie—the woman who’d cleaned up his house, offered to ice his cuts, and fix him dinner again after the last forty-eight hours from hell. “Yeah. Just finishing up a call and I’ll be in.”
“Okay.” She went back inside.
“What’s going on?” Ethan asked.
“Just waiting for Wren to go back in the apartment.”
“What were you saying?”
He sighed. “I said I know where I can take her.”
“Where’s that?”
“Park City. My parents have a home in the mountains. We’ll be safe there until we get things figured out around here.”
“I’ll book your flights and call you back. I don’t know how to thank you, man.”
The weight on his shoulders grew exponentially as he thought of the summerhouse in Utah. He hated that place.
“Take care of her for me.”
“You know I will.” He ended the call and made his way back to the apartment. Wren wasn’t going to be any more excited about the idea than he was.
Chapter 7
Tucker drove the rental Jeep over the snow-crusted roads of downtown Park City. More than a decade had passed, yet so much was the same. The lights shined bright along the busy strip while tourists walked about, perusing numerous restaurants and shops. Ski trails were ablaze in the distance as grateful resort owners and skiers alike capitalized on the gift of late-October snow. The back-to-back storms had dropped five feet over the last week, and no one appeared sorry…except for his silent passenger staring out the window.
Wren hadn’t been pleased when he told her they were leaving LA as soon as possible. She’d argued her need to stay for her business, but her pleadings had fallen on deaf ears. Safety came before profit—the end. He’d wanted to drag her to the airport immediately after hanging up with Ethan, but fate had been on her side when all outgoing flights were booked last night. She’d had most of today to make hurried arrangements with Patrick via phone and Skype for her abrupt departure while they hunkered down in Hunter and Morgan’s house, waiting for Collin to pick them up and drop them off at LAX for their four o’clock exit.
Wren spent every available second on her newly issued cell while they waited to board at the gate. The two-hour flight was dedicated to feverishly putting together mockups and orders. She’d fought to appear calm as her fingers flew over the keyboard, but her bopping leg and clenched jaw gave away her inner turmoil. Wren’s life was unraveling before her eyes, and there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot they could do to change it until Rex Richardson was stopped.
“We’re about five, maybe six minutes away.” And he was dreading every second. The pretty lit up buildings of Main Street brought back a flood of memories he didn’t want to deal with. Park City represented such a huge piece of his life.
“Mmm,” was her answer as he turned on Mountain View and started the climb to the top. He passed the sharp twist in the road, and Staci’s scream echoed through his head as she begged him to slow down. The Cartwright home, long since sold, appeared on the left, then Jasmine’s house on the right. He counted off the drives, one, two, three, four, then turned into his own. The grand wood-and-glass structure was lit up like glory, and smoke plumed from the chimney. A white pickup with snow tires sat in the drive close to the garage—Ms. Hayes’s he imagined. He killed the ignition and stared at the heavy pine doors. How many times had he walked in and out of those taking everything for granted?
“This is your cabin?”
“Huh?” Wren’s question pulled him back to the present.
“This gorgeous work of art belongs to you?”
He shook his head. “My parents.”
“This isn’t a cabin, Tucker. This is a full-fledged house, and it’s spectacular.”
He shrugged as the front door opened and Ms. Hayes hurried toward the Jeep. The sweet, blue-eyed housekeeper had aged some in the years he’d been away. Her short brown hair was mostly gray, and the slight hump on her back had worsened.
Tucker
smiled as she waved, and he was instantly consumed by a flood of love. She’d been a part of their family for as long as he could remember. He opened his door and caught the tiny bundle in his arms.
“Tucker Campbell. I’ve missed you so.”
She smelled the same—like lavender and lemons. He closed his eyes and swallowed over the sudden lump in his throat, then cleared the emotion away. “I missed you too.”
She eased back, smiling, and touched his cheek. “And look at you. So handsome, so beautifully handsome even with a nasty bump on your head. You always have been. How are your mom and dad?”
“Good. Mom stays close to home, but dad still travels quite a bit.”
She nodded, understanding perfectly that life had never been the same for his parents after Staci’s death.
“I’m so glad you’re here, honey.” She handed him a key.
The passenger door shut, and Wren walked over to join them.
“Oh my, look at you, dear. Aren’t you a vision?”
Wren had pulled off sexy winter chic in her brown leather jacket, cream-colored scarf tied at her throat, and matching beret placed atop the mass of flowing curls. “Ms. Hayes, this is my friend Wren Cooke.”
Ms. Hayes took Wren’s outstretched hand and pressed her palm to her cheek. “It’s so good to meet you, Wren. You must be special if my sweet, handsome Tucker brought you here.”
Wren smiled as she sent Tucker a curious glance. “It’s nice to meet you too, Ms. Hayes.”
“Now, everything’s all set up for your stay. I made corn chowder for your dinner and stocked the fridge. Tommy, my grandson, brought in plenty of firewood to keep you both comfortable.”
“That’s very sweet of you.” Wren smiled again. “Will you stay and have a bowl of chowder with us?”
“Aren’t you a doll baby? I wish I could, but Henry’s waiting for me to eat a dinner of our own. I’m going to be on my way. It sure is lovely to meet you, Wren.”
“You too.”
Ms. Hayes let Wren go and turned back to Tucker. “I’ll be by to check on you in a few days. Call if you need anything.” She leaned in close. “It’s still a good place, honey, once you sweep away the sad. So many wonderful things happened here.” She gave his cheek a gentle pat, and he nodded.
Ms. Hayes’s intentions were well meaning, but he would never be able to “sweep away the sad.” “Say hi to Mr. Hayes for me.”
“Will do, honey.” In her sturdy, winter boots, Ms. Hayes made her way to her truck, took her seat, and left as quickly as she came.
The vehicle vanished down the road, and the world was suddenly silent. Wren stared at him in the crisp air. He didn’t want to answer the questions burning in her eyes any more than he wanted to step through the doors of the house he hadn’t been in since the coroners wheeled his sister away in a body bag. “We should get our stuff.”
“Ms. Hayes is very sweet. I like her already.”
“She’s the best.” He walked to the trunk.
“Sounds like you’ve known her a long time.”
He pressed the key fob and the back opened. “Yup.”
“How long have your parents had this place?”
“Since I was a baby.” He gathered up the large duffel bag he’d packed on the fly and waited for Wren to grab the luggage she still had from her trip to Oregon. He slammed the trunk closed and met her curious gaze.
“I feel like there’s a story here and I’m missing most of the chapters.”
He couldn’t talk about it. He couldn’t be here. Why did he bring Wren to his own rendition of hell? Ten minutes in his old driveway had ripped away every layer of emotional protection he’d shrouded himself in. Fourteen years of turmoil swooped in to buckle his knees and swallow him whole. “Let’s head in. It’s cold.”
She stopped by the passenger’s side, grabbing her laptop and briefcase, then followed him to the house.
His boots crunched in the crusty snow as they made their way to the entrance. Tucker gripped his bag tighter with sweaty hands and swallowed against the burn of icy air assaulting his throat with each rapid breath. Through the open doorway, he caught glimpses of his past frozen in time. He stopped abruptly.
Wren halted next to him. “What? What’s wrong?” Her voice trembled with fear as her eyes darted about.
“Nothing. Go ahead in.” He set his duffel down, suddenly terrified he wouldn’t be able to step over the threshold. “I’m going to pull the Jeep in the garage, then get some more firewood.”
“But Ms. Hayes said her grandson brought in plenty.”
“I should probably get some more anyway.” He walked off leaving Wren staring after him as he made his way down the small embankment to the stacks of wood in the shadows of the house, wondering how the hell he was going to make himself go through with this.
Wren frowned as Tucker disappeared in the dark. What was going on with him? At some point during the drive from Salt Lake City, Rico Suave vanished and Moody, Broody Bummer Man appeared. She wanted Rico back.
With a shake of her head, she eased the heavy pine door open and gasped. Tucker’s parent’s “cabin” was a testament to amazing architecture and serious wealth. Gorgeous marble flooring gave way to hard-wood floors and elegant area rugs that cost a small fortune. The large open-concept space was a masterpiece, with views of Park City visible through the acres of glass. The bright lights of town in the distance and ski trails lit in the true country dark were as breathtaking as Ethan and Sarah’s view of the Pacific and LA beyond.
She stepped farther into the house, closing the door behind her, and stopped, scrutinizing the area again with a curious and professional eye. Now that the initial shock had worn off, she realized the furnishings and style were at least a decade behind. The stunning space was stuck in a late-90s time warp. Why hadn’t the home been updated to reflect the current trends? Clearly the Campbell family could afford it. Wren itched for her sketchpad, color swatches, and catalogs. Two months. Two months is all she would need to bring this place around to its present-day potential.
She set their luggage to the side, pulled off her beret, scarf, and jacket, and wandered from the spacious living area to the kitchen. Granite countertops in blue pearl complimented shiny appliances and glass-fronted cabinetry. Wren walked to the top-of-the-line stove, which was keeping Ms. Hayes’s corn chowder hot under the low gas flame, and breathed deep. The creamy soup smelled like heaven.
She glanced around at the new espresso maker, stocked wine fridge, and fresh bread from the deli. There was no shortage of creature comforts here. When Tucker told her he was taking her to his parents’ cabin in the woods, she’d been expecting something small with questionable plumbing and a mom-and-pop general store fairly close. She’d hoped for at least a dialup, but here she would have Wi-Fi, scanning capabilities, and whatever else she needed. Running her business from this miniature palace would be slightly easier, but she still worried. Patrick was going to be dealing with most of the burden—face-to-face meetings, picture-taking for room assessments and consultations, curtain, furniture, and accent installs… everything, while she handled her clients through e-mail and Skype. Tucker had confiscated her cellphone, giving it to Detective Owens for monitoring, and replaced it with an Ethan Cooke Security phone to use for communication with Patrick only. How long would her clientele put up with the inconvenience? What would happen when word spread that Cooke Interiors was being run by Wren Cooke’s assistant while she hid herself away in some undisclosed location for ‘personal reasons’?
Tucker and Ethan didn’t even let her tell Patrick where she would be going. If Patrick needed to send her fabrics, catalogs, or anything else, he had to drop the items off at Ethan’s office for Mia to handle—just one more inconvenience she and her partner couldn’t afford. Her reputation would be in tatters by mid-November at the
latest, and her business bankrupt. Five-and-a-half years of hard work would be ruined, while Rex Richardson sat in his corner office on the fifty-fourth floor, laughing his ass off.
Wren pressed her lips firm as her stomach sank with the thought. She would have to make the best of the situation and do everything in her power to keep her company in the black. Failure was not an option.
The front door burst open, and she flinched, still jumpy after last night’s brick incident.
Tucker walked in with a large pile of wood, kicking the door closed behind him. He stomped the snow from his feet and stepped from his boots after a small fight with the rubber soles.
“Need a hand?”
“No. I’m good.” He settled his armload on the side of the large stone fireplace crackling with beautiful sweeps of orange flame.
“Between what you’ve brought in and Ms. Hayes’ grandson, we’ll be set for days.” Hopefully they’d be heading home in no more than two or three.
“Should be.”
She crossed her arms, leaning against the countertop, studying him through the opening among the cabinetry that sectioned the kitchen area from the living room and dining space. “Are you always a man of few words when you’re on duty, or are you angry that I dragged you away from your couch and big screen to suffer in a dump like this?” She’d expected one of his slow grins, but he stared into the flames instead. “Tucker, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t think either of us believes that.”
He looked away from the fire, meeting her stare. “Let it go, Cooke.”
She nodded. “Got it.”
“Don’t be like that. I said I’m fine, so leave it alone.”
She blinked, surprised by the edge in his voice. “Who are you?”
“Same person I’ve always been,” he muttered.
“No. Not even close. The Tucker Campbell I know is a slick-talking bodyguard who lives in a dumpy apartment in LA. This guy,” she made a sweeping gesture in his direction, “whoever he is, is some broody, heir apparent with his boxers in a twist.”
Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) Page 9