Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series)

by Beauman, Cate

  “Pretty good,” he said over a mouthful, propping his legs on the coffee table and crossing his ankles.

  She rested her head against the cushion as she relaxed further. She’d completely overreacted. She could handle sitting next to Tucker while they enjoyed their dessert. “Look at the snow. It’s really coming down.”

  “They’re saying we should see a good foot-and-a-half by morning, maybe more.”

  “It’s beautiful—peaceful. I’m rarely around snow, so this is nice.” She finished her helping and put her dish on the side table. Copying Tucker, she rested her feet on the table, crossing them at the ankle. “Thank you for tonight—for making my birthday special.”

  He scraped up the last of his ice cream and set his bowl aside. “I wish I had a gift for you.”

  “Dinner out and Death by Chocolate was perfect.”

  “Wanna watch a movie?”

  “I’m pretty content watching the snow.”

  “Snow it is.” He settled his arms behind his head.

  “You don’t have to stay.”

  “I want to stay.”

  She looked at him as firelight flickered across his face.

  His eyes held hers, and she licked her lips as a surge of want flooded her veins. Who was she kidding? This wasn’t a good idea. Sitting here like this with the fire crackling and the snow falling and a gorgeous man inches away. She rushed to her feet. “I’m—I’m going to take care of the bowls.” She reached for hers, turned for his, and crashed into his chest. His hands snaked out, grabbing hold of her arms, steadying her. She cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” He held her gaze as he took the dish from her and set it on the table.

  “I was going to put that in the dishwasher,” she said as her heart kicked into high gear.

  “I’ll take care of it later.” He skimmed his knuckles along her cheek and took a step closer.

  She knew she should walk away. She needed to, but she stayed where she was, breathing in his cologne, lost in his eyes, savoring his gentle touch, yearning as he moved in and captured her lips, slowly, tenderly.

  She clutched his forearms in defense against the rush of heat catapulting through her stomach as he brought his hands to her cheeks, caressing, and changed the angle of the kiss. He urged her mouth open and his tongue slid against hers, teasing, tangling. She clung now, completely seduced by his bold flavor and skill. Her fingers moved along mounds of biceps and firm shoulders and rested against the smooth skin at the back of his neck. Moaning, she urged him to take them both deeper, but he eased away, still holding her face in his hands.

  Wren blinked her eyes open, completely undone by a not-so-simple kiss. Her phone started to ring, disturbing the quiet, yet she made no attempt to answer as she stared at Tucker.

  “Your cell’s ringing.”

  “I know.” She reached down, grabbing it, and glanced at the readout. “It’s my brother.” She pressed ‘talk.’ “Hell—Hello.”

  “Wren? Are you okay?”

  She was anything but. “Yes.”

  Tucker still held her close, stroking her skin, making it impossible to think. She stepped away, hoping to break whatever this power was he had over her.

  “Ethan, can I call you back?”

  “Sure. Kylee wants to talk to you.”

  “Tell her to give me one second.” She disconnected and gripped her phone, still unsteady. What should she say? She couldn’t think with her heart pounding. “I’m going to go—I’m going to go to my room. I have to call Ethan back.”

  “Okay. Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you. For everything.” She turned and headed down the hall toward the safety of her room.

  “Hey, Cooke.”

  She stopped.

  “Tonight was definitely a date.”

  Staring straight ahead, she started walking again. She had a phone call to make, then she needed to sit down and think long and hard about this unexpected turn her trip to Utah was taking.

  Tucker sat on his bed, gripping his phone as he stared into the dark. His conversation with Owens left a ball of dread in the pit of his stomach. They had problems—big problems.

  Sighing, he dialed Ethan. It didn’t matter that it was after one. He would want to know now.

  “Cooke,” he said groggily.

  “Sorry to call so late.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just got off the phone with Owens.”

  “What’s going on?” Ethan’s voice tightened with concern.

  “Owens concluded his investigation into Rex Richardson. He’s not our man. They’re one hundred percent sure.”

  Ethan sighed.

  “A couple of officers responded to a call at Cooke Interiors right around closing time tonight. Apparently after Patrick got off the phone with Wren, he went to lock up and found a dead black cat on the front step—decapitated; the guts were scattered all over the damn place. Patrick reported the incident immediately. He was pretty shaken up. He’s not going to tell Wren.”

  “Good. She doesn’t need to know; it’ll only upset her. We’ll send Collin over to install cameras around the building first thing in the morning. Son of a bitch. I never should have let her talk me out of putting them up. She said they messed with her ambiance or some shit like that the last time we had the conversation.”

  “Sounds about right.” Ambiance was going to have to take a backseat to practicality now that the stakes were higher. Tucker rubbed at the painful tension squeezing his shoulders. “There’s more. The cops went over to Wren’s house after they finished at her office, just to check things out. They found another dead cat—guts everywhere again, but he wrote ‘MINE’ all over the siding in blood. Her tires are slashed. He drove over to my apartment, took care of the Jeep too. Left another carcass on my hood; keyed ‘YOU’RE NEXT’ along the side.”

  “He’s ballsy and escalating.”

  “That’s for damn sure. He can’t find her, and it’s pissing him off. He’s no longer running the show.” A dangerous combination. Tucker clenched his jaw. “We can be certain he knows she’s still with me.”

  “Looks like it. We’ll get the paint and tires fixed and have someone bring your vehicles to my place.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Owens is positive Rex isn’t behind this?”

  “His alibi is solid for the bricks and break-in. And he’s not in LA right now. He left for Australia after his police interview.”

  “Damn. I don’t even know where to start on this one. She’s my sister, and I don’t know how to help her.”

  No one understood better than Tucker the helplessness of not being able to protect someone so important. “I’m at a loss myself. I’ll talk to Wren when she wakes up and ask her if she’s had trouble with anyone else. There has to be something. This guy knows her—maybe a former client or someone she dated. He feels betrayed. We just have to figure out who the bastard is.”

  “If we don’t know who the hell we’re looking for, how can we be sure you’re safe where you’re at?”

  “Honestly, we can’t, but we could say that about any place. He could track us down in Hawaii, at any one of my family’s resorts, or in Europe. The only place safer than Park City is your house, and it’s being ripped to shreds for the next few weeks. No one knows about the house here in Utah—or hardly anyone. Everyone assumed my father sold after Staci’s murder. Dad would have, but Mom wouldn’t let him.”

  “You’re right. It’s just—”

  “She’s your sister.”

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “Keep me up to date if Owens gets anything new.”

  “You’ll be the first. Not that you won’t be checking in yourself.” Ethan’s hacking skills had broken through many firewalls before. “
I’ll keep her safe, Ethan.”

  “I know you will.”

  Tucker disconnected and stood, looking out the window into the endless dark, listening to the wind howl as Park City was pounded by the worst of the storm. The pretty falling flakes of hours before now fell in torrents, while violent gusts tossed them about mercilessly.

  The power was out—had been for a while. Tucker flipped on his flashlight, walked to his closet, and grabbed his duffel bag. He unzipped the side, pulled out his Glock, and pushed a loaded magazine into the clip. For the first time since they arrived, he felt the need to keep his weapon close. They officially had no idea who they were messing with and how this man was connected to Wren’s life. It was highly doubtful Wren’s stalker would find them here, but nothing was out of the question.

  He slid the gun into the band of his pajama bottoms and stepped from his room, ready for his nightly walkthrough of the house. With his flashlight in hand, he wandered about, inspecting the windows and doors, hesitating when he reached the forbidden hallway. Reluctantly, he started down the endless corridor. Last one to their room is a rotten egg. Go! I’m the fair queen and you’re her enchanted stallion. Get down so I can ride on your back. He clenched his jaw, moving faster as painful memories consumed him. He checked the glass terrace doors, giving them a firm tug, and turned, stopping at the second door on the right, placing his unsteady hand on the knob. He wanted to turn it as much as he wanted to run away. Love you, Tuck. Staci’s last words echoed in his mind, and he stepped back, continuing on to the living room, hating the hell out of this place.

  A swift wave of anger washed through him as he made his way to the stack of logs by the living room fireplace. Why did he insist on torturing himself by heading down that fucking hall every night? The house had a fully functioning alarm system—or it did when the power was on. If someone tried to get in, the damn thing would let him know. But that wasn’t how he did things. Wren was depending on him to keep her safe. Part of his job included routine inspections of their surroundings, whether he loathed them or not.

  Ready to put the worst behind him—for tonight anyway—he grabbed an armful of wood and brought the load with him to his parents’ old room—Wren’s room now. Quietly, he closed her door, locked it, and brought the logs to the fireplace. The house would lose most of its heat before too long.

  Within minutes, he had a fire crackling in the grate. He pulled the throw from the back of the chaise lounge he, Staci, and his mother had piled on more times than he could count and made himself comfortable. He set the gun on the floor, well within reach, covered up, and stared at Wren asleep in the firelight. She was beautiful, stunningly so, as the flames cast shadows over her breathtaking face.

  He focused on her lush lips, and his pulse quickened as he thought of their tender embrace. He’d wanted a taste of that sassy mouth since the moment he saw her barrel into Sarah’s hospital room all those months ago. Wren had been everything he’d imagined and then some.

  It had been hard stepping back from her when all he’d wanted to do was carry her to his bed. Wren would have been his willing partner for one night, then she would have had the perfect excuse to push him away. He would have been nothing more than exactly what she’d expected—a guy looking for a meaningless roll in the sheets. He had no intention of being what Wren expected. He wanted more. He wanted it all. He wanted her surrender.

  The log shifted in the fire, casting embers around the grate. He reached out, touching his gun again as he glanced from Wren to the dark. Eventually she would understand that he was different. He had every intention of proving it so while he kept her safe.

  Chapter 10

  Wren opened her eyes, startled by another strong burst of wind battering the windows. If this kept up, the glass was sure to break. She’d never heard such powerful gusts before. And the snow—it fell in frenzied sheets. She stared out at the winter wonderland, fascinated by the billowing pines and the drifts as tall as she was. The forecasters had said a storm, but this was a blizzard—her first. Park City was being pummeled.

  She rolled to her back and sat up, frowning at the small flames licking the remains of three logs in the fireplace and Tucker asleep in the chaise lounge. When did he come in and how did she not hear him start a fire? She studied him as he slept. He looked uncomfortable with his long, powerful legs hanging off the edge and his head resting against his arm in the crook of the chair. He had to be freezing; his blanket lay pooled on the floor. Her eyes wandered over the dark scruff of his beard and mile-long lashes, his chest and stomach—all that smooth, muscled skin. No one had a right to look like that.

  Her gaze trailed back up, locking on his mouth, and a rush of heat washed through her belly as she remembered his firm lips pressing against hers and the unhurried way their tongues tangled. No one had a right to kiss the way he did.

  Tucker Campbell was lethal—more so than she’d first imagined. He’d destroyed her with a few teasing swipes of his thumb and a sensual meeting of lips. What would he do to her if she let him have his way? She shuddered out a deep breath as the liquid pull of desire started between her legs. She blinked and shook her head, shocked by where her thoughts were roaming. What was her problem? Yanking her covers back, she stood.

  This was ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. Tucker had kissed her. So what? She was acting like a teenage girl with hearts in her eyes. At wits’ end, she shoved the sheets up, then the comforter, smoothing out wrinkles with violent swipes. It was just one lip-lock, and her unexpected reaction to it didn’t have to mean anything. It didn’t mean anything. It’s not like Tucker was the only man who’d ever rung her bell…sort of. Okay, so maybe he was the only guy who’d ever turned her into a puddle of sexual mush, but that was beside the point.

  She grabbed the pillows and tossed them to the head of the bed. She needed to get laid, that was all. But not by him. Perhaps the thought had crossed her mind while she clung to him during their stupid embrace, but she was over that. It had been a while—a long while—since she’d allowed someone to take her to bed. Work hardly left her time to think of her libido, and none of the men she’d dated lately had been worth the emotional investment. Respect and some level of affection were necessary in a partner. She respected Tucker and on many levels liked him a lot, but she wasn’t going there. She had little doubt he would more than scratch her itch, but he was so damned complicated. She had enough to deal with right now.

  So that was it. Tucker Campbell was a hell of a kisser, and she’d been more affected than she expected due to her sexual drought. She just needed to keep her distance, make sure he kept his lips to himself, and her problems would be solved.

  In the dim light of the early morning, she tossed the pretty blue shams among the pillows, relieved that this little issue had a simple solution. Now she needed to get to work. The Movenbecks would be expecting Patrick at eight with the truck-full of furniture and the accents arriving moments later. She picked up her laptop as she glanced at the bedside clock, and swore. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” No electricity meant no Internet. She sure as hell didn’t have time for this. Yanking up her phone, she slid her finger over the screen and stared in disbelief. No Service. This was not happening. She sat on the edge of the bed as a rush of panic surged through her system. How was she going to check in with Patrick and make sure everything was going as planned?

  Rushing to her feet, she hurried over to Tucker, barely registering the warmth of the fire as she scanned the hardwood floor, looking for his cellphone. It wasn’t there. She settled her knee on the edge of the chaise lounge, peeking into the dark recesses of the areas his solid body didn’t fill, then she patted at the pockets of his pajama pants.

  Tucker eyes flew open as he suddenly sat up. “Cooke, what the hell are you doing?”

  She pulled the blanket up and kicked something solid beneath the chair. “Ow.” She dropped into a crouch, ca
tching sight of the black item. Bingo. “I need your phone.”

  “Huh?”

  She grabbed hold and pulled out a gun. Her smile of triumph vanished.

  “What are you doing with my pistol?” He plucked the weapon from her hand.

  “What are you doing with your pistol?” Her communication issues with Patrick ceased to matter as she stared at the Glock. “Why do you have that?” A wave of terror washed through her as she glanced over her shoulder toward the huge panes of glass. “Is he here? Did Rex find me?” A warm hand gripped her wrist, and she gasped.

  “Relax, Wren.” He tugged her down next to him. “As far as I know, he has no clue where we’re at.”

  “Oh.” Her heart still thundered as she pushed herself more fully on the seat. “Then why?”

  “The power was out when I went to sleep. The alarm has a battery backup, but they don’t last forever. Like I said—better safe than sorry.”

  “Oh,” she said again and took a deep breath of relief as she pressed a hand to her chest. “You scared me. I was half expecting to turn around and see Rex out the window.”

  “Wren.” He sighed and took her hand.

  She eyed him as her stomach pitched. Tucker never used her name, but he had—twice in the last three minutes. “What?”

  “I got some news early this morning. Rex Richardson isn’t the guy messing with you. He’s not your stalker.”

  She shot up from her seat. “Yes he is. Of course he is.” Of all the things she’d been expecting him to say, this wasn’t it.

  Tucker shook his head. “No, he isn’t.”

  She balled her hands into fists and rested them on her hips. “I knew this was going to happen. I knew they were going to sweep this whole thing under the rug.” Rage and a sharp sense of betrayal drowned any remaining embers of fear. “So much for protecting the innocent.”