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

by Beauman, Cate

  “I heard the last of your conversation.” He lifted his hand to touch her but dropped it to his side.

  “That was completely unprofessional on my part, but she had it coming.”

  “Can’t say I disagree. You okay?”

  She skirted around him, too unsettled to be dealing with the affects of breathing him in. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She took a glass from the cupboard and snapped on the tap.

  “Not that you’d tell me otherwise.”

  Weary to the bone, she sighed and looked at him. “Don’t. Not right now.”

  “Cooke—”

  “I’m fine. Please leave me alone.”

  He stood where he was for several seconds, holding her gaze, then walked off, closing himself in the gym.

  She set down her glass, staring at the granite, wishing everything wasn’t so complicated. In less than a month’s time she’d lost complete control of her life. Her heart began to pound as her self-righteous streak vanished and reality started sinking in. What had she done? Had she lost her mind? She rushed to her phone, yanking it up, wanting to call Lenora back and apologize. Telling Lenora where to go had been amazingly satisfying; Patrick certainly would approve, but she might’ve been able to salvage the Cartwright job with a bit of finesse and finagling. She should have tried to appease Lenora’s ruffled, bitchy feathers, but she’d been rash and foolish instead. And now it was too late. Cooke Interiors might have been salvageable five minutes ago—more than likely not, but the business she’d worked so hard to build was certainly finished now.

  What was she going to do? Her cash flow was about to come to a screeching halt. She had a decent sized personal savings account, but her mortgage, car payment, and potential legal fees would quickly bleed her dry. And what about Patrick and his needs? If he survived and recovered, he wouldn’t have a job to come back to. His long-term disability and health insurance would hardly cover all of his bills. The monthly costs for LA’s best long-term care facilities were staggering. He couldn’t afford that and now neither could she. Patrick’s current hospital stay would decimate any capital he had. There was no way in hell she was going to watch him lose everything because of her crazy stalker.

  The weight of the world settled on her shoulders as she stared out at Park City’s bustling downtown under the darkening sky. For the first time in her life, she didn’t know how she should move forward. There was no Plan B in the event of head traumas, psychopaths, and the loss of her business. Watching everything fall apart had never been part of the plan, but it appeared to be reality now.

  She studied the sprawling homes lit up across the mountain as smoke plumed from pretty stone chimneys, and with the deepest of regrets, she knew what she needed to do. Her house. She was going to have to sell. And her sweet little Mercedes would have to be traded in for something more practical. Just like that, everything was gone.

  Swallowing the useless lump of emotion, she sat in front of her computer, searching for Greta Holmes’ contact information, then picked up her phone and dialed.

  “Greta Holmes.”

  “Hi, Greta. This is Wren Cooke.”

  “Wren. My goodness, honey, how are you?”

  “I’m doing all right.”

  “Sweetie, I’ve been trying to track you down. I’ve been hearing some things I thought you might want to know about.”

  She closed her eyes and tipped her head against the chair. “Let me guess, you ran into Lenora Cartwright.”

  “I’m afraid so, sugar plum. Let me tell you I didn’t pay her one little bit of attention.”

  She smiled, appreciating her friend’s unshakable allegiance, but the damage was done. Greta might have ignored Lenora, but many others would certainly listen. “Thanks.”

  “You let me know if I can do anything to help.”

  “You can, actually.”

  “Name it.”

  “I’m putting my house on the market.”

  “You want to put the… Are you sure, honey? We searched weeks for just the right place.”

  Her home was exactly the right place. As soon as she’d stepped through the front door, she’d known. She had never loved a space more. “Yes, I’m sure. I’m also hoping you might be able to help me locate an apartment—a one-bedroom.” She winced as she thought of all of the beautiful furnishing that would have to go.

  “But—”

  “I’m out of town for the next couple of weeks,” she interrupted. This was hard enough without Greta’s questions. “But I would like to get this moving as soon as possible. If you would be willing to stop by my brother’s office, Mia can get you a key. You can take pictures when it works for you and scan me the necessary contracts.”

  “This breaks my heart, honey, but if this is what you want.”

  Greta’s heart couldn’t be breaking more than hers. “It is.”

  “I’ll get the pictures, and look into fair market value by the close of business today. I’ll have a sign in your yard by tomorrow.” Greta’s thick drawl and classic southern beauty disguised a sharp-minded business shark.

  “Excellent.”

  “I’ll start looking into apartments as well.”

  “I really appreciate this.”

  “Happy to help, honey. I’ll draw up contracts and scan them over to you within the hour.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Bye now.”

  “Bye.” Wren hung up and pressed her fingers to her temple, absorbing the huge emotional blow. Patrick, her business, her home. How much more would she lose? She glanced toward the glass door of the gym as Tucker walked from one weight machine to the next, and looked away, ignoring the sweep of longing to run to him. She did not need Tucker. She was exhausted, that was all, and emotionally drained.

  She’d slept little last night, worrying about anything and everything. The constant stream of problems was almost more than she could bear; the stress and pressure was tearing her apart, but she would handle it. Ethan was going to be angry when he realized she put her house on the market, but she refused to allow big brother to fly in and rescue her. They had always been able to count on one another, but she wasn’t about to have him pay for a lifestyle she could no longer afford.

  Somehow things would work out. They always did, but she wondered how. Her career was ruined—her reputation damaged. It would be close to impossible to find clients or a firm willing to take her on in the LA area. Nibbling her lip, she sighed. Maybe this whole nightmare was an opportunity for a fresh start—somewhere else. She could put a resume together and send it around to a few of the companies she’d worked with in the Santa Barbara area over the last few years. If she moved up the coast, she would be an hour-and-a-half from LA—close enough to be involved in Kylee and Emma’s lives and visit Patrick, but far enough away to start over. Her gaze wandered back to the gym. Distance would be a good thing. And it didn’t have to be forever—maybe a year or two. Long enough to let things blow over and gain a solid handle on her emotions again.

  For the first time in almost a month, she felt like she had the answers. Relocating was exactly what she needed to do. She picked up her phone and sent off a text to Greta.

  Change of plans. The house is still a go, but I’d like to look at apartments in Santa Barbara instead of the Palisades. Thanks!

  Bolstered by her idea, she scooted in and opened a blank Word document. Her fingers flew over the keys as she added her experience, education and numerous qualifications to the first draft of her resume. She smiled as she read through her impressive list. She’d be gainfully employed in no time as long as no one contacted Lenora or her several other unhappy clients.

  Her smile dimmed a bit as she thought of working for someone else. Never ever did she think she would be back here again, but this was where she was at…for now. “Santa Barbara or bust,” she
muttered as she saved her work, closed the lid, and looked out at the snow coming down—big fat flakes, the only kind that seemed to fall around here. They were in for another foot by morning, according to the forecast.

  She studied the outline of white peaks in the distance and tall dark pines surrounding the house—her prison, for surely that’s what this place was starting to feel like. The unceasing precipitation and frigid temperatures were losing their appeal as the days carried on. Even the charm of the town lit up at twilight did little to abate her constant restlessness. She was trapped; her life was suspended in time while they waited for answers that never seemed to come.

  Edgy again, Wren stood, catching sight of a small piece of the pool railing jutting from the mounds of snow. Her mind immediately flashed to Staci in her cute bathing suit, grinning next to her brother—alive. Then she thought of Staci pale and staring, bruised and abused, dying a death that had been so horribly wrong.

  Wren glanced at Tucker as he sprinted on the treadmill, and on a whim, headed down the forbidden hall, stopping at the second door on the left. She twisted the knob, stepping in, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the floor where Tucker had found his sister’s body. She had no idea what compelled her to be here or why she felt a connection to a girl who’d died so long ago. But she did.

  Nothing had changed. Staci’s room was exactly as it had been in the crime scene photos. Curious, she walked further in and wandered from picture to picture in the oddly fun and breezy space.

  She studied carefree summer days through the eyes of a sixteen-year-old. The Campbell twins had had so many friends. She smiled as she recognized JT and shook her head as she realized Tucker had his arm slung around a different girl in almost every shot. Most of the photos were from here in Utah, but a few had California palm trees in the background. Staci had appeared to be as outgoing and fun as Tucker was athletic and cocky.

  She stopped at a full headshot of Tucker with his baseball cap worn backwards. Frowning, she moved in closer, studying him. He was different—lighter before the crushing tragedy of his sister’s death. She’d never realized how distant and weary his eyes were until now. A piece of me died right along with her.

  One moment in time had altered his life irrevocably. Wren finally understood why he didn’t follow his father into the hotel business. He’d spent years searching for justice, trying to make sense of something that was impossible to understand. Who would Tucker be if Staci had lived? Would there still be that light in those gorgeous hazel eyes? She stepped back, her heart heavy, as she sat on the edge of Staci’s bed.

  “Ms. Wren.”

  Wren’s gaze flew to the door, and she gave Ms. Hayes a small smile as she stood. “Hello. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “You’re fine, honey, just fine.” She stepped into the room. “This space has been empty for so long. This home used to be such a happy place. All the laughter and noise.” Ms. Hayes smiled sadly.

  “What—what was she like?”

  “She was beautiful. All the Campbell’s are. Staci was as sweet as she was pleasing to the eye. And she had spunk.” She chuckled. “She kept Tucker on his toes, and he did the same in return.”

  “They were very close.”

  “Yes—a blessing and a curse when you lose someone so suddenly.”

  “What was he like…before?”

  Ms. Hayes studied Wren. “He’s a special man. Despite it all, he’s still kind.”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s smitten with you.”

  “Oh, I don’t—”

  “Used to be smitten with all the girls, and my did they flock to him.”

  “I’m sure.” Wren rolled her eyes.

  Ms. Hayes laughed. “He’s grown now. Something tells me my little Tuckey’s more choosy.”

  She doubted it but nodded anyway.

  “He sure likes to look at you. Maybe you like to look at him too.”

  “It’s…complicated.”

  “I’m sure, dear, but complications have a way of working themselves out.” Ms. Hayes took her hand. “He was very different. He laughed more. His grief is still heavy. Bless his heart.”

  “I want to help him, but I don’t know how.” For some reason it was easy to be honest with the sweet older woman.

  “You’re doing just fine.”

  “But I haven’t done anything.”

  “You’ve done more than you know.”

  “I mostly give him a hard time.”

  Ms. Hayes laughed again. “He needs a bit of that.”

  Wren grinned for the first time in days.

  “He hasn’t been back since. I wasn’t sure he would ever come. This was their place. They loved it here. Seems like you might be just what he needs to sweep away the worst of the pain.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “I am.” She squeezed Wren’s fingers. “I have a feeling Tucker wants to help you as much as you’d like to help him, but letting others in isn’t easy for some of us.” She winked knowingly. “Trust is a hard thing to surrender when the world has let us down. But sometimes we have to be daring enough to allow someone special into to our hearts so they can help us through the worst of things. And there are few more special than Tucker Campbell, my dear.” She kissed Wren’s cheek. “Now, come enjoy a cup of tea with me before I head home.”

  “I would like that.” What else could she say when she was so confused? She shut Staci’s door behind them, and they started down the hall, heading toward the kitchen and two steaming cups of chamomile.

  Tucker flipped from Google Maps back to his Word document, typing up yet another report for Jackson—this time for the New Year’s Eve shindig in Time Square. Thank God this wouldn’t be his duty; it was bound to be a damn mess.

  By some miracle, he’d actually scored the night off. He’d wanted to do something with Wren to ring in 2015, but as things stood, he would be sitting on his ugly couch, watching his coworkers freeze their asses off while one of America’s favorite pop icons counted down the final seconds to the new year.

  It was doubtful he and Wren would be doing much of anything together any time soon—like ever. She’d been right when she called him out—brutally so—but right just the same. He had expected her to trust in him and share her emotions, but his feelings were off limits, at least where Staci was concerned. How could he ask for her complete faith when he was unwilling to give his in return? It had been a long time since he’d confided so much in another. The thought of opening up like that again scared the hell out of him. He doubted it was much different for Wren.

  Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, resting his head on the plush leather cushion. Wren wasn’t going to allow him to fix this. She’d been waiting for him to let her down, and he’d obliged her quickly enough. In her mind, she’d given him a chance—sort of—and he’d blown it. The end.

  Let’s just go back to the way things were before we were stupid enough to sleep together. He winced as her bitter words hit the mark again. He’d made several mistakes over the last few days, but taking Wren to bed wasn’t one of them. It bothered the hell out of him that she regretted something that meant so much. He didn’t want to be just another man who’d bedded her and disappointed. They’d shared a connection, whether she wanted to admit it or not. He wanted that back. There had to be something he could do.

  The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He picked up, answering without glancing at the display. “Cooke.”

  “We traced the signals,” Owens said.

  Tucker sat up. “And?”

  “He sent us on a hell of a fucking chase. Made calls all over the damn place—northern California, Nevada, Idaho, Utah.”

  Tucker clutched the phone. “He’s here?”

  “Last ping was from that text to Wren. He’s
in Park City. Or was as of forty-eight hours ago.”

  Tucker swallowed the news and stood. “Well, he sure as hell didn’t fucking leave. How the hell does he know we’re here? How the fuck does he know, man?”

  “He’s done his homework.”

  “But no one knows about this place.”

  “Your sister… Her murder made headlines way back when. It’s not like Utah’s top secret.”

  “Pretty damn close. Very few people are aware my father kept this place.”

  “Well, somehow this guy does.”

  “Guess we need to figure out how he figured it out.” Tucker walked by the windows, staring into the dark. Somewhere out there, Wren’s stalker was watching. He would bet his last dollar on it. He opened his door and hurried down the hall, sighing his relief as Wren sat at the dining room table typing away on her laptop. He walked to the alarm, reassured by the double blink.

  Wren glanced up from her computer and their eyes met, held, then she looked down at her screen and continued with her work.

  “We’ll alert the authorities up in Park City. Probably wouldn’t hurt to check in with them yourself.”

  “We’ve been in touch.” Tucker clenched his jaw and went back to his room. How the hell was he supposed to have this conversation and keep an eye on Wren? “There was a murder last night—a lot like Staci’s. Identical, actually. They think it’s the same man who killed my sister. I know it is.”

  “I’m sorry, man.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll finally get him this time.”

  “Let me know if I can do anything to help.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  “I’ll put in a call to the local PD and give them our update.”