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

by Beauman, Cate

  With one last look, he regretfully shut the door and made his way back down the hall. That moment had been for him, but now he had work to do. This next step would end in one of three ways: him blowing Tucker away and taking Wren—he could live with that; Tucker blowing him away, which was less than ideal; or he would move forward with his plan and enjoy the show until he was ready to end it.

  He walked to the east wing and stopped outside the closed door, grabbed his gun from his waistband, and clenched his teeth as he twisted the knob.

  The door opened silently, and he peered in, breathing both of them in—Wren’s French perfume and whatever the hell Tucker sprayed all over himself. Fucking Pretty Boy. As if his muscles and stupid grin weren’t enough.

  He wouldn’t be grinning tomorrow.

  He inched the door open, waiting for someone to move. Nothing. He shook his head in disgust—some bodyguard. Balling his hand into a fist, he stared at Tucker, naked and wrapped around Wren. She lay flat on her stomach, her cheek resting on his arm, their fingers intertwined as he cocooned her. Beauty and the Beauty. There was no fucking beast on that bed, and he hated Tucker more for it. He had everything.

  He crouched closer, studying Tucker’s muscled arm splayed on Wren’s tiny feminine back among the yards of her black hair, the orb of her breast pressed against the mattress, and Tucker’s perfect, chiseled form claiming ownership of the woman beneath him. The bastard loved her. It was plain as day.

  His gaze wandered to the gun on the side table. Tempting, so fucking tempting, but what he had in store was so much better.

  He stood, still scrutinizing them both, then left. Tomorrow was bound to be spectacular.

  Chapter 17

  Wren turned on her back, stretching her aching muscles, and smiled. After yesterday’s sex marathon she was fabulously worn out. Tucker was a tiger in the sack. She’d never been so thoroughly ravaged. Yawning, she arched and he pulled her to him, chest-to-chest, rolling so she lay on top of him. Her skin instantly puckered with goose bumps. “Hey, mister, it’s cold up here.”

  He rolled again, trapping her under his body. “Better?”

  She smiled. “Definitely warmer.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “What’d’ya say we start today off like we did yesterday?”

  Her smile turned into a grin as she wrapped her arms around his waist and tilted her chin, giving him more access to her sensitive collarbone. “Sounds nice, and clearly you’re raring to go, but I’d rather get up and try to make it to the airport.”

  “Every party’s got a pooper.”

  She laughed and pinched his butt. “Guess that’s me.” She glanced toward the window, narrowing her eyes. “Is that… No.”

  “What?” His head whipped up, instantly on alert.

  “It’s snowing again. How can that be?”

  He grabbed her chin, giving a firm squeeze. “Don’t do that, Cooke. You’re lucky I didn’t grab my gun and roll us off the bed.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry.”

  He studied the frenzied snow. “Goddamn. This is getting old.”

  “I strongly second that. We probably aren’t flying again today, huh?”

  “We’ll have to catch the news and see if they’ve opened the airport, but I doubt it. At this rate we’re going to have to charter a plane.”

  “Sold.” She tried to sit up.

  He held her in place. “Don’t get too excited. We have to make reservations, and conditions sure as hell have to improve before we can go anywhere.”

  “I know,” she huffed. “How much longer do you think?”

  “Tomorrow. Day after.”

  She groaned at the idea of being trapped in this house for another day.

  “Whiner.” He playfully sunk his teeth into her chin.

  “Maybe a little.” She slid her finger along his earlobe. “I’m just frustrated. I feel like our lives are on hold while we wait here. I want to see Patrick. Now that he’s awake, I need to be with him more than ever. He’s making small gains, but the doctors think he could be doing better.”

  He slid a strand of her hair behind her ear. “They also said he’s in and out of it, and Morgan and Hailey have been stopping by to visit.”

  “And I’m grateful for their kindness, but—”

  “It’s not the same.”

  She bit her lip, nodding. “I just…I’m the only family he has. I want him to talk again. I want to hear his voice. Maybe if I’m there he will.”

  “I get it, Cooke. I know how hard this has been on you.” He kissed her forehead. “We’ll be out of here soon.”

  She touched her lips to his, appreciating the fact that Tucker did indeed get it. He was one of the few people who understood her. “Thanks.”

  “Any time.”

  She gave him a small smile. “I guess this is the perfect day to stop procrastinating and submit resumes.”

  “Santa Barbara?”

  “Yes.” The idea wasn’t as appealing as it had been a few days ago, especially now while she lay beneath him, warm, content, stroking his shoulder.

  “Why not stay in LA?”

  “Fresh start, remember?”

  “Fresh start from what?”

  “Everything—my house, my business. I hate the idea of living in an apartment miles from the home I spent two years making my own. And Cooke Interiors is ruined; my reputation is in the toilet. It’ll take time to come back from that, especially after Lenora officially bankrupts me, which I have no doubt is her intention.”

  “I don’t think it’ll be as simple as that. Technically you’ve broken your contract, but not without just cause. You have a great track record and several clients who will vouch for you, I’m sure. Fleeing from a stalker is definitely an unforeseen circumstance.”

  He made everything sound so simple, but it wasn’t. “Maybe, but attorneys aren’t cheap and my business accounts are pretty close to empty.”

  “So I’ll take care of the attorneys and anything else you need.”

  She dropped her hand from his shoulder. “No.”

  “Cooke—”

  “No, Tucker. This is my mess. I’ll clean it up by myself.”

  “But you aren’t by yourself. You have me. And your brother and Sarah, Hunter and Morgan; the list goes on and on.”

  “I know but I like to take care of myself. It’s important that I stand on my own two feet.”

  “And sometimes it’s okay to let someone else carry you for a while.”

  She sensed his growing frustration. How could she make him understand? “I’m trying here, Tucker. I am, but I’ve been who I am for twenty-nine years, and mostly it’s worked for me.”

  “I know.” He kissed her nose.

  “It’s never been like this. I’ve never been like this with anyone.”

  “Cooke.” He brushed his lips over hers, once, twice, deepening the kiss slowly, drawing out the tenderness until her heart overflowed and she was certain nothing would be the same again. Instead of pushing him away, she wrapped her arms around him, savoring the gentle pressure of his mouth moving over hers. He nibbled her bottom lip and eased back. “Guess you should get to those resumes.”

  She played her fingers through his hair, no longer wanting to leave this bed or Tucker’s arms. “Guess so.”

  He pulled away and rolled to his back, resting his head on the pillow. “I’ll take a look at the weather and figure out when we can charter a plane. Hopefully we’ll be heading home in forty-eight hours or less.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” She crossed her arms, suddenly cold as the heat of Tucker’s body left hers. She studied him, lying among the pillows, perfectly relaxed with his eyes closed. Forty-eight hours or less. That’s all they had left, then “real life” began again. She rubbed at the unexp
ected ache in her chest, trying not to regret that her time with Tucker was quickly coming to an end, but this was the reality of their situation. What they had here in Utah certainly couldn’t last forever. She had a career to rebuild in Santa Barbara, and Tucker would be busy with his own once he and Ethan had a chance to talk.

  Feelings would fade after a while, and she would move on. She fully expected Tucker to do the same. She would never have this again—the intimacy and trust they’d shared together, but it would only be foolish if she let herself believe that there was anything but an ending in store for her and Tucker.

  She sat up, her shoulders heavy from her thoughts, and she reached for her robe, no longer wanting to think about Tucker, Santa Barbara, or any unwanted emotions that came with either. She slid the soft silk over her arms as the bright green and blue flowered fabric caught her eye. She blinked, staring. What in the world? Her eyes grew wide and bile rose in her throat as it clicked. Staci’s bathing suit. The one she’d seen in the picture taken just days before the murder. “Oh, my God,” she whispered as she clutched Tucker’s arm. “Tucker.”

  “Hmm?” He grunted, eyes still closed.

  “Tucker. The bathing suit.”

  “What?”

  “Staci’s bikini is on the floor.”

  He sat up, staring at her as if she’d gone mad. “Wren, what in the hell are you talking about?”

  “Her bathing suit is on the floor, right next to my side. Look.”

  He leaned forward, grabbed the gun, and leaped up off the bed. “Fuck.” He rushed to the door, locked it, reached for his pajama bottoms, and yanked them on. “Get in the corner.” He pointed across the room.

  She nodded and crawled across the bed, hurrying to the other side of the room, holding her body rigid, trying not to give in to her shaking.

  Tucker dropped down on his knees, looking under the bed, then got to his feet. He padded over to stand to the side of the closet, yanked the door open, and whirled around, pointing his gun. He moved to the bathroom next, took the same stance as he had by the closet, whirled, and pointed into the bathroom. “Call 9-1-1, keep the door locked, and get under the bed. Stay there until I knock and say it’s me. Don’t you answer unless I say it’s me.”

  “But—”

  “Do it, Cooke. Now.”

  He stood behind the door, twisted the knob, waited, whirling into the hall with his weapon ready. Shutting the door behind him, he left her alone in the silence.

  She secured her robe with trembling hands, staring at Staci’s swimsuit, then glanced at the window. A murderer had been in the house—maybe he still was. She walked to the side table on watery legs, grabbed her phone, and shimmied her way under the bed frame. Dialing, she struggled to school her breathing. She could barely hear over the slamming thud of her heart.

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

  “Yes, I need the police, immediately.”

  “What’s your address?”

  “Twenty-twelve Mountain View—the Campbell Estate. The murderer, he was here. My bodyguard is searching the house.” She was rambling.

  “Ma’am, what’s your name? What murderer?”

  “Wren Cooke. I’m Wren Cooke. The murderer. He killed Staci Campbell and Alyssa Brookes and Chloe Wright. He was here. He left Staci Campbell’s bathing suit on my bedroom floor. I’m looking at it.”

  “Are you in a safe place?”

  “Yes. I’m hiding under the bed. Please hurry and send someone. Tucker’s by himself searching the house.” She listened for him, waiting for him to call her name.

  “Tucker who, ma’am?”

  “Tucker Campbell. His family owns the house. He’s my bodyguard. He’s alone. Just get someone here.”

  “They’re on their way, ma’am. Stay on the line with me until the police arrive.”

  She stared at the bathing suit Staci wore at the end of her life. Monsters. She and Tucker had two monsters on their hands—a stalker and a murderer. She thought of little else as the minutes ticked by in her agonizing wait.

  “Cooke. Let me in.”

  Her heart shuddered with unbelievable relief as he called to her. Wren scooched and shimmied her way out from under the bed and hurried to the door. “Tucker?”

  “Yeah. Go ahead and open up.”

  She flipped the lock and flew into his arms, gripping him hard in a hug. “You’re okay.”

  He hugged her back, clutching his arm around her. “I’m all right. Is that the police?”

  “Dispatch.”

  He took the phone and put it to his ear, shutting the door behind him, locking them in the room. “This is Tucker Campbell. I need Detective Rogers and Franklin up here now.” He sat on the chaise lounge, pulling Wren next to him, holding her tight against his side. “Yes, patch me through, please.” His body was as rigid as hers, his eyes hard and distant as he looked at the horrid reminder of Staci. “Detective Rogers, Tucker Campbell. He was here. Staci’s bathing suit is on the master suite floor, and black tethers are on the bed in her old room. I don’t know. I’m armed; make sure they know that.” He hung up.

  She pressed her face to his chest, clinging, struggling to hold back her tears. “Are you okay? Are you sure you’re okay?”

  He grabbed hold of her chin. “I’m fine, Cooke. I need you to keep it together for me.”

  She nodded, swallowing, blinking the emotions away.

  “He’s not here.”

  “I don’t care about that.” She shook her head. “Yes, I do. Of course I do, but I was afraid for you. And that.” She gestured to the floor. “I’m so sorry about that, Tucker.” She cupped his cheeks and gave him a kiss.

  “I’m in one piece.”

  “Just the way I like you best.” She gave him a small smile.

  He winked, but his eyes were strained and weary. “Did you touch anything?”

  “No. Nothing. Just my phone.”

  “Go ahead and get dressed.” He stood, dropping his pajama pants and pulled on his boxers and jeans from yesterday, then the snug black top that accentuated his build. “They’ll be here soon.”

  She got to her feet and went to the luggage she never unpacked, took fresh jeans, panties, a bra, and her lavender shirt from the case. She unknotted the robe and dressed in front of him, not wanting to leave his side.

  Tucker’s cellphone rang. He glanced at the readout. Ethan. “Campbell.”

  “I just heard. Is Wren okay?”

  He looked down the hall toward the bedroom. “Yeah. She was a little shaken up, but she’s fine.”

  “I was stuck on duty and couldn’t get away. What the hell happened?”

  “Fuck if I know. There aren’t any broken windows or busted doors, no foreign fingerprints, just mine, Wren’s, and Ms. Hayes’. Somehow he got a key to this place.” The idea sickened him as it did every time he thought of some demented fucker walking around his house, standing over the bed he and Wren slept in. “I just got off the phone with the security company. The alarm was deactivated at two thirty for approximately twenty-three minutes—same with the Chloe Wright Case.”

  “That’s definitely worth looking into. What about Alyssa Brookes?”

  “The cops are on it now, but according to Detective Franklin, the Brookes family didn’t arm their panel the night Alyssa died.”

  “Hmm.”

  “He was in Wren’s bedroom. He staged his fucking ‘gift’ on her floor and either before or after, stopped by my sister’s room. He left black tethers and a message on Staci’s sheets in semen—SC equals TC.” He gritted his teeth, hardly able to stand it.

  “Goddamn, man. I’m sorry.”

  Tucker shrugged. “At this point, I can only assume TC stands for me. He’s tying me into the mix. I have no idea why or what this means.” B
ut it was going to eat him alive until he figured it out.

  “Maybe he’s telling you you’re next.”

  “Maybe.” But it didn’t feel right.

  “They need to get this bastard off the streets. We’re lucky he didn’t hurt Wren.”

  He’d thought the same thing. “Might’ve been part of his plan—unless that wasn’t what he was after.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I feel like he’s taunting me.”

  “You think this is about you?”

  “It’s crossed my mind.”

  “We have no idea what this guy’s up to; until we do, I want Wren in your sight twenty-four seven.”

  “We’ve been together twenty-four seven. We were together last night.”

  Tense silence filled the line.

  “Look man, I’m sorry you don’t approve of me being with your sister, but that’s the way it is. I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I’m sticking around, so you might as well get used to it.”

  “That’s my sister, Campbell.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  “My parents did a fine job of fucking us both up.”

  “You and Sarah seem to be doing all right. Doesn’t Wren deserve what you two have?”

  “Touché.”

  “I love her, Ethan.”

  “What about her? How does she feel?”

  “She feels plenty when she doesn’t think too much.”

  “You know I don’t have anything against you personally. I think you’re a hell of a guy. You’re one of my good friends. I want Wren happy. You keep her happy, Campbell, and we’ll be just fine. So, what’s the plan now that we know a murderer has a key to your house and a code to your alarm?”

  Apparently that was the end of their disagreement. “I’ll reassign a code, but we’re moving to the hotel until we can get the hell out of here. Luckily there are a couple of vacancies—guests can’t get here in these conditions. The airport’s closed. It’s still snowing.”