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

by Beauman, Cate

  The line stayed silent.

  “Look, I know—”

  “I’m trying to keep the big brother card in check, Campbell. I’m trying really fucking hard not to tell you to kiss my ass.”

  “Save your breath. Wren already took care of that. Let me make it clear that Wren wants the change, not me.”

  “What the hell did you do?”

  “I didn’t tell her about my connection to her stalker. She figured it out when she saw the writing on the wall. She thinks I lied.”

  Ethan sighed.

  “It’ll probably be easier all the way around if you switch things up. I’ll cover someone else’s duty and they can take over Wren.”

  “Is this what you want?”

  “I already told you it’s not. What did you get on Simmons?” He wasn’t about to discuss his relationship with Wren, or lack thereof, with Ethan.

  There was another long pause before Ethan spoke. “So far I’m not finding much. He travels a lot for business—all over the western US. I found record of one flight from LA to Salt Lake City recently, but everything else has been to Seattle and Northern California.”

  He sat up straighter. “Nick Pellerin said Simmons had been here at least twice.”

  “I’ve only found record of one flight there and back. He brought his wife. He could have driven the other time. I’ll take a look at his credit card trails.”

  “What else?”

  “He had a couple of brushes with the law the summer after Staci died—petty shit—shoplifting, vandalism, nothing hinting at a serial killer in disguise.”

  “Little punk bastard.” Tucker picked up his beer and took a deep swallow.

  “I’m about finished digging through his high school years. I didn’t realize he and JT Cartwright spent some of their freshman year at the same prep school.”

  “Son of a bitch.” He set his bottle down with a snap. “I forgot about that. I can’t believe I forgot about that. JT never liked Johnny, but after that year, he despised him. He never did say why.”

  “Cartwright didn’t return from spring break to finish out the second semester. His grades had slipped some, but I didn’t see any infractions involving the two. Looks like Cartwright’s father is alumni and still a huge supporter, even after they started sending JT to the private school in Beverly Hills.”

  “I guess not everyone’s cut out for boarding school.”

  “Guess not. I’ll finish running Simmons and get back to you in the morning.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And I’ll look into the reassignment.”

  He didn’t want tomorrow to be the end. “Thanks.”

  “Unless you don’t want me to.”

  “Wren does.”

  “You’re putting me in a hell of a spot.”

  “She’s your sister, Cooke. I get that. There are no hard feelings for doing what you need to do.”

  “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

  “Bye.” Tucker hung up and drained the rest of his beverage. Simmons and Cartwright had gone to school together. How the hell did he forget a detail like that? What else had he forgotten over the years? It was time to find out. He reached for his wallet and pulled out the business card JT had given him several weeks ago. He dialed the personal line scribbled on the back.

  “Hello?”

  “JT, it’s Tucker Campbell.”

  “Tucker. How are you?”

  “Not too bad. I’m sorry to call so late.”

  “No problem. I’ve been burning the midnight oil lately—big case coming up next week.”

  Tucker winced, feeling instantly guilty for assuming his old friend was somehow mixed up in this mess. “I’ll keep this quick.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Thanks. So, I’ve been looking into Staci’s case. I’ve reopened it, informally.”

  “Wow, I’m sorry. That must be hard.”

  “Not knowing what happened hasn’t been easy, but I’m hoping this time around we might be able to find some answers. I’m looking at Staci’s case from a new angle and may have come up with a few leads. I thought you might be able to help me out.”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever I can do.”

  Time to cut to the chase. “I’m looking at Johnny Simmons as a person of interest.”

  “You think Johnny Simmons killed Staci?”

  “I’m playing with ideas here, and he’s one of them.”

  “Holy shit, Tucker. I know the guy’s a bastard but that’s really messed up.”

  “It’s definitely a bit farfetched, but I ran into Nick Pellerin tonight. He said he’s bumped into Johnny a couple of times recently, and it got me thinking.”

  “Nick Pellerin? Are you in Park City?”

  “Yeah, I have been for a few weeks. I brought Wren here hoping things would settle down.”

  JT sighed. “Wren. I feel awful about Patrick and the lawsuit. I tried to talk to my mother, but she won’t listen.”

  “It’s not your fault, man.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not Wren’s either. I’ll try again after Dad and I get this case wrapped up.”

  “I’m sure Wren will appreciate it.”

  “Sorry to get off topic. What did you want to ask me about Johnny?”

  Tucker picked up his pen, running the cheap plastic through his fingers. “You and Staci spent a lot of time together—with and without me. Did Simmons ever give her any trouble when I wasn’t around? Threaten her or anything like that?”

  “Not that I can think of off the top of my head. Simmons pretty much stayed away from me, and vice versa. He never came around Staci when I was there at least.”

  This wasn’t getting him anywhere. “You and Johnny both went to that prep school in Denver, right?”

  “Yeah, for a little while. I didn’t like it, and my mother hated me being so far away, so I decided not to go back after Spring Break.”

  “Did anything happen between you and Johnny while you were there?”

  “No.”

  “I remember some pretty bad blood the last summer we were all together.”

  “No one likes a dick.”

  “Can’t argue with you there.” JT wasn’t going to be able to help him after all. “I guess I’m looking at this from the wrong angle. I’ll let you get to work.”

  “I’d still like to buy you a beer sometime.”

  He and JT had been pretty good friends back in the day. Grabbing a drink together didn’t have to be about Staci or the past. “I’ll be back in LA in the next couple days. I’ll give you a call.”

  “I’m in Vegas until the end of the week finishing up a few depositions.”

  He clicked and unclicked his pen. “I can get seats to the Lakers if you want to catch a game. We pull duty for a few of the players.”

  “You’ve got a deal. Let me wrap up stuff around here and we’ll make something happen.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Wish I could be more help.”

  He shrugged, despite the frustration. “If it doesn’t play, it doesn’t play.”

  “I hope something turns up. We’ll be in touch.”

  “Later.” Tucker hung up. Another dead-end. He scrubbed his hands over his face. Johnny Simmons more than likely had nothing to do with Staci’s death. Petty crimes and teenage rivalries were a long way from rape and murder. And by Wren’s account, Johnny, or Jonathan in this case, was a stand up guy with a wife, kids, and several successful coffee shops. Was he grasping at straws?

  He added a question mark next to Johnny’s name, unwilling to fully dismiss him, despite Wren’s glowing reviews and JT’s surprise. There were still inconsistencies in his whereabouts. Nick had seen Johnny twice, and there was o
nly one record of a flight. Why would he drive to Park City when it was so much faster to fly?

  He pulled his laptop closer, searching through the Park City PD files, stopping when he came across the signed statement of Markus and Eloise Simmons, attesting to the fact that their son Jonathan had been home and in their presence the night Staci died. He’d said goodnight to his parents at eleven and had gone up to bed.

  Mr. and Mrs. Simmons had always been nice enough people, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t lie for their son or that Johnny couldn’t have left without his parent’s knowledge. Sneaking out, committing murder, and crawling back into bed was certainly a possibility. Stifling a yawn, he circled the question mark. There was nothing more he could do tonight. He needed to try to get some sleep. Tomorrow was bound to be a long day. He closed his laptop and stood as his phone rang. “Campbell.”

  “Tucker, it’s JT. Sorry to bother you.”

  Tucker sat again. “No problem. What’s up?”

  “I’ve been sitting here thinking about our conversation, and something clicked. I almost don’t want to say anything because I can’t be sure it means anything.”

  The skin prickled along the back of his neck. “Go for it anyway.”

  “The summer after Staci died, I went up to your house on the first anniversary… That probably sounds weird…”

  “No, you two were close.”

  “I still miss her.”

  Tucker clenched his fist with the fresh wave of pain. “We all do.”

  “I’d been thinking about her and how she always liked to sit in the hot tub and look at the stars. I started around back, half expecting to see her lounging around, and I bumped into Simmons. I think he might’ve been looking in her bedroom window, but I can’t be sure. I asked him what he was doing. He gave me this little smirk and said he was checking out the view, then he walked off. I was going to ask him what he meant when I saw him at the next ballgame—figured he was making some sort of sick joke to piss me off, but his family packed up and left a few days later. I never did see him again, and I forgot about it.”

  Tucker’s heart raced, and his hands began to tremble as JT spoke. “Simmons was at my place the summer after Staci died?”

  “Yes.”

  Son of a bitch. It wasn’t uncommon for serial murderers to go back to a kill site.

  “Like I said, I don’t know if this means anything, but now that I think about it, it seems like it does.”

  “I’ll get right on this. Thanks, JT.”

  “I wish I had thought of this sooner.”

  So did he, but now was what they had. “No, this is good stuff. I’ll let you go.” He hung up and dialed Ethan.

  “Cooke.”

  “It’s Simmons. I just got off the phone with JT. He remembered seeing Johnny lurking around Staci’s bedroom window the summer after she died. He’s pretty sure it was on the first anniversary of her death. He made some comment about checking out the view. I want surveillance on his house and confirmation of his whereabouts for the last twenty-four hours and every night since Wren’s problems started. I’ll call Owens and Rogers here in town, but we’re doing this ourselves. I’ll be damned if anyone is going to screw this up.”

  “Almost everyone is in the field, except for Jerrod. Abby’s staying with Jackson and Alexa tonight.”

  “Perfect.” He couldn’t have asked for anyone better. Jerrod was a former US Marshal; if anyone could track Simmons down and keep him in his sights, it was the newest member of their team.

  “I’ll call him and have him park his ass outside Simmons’ house until we get some of this figured out.”

  “Thanks. I’m calling Rogers.”

  “I’ll take care of Owens on this end.”

  “Sounds good.” He hung up before Ethan could respond and immediately dialed the detective.

  “Detective Rogers.”

  “Rogers, it’s Tucker Campbell. I’ve come across some new information in Staci’s case. I think we may have a person of interest—name is Jonathan Simmons. He currently resides in Los Angeles, but his family had a home here in Park City at the time of Staci’s death.”

  “Name sounds familiar.”

  “You’ll find it in your files. He and I didn’t get along. His family was questioned briefly after my sister’s death, but nothing came of it. I spoke with JT Cartwright just now—another former summer resident of the area and friend of Staci’s and mine. JT said he spotted Simmons lurking around our property on the first anniversary of Staci’s death.”

  “I don’t remember seeing anything about that.”

  “He never reported the incident. It bothered him some, but he forgot about it. If we want to connect past and present and go with the theory we discussed earlier, he still fits. Wren decorated his family home approximately six months ago in LA. Another childhood friend of mine, Nick Pellerin, said he spotted Johnny in town on more than one occasion recently. We have several points that add up and a motive.”

  “I’ll call Franklin into the station.”

  “If it is Simmons, he’s either still in the area or on a flight putting some distance between himself and Park City.”

  “We’ll get an APB out on him right away, check with the airport and local hotels here and in Salt Lake. I’ll also contact Detective Owens out in Los Angeles.”

  “Sounds good. I’d like to go up to the house tomorrow—one last time before Wren and I head home. I want to piece all of this out and make sure it fits. It might be best if you and Franklin come along. We’ll all be on the same page should there be any follow-up after I’m back in LA.” He wanted to make sure things were done right—and the backup wasn’t a bad idea if Johnny was still in the area.

  “I guess I don’t have a problem with that. Never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes. Why don’t you plan on having us ride along?”

  “I’d like to head up around nine if that works for you. We’ll have plenty of time to run through the ME’s reports, make sure everything plays, then get to the airport.”

  “All right. We’ll meet you in the lobby at a quarter to nine.”

  “See you then.”

  Tucker opened his laptop once more and rewound the video surveillance Rogers gave him, watching the man as he went down the steps in slow motion. Was that Johnny Simmons? Did he really kill Staci and the others?

  His phone alerted to a text from Jerrod.

  Parked outside Simmons’s house. He’s nowhere to be found, but his wife and kids are watching a Disney movie. Should be an exciting night.

  It didn’t surprise him that Simmons wasn’t home. It was hard to be in Los Angeles and Park City at the same time. Tucker responded.

  I owe you one.

  He rewound the video footage again, scrutinizing the man in black’s movements, trying to catch some small gesture that reminded him of the kid he hadn’t seen in almost fifteen years. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. Everyone was doing what they could at this point, and he needed to go to bed.

  Frustrated, he closed his laptop and stood, stretching his tensed muscles. He couldn’t afford to pull another all-nighter. Grabbing his pillow and blanket, he quietly opened the bedroom door and entered slowly, trying not to wake Wren. She didn’t want him in the room, but she was going to have to deal. She would be rid of him soon enough.

  “What are you doing?”

  He stopped. “Taking the recliner.”

  “There’s a couch in the sitting room.”

  He removed his holster. “Yeah, but I’m still in charge of your protection.”

  “We’re on the fifth floor. He isn’t coming in through the window.”

  “We’re going to make sure.” He unbuttoned his shirt, took it off, slid out of his slacks, and settled in the chair, pulling his feet up and stretching out.


  Dim light filtered in from the kitchenette, and they held each other’s gaze in the shadows. He wanted to go to her, to wrap himself around her. “Cooke, I don’t want it to be this way.”

  “I do.” She rolled over.

  He stared at her long wavy hair against the pillow, trying to accept the fact that he and Wren were finished.

  Chapter 21

  Wren stepped from the shower and wrapped herself in a large cotton towel. She used her hand to wipe away the film on the mirror and stared at her pale cheeks and dull eyes as she stood among the wisps of steam. Was this what heartbreak looked like? Was the sickening dread churning in her belly what if felt like? And this overwhelming need to cry. She’d been mopping up stray tears since she backed her way into the bathroom last night. She thought she’d wept herself dry as she sat on the toilet seat, running a steady stream of water in the tub, hopefully masking the worst of her weakness. But the tears kept coming, coursing down her cheeks as she lay in the big, lonely bed, staring into the dark long after Tucker had settled himself in the chair.

  He’d said he didn’t want it to be this way as his voice and eyes radiated with misery, but his actions had spoken for themselves. Why did he have to lie? Why did he make a promise he had no intention of keeping? Sniffling, she pressed her hand to her lips, willing the next crying jag away. She hated this—hated it. Being in a relationship—even for so short a time—had made her weak and weepy. She’d let herself depend on someone other than herself—one of so many mistakes. Well, no more. This wasn’t how she handled things, and she wasn’t about to start now. It was time to be finished with this silliness and move on. Tucker wasn’t everything. Or he shouldn’t be. Wouldn’t be, she amended as she straightened her shoulders and grabbed her brush, pulling the bristles through her hair. She just had to make it through the next few hours, then she would never have to see him again.

  Her movements slowed, and she dropped the brush to her side as she thought of waking another morning without Tucker holding her or his lips never capturing hers. The sheer emptiness left her reeling.