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

by Beauman, Cate

His finger stopped caressing as his eyes left the photograph to meet hers. “Don’t talk to me like that. Don’t look at me like you’re judging.”

  Anger roiled deep, bursting through her veins. Fury was suddenly more predominant than her fear. “You ended her life in the most horrible of ways. She trusted you. And those girls—Alyssa and Chloe. You’re disgusting—a predator who uses your perceived wrongs as an excuse to do the unthinkable.”

  JT’s hand shot up, slapping her across the cheek. “Shut up.”

  She pressed her fingers to the sharp sting and took a step back.

  “We’re done chatting. Take off your sweater.”

  “No.” She stepped back again on legs that shook and felt like jelly.

  He pointed the gun in Tucker’s direction, staring into her eyes. “Take it off.”

  She yanked the soft cashmere over her head.

  “Mmm, mmm. I’m definitely going to enjoy this. Boots and jeans.”

  She stood perfectly still, refusing, until he shook his head and aimed his gun at Tucker. “Wren, this is going to happen. I’m going to rape you—three, maybe four times, ‘cause damn you’re beautiful. Then I’m going to strangle you while Pretty Boy watches. I want Tucker to see what Staci went through—and you. I’ll kill him after awhile, but I want him to suffer first. Take off those jeans.”

  She glanced at Tucker, who still lay unconscious, and struggled with the zipper on her boots as her hands began to shake—the terror was back with a vengeance. Her stall tactics had proved useless. The cops weren’t coming. Tucker wasn’t waking up. She had to make a move; she had to do something.

  She pulled one foot free, then the next, gripping the soft leather tight. Then she swung at his face with all her might.

  The sharp heel connected with JT’s cheek, drawing blood. Surprise registered as he clutched at his wound, swearing. Seeing her moment, she took it, racing to the door and down the hall.

  “Stupid, Wren. Really stupid idea,” he hollered as he chased after her.

  She glanced behind her and screamed, realizing he had already caught up.

  He hooked her around the waist, lifting her off her feet, and she used her elbows, ramming back at any part of his body she could reach.

  “Let me go!” She kicked, hoping to connect with his balls. “Let me go!”

  “I thought you were smart.” He gripped her tighter, and she could hardly breath. “If you like it rough, that’s all you had to say.” He brought her to the room, slamming the door, and rammed her back against the wood. He grinned down at her cruelly. “I usually like to watch my girls get naked, but I’m happy to help.” He held her in place and unbuttoned her jeans with his free hand. “Let’s get you out of these.” He pressed his firm body to hers, trapping her as he pulled her pants down her legs. “Black bra and panties. It’s almost like you knew you were going to get fucked.” He rubbed himself against her. “I’m tempted to take you right here, Wren, I really am, but it’s hotter if you’re tied up.”

  “Monster!”

  He took her face in his hands, squeezed. “I thought you said I was a predator.” He kissed both of her cheeks. “Make up your mind. Now lets turn you around.” He forced her to face the wall as he grabbed a length of black nylon identical to the stuff they found on Staci’s bed along with his “message.”

  “You do understand that this is his fault. Just like the night Staci had to die. He made me kill her. He made me kill my friend, because he stole Jasmine away. Kind of like how he stole you. I watched him walk her home and shove his tongue down her throat, just like I watched you in the library. I pretty much decided right then and there that you were going to have to die eventually.” He pulled the rope tight around her wrists until it was biting into her skin, then tied it off. Tears raced down her cheeks, and she clenched her jaw, afraid her teeth would chatter, realizing her chances for escape were officially gone.

  He turned her around and yanked her to Staci’s bed. “Lay down.” He shoved her down to the spot where Staci had been laying in the crime scene photos. “On your back.”

  With little choice Wren lay on her tied hands.

  “Damn, damn, damn, Wren. We’re talking centerfold material here. Where’s a camera when I need one? This is going to be the best one yet, and ironically perfect. Staci was a virgin when I had her. It was my first time too—sex and murder. This time around I’m plenty experienced, and so are you. And, Wren, I’ll be so much better than him.” He tossed Tucker a scathing look. “Like I said, this is going to be epic. I’m going to tie up Pretty Boy, and we’ll wait for him to come to, then…well you know what comes next, although maybe I’ll add a little foreplay. We’ll get you good and wet before I take the plunge—never had time for that. It’s always rush, rush, rush. If we’re going to do this, we might as well do it right.”

  Wren looked away from the vile man grinning at her and stared at the flowery frame of Staci and Tucker smiling in a picture well over a decade old, praying that Staci’s nightmare had been mercifully faster than hers was about to be.

  Tucker lay where he’d fallen, arm aching, head throbbing, eyes closed, listening to JT’s disgusting ramblings, waiting for his moment. He hated hearing Wren suffer, could hardly stand that she thought she was on her own, but they had one chance. He would either get this right or they would both die.

  JT had knocked him out for mere seconds, but he’d remained still, devising his plan while Wren stroked soothing fingers along his forehead and clutched at his hand, begging him to wake up. He’d desperately wanted to give her a gentle squeeze and reassure her that everything was going to be okay, but their circumstances didn’t allow for gestures of comfort. He knew what he needed to do; the opportunity just had to present itself.

  “You know, I’m looking forward to helping you out of that underwear, Wren.”

  JT’s footsteps started toward Tucker and stopped. “In fact, maybe we should work on that now after all.”

  “Please don’t do this,” Wren shuddered out as JT moved back in her direction.

  Son of a bitch, he was ready to end this. Tucker clenched his jaw as a burning rage simmered in the depths of his being—for what JT was doing to Wren, for what he’d done to Staci, Alyssa, and Chloe. It was hell on earth knowing Wren lay mere feet away, helpless and terrified, but he didn’t dare move; his head spun as if he were on a tilt-a-whirl, leaving him nauseous, and his arm lay against his side, heavy and useless, while blood saturated his shirt. He needed JT to come to him so he could finish this once and for all.

  “I had the opportunity to watch you and Pretty Boy go at it—”

  “You—you watched Tucker and I have sex?”

  “Mmm, I did. His Highness is a real Casanova. Clearly he knows how to satisfy you. I’m eager to show you what I can do. Let’s get to that bra, Sexy.”

  “No, JT.”

  “Oh, yes, Wren. Absolutely. I’ve been waiting a long time for this. Now stay still.”

  Her movements stopped, and she whimpered as JT groaned. “A slide off the shoulder. So seductive. Maybe there is something to this whole undressing your victim thing. Do you like being my next victim, Wren?”

  “Tucker,” she whispered. “Please wake up.”

  “Oh, he can’t help you,” JT laughed. “Even when he does wake up.”

  Goddamn, he couldn’t take it anymore. Enough was enough. Taking a chance, Tucker moved his boot along the carpet and let out a grunt.

  JT’s crazy laughter stopped, and the room fell silent except for Wren’s trembling exhales.

  “Well, well, well. I think someone’s coming around.”

  “Don’t—don’t hurt him.”

  “Aww, loyal to the very end.” JT got to his feet and started Tucker’s way. “That’s touching, Wren. Nauseating, but touching.”

  Tucker’s
heart jackhammered, pounding in his arm, his head. This would either work, or he was dead.

  JT knelt behind him, grabbing his wrist, pressing on his shoulder, attempting to push him face down. “Let’s get you—”

  Tucker reversed his grip, clamping hold of JT’s forearm, and rolled, fighting the wave of dizziness. He brought his good arm up, delivering a fist to the fucker’s nose as Wren screamed. Using his moment of advantage as JT hollered out in pain, tears streaming from his eyes, hands pressed to his face, Tucker grabbed the gun from the floor where JT laid it, picked it up, and scooted himself back, using his injured arm to steady his poor balance. “Put your hands up, you son of a bitch, or you’re dead,” he panted out as adrenaline soared through his body.

  JT pulled his hands from his nose, lifting them as blood fountained to the floor. “This isn’t right! This isn’t how this is going to end! You always ruin everything!”

  “Game’s over, asshole. Now shut your mouth and keep those hands nice and high before I decide to pull the trigger.”

  “Pretty Boy to the rescue.” JT eyed him, smirking, and made a quick move toward the weapon in the waist of his jeans.

  Tucker shot two rounds into JT’s chest, and blood instantly bloomed as he collapsed back, hitting the carpet with a thud. He held his aim, his ears ringing with the deafening blasts, until he was certain JT wouldn’t be getting up again.

  “Tucker.” Wren rolled to her side, her right bra strap draping off her shoulder, tears streaming, fidgeting her way in his direction.

  He got to his hands and knees, blinking against the blurry haze, too dizzy to stand, and crawled to her, his arm protesting his every movement. “It’s okay, Cooke. It’s all right.” He helped her sit up and fought with the knots, struggling to untie her. The nylon finally gave way, and she threw her arms around him, burying her face against his neck.

  “Oh, God, Tucker,” she choked out.

  He enveloped Wren in a hug, pulling her in his lap, holding on as tightly as she did with his good arm. There were several minutes during the last hour he’d worried they wouldn’t get out of this alive. “It’s all over.” He rubbed his hand over her back, breathing in her scent as her shoulders shook, and she sniffed, shuddering out hot breaths against his skin.

  “I was so afraid.” She pressed her lips to his, once, twice, and clung again. “I didn’t know if you were going to wake up. I didn’t want you to watch me die.”

  “We’re both okay. We’re both in one piece.” His voice sounded weak and far away. Lifting his hand to caress her was suddenly a strenuous chore, as all of the energy left him.

  “Tucker.” Wren cupped his cheeks in her hands, her brows furrowed with concern. “You’re sheet white.” She scrambled out of his lap, her entire side smeared in his blood. Her eyes tracked down her own body, taking in the horror. “Oh, my… Here, Tucker, lie back.” She helped him prop his arm up, making him wince, and pressed his hand to his wound. “You’re—you—you need help. I’m going to call for help. I’ll be right back.” She rushed from the room. “Try to apply pressure, and don’t go to sleep,” she hollered down the hall.

  Tucker lay still, struggling to do as Wren asked. Now that the worst was over and she was safe, all he wanted to do was close his eyes and succumb to oblivion.

  Wren ran back with towels from the bathroom and his phone at her ear. “Yes, twenty-twelve Mountain View. Detective Rogers has been murdered and my friend has been shot.” Her voice floated around him as she pulled his hand from the pillow sheet knotted above his bicep and immediately pressed the towel to the wound, pushing all her weight on his arm.

  He wanted to holler out from the pain, but managed a dull groan, finding the effort to do anything more exhausting.

  “Yes, he’s conscious but concussed and he’s lost a lot of blood. I’m not sure. I’m applying pressure now. I won’t.”

  He had no idea how much time passed while Wren continued to hold the line and he drifted in and out. He blinked at the saturated hand towel and up at Wren’s face, struggling to concentrate on her firm demand to open his eyes through the fog.

  “…awake, Tucker.”

  Somewhere a door burst open, and officers rushed in. Wren dropped the phone she held in place with her shoulder as the cops waved the paramedics into the room.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood. He needs help right away.”

  The paramedics moved in, replacing her hands with their gloved ones, tight against his arm, taking over his care.

  “Let’s get the lady a blanket,” someone said as Wren stood close by in her panties and bra.

  Tucker held her worried eyes as an officer draped her in a blanket and tried to usher her from the room.

  “No.” She held her ground. “I want to stay with Tucker.”

  “I’m all right, Cooke,” he mumbled. “Let them clean you up and take a look at your wrists.” The paramedics rolled him onto the backboard and lifted him to the gurney.

  “Blood pressure’s dropping. Pulse is thready. Let’s get him out of here.” They yanked the gurney up.

  “I’m going with you.” Wren’s worried voice floated through his ears.

  “Ma’am we have to go right now.”

  He heard nothing else as they whisked him away.

  Wren sat by Tucker’s side, gripping his hand, waiting for him to come around. He’d opened his eyes several times, but he’d been out of it. The machine above him monitored his vitals, but she pressed her cheek to his chest, reassured by the steady beat of his heart.

  He was so pale; he’d lost so much blood, but he was going to be fine. Despite his concussion and the gunshot wound, the doctors were confident he would make a full recovery. He was young and strong, the surgeon had reassured her the dozen or so times she’d asked. Rest and a few weeks of physical therapy were on the horizon, but Tucker would be his old self again before long.

  His parents were here. And Ethan. She knew she should let his mother have a turn with her son, but she couldn’t go until she saw for herself that the doctors didn’t make a mistake. Once she was sure, she needed to be on her way.

  She’d had hours to think and reflect while Tucker went through surgery and slept off the worst of the anesthesia in Recovery. If she stayed, she might never leave, and that wasn’t an option. She wasn’t cut out for long-term commitments, and that’s what Tucker wanted and deserved. He’d lied, but maybe somewhere deep down she understood that his mistake was the perfect excuse to push him away for good. She didn’t know how to depend on others. “Happily ever after” was for Ethan and their friends. She lived her life alone and was stronger for it. She needed to leave, get on with things, and allow Tucker the same opportunity. By the time he was up to snuff and back in LA, what they had here in Park City would be a distant memory. He would soon forget his declarations, and that was for the best.

  Tucker’s fingers moved through her hair, and she gasped, sitting up. She clutched the hand she still held, pressed it to her cheek, and looked into his drug-fogged eyes.

  “Cooke,” he whispered and smiled.

  “Tucker.” Emotion clogged her throat as she smiled back. “You’re going to be okay.” She kissed his knuckles. “Everything’s going to be all right now.” She sniffled, fighting her tears. “Your parents are here, and Ethan. We’ve all been waiting for you to wake up.”

  “I got shot.”

  She nodded. “The surgeon said there’s no permanent damage. Your mom and dad are going to take you back to Monterey for a couple of weeks while you recover.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “So rest.”

  “He’s dead? JT’s dead?”

  “Yes.” Poor guy was still out of it. “He’s dead.”

  “I shot him?”

  She nodded again. JT had been the worst kind of soul, preying on the innoce
nt, destroying the lives of so many, and Tucker had ended him. Hopefully they could all move on now and find some peace. “You saved us.”

  “I’m tired,” he repeated.

  Smiling, she kissed his knuckles again and stood, leaning close to his face, brushing his hair back from the bandages along his temple. “Get some sleep.”

  “I love you.” He closed his eyes.

  Her heart ached as she bent closer and pressed her lips to his. “I love you too,” she whispered.

  He blinked up at her.

  “I know you won’t remember this.” She shook her head, wiping away the tear rolling down her cheek. “That’s for the best, but I needed to tell you before you go your way and I go mine.” She touched his lips once more—for the last time—as he closed his eyes. “Goodbye, Tucker.”

  She settled his hand at his side, turned, and walked out of his life.

  Chapter 23

  Wren wove her way through the groups of people, with Emma snuggled in one arm and an apple pie balancing in the opposite hand. “Excuse us. Pardon us.”

  “Looks like your hands are full.” Abby sidled herself next to Wren as they made their way from the chaotic kitchen to the crowded dining area. Thanksgiving—Cooke style—was in full swing.

  She smiled. “Oh, we’ve got this. Don’t we, Emma?” She nuzzled her niece’s soft, baby neck.

  Emma gave her a huge grin as her little fingers made a grab for warm, cinnamony apples in a golden flaky crust.

  Wren pulled the pie further out of reach, and Abby grabbed hold before the dish crashed to the floor.

  “Okay, then again, maybe we don’t.” She chuckled. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. I’ll take this along to the masses.” And just like that, Abby disappeared into the next room.

  “Where’d she go with our dessert, Emma?” She lifted the pretty blue-eyed baby high, listening to her giggle.