Colorado Bodyguard

by Cindi Myers

  “I don’t think he was telling the truth, either,” Rand said, turning to the others. “He was too glib, as if he’d rehearsed what he would say. And he was volunteering too much. Usually, Prentice plays it closer to the vest.”

  “When we talk to him, he knows he’s talking to a police officer,” Carmen said. “He thought you were the jealous boyfriend or whatever.”

  “Are you sure about the perfume?” Simon asked. “Couldn’t it have been air freshener or something?”

  “Lauren has worn Mitsouko for years,” Sophie said. “It’s a very distinctive scent, not like air freshener.”

  Carmen leaned toward her, her voice gentle. “Sometimes, when we want something very badly, the senses play tricks on us,” she said.

  Sophie stiffened. “Are you suggesting I hallucinated it?” she asked. “I didn’t.”

  Everyone turned to Rand. He gave Sophie an apologetic look. “I don’t have a very good sense of smell,” he said. “I leave that to Lotte.”

  “Then your dog would have recognized this,” Sophie said. “Anyone would have.”

  “Where were you when you smelled the perfume?” Graham asked.

  “I was in the guest bathroom, downstairs, just down the hall from the library where Richard Prentice met us.”

  He nodded. “Did you say anything to Prentice about this?”

  “No. I’m not stupid.”

  “I’m not questioning your intelligence, Ms. Montgomery,” Graham said. “I only want to be sure of every detail.”

  “Why are we wasting all this time?” She shoved back from the table and stood. “All this talking isn’t going to help Lauren.” She fled from the room, heels striking the tile floor in a rapid cadence, the door slamming behind her.

  Carmen started to go after her, but Graham held her back. “Let Rand talk to her,” he said. “She’s spent more time with him. Meanwhile, we need to discuss what we’re going to do with the information she’s given us.”

  Rand hurried after Sophie, hoping to catch her before she drove away. But apparently she hadn’t intended to leave. He found her in the gazebo between the Rangers’ trailer and park headquarters. She stood with her back against one of the posts that supported the structure, staring out across the canyon. He climbed the steps into the shelter and stood a few feet away, saying nothing, letting the silence seep into him, soothing as the warm sun. No RVs rumbled by on the road out front, no tourists talked excitedly as they gathered around the Ranger station. He and Sophie might have been the only people around.

  “I still can’t picture my sister here,” she said after a moment. “It’s so empty and desolate.”

  “Some people find the solitude peaceful,” he said. When he was in the city he felt too crowded, unable to hear his own thoughts for the clamor.

  “I think it’s intimidating.” She turned toward him, arms hugged across her chest. “It’s so vast, it reminds me of how insignificant we are. How alone.”

  “You’re not alone.” He took a step toward her. “We want to help you. I want to help you.”

  She nodded. “I know I need your help. And that means working on your timetable, not mine. But it’s hard. I’ve been looking after Lauren by myself for so long—I can’t flip a switch and stop feeling responsible.”

  She spoke about her sister as if she was still a child. “When you say looking after her—do you mean because of her illness?”

  “Yes. I know people look at her and see a grown woman with a successful career and everything going for her—but that was just on the surface. Underneath that shell, Lauren was always fragile. She’d be fine for months, even years, and then something would happen to unbalance her. She needed me there to help her through—to be her advocate when she wasn’t able to care for herself, to get her the help she needed and just...just to believe in her, when other people didn’t. A mental illness isn’t like any other chronic condition. If you have diabetes or cancer, people are understanding. They want to help. When it’s your mind that has something wrong, most people judge you harshly—as if you’d get better if you’d only try harder.”

  “In law enforcement, we only see the bad outcomes of mental illness,” Rand said. “We get a lot of training that’s supposed to help us understand, but I don’t know if that’s really possible if you haven’t experienced it yourself.”

  “It’s been better since she found this new doctor and has been getting the help she needs, but for so long, I’ve had to be strong enough for both of us.”

  “Maybe it’s time you let someone else be strong.” He moved closer, almost—but not quite—touching her. He wanted to put his arms around her and pull her close, to tell her he would protect her, but he wasn’t sure how she’d react to that. Maybe she didn’t feel the attraction between them that he did. Maybe she was too distraught over her sister to feel anything else.

  She looked up into his eyes, and the force of her gaze hit him like a knockout punch. “I believe you want to help,” she said. “And I appreciate it. I do. But I’m not used to relying on anyone else.”

  “You can rely on me.” He did put his arms around her then, and she didn’t resist, some of the tension easing from her body as he held her. He let his gaze shift to her lips—soft and pink and slightly parted. Lips he wanted very much to kiss...

  A flash of red out of the corner of his eye startled him. Sophie took a step back, out of his arms, as a red convertible turned into the parking lot, a woman in dark aviators behind the wheel. Rand regained his composure and nodded toward the new arrival. “That’s Emma Wade,” he said. “Let’s go talk to her.”

  The captain’s fiancée was a tall, curvy redhead who favored formfitting dresses and four-inch heels. She waved to them, then entered Ranger headquarters. Sophie and Rand followed. Inside the trailer, everyone had gathered around Emma, who stood very close to Graham. The captain’s normally stern demeanor softened considerably whenever he was around his fiancée, his expression closer to besotted schoolboy than grim commander.

  “You must be Sophie.” Emma greeted them, both hands extended. “I’m Emma Wade. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t return your phone call when you contacted me last month,” Sophie said. “I was so upset over Lauren’s disappearance, and then I lost your number.”

  “It’s all right. Why don’t we sit down and talk?” Emma led the way back into the conference room. The others followed.

  “Emma wrote a profile of Richard Prentice for the Denver Post,” Graham said. “She spent a couple of weeks at his house and followed him at his various businesses. She knows as much about him as anyone.”

  “Which isn’t that much.” She made a face. “Prentice is very skilled at letting people see only what he wants them to see.”

  “Did he ever mention Lauren to you?” Sophie asked.

  Emma shook her head. “No. I know they attended some of the same social functions, but he never said anything about her to me.”

  “Ms. Montgomery visited Prentice this morning, at his invitation,” Graham said. “While she was there, she thought she smelled her sister’s perfume. In the downstairs guest bathroom.”

  Emma’s eyes widened and she leaned toward Sophie. “Did your sister own a set of cosmetic bags in a pink-and-gold paisley pattern—three bags, all matching?”

  Sophie looked confused. “I don’t know. I don’t remember ever seeing anything like that, but...”

  “These looked new,” Emma said. “They were full of cosmetics and hair accessories—mousse, hair gel, a smoothing iron.”

  “I don’t understand,” Sophie said. “Where did you see these? Why do you think they belong to Lauren?”

  “I thought they belonged to a Venezuelan fashion model, but now I wonder.” At Sophie’s confused look, Emma patted her arm. “I’m sorry. Let me bac
k up and explain. The last time I visited Richard Prentice’s house, about two weeks ago, I went into the downstairs guest bathroom. As you know, it’s quite a room—steam shower, double vanities, the works. Being a reporter, I’m naturally nosy, so I looked in all the cabinets. Nothing that interesting, until I came to a cabinet that was locked. I couldn’t imagine why he’d feel the need to have a locked cabinet like that, so I picked the lock. Inside were those cosmetic bags. I thought they might belong to a woman he was seeing at the time—the Venezuelan model—but it still seemed odd to keep them locked away. So I took a photograph.”

  “They might have been Lauren’s.” Sophie’s expression grew more animated. “Can I see the picture? Maybe I’d recognize something.”

  Emma sat back and sighed. “Unfortunately, I lost my phone and I don’t have the picture anymore.”

  “She ‘lost’ the phone because someone kidnapped her and threw her down a mine shaft.” Graham rested his hand on his fiancée’s shoulder, his expression grim. “We can’t prove Richard Prentice had anything to do with the abduction, but since it happened on his property, we suspect he was involved.”

  “Maybe that’s what happened to Lauren,” Sophie said. “Maybe he kidnapped her and kept her cosmetics as some kind of sick souvenir.”

  “We don’t know,” Graham said. “But we intend to find out.”

  “Why can’t you arrest him now?” Sophie asked. “Aren’t the perfume and the cosmetics enough to tie him to Lauren?”

  “They’re not,” Graham said. “We need more solid evidence. Right now we have nothing to place Lauren at his house. The cosmetics might not be hers.”

  “I’m pretty sure Prentice knows I saw them,” Emma said. “So they’re probably not even there now.”

  “And you only have my word that I smelled the perfume.” Sophie sagged in her chair. “What are we going to do now?”

  “We’ll start with trying to find the man Lauren met at the Country Inn,” Graham said. “We’ll take a look at the surveillance video from the motel. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something. We’ll ask the clerk to review some photographs, see if she recognizes the man. And we’ll need your sister’s cell phone number, and the name of her provider, if you know it.”

  “Of course,” Sophie said. “How will that help?”

  “We can review her call records in the days before she disappeared. Maybe we’ll find a pattern, or someone who knows something about her disappearance.”

  “What can I do to help?” Sophie asked.

  “That’s the tough part,” Rand said. “You’ll need to be patient while we work all the angles. Things seldom happen as quickly as we’d like.”

  “If you think of anything else that might be significant, call us anytime,” Graham said.

  She nodded. “I’ll do that. And thank you.”

  “Give Rand a number where we can reach you.” Graham turned away.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Emma said. “We can have lunch.” She squeezed Sophie’s arm, then followed Graham into his office.

  “Let me walk you to your car.” Rand took her arm.

  She hesitated, as if she wanted to stay, but the last thing they needed was her hanging around. Not that he wouldn’t appreciate her company, but he didn’t need the distraction. Finally, he was able to coax her toward the door. “Where are you staying?” he asked when they reached the parking lot.

  “The Ramada. You’ll let me know as soon as you find anything?”

  “Why don’t I stop by tonight and give you an update?” he said. “I might not have much to tell you, but at least you won’t have to spend the night wondering what’s going on.”

  “I’d like that.” The pinched look left her face. “And thank you. Not just for that, but for all your help.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “Just remember what I said before—you’re not in this alone.”

  Her eyes met his, dark pools that mesmerized him. Her gaze stripped away any mask of bravado he might wear in his everyday life, and seemed to see the real him, the man who wasn’t always so sure of himself, but who wanted to be better and stronger, at least for her. She tilted her face up to his, her lips full and slightly parted. It would be so easy to dip his head and kiss her, to find out if the desire that sizzled inside him was something she felt, too...

  “I...I’d better go.” She stepped back and focused on finding her keys in her purse. She ducked her head so that her hair fell forward, preventing him from gauging her mood, but his own face felt hot.

  “I’ll call before I stop by,” he said.

  “Great. Thanks.” She moved toward her car and unlocked the door.

  “What’s that on your windshield?” He moved closer to study the white envelope with Sophie inscribed on the front in a looping, feminine hand.

  Sophie stared at the missive, her face as white as the paper.

  “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She snatched the envelope from beneath the windshield wiper. Her eyes widened, and she swayed.

  Rand steadied her, his hands on her shoulders. “What is it?” he asked. “Do you know who it’s from?”

  She covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head, eyes glistening. “It’s from Lauren,” she whispered. “I’d recognize her handwriting anywhere.”

  Chapter Five

  Sophie stared at the envelope, her name scrawled across the front in Lauren’s exuberant script. How many times had she seen that handwriting—on birthday cards and phone messages and reminder notes? Sophie. Six simple letters representing the first word Lauren had ever spoken, calling out to her now from the page.

  Rand’s arm around her steadied her, brought her back to the present, to the parking lot in the glaring sun, the wind tugging at her clothes and hair. “Let’s go inside and see what it says,” he said, and urged her toward the office.

  She let him lead her inside, where the captain, Emma and the others looked up. “What’s wrong?” Carmen asked.

  “Someone left an envelope tucked under the wiper blade on Sophie’s windshield.” Rand led her to a chair and she sat, still gripping the envelope in both hands.

  “Did you see who left it?” Graham asked.

  Rand shook his head. “We were out there several minutes and we didn’t see anyone. Whoever it was, they must have dropped it off while we were all inside.”

  “It’s Lauren’s handwriting,” Sophie said. “I know it is. I need to see what she said.” She started to lift the flap on the envelope, but Rand covered her hand with his own, stopping her.

  “Let me,” he said. “You don’t want to destroy evidence...just in case.”

  Carmen handed him a pair of gloves, which he slipped on. Then he slid a letter opener under the flap and carefully teased it open. “One sheet of paper,” he said, and showed the others. He tipped the envelope, and the paper fluttered onto the table.

  Sophie stared at it. “Tell me what it says.”

  Rand used the letter opener to unfold the paper and smooth it flat. Sophie leaned around his arm to see the words written there. “It’s Lauren’s handwriting,” she said again. “I’m positive.”

  “What does it say?” Emma asked, moving to stand behind them.

  Sophie scanned the words:

  Dear Sophie,

  Sorry I haven’t been in touch but I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’ve met my Mr. Wonderful and you know how happy that makes me. I’ll write again when I can. In the meantime, go home and don’t worry.

  Love, Lauren.

  Tears blurred the words; she blinked, trying to clear her vision. When she looked up from the page after reading the words again, she found Rand studying her intently, his expression both sympathetic and wary. “Can I read this to the others?” he asked.

  She nodd
ed, and he read the brief message out loud. “What do you make of that?” he asked Sophie when he was done.

  She frowned. “It’s her writing, and part of it sounds like her, but...something isn’t right.”

  “What’s that about Mr. Wonderful?” Emma asked. “Did Lauren mention seeing anyone when you talked to her last?”

  “That’s the part that bothers me most,” Sophie said.

  “So she wasn’t seeing anyone?” Carmen asked.

  “Maybe she met someone after the last time you talked,” Rand said.

  “It’s not that,” Sophie said. “It’s the choice of words—Mr. Wonderful. She and I had this joke—whenever one of us went out with some guy who was full of himself, we called him Mr. Wonderful. As in he thought he was Mr. Wonderful and women should be falling all over him.” They’d had a lot of laughs over that, sisterly love erasing the pain and awkwardness of bad dates they’d each endured.

  “So you only used those words sarcastically,” Carmen said.

  “Exactly. And the next part—‘you know how happy that makes me.’ It sounds like she’s telling me how unhappy she is.” Pain squeezed her chest at the thought.

  Rand pulled out the chair beside her and sat. “So you think the message is a code?” he asked.

  “I guess you could call it that.” She studied the letter again, as if she might suddenly see some hidden message that hadn’t yet revealed itself.

  “And you’re sure this is her handwriting, not simply a good forgery?” Graham moved closer to stand over the table.

  “How would a forger know about our Mr. Wonderful joke?” Sophie asked.

  “She’s right,” Emma said. “Most people would say something like ‘I’ve met Mr. Right.’ Or ‘I’ve met a great guy.’”

  “What about her ex?” Rand asked. “He’d know her handwriting, and he’d know about the ‘Mr. Wonderful’ phrase, though maybe he took it literally and didn’t realize it was an inside joke.”