Darling looked up at him, confused and breathless.
His face was flushed. His lips red and swollen. Those amber eyes searched her face in the quiet. For once, Darling dared not speak.
There weren’t a lot of things in life she felt she absolutely needed.
But right then, she knew she needed Oliver Quinn.
“Darling,” he whispered, voice husky. Another shock of pleasure pulsed through her at the sound. He closed the space between their lips again. It was a soft kiss that burned slowly.
He didn’t speak again.
With one quick movement, he picked her up and put her legs around his waist. Darling gladly hugged his body back, not breaking their connection. Then they were moving down the familiar path to the bedroom.
Though as she began to unbutton his shirt, she realized that where they were going was a place neither had visited before.
* * *
THE SOFT CARESS of cotton against her bare skin.
The mattress that molded against her every curve.
The warmth of a man around her heart.
A wisp of a smile trailed across Darling’s lips.
She stretched out, feeling for her bodyguard beneath the sheets. Her hand found the edge of the bed instead. Slowly her eyelids opened.
Fear made her heart beat against her chest. For one awful moment, Darling thought she was back in the clearing, naked and in the dark. However, as panic tried to claw its way through her, common sense blocked its path.
She could feel the bed beneath her, the sheets around her. She smelled the citrus that had attached to her skin after her bath. The scent of Oliver’s body wash that mingled with it.
No, she wasn’t in danger here.
She waited as her vision adjusted to the low light of the room. From where she was, she could see out into the hallway and to the stools at the kitchen counter. Light filtered across the floor from the TV. She closed her eyes again, still tired. She couldn’t lie there and think about what had happened between them and keep her eyes open. There wasn’t enough energy to sustain both acts.
So she burrowed back beneath the covers and let her smile widen. When she was younger, she would often imagine what it was like to be with Oliver. Would he be gentle? Would he be rough? Or would he be a man who walked the line in between?
It was as if she had been holding her breath for years, waiting for Oliver. Now that she had let him back into her life, into her home and her bed, she felt she could let that breath out.
She drifted back to sleep, thinking of the bodyguard, only to wake up a while later, looking at him.
“Hey there,” he said.
Darling stretched and smiled. “Hey back.” She glanced to her alarm clock to see it was still late. Before she could ask what was going on, Oliver answered her.
“They’re running a news story about the murder. I wanted to make sure you saw it, too.”
That made her sit up.
“Yeah, I really do want to see it.”
Much like before, Oliver carried her across the apartment. The heat of his bare chest against her was a welcome reminder of that afternoon. However, this time, once they reached their destination, he set her down and let go. She marveled at how badly she wanted to stay in his arms—to be wrapped up in his touch—but told her brain to focus.
Which wasn’t hard when she looked at the television. On its screen was a local news reporter standing in front of the Mulligan police station. A spotlight from her camera crew was positioned on her face, trying to keep viewers’ attention on her and not the crowd behind. Even in the dark, Darling could make out reporter Rebel Nash and a handful of others in a semicircle around Chief Sanderson and a few of his deputies behind her. The woman who filled the screen, however, looked excited about whatever story she was reporting on. Oliver turned up the volume on the TV.
“—a corporate conspiracy that is connected to the death of a Jean Watford, found dead in a bathtub at the Mulligan Motel. One of Charisma Investment’s board members and its interim CEO, resident Nigel Marks, has refused an interview at this time. His attorney issued the following statement—‘My client cannot confirm or deny at this point in time that Ms. Watford was guaranteed a top managerial position within the company, but she was being seriously considered. The fact that this could have been the cause of her death is abhorrent, and the Marks family wants nothing more than to see those responsible brought to justice.’”
A picture of a red-haired woman—apparently their Jane Doe—popped up in the corner next to the reporter’s head.
“Jean Watford, age twenty-three, resided in Miami, Florida. She was visiting Mulligan on business.”
Her picture was replaced by an image of two men talking to each other by the side of a building. They stood in the shadows and didn’t seem to be aware someone had been taking their pictures. Darling didn’t recognize either of the older men but knew by their outfits alone they were high-level businessmen.
“CFO Lamar Bennington and executive assistant Robert Jensen are being held for questioning after an anonymous tip led to the discovery of controversial emails about Ms. Watford, including one that contained information pertaining to what police believe to be the murder weapon. Both men are currently denying these charges.”
The reporter changed gears and gave viewers some background on Charisma Investments and their merger, which was almost complete. Darling already knew this information. She muted the television and gave Oliver a questioning look.
“So, Jean Watford wasn’t a mistress?” she asked. Her entire investigation had been based on that one assumption.
“I suppose he—” Oliver’s phone began to ring, cutting him off. “I don’t know who this is,” he muttered before answering. “Oliver Quinn here,” he answered. Darling watched as his face hardened. He held up his finger to ask her to wait and headed to the bedroom for some privacy.
Darling sighed. She wished the police would give her phone back soon. Surely there would be no reason for forensics to keep it now that they had men in custody. She didn’t like being without it.
The local news cut to a weather segment, so Darling turned it off. She reached for her office chair and hopped into it. Pushing herself with her good foot, she went to the kitchen counter for a pen and paper. Before she could forget the two men’s names, she wrote them down. There was no need to pen Jean Watford. Now that she could put a name to the body in the tub, she knew she’d never forget either for the rest of her life.
“Well, looks like we have more of a story to go with,” Oliver said when he came back into the room a few minutes later. “That was actually our friend Deputy Derrick. He’s fine, by the way. Should be discharged in a few days.” He grabbed the arms of the chair and rolled Darling over to the couch, sitting in front of her. He placed his hands on her thighs as he continued. “He was brought up to speed right before the news segment aired. He figured we were watching or, at the very least, deserved a bit more than what they had to offer.”
Darling knew that the only reason they were getting the special treatment from Derrick was that the case had become personal for the three of them. Once he had been attacked, Darling had been taken and Oliver had helped save them both, Derrick had mentally put them on the same page. A task he wouldn’t have done otherwise.
“Tell me,” was all Darling could manage. Something akin to hesitant excitement had started to flow through her. The case felt as if it was almost over, even if it had taken a turn she didn’t expect.
“Nigel admitted that he had been seeing Jean in secret for the past year. He met her at a business conference when he was in Miami and was impressed. Apparently Jean was a very smart cookie. Nigel was beginning to finalize the merger but wasn’t happy with the people who were going to be in charge. He wanted some new blood and decided to start grooming Jean in secret.
”
“Why in secret?”
“He was afraid that if he publicly acknowledged he was about to restructure the new business, stocks would suffer and he’d have to deal with unnecessary backlash. No one was supposed to find out until the end of the month, but apparently word got out somehow.”
“To the CFO and the assistant?”
Oliver nodded. “Nigel told the chief that the CFO had formed not-so-beneficial friendships with those who worked for him. He didn’t care that they weren’t doing their jobs anymore.”
“And Jean was going to take one of their jobs at the new company?”
“Bingo. Nigel wasn’t sure why the executive assistant was involved. He only guessed Bennington offered something in exchange for his help. They had emails about the rumor that Jean was going to replace someone, and the CFO was furious about it. They flew in the day before Nigel, and neither of their alibis can be confirmed for the time of death.”
Darling leaned back, trying to take it all in.
“Robert, the assistant, also can’t provide an alibi for the time Derrick was attacked and you were taken,” he added, voice dropping to a whisper. “But they found a long blond hair on his jacket that the chief thinks might be yours.”
The excitement she had been feeling at shutting down a case left in an instant. She recalled the picture of the two men, trying to place a face with the body that had choked her. Oliver took her hands in his and rested them against her legs again. It was enough to ground her emotions and make her able to ask another nagging question.
“What about the murder weapon? Surely they weren’t stupid enough to email about it?”
“Bennington asked the assistant if he had some tools they could use for a secret project.”
“The hammer!”
“He didn’t ask for one specifically, but he did mention they needed to make sure they had pliers.”
Darling’s mouth dropped open. “To pull out her teeth,” she said, horrified. “They put all of that in emails?”
Oliver shrugged. “Derrick said the chief thought Bennington was under the influence of some narcotics when they picked him up, so that definitely could have made him sloppy. Plus, I think this is a man who usually gets what he wants. Having a loyal follower—like Robert Jensen, who had access to Nigel’s entire schedule, emails and probably calls—helped him pull off the murder without leaving anything behind.”
“If all of this was business related, then why didn’t Nigel just tell the cops about it all when Jean was found?” Darling didn’t understand why the man had preferred to look guilty rather than coming clean in the first place, especially if the link would be easy to make when everything was out in the open.
Oliver’s eyes lit up. “Get this,” he almost sang. “He thought his wife was the one behind it. That she had hired someone to take care of a woman she thought was his mistress.”
Darling didn’t speak for a moment. “Wow. If they stay married, they definitely are going to need some counseling about trust.”
Oliver agreed. “That’s all Derrick knew. They were getting search warrants to go through each man’s hotel room and belongings, but the way it sounds, both men are in trouble.”
Darling nodded. “So, it’s over, then?”
“It looks that way. The killers are in custody, and Jane Doe now has a name.” Oliver squeezed Darling’s hands. “No more looking over your shoulder. Unless I’m walking behind you and you just want to see all of this.” He motioned to his chest and abs. A smile had stretched his lips, changing the mood from dark to playful. He felt relieved, and she knew it. But did she feel it, too? The motive, means and suspects made sense even though she had never even known about them until now. Logically, everything had fallen into place. However, her gut felt as if something was off.
Oliver brought his hand up to her chin and pulled her face forward.
“I know that look,” he whispered, an inch from her lips. “You took the entire day off, remember? That means the night, too.” He brushed his lips across hers, sending a wonderful thrill from her stomach downward. “That means no overthinking.”
“But that’s what I’m good at,” she defended herself with no real weight behind the words.
He passed his lips across hers again, pausing only to speak. “Not tonight, my Darling.”
Chapter Twenty
Everything felt so right.
Darling opened her eyes and didn’t want to move. She could feel Oliver’s even breathing against her back. His arm was thrown over her, pressing the warmth of their naked bodies together.
It was perfect.
She didn’t want to leave the bed, but her mouth felt dry and she desperately needed to use the bathroom.
So, as carefully as she could, Darling slipped out from underneath his arm and grabbed her crutches discarded on the floor. Oliver didn’t move once. It made her wonder how much sleep he’d skipped the past few days.
Once she was up and moving, Darling decided to go ahead and start the day. It was almost ten in the morning and she felt wildly energized. She knew that was greatly due to the naked bodyguard in her bed. With each step she took, her body reminded her just how close they had become the night before. Though in the light of day, she wondered what that meant for their future. Did they have one, or had it been a one-day event?
The bodyguard had promised to stay by her side as long as the threat of her kidnappers was still out there. Now that they had been caught, she didn’t need protection. Why would he stay in Mulligan when his life—his home—was two thousand miles away?
She tried to push the troubling thoughts from her mind as she took a quick shower, awkwardly hopping around to avoid putting too much pressure on her foot. It took the attention from the potential heartbreak she might have to endure again from her fair-haired bodyguard.
Darling managed to dress herself without falling over. She chose a red, long-sleeve top that plunged low to show some cleavage, and a pair of dark jeans that hugged her nicely. It was a more flirty outfit than she usually wore but, as she looked at Oliver’s still-sleeping form, she had the urge to break out of her boring wardrobe habits. Not that he seemed to mind when she was and wasn’t dressed up.
Oliver stayed asleep throughout the next half hour as she got ready and made breakfast, confirming her suspicion that he had been seriously lacking sleep. She tried to be as quiet as possible but found that when her food was gone, a restlessness was beginning to replace her feelings of contentment. Her gut was back to telling her something was off about Jean Watford’s death. But what was it?
“Do you really think Nigel Marks would cry over a mistress?”
Darling snapped her fingers as Oliver’s words replayed in her head. That was it.
She went back to the bedroom and grabbed her laptop, putting it in a bag so she could avoid dropping it while using her crutches. Moving to the living room, she powered it on with new vigor. Working on a hunch, she opened an internet browser and searched Jean Watford’s name. After some digging, she found the young woman’s public social media profile. It had all the information Darling needed.
She did some quick math and typed in a new search.
A few minutes later she found a picture that nearly confirmed her hunch. The picture was from the early ’90s and showed a young Nigel Marks at a Christmas party. He stood tall—and rather handsome—amid a large group of people. The quality wasn’t the greatest, but Darling got the break she needed when she saw the name of each person printed across the bottom. It didn’t take long to find the last piece of the puzzle.
Standing next to Nigel was a red-haired woman with a giant smile.
Her name was Regina Watford.
Darling’s mind began turning at such a fast pace she almost felt dizzy. This was why Nigel hadn’t admitted to knowing Jean. He did have an
affair. It was just twenty-three years and nine months earlier.
If Darling was right, she was looking at the night the businessman had strayed from his wife of twenty-six years with the red-haired woman at his side and produced a child—Jean.
Darling thought about the pictures she had been given of Nigel and Jean from the past year. Everyone had thought the two happy people were having an affair, but that was because the daughter angle had never entered their minds. Now, the pictures of the two laughing, hugging and dining in public fit the scenario of a father and daughter meeting. Had they been seeing each other in secret for years or had they just reunited?
Before she could talk herself out of it, Darling went back to the bedroom and grabbed Oliver’s phone. She went into the bathroom and shut the door. Scrolling through his contacts, she found Nigel’s personal cell phone number.
For some reason she couldn’t quite place, she needed to confirm the truth. She hit Call and waited with bated breath.
What was she going to say?
“Nigel Marks’s phone,” a man answered after two rings. “This is Jace Marks.”
That put a kink in Darling’s plan. Did Jace even know about his half-sister?
“Um, hi,” Darling stuttered out. “This is Darling Smith. I, uh, just had some information for Nigel I thought he might like to know.”
“Darling Smith? The woman who was kidnapped?”
“Yeah,” she responded, uncomfortable.
“How are you?”
Surprised at the concern, she answered on reflex. “I’m okay. My foot is sore, but I’m alive.”
“That’s good. It would have been another senseless tragedy had that bodyguard not found you.”
“I’d have to agree there.” She cleared her throat. “Is there any way I can speak with Nigel, though? It won’t take long.”
Private Bodyguard Page 15
