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

by Beauman, Cate

  This is what he wants. He wants you to be afraid while he plays his games. Steeling herself, she grabbed her phone and got out with her key fob clutched in her unsteady hand. The cool rush of wind tossed her hair in her face, and she swiped wavy locks behind her ear as she strained to hear over the rustling leaves. She walked quickly, her eyes darting everywhere.

  She just had to get to the door and step inside. The panic button was in the entryway if she needed it. The police would come help her, along with whoever was fielding calls at Ethan’s company tonight. “I’m almost there. I’m almost there,” she whispered, flinching, blinking, startled as the sensor lights flashed on to brighten the walkway. The security lights. It was just the security lights. She forgot she reactivated the feature the night of the gala. She took another step forward and saw the blood by the pretty pot of red mums. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” A black cat lay on her step, decapitated and bloated in a pool of dark, congealed crimson. “Oh my…”

  Her breath rushed in and out as she stumbled back. The cellphone in her clammy hand rang, and she screamed. Blindly, she pressed “talk.” “Hell—hello?”

  “Do you like it?” someone whispered.

  She whirled, scanning, searching for Rex. He was here, somewhere. He had to be.

  “Why won’t you call me?” The whisper turned into a pathetic whine. “Why won’t you call me, Wren?”

  “Stop,” she shuddered out as she hurried to her car, looking over her shoulder from time to time, sure he was waiting to pounce. “Stop doing this. I’m calling the police.”

  The whining stopped abruptly and turned into mad, riotous laughter. “They won’t believe you! They won’t believe you!”

  “Leave me alone!” She hung up, gasping for air. Tears poured down her cheeks, and her hand shook as she opened her door, took her seat, and locked herself in. She had to get out of here. She had to get away. It took her two tries to shove the key in the ignition as she glanced at the bloodstained step once more and backed out with a squeal of tires. She sped off, heading toward Ethan’s until she remembered he was gone and a quarter of his house had been gutted for the new edition. All of them were gone—Ethan, Hunter, and Austin. She pressed ‘one’ on her speed dial, listening to the repetitive ringing. Ethan’s smooth voice told her to leave a message, but she hung up instead. She turned down another street, taking her farther from her home, and punched in Ethan Cooke Security’s twenty-four hour assistance line.

  “Ethan Cooke Security. This is Mia.”

  “Mia, it’s Wren.”

  “Wren, are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Her voice broke, and she shook her head as she clutched the wheel with one hand. “No. No, I’m not. There’s a dead cat on my porch.”

  “Oh.”

  That didn’t exactly describe the horror she’d just backed away from. “Someone killed a cat and left it on my front step.”

  “Oh my god. Where are you?”

  “In my car.” She sniffed. “Driving around. I don’t want to go back to my house alone.”

  “Of course not. Let me patch you through to Tucker Campbell. He’s on call.”

  Tucker? “No, wait—” But it was too late. Soothing music played in her ear.

  “Wren?” Tucker’s deep voice hummed with concern.

  Her lip wobbled, and tears began to fall again. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “What’s going on? Mia said something about a dead cat?”

  “Someone chopped some sweet cat’s head off and put the body on my front step.”

  He muttered a swear. “Are you there now?”

  “No, I’m in my car, driving around. It freaked me out. I don’t want to be at the house by myself.”

  “I don’t want you there either. Come to my place until we get this figured out.”

  If choking fingers of terror didn’t have her by the throat, she would’ve refused, but Tucker was offering his help. She needed help. “I don’t—I don’t know where you live.”

  “Ocean View Apartments, off Highway One.”

  “What if he follows me? He might be following me right now.” She glanced in the rearview mirror and cringed as headlights trailed behind her.

  “Who?”

  “Rex.”

  “Who the hell is Rex?”

  “The crazy bastard who left the dead cat on my porch.”

  “Son of a bitch, Cooke. Don’t stop. Don’t’ pull over. Drive on a flat tire if you have to. Just get here. I’ll be waiting outside.”

  “Okay,” she sniffed, too afraid to be prideful. “I’m about ten minutes away.”

  Tucker hung up, shaking his head. What the hell kind of trouble was Wren in? Dead cats and a guy named Rex who might be following her… Did Ethan know about this? He doubted it. Ethan wouldn’t have traipsed off to Hawaii without mentioning his baby sister’s problems. Tucker would hear Wren out, find out what was going on, then call the cops and her big brother.

  Tucker shoved his phone in his back pocket and hurried around his disheveled living room, gathering up dirty dishes and the numerous fitness magazines he never had time to read. He grabbed the sweaty shirt he’d yanked off and thrown to the floor after his workout and swiped at the coating of dust on the ratty coffee table he’d bought off the young couple living downstairs a few years ago.

  He tossed the magazines on the mismatched side table, set the plates and cups in the sink with a clatter, and walked to the chest of drawers in his bedroom for a clean t-shirt. Wren would be here any minute. He wanted to be outside when she arrived. It was dark and she was afraid. He couldn’t blame her. This Rex character seemed to be playing a dangerous game.

  Tucker took the stairs in twos to the lobby, then stepped out the glass front door. Wren’s pretty red Mercedes pulled into the lot seconds later. Stopping, she rolled down her window as he circled around to the driver’s side. Subtle hints of her French perfume and a blast of hot air from the heater greeted him.

  “Where should I—” She cleared the tremor from her voice as she adjusted her white-knuckled grip on the wheel. “Where should I park?”

  “Take the spot next to mine.” He noted her blotchy cheeks and still-damp eyes as he pointed to his black Jeep Wrangler Moab.

  She nodded and turned into the empty space twenty yards ahead. The cool and unshakable Wren was on edge—understandably.

  He walked to her car, scanning the area, watching for anything suspicious while she slid her briefcase strap and leather laptop bag on her shoulder, got out, and locked the door. Her gaze darted left and right, then met his.

  “I don’t think anyone followed you.”

  She folded her arms across her middle, her hands clutching her elbows. “Are you sure?”

  “Not one hundred percent, but he’s not here now. He didn’t pull in the parking lot, and he sure as hell isn’t sitting idle on West Sunset. He’ll get creamed. Let’s go inside.”

  She nodded. “I’m freezing.”

  They walked to the lobby door and he let her in first. “Up the stairs and hang a left. First door on your right.” Wren started up in front of him. He studied her amazing ass in her khaki wide-leg trousers, her tiny waist in a trim, long-sleeve white blouse, and her stylish leather heels. “Didn’t you fly today, Cooke?”

  She glanced over her shoulder as they took the last step to the second floor. “Yes, I got back a couple hours ago. Why?”

  “Ever hear of comfort while you travel?”

  “I am comfortable. I had an eleven-thirty meeting with my clients before I headed to the airport. I couldn’t go to a law firm dressed in ratty gym shorts and a t-shirt.” She looked him up and down with scathing, red-rimmed eyes.

  He grinned. She was shaken up, but she’d pulled herself together enough to throw a jab or two his way. Good. “Right here. 2A.”
Tucker shoved the key in the door and opened it for Wren to walk in first.

  She took two steps in and stopped. “This is—this is where you live?”

  “Yup.” His beat-up leather couch, mismatched tables, and large flat screen TV were all that graced his mostly empty living room.

  Wren turned with what could only be horror in her eyes.

  He smothered his chuckle with a cough. Damn if she wasn’t just what he wanted. “You gonna pass out on me?”

  “I don’t—I don’t even know what to say. I offer all of Ethan’s employees free consultations and deep discounts on furnishings and accents with my connections.” She walked over to the ugly burnt-orange curtains that had been on the windows when he moved in and batted at them with the tip of her fingernail. “Tucker, this is…”

  “Awful?”

  “That’s putting it lightly.”

  He shrugged. “There’s food in the fridge, my TV works, and the couch is comfortable.”

  “But free consultations and deep discounts. Surely Ethan told you.”

  He shrugged again. “I’m never here.”

  “But—”

  “Cooke. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “It is. This is your home.”

  “I guess. I think of it more as a place where I crash from time to time. I sleep here two, maybe three times a week—if I’m lucky.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “Lucky?”

  He laughed. “I’m on duty a lot.”

  “What about when you bring a date home?”

  “White walls and ugly furniture isn’t usually the topic of conversation.” He grinned and wiggled his brows. “Haven’t had any complaints yet.”

  She scoffed and tossed him an eye roll. “Consider this your first. Have you always lived here, even when you worked for the police department?”

  He nodded. “Wasn’t around much then either. Homicide keeps a man busy.”

  She batted at the curtain once more and stepped away. “Did you always work homicide?”

  “Nah. I was a beat cop for awhile first.”

  “Did you deal with crazy men who left dead animals on doorsteps?”

  He didn’t typically start working a case until dead animals escalated to dead people. “Sometimes.”

  “Why did he do it? Why did Rex hurt that poor cat and leave it for me to find?”

  “What’s your impression?”

  “I think he wants to scare me.” She clutched her arms across her chest again as the little color left in her face vanished. “And it’s working.”

  “Come sit down.” He walked into the bedroom and unearthed the sweatshirt he’d worn earlier. “Here. Put this on.”

  “Thanks.” She pulled on the extra-large gray hoodie and sat on the edge of the leather cushion.

  He studied her, tense and stiff on his ugly couch, dwarfed in the soft fleece of his exercise clothes. Her pale cheeks and haunted eyes bothered the hell out of him. Her fire was gone. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “No.” She shook her head as she pressed a hand to her stomach. “No, thank you.”

  He took a seat next to her. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Rex left a decapitated cat on my doorstep.”

  “Rex who?”

  “Rex Richardson.”

  “The name’s vaguely familiar.”

  “I’m sure it is. He’s the DA’s grandson.”

  His brow rose in surprise. “The Junior Vice President of Vera Corporation left a dead cat on your doorstep?”

  She nodded.

  “Why would he do that? How do you know it was him?”

  “Because I do.”

  “That’s not particularly helpful, Cooke.”

  She huffed out a breath. “You don’t believe me.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t believe you; it’s just a little hard to swallow. I’ve met Rex a time or two. I never got a creepy vibe from him.”

  She huffed again and started to stand.

  He pulled her back to her seat. “Don’t be like that. For all I know he’s the scum of the earth.”

  “He is. Trust me on that.”

  “He may very well be, but he’s also the DA’s grandson. Politics are going to come into play when the police take a look at this.”

  She rubbed at her temple, then pressed her palms to her forehead. “He told me they weren’t going to believe me. He’ll keep right on doing what he’s doing, because they won’t listen to a word I’m saying.”

  “When?”

  She looked at him, frowning. “When what?”

  “When did he tell you the cops wouldn’t believe you?”

  “Tonight, when he called.”

  “He called you?”

  “Yes. Tonight he actually spoke to me. Usually he texts once a day. He also had roses delivered to my office.”

  “When were you going to tell someone about this?”

  “I was hoping he would get bored and stop if I didn’t acknowledge him, but it keeps getting worse.” Her lips quivered, and she pressed them firm.

  “Cooke, you’re being stalked. Ignoring the situation won’t make it go away.”

  “So I’ve noticed. He’s crazy, absolutely crazy.” Her voice trembled, and she shook her head as she stood and walked to fiddle with the orange curtain.

  He hated seeing her like this. His first instinct was to pull her into a hug, but the cop in him wanted answers. She was vulnerable and willing to spill. Her pride wouldn’t get in the way of the details. “Tell me about tonight. Start from the beginning.”

  “I flew out of Portland at three. The flight was awful—turbulence the entire way. I landed around five forty-five and started home.”

  “In your vehicle, or did you take a cab?”

  “My car. I left it in long-term parking.”

  He nodded, encouraging her to continue.

  “I was on my way home to change. Abby’s show is tonight. I was supposed to go.”

  “She’ll understand.”

  “I hope so. This is her debut. She’s been through so much. I wanted to be there.”

  “Abby has a whole bunch of people supporting her. We need to get this situation figured out. Tell me what happened next.”

  Wren walked back to the couch and sat. “Lenora Cartwright called when I was on the 405, asking about her damn mockups for the millionth time, which I still haven’t gotten to.”

  “Eager client.”

  She sent him a wry smile. “You could say.”

  “I think I remember her being a little demanding.”

  “That’s right. You know the Cartwrights. I keep forgetting.”

  They weren’t circling around to his association with the Cartwrights. “What next?”

  “Out of desperation I told her I would drop off swatches, color pallets, and furniture magazines.”

  He grinned. “Shut her up for awhile.”

  “It was either that or kill her.” She chuckled. “I didn’t think I could laugh at a time like this.” She touched his hand. “Thank you.”

  He reversed his palm to hold hers. “Laughing is better than crying.”

  “I agree one hundred percent. I hate crying. It makes me feel weak and foolish.”

  “Nah.” He imagined Wren rarely gave into her tears.

  She squeezed his hand, then put hers back in her lap. “I went by the Cartwrights to drop off Lenora’s stuff. JT met me at the door and saved my life.”

  He frowned. “How’s that?”

  “First he offered me dinner, but my stomach was upset from the turbulence, then he said he would head his mother off so I could go home and rest.”

  “A real night in shining arm
or.” Wren’s blatant admiration for JT rubbed him the wrong way.

  “He really is. We’re having lunch on Tuesday—my treat—for saving me undue hours of pain and suffering.”

  He didn’t want to hear about Wren’s lunch date, especially when she refused to have a simple meal with him. “So JT came to your rescue. Take the story from there.”

  She stared at him for several seconds, then kept going. “I started home through the insane traffic and decided I should check in with Patrick.”

  “Who’s Patrick?”

  “My assistant.”

  “What’s his last name?”

  “Stone. Why?”

  He shrugged. “Curious. That’s all.”

  “Patrick is not my stalker. Trust me. He’d find you more attractive than he does me—promise.”

  “Stalking isn’t about sex. It’s a need for control over another person.”

  “It’s Rex, not Patrick.”

  “I like to keep my options open.”

  “Do what you think you need to, but you’re wasting your time on one of the people I know and love best.”

  Tucker had never been so envious of another man. What would it be like to rate Wren’s absolute adoration and trust? At most, he and Wren were tiptoeing around a cautious friendship. “Better to look and eliminate than wish you had all along.”

  “I’ll let you be the cynic.”

  He shrugged again. “Keep going.”

  “Patrick and I ran through my schedule for the day. While we were talking a delivery arrived—blood-red roses and a note that said, ‘Welcome Home’. There was a number twenty-five on the card as well.”