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

by Beauman, Cate

  “I guess that’s all we can do for now.” He wanted to get Wren out of here—now—and on the first plane to Los Angeles, but snow was falling in sheets and it was dark. They were better off staying put until daylight. “We’re heading back to LA in the morning. This place isn’t safe anymore. We’re out in the middle of nowhere. The house is more glass than timber. There are picture windows all over the damn place. The bastard’s having a fucking field day. He’s peeping right now; I can feel it. We’ll catch the next available flight tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like we’ll see you soon.”

  “Yeah. Keep me in the loop if anything else comes up.”

  “Will do.”

  He hung up, flung his phone to the bed, and rubbed at the instant tension along the back of his neck. “Son of a bitch.” Now what? His first instinct was to shut off the lights and barricade Wren in the bathroom—one of the only rooms in the house without windows. He couldn’t stand the thought of the bastard watching her, but hiding Wren away was a bad idea. Nothing good would come from tipping their guy off. The longer it took him to figure out the authorities were on to him, the better. Wren was mostly safe until morning. If her stalker could have taken him out, he would’ve by now, so they would play this as if nothing had changed.

  He grabbed his laptop and cell and made his way down the hall, settling himself on the couch within eyesight of Wren. He opened his company e-mail account and started composing a message to Ethan. He couldn’t exactly call while Wren sat mere feet away. There was no use frightening her, but her brother needed to know.

  Ethan—

  His cellphone rang, and he glanced at the readout this time. Speak of the devil. “I was just e-mailing you.”

  “No kidding. I was about to send you something too. A package came into the office this evening. Mia scanned a few items for me.”

  Tucker frowned at the edge in Ethan’s voice. “What’s up?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Tucker’s e-mail dinged with an incoming message.

  “Should be there by now. Go ahead and take a look.”

  Tucker clicked open the mail from Ethan and downloaded the attachments. He stared, speechless, at a picture of him and Wren tangled together in a deep, searing kiss. Wren’s fingers were in his hair while he clutched her close. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He flipped from one photo to the next, disgusted that a moment that had been for him and Wren alone now played out on his computer screen.

  “What the hell is going on up there, Campbell?”

  “None of your goddamn business,” he bit off.

  Wren stopped typing and looked at him.

  He slammed his laptop shut and marched his ass to the bedroom as his blood boiled.

  “He’s there, Campbell.”

  “Obviously.” He shoved his door closed. “I just got off the phone with Owens. They triangulated the signals to Park City a few minutes ago. He’s been here for the last forty-eight hours.”

  “Son of a bitch. I trusted you. I trusted you to take care of my sister, man, not to use this as an excuse to get your hands down her fucking pants.”

  “Fuck off, Ethan. I’m doing my job. I’m taking care of Wren.”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” he scoffed.

  “This has nothing to do with you. What you saw in those pictures, that’s personal.”

  “There’s no such thing as personal in close protection, especially when I’m paying your salary and especially when your tongue’s down my sister’s throat when there’s a fucking sicko staring in your bedroom window.”

  “Goddamn, you’re an asshole. I had no idea he was here. I had no fucking clue he would find us.”

  “Maybe if you were following procedure—”

  “Following procedure wouldn’t have changed one fucking thing, and you know it. I’m not going to sit here and defend myself to you. I’ll get Wren home in one piece. After that you can take your salary and shove it.”

  Wren flung the door open and rushed into the room. “What’s going on in here?”

  “Nothing,” he said to Wren, then spoke to Ethan. “We’ll be on the first available flight back tomorrow.” Clenching his jaw, he pressed “end,” and shoved his phone in the holder before he gave into the desire to chuck it.

  “Tucker.” Brows furrowed, Wren took several steps closer. “Was that Ethan? Did you just quit your job?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Apparently this whole bodyguard thing isn’t going to work out. Go ahead and pack. We’re leaving in the morning.”

  She shook her head. “Since when?”

  “Since fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Did they catch the guy? Did they find the man doing this?”

  He steamed out a breath, holding her gaze.

  “Oh God.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “He found me.”

  Her terrified eyes darted to the massive panels of glass. “He’s out there.” Cringing, she stepped back.

  This wasn’t how he’d wanted to tell her. “Sit down.” He gestured to the bed.

  She glanced toward the windows again, shuddering.

  “Come on.” He took her hand, pulling her down the hall to her room and into the bathroom.

  She shut the door and rested her back against it. “How long has he been here?”

  He leaned his hip on the counter “Looks like the last couple of days.”

  “He’s been watching us. He’s standing out there in the dark, isn’t he?”

  He could lie and deny it, but for what purpose? “Probably.”

  Her breath rushed out as she crossed her arms tight across her chest.

  “Hey.” He leaned forward, snagged her wrist, and tugged her to him. “Hey.”

  “What?”

  “Everything’s going to be all right.” He pulled her into a hug, and to his surprise she held on. “I won’t let him touch you.” He rubbed his hands down her back. I’m promising you he won’t touch you.”

  She nodded.

  “We’re leaving tomorrow. As soon as I can get us out of here.”

  She eased back enough to look him in the eye. “Then what?”

  “Then we go home. You’ll probably stay with Austin or Hunter until the renovations are finished at your brother’s.”

  “What about you? What about your job?”

  He shrugged. He didn’t want to think about that right now. “Let’s figure this out first.”

  “What happened? I heard some of your argument.”

  “Then you got the gist that Ethan’s not real happy with the way I’ve been handling things around here.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  Telling her about the pictures would only frighten her further, but if Ethan mentioned something before he did… “The man following you, he snapped a few photos of us when we were kissing.”

  Her eyes grew wide as she clutched at his waist. “He what? How?”

  “Long-range lens would do the trick. He was nice enough to send them along to your brother. Ethan’s not pleased.”

  “It’s none of his business.” Temper heated her voice.

  “I agree, but he doesn’t see it that way.”

  Wren yanked up the hem of his shirt and pulled the cellphone from the holder.

  “What are you doing?”

  She said nothing as she dialed.

  He took her arm. “Cooke, what are you doing?”

  She freed herself from his grip as she put the phone to her ear, her eyes glittering. “Bastardo!” she spat into the phone.

  Tucker’s brows rose as Wren turned away and continued her rant in fluent Italian. She paced about the large space, p
unctuating key words—swears, he was almost certain—with a gesture of her hand. Her cheeks pinked as her temper blazed. Her long waving curls flowed about each time she whirled.

  Wren was pissed and absolutely stunning.

  “Fine. I will. I love you too.” And just like that, the storm was over. She pressed “end” and held out the phone. “Here you go.”

  He stared at the gorgeous spitfire in front of him and couldn’t help but grin as he took his cellphone back. “What the hell was that?”

  She swiped a strand of hair from her cheek. “Difference of opinion.”

  My God, was there anyone more perfect than this woman? “I know Ethan speaks several languages. You too?”

  “I’m bilingual. Our nanny was from Italy. We spoke Italian before we did English.”

  “Huh.” He pulled her closer, enjoying the simple fact that she was talking to him again. “I appreciate the sentiment,” He put his phone back in its holder, “but I was going to talk to Ethan tomorrow after we’d both had some time to cool off.”

  “Good, I hope you do.” She traced her finger along the bold black and red Ethan Cooke Security insignia on the breast of his t-shirt. “You’re very good at your job, but I did that for me. I told him to mind his own business, more or less.” She gave him a sassy smile.

  “Damn, Cooke.” He pressed his hand on top of hers, stopping her finger in its path along the “E.” “How am I supposed to walk away from you?” Her smile vanished, and he wanted to bite off his tongue. Why couldn’t he get this right?

  She stepped away, turned, and hesitated with her hand on the doorknob.

  “Wait a minute. Let me get the drapes.” Her bedroom was one of the only spaces with a barrier of privacy against the outdoors. This would be their first night since they arrived that they wouldn’t watch the stars twinkle or the snow fall. Tucker opened the door and walked to the enormous windows, systematically shutting out the world beyond the four walls. The gauzy fabric was slightly see-through, but it was better than nothing. “All set.”

  Wren stepped out of the bathroom.

  “We’ll keep the fire going and the lights off. I’ll get your stuff from the dining room.”

  “Thank you.”

  He walked to the well-lit great room, grabbed Wren’s cellphone and laptop, then headed back. “It’s late. Do you want a sandwich or something? We can eat in here and kinda camp out.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “I’ll make you something anyway.” He left again and made his way to the kitchen. What the hell were they going to have for dinner? He opened the refrigerator, perusing their options, and spied the cold cuts in one of the bins. “Perfect.” He grabbed plates, bread, mayo, deli meats, and cheeses and began the process of building two sandwiches while he replayed their conversation in the bathroom. She’d smiled at him and voluntarily touched him, then he’d pulled out the serious card and ruined everything. “Fucking fatal error there, Campbell,” he muttered to himself, disgusted with his own stupidity. He should’ve kept things light. Wren relaxed and opened up when feelings and emotions didn’t enter the picture. So that would be the game plan for the rest of the evening—maybe a little TV and some meaningless conversation. He wanted her to smile at him again.

  Tucker slapped two pieces of bread on top of roasted turkey and provolone and put the condiments and meats back, grabbed two waters, a bag of chips, and apples from the fruit bowl. He glanced at the steady blink of the alarm and shut off the lights on his way to the bedroom. Time to settle in and wait ‘til morning. There was nothing more they could do. He walked in the room. “Dinner is served,” he muffled around the corner of the chip bag in his mouth.

  Wren glanced up from her laptop. “Looks like a feast.” She leaned over from her side of the bed and took the plate from his hand. “Thank you.”

  He pulled the bag from his mouth. “No problem.” With his hand free, he walked to the door, locked it, and joined her on his half of the mattress, taking his gun from the holster and set it on the nightstand close by. “Is it going to bother you if I turn on the television?”

  “No.”

  He bit into his sandwich, powered on the TV, and settled himself among the pillows.

  “Tucker.”

  “Hmm?” he grunted over his big bite.

  “What’s this? What is this stuff all over the side of my house?”

  He swallowed. “What?”

  “Greta just e-mailed me some pictures. She’s recommending I hire a painter to do some touchups, and I can certainly see why. She made a comment to Mia about the marks when she dropped the keys back by the office. Mia said I should ask you about it.” She turned the screen toward him.

  Son of a bitch. Someone had done a shitty-ass job of handling the damage to Wren’s property. The insurance company had assured Ethan the problem had been taken care of. He should’ve had Jackson or Jerrod or someone go over to double check. Tucker’s stomach sank as he glanced from Wren’s questioning stare to the various spatters and streaks of dark red still marring the pristine white. If he looked closely he could make out MINE in a few areas. He sighed and met her eyes. There was going to be hell to pay for this one. Diversionary tactics were definitely worth a shot. “Why is someone taking pictures of your place?”

  “Greta’s my realtor. I’m putting my house on the market.”

  He picked up his sandwich and set the half back down without taking a bite. “Why?”

  “I’m moving, hopefully to Santa Barbara.”

  “What?” If she’d slapped him, she couldn’t have shocked him more. “Cooke, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “Later.”

  “No, now. You love your house. You’re only a couple of miles from your brother.” And me. “Cooke Interiors—”

  “Is a fiasco. My life is a mess. I need a change of scenery, so I’m leaving. Now, what’s this stuff on the house?”

  He wanted to talk this madness out until he convinced her she was making a huge mistake. Santa Barbara? She couldn’t go. He wasn’t ready to give up on them, even if she was. “That stuff?”

  “Yes, Tucker, that stuff.” She pointed to several streaks.

  “That was supposed to have been cleaned up.”

  “What is it?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Blood.”

  She frowned. “Blood?” Her eyes widened. “But there’s so much.”

  “Yeah.” What the hell else was he supposed to say?

  “What did he do?”

  There was no need to ask who “he” was. “Cooke.” He took her hand, stalling.

  She pulled free. “What did he do, Tucker?”

  Thanks a hell of a lot, Mia. “Remember when I told you about our cars being vandalized?”

  “Yes.”

  “He didn’t stop there.” He sighed. “He killed a few more cats, left one on the doorstep at your office and another at the house. He wrote ‘mine’ on your siding with the blood.”

  “Oh my God. I can’t even—” Wren covered her face with her hands. “That’s so disgustingly sick.”

  He glanced toward the sheer curtains, knowing the man who “decorated” Wren’s house more than likely lurked around in the dark.

  “I should have known about this. You should have told me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “For what purpose? So you could be as upset as you are right now?”

  “I had a right to know. You told me about the cars.”

  “That’s a little less disturbing than someone writing all over your house with cat blood.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “No?” She raised her brow at him.

  “Look, Cooke, I’m sorry. Ethan and I thought we were doing what
was best for you.”

  “Doing what was best…” She yanked her computer back to her side. “Do you hear yourself? Do you have any idea how condescending you sound?”

  “What good does you knowing do anyone?”

  “‘Anyone?’ I’m not worried about ‘anyone.’ This is my life, Tucker, and I have no idea what’s going on in it. You have no right to decide what should and shouldn’t be kept from me.”

  “I’m sorry, Cooke.” He took her hand again, holding firm. “We thought we were protecting you.”

  “Fine.” She held herself rigid.

  “No, it’s not fine.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “I really am sorry. From here on out, I’ll share everything that comes down the vine.”

  “Thank you.” She held his gaze, pulling her laptop on her legs.

  “So, are we good here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” Tucker relaxed his shoulders, taking a deep breath, realizing he’d danced his way through a very dicey situation. He resettled himself among the pillows with his plate on his stomach and the remote in his hand.

  “Oh my God. He was in my house?” Her shocked eyes met his. “My bedroom is trashed. Was he in my house?”

  Shit. Tonight just kept getting better and better. He set his plate aside for the second time and sat up. “The guy broke in the same night he threw bricks through my windows.”

  “What—Why?”

  “I can’t rationalize a madman, Cooke.”

  “Look at my room.”

  She shoved the laptop in his face.

  The comforter was missing, along with the pillowcases. Two drawers had been removed from the light oak dresser. Traces of fingerprinting powder remained by the French doors marring the pristine white trim. “The police took some pictures and gathered some evidence.”

  “They took my bedding and my drawers for heaven’s sake. Why on earth would they do that?”

  There was no way to pretty this one up. “He messed with some of your stuff—got in your drawers, sliced up your underwear, and laid it all over the bed.”