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

by Beauman, Cate

  “What?” She rushed from the bed. “This is unbelievable. My worst nightmare, and I had no idea. What else, Tucker? What else has he done that I don’t know about?”

  “That pretty much covers it.”

  Her nostrils flared as her eyes sparked with temper. “Don’t talk to me in that tone. I have every right to be angry. Every right.”

  “I already told you I was sorry. We did what we thought was best at the time. I can’t take it back. We were thinking of you. We didn’t want you to worry.”

  “You didn’t want me…” she laughed. “Did you think sparing me from two incidences was going to cure my worries, Tucker? I hardly do anything but worry. I barely recognize my life anymore. There’s a sicko beyond those windows who wants to hurt me. Patrick is more or less dead. Cooke Interiors is ruined,” she tossed at him as she paced. “You thought ripped panties and another disgusting message was going to break me?”

  “I wanted to protect you—Ethan too. Why is that so wrong?”

  “The thought was well-meaning, but your method sucks. This right here,” she made a circling motion between the two of them, “this is another perfect example of why you and me would never have worked.”

  “Are you serious?” It was his turn to leap off the bed. “What does any of this have to do with you and me?”

  “Everything. It has everything to do with you and me. I’m a strong woman, and you don’t seem to recognize that. I can handle a lot. I’m handling it right now, aren’t I?”

  “This is bullshit, Cooke.” He walked to her, stopping toe-to-toe. “You’re grasping at straws, and you know it. The reason you and I don’t work is because you don’t want us to, plain and simple. This is just another excuse to push me further away. That’s what you’ve been doing from the start.”

  “That’s because my life doesn’t work when you’re in it.”

  She aimed a perfectly painful blow. “It works just fine, or it would if you’d let it, but you’re too afraid to try.”

  “Damn you for saying that and damn you, Tucker, for messing everything up. I was doing fine until you came along.”

  “Maybe, but deep down you know we make each other better.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” He gripped her arms. “You’re one of the strongest women I know, but you’re a coward when it comes to your heart.”

  She gaped at him. “How dare you. How can you stand there and say that to me when you’re no different? How ironic is it that the man out there,” she jabbed a finger at the curtains, “wherever he is, he’s trying his damndest to break me, but I refuse to let him. Refuse. But you, Tucker, you just might.” She yanked back, walked into the bathroom, and slammed the door behind her.

  He could hear water filling the tub as he sat again, staring into the fire, wondering who in the end would break the other first.

  He chuckled as he stood to the side of the window, listening to the muffled shouting Her Highness and Pretty Boy fired back and forth. Trouble in paradise—perfect. This alone had been worth the risk of getting caught. Not that he would. Mother Nature was on his side tonight. He looked up, blinking as the snow poured down. There were plenty of inches left in this storm. His tracks would be filled by morning, just in time for all hell to break loose. He could hardly wait.

  He leaned in just a tad, wanting another peek. Wren was even more magnificent when she was angry, and she was raging. He grinned as she ripped ol’ Lover Boy a new asshole and struggled to contain a burst of laughter when she yanked herself from Sir Studly’s arms and hurried to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Did it get any better than this?

  His good mood fell away and his eyes narrowed as he stared at the Campbell Golden Boy easing himself to the bed. Poor, pathetic Pretty Boy wasn’t used to women turning him away. Prince Charming would have to mop it up, because his string of bad luck was just getting started. In fact, it was about time for the next round of fun to begin. He back stepped in his snowshoes, turned, and walked toward the cluster of huge homes, enjoying the idea of Tucker suffering when the latest news hit.

  He made his way through the twists and turns of pines, eventually stopping at his destination several houses away. The place was dark as expected except for the flashes of television in one of the windows on the second story. She was still up—excellent.

  Crouching down, he gathered his items from the small bag he left by the tree earlier in the evening, freed himself from his snowshoes, and hustled to the front door. He used the key he’d helped himself to and punched in the code, deactivating the alarm as he stepped into the warmth of the spacious entryway. So far so good.

  He made a beeline for the stairs and started up, halting, ducking, as a bedroom door opened and she stepped out, flipped on the light, and closed herself in the bathroom. This was definitely his night. He rushed up the remaining steps and went into her room. The movie playing on the small flat-screen cast a blue glow about the space. Hints of bubblegum and perfume wafted in the air. Academic awards hung on the walls and trophies scattered several of the shelves. Brainy.

  The toilet flushed. Moments later the bathroom door opened and the light shut off. Showtime. Chloe walked in and gasped.

  “Don’t scream.”

  Her eyes, wide and frightened behind her thick glasses, darted to the hallway.

  He pulled the gun from his jacket pocket. “Close the door.”

  She hesitated.

  “I assure you, you don’t want to wake your family. It wouldn’t be good for their health.”

  Her hand trembled as she complied, shutting them in for their own little party.

  “Very wise choice. Now come over here.”

  “What—what do you want?”

  “You.”

  “We have—we have money, lots of money. My dad’s an investor.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “Unfortunately I’m not looking for money. Now come here.”

  She did as she was told, stopping in front of him.

  Chloe Wright was sheer perfection, with her long black hair and slim body, but the glasses would have to go. “Lose the glasses and take off your clothes.”

  “No,” she whispered, trembling.

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “I guess I’ll ask your mother then.”

  “No.” She held up a hand to halt him. “I’ll—I’ll do it.”

  “That’s the right attitude. The glasses.”

  Chloe took off her black-framed coke bottles, and tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “Much, much better. Now your top.”

  More tears fell. “Please.”

  “Might as well dry ‘em up. Crying doesn’t affect me. The top.” He gestured to her shirt with his gun.

  She pulled her light blue sleep shirt over her head, exposing small perky breasts. Spectacular. When he’d spotted her walking out of the library yesterday, he knew she would do.

  “Pants and panties.”

  Quietly weeping, she slid them off and stood before him, beautifully naked.

  He grew hard as his gaze traveled over her subtle curves. “I certainly know how to pick ‘em. Now come closer and put your hands behind your back.”

  “I want—I want my mom.”

  “And I want you. Turn and put your hands behind your back.”

  She reluctantly did as she was told as her breath heaved violently.

  He pulled the black nylon from his pocket and took a moment to palm Chloe’s soft warm breasts. “Very nice,” he whispered next to her ear as he slid his fingers down her arms. “Lock your hands.”

  Her whole body shook as she clasped her fingers together.

  He tied the nylon at her wrists, knotting the slippery fabric firm.

  “Lay down on the floor over by your bed—on your back. And spread you
r legs.”

  “Please don’t—please don’t make me do this.” Her teeth chattered and her voice rose in her panic.

  “Uh, uh, uh, you’re going to wake your parents, then they’ll have to die. Do you want them to die, Chloe?”

  “No.”

  “Then do as I say.”

  She lay back on her bound hands and spread her legs as instructed.

  His breathing grew ragged as he remembered the first. She’d looked and cried just like that while she waited for him. He gripped the rope in his fisted hand and slid out of his jacket, then freed himself from his jeans, ready to begin.

  Kneeling in front of her, he rammed himself inside her, and she yelped, jumping. As he worked himself up he no longer saw Chloe Wright. Staci Campbell stared back at him through terrified dark hazel eyes, and he thought of revenge. That was all he’d ever wanted.

  Chapter 15

  Tucker threw the last of his clothes in his duffel and zipped it closed. He grabbed his laptop next and secured it in its case. They probably had three hours—four at the most—to make it to Salt Lake City International, secure two seats on standby, and take off before the next storm came in to reek havoc on the region. All outgoing flights were either crammed full or canceled due to already shitty conditions. The clearing crews were struggling to maintain the runways with the endless blowing snow. Winter was here with a vengeance, and she wasn’t letting up.

  The Park City Festival wasn’t making a quick exit any easier. Throngs of tourists filled hotels to capacity while they waited for their chance at a backlogged flight. All carriers were warning passengers it could be well into next week before everyone would get home, no matter their destination. That wasn’t going to work. Staying here another day wasn’t an option, let alone another week. Come hell or high water, he and Wren were leaving. He would bribe someone if he had to—a trip to any one of the Campbell Resorts—free airfare, spa packages, whatever the hell they wanted as long as they handed over their tickets and he and Wren were in the air today. But first they had to get to the airport.

  He glanced out the window again at heavy gray clouds hanging low and worried about the drive. The highway was a mess, and the interstate no better according to the early reports he’d listened to while eating his breakfast. Hopefully the road crews had made progress over the last couple hours. The ride was bound to be long and dicey, even with the Jeep’s four-wheel drive, but his gut begged him to try anyway before Mother Nature trapped them here indefinitely. The longer they stayed in Park City, the more dangerous Wren’s situation became.

  Her stalker had been abnormally quiet, setting Tucker further on edge. Their guy was in Park City, so why wasn’t he up to his typical games? No flowers, no carcasses, no messages written in blood. Patrick’s cellphone hadn’t triangulated a signal since Wren received the last text three days ago. The bastard got off on his power plays. He needed others to know he was running the show, so why wasn’t he making his presence known? It was only a matter of time before he did, and Tucker wanted them long gone before their “friend” figured out he’d lost his latest advantage.

  With one last look around the room, he shouldered the strap of his laptop case, grabbed his bag, and started down the hall, stopping as Wren stepped out of her bedroom with the original carryon she’d arrived with and the new one she bought to accommodate the items they’d accumulated on their shopping spree in town several days ago. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Their first “conversation” in hours. The tension had been unbearable throughout the night while they’d lain next to each other in her bed. Wren had emerged from the bathroom long after she’d tossed the last of her angry words his way, smelling sinful from her extended bath. She had faced the wall while she unknotted her silky emerald colored spa robe and let it slide down her arms, revealing a simple spaghetti strap top and snug pajama bottoms that were unbelievably sexy, then she’d tugged the tie from her hair, sending thick black waves tumbling down her slim back. He’d gritted his teeth in defense against his need for her as she pulled the covers aside and lay down, settling herself in, never once looking in his direction.

  He’d clenched his fist at his side, barely resisting the urge to reach over and slide his fingers along her soft skin and insist they make the best of a crappy situation. Luckily he’d come to his senses, keeping his hands to himself and his mouth closed, staring at the ceiling instead. There hadn’t been anything left to say after their knock-down drag-out, so that’s the way they left it.

  “Were you able to get us a flight?” She asked stiffly.

  “No. We’ll have to fly standby. I’ll pack up the Jeep and we’ll get out of here.”

  She nodded, and they walked down the hall.

  Tucker set down his luggage and stood back from the window as he looked out, searching for disturbances in the snow. If Wren’s stalker was out there—and he more than likely was—he had the advantage. He could be hiding anywhere among the endless rows of thick pines. Tucker unfastened the snap on his holster and reached in his pocket, pulling out the keys. After a final scan, he turned to Wren. “I want you to lock me out and let me back in.”

  “Aren’t you going to the garage?”

  All three garage doors had several panes of ornately etched glass. His father had designed the Campbell summer home with luxury, aesthetics, and comfort in mind, not maximum security. If their man had the right weapon and shattered the right pieces of glass, he could gain entry faster than Tucker could get back inside. “Safe over sorry, right?” He twisted the valet key from the loop and handed her the remaining set. “Don’t open the door until I’m standing in front of it.”

  “Do you think he’s here, even with all the snow?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure.” He’d promised full disclosure from here on out, but telling Wren the man who’d been hunting her was probably among the trees less than twenty yards away wasn’t happening.

  “Maybe we should call the police.” Her voice vibrated with nerves.

  He reached for his bag, pausing. “Why?”

  “Um, in case he’s here.” She gestured toward the windows and outdoors beyond.

  “That’s a nice thought, but the roads are shit. There are probably a few dozen accidents downtown. I don’t think driving up a mountain road to walk me to my car is on their priority list right now.” He checked his access to his weapon and grabbed his duffle, shouldering the strap and one of her suitcases, wanting to keep a hand free. “I’ll do this in two trips. First for most of the luggage, then for you. Be right back.”

  “But if he gets in, he’ll hurt you.”

  He reached for the knob, stopping as it registered that she was genuinely worried about him. Maybe not all was lost. Unable to stop himself, he stepped closer and skimmed her jaw. “That’s why I have my gun.”

  She held his wrist. “But—”

  “And you’re going to do what I’ve asked, so worrying about you won’t distract me,” he said as he continued caressing, holding her gaze.

  She leaned into his touch. “Yes, but—”

  “I’ll be fine, Cooke, as long as I know you’re going to keep the door locked and shut yourself in your bathroom and call 911 if something should happen.”

  Frowning, she pulled at his wrist, stopping his gentle movements. “So I’m supposed to run for safety and leave you outside with a lunatic?”

  And just like that, the tender moment was over. “Exactly. That’s kind of how this job works.” He stepped away, adjusting the strap on his shoulder, then turned and twisted the knob.

  Wren grabbed his arm. “Tucker, wait.”

  His system was revving with adrenaline. He wanted to get them out of there. The next few minutes were make-or-break, especially if their man was waiting to make a move. “Cooke, we have to go now if we’re going to beat the next storm. I d
on’t want to be stuck here again without power.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “Don’t open the door—no matter what—unless you hear me give you the okay. I mean it.”

  She nodded again. “All right.”

  Tucker gave a last scan out the windows, searching for any movements in the trees, and stepped out into the chilly garage. “Lock it,” he said, waiting for the bolt to slide in place.

  Metal snapped as the lock turned and he made his way to the passenger’s side, unlocking the door, lifting the lever and pulling the seat forward. He put the first two pieces of luggage in, constantly on the lookout for shadows outside the ornate glass. He started back, stopping suddenly, reaching for his weapon as something thundered close by.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered with his heart in his throat, realizing the loud noise was nothing more than snow falling from the roof. Puffing out a breath, he knocked on the door. “Cooke, open up.”

  Wren twisted the lock and he opened the door, stepping in, absorbing the warmth of the house as he closed them back in. “Do you have everything? I think we’re all set.”

  “I’m ready. I need to see Patrick. Will you—will you take me when we get home?”

  Was she asking because she needed the support or because he was still in charge of her safety until she was handed off to the next guard? “We’ll go as soon as we land.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded and pulled his phone from the holder, typing an update to Ethan.

  Heading to airport. Will let you know when we arrive.

  “I called Ms. Hayes to let her know we’re leaving. I didn’t want her to come here by herself just in case he doesn’t realize we’ve left for a couple of days.”

  He’d been so focused on getting them out of there he hadn’t thought of that. “Good idea. Thanks.”