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

by Beauman, Cate

  “Home.”

  “Then why are you frowning?”

  She looked from the window to Tucker. “I didn’t know I was.”

  “Definitely frowning, Cooke.” He pressed his finger between her brows. “Still are.”

  She shrugged. “There are a lot of changes coming.”

  “There doesn’t have to be.”

  She ignored his comment. “Is the plane still set to leave at two tomorrow?”

  “When I called them this morning they said we were good to go.” He slid his thumb over her knuckles. “What’s really up?”

  She jerked her shoulders in another shrug. “Nothing.”

  His brow rose.

  She pulled her hand from his. “I guess I’m trying to figure out why I’m supposed to be an open book while you get to stay silent.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re eyes are troubled. Yesterday couldn’t have been easy, yet you say nothing.” She lowered her voice to a hissing whisper and leaned in as she glanced at the man and woman looking at her from the next table. “You get to wipe my tears and listen to my problems, but you handle yours alone.”

  “How can you say that? I’ve leaned on you plenty over the last few nights.”

  “That was then, this is now. You’ve been staring off all day and making small cryptic comments. The stuff with Staci…my stalker… This entire situation must be wearing.” She shook her head. “Just never mind.”

  “No. Finish it up.”

  “I want you to confide in me the way I confide in you. I want your trust, Tucker. I want you to trust in me the way I trust you. And not only when your troubles are so huge you’re about to fall apart. I want to know about the big stuff and the little things.”

  “I do trust you, Cooke.” Holding her gaze he snagged her hand and gripped her fingers. “I absolutely do.”

  “Sometimes I’m not so sure.”

  “You want to know what I was thinking?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was thinking that I want all of this to be over. I want my sister’s case put to rest. I want you to be able to walk down the street without looking over your shoulder.”

  She closed her eyes. “I want those things too. For both of us.”

  He got up and moved to her side of the booth, scooting in until their legs bumped. He raised her chin, staring into her eyes. “Understand me, Cooke, when I tell you there’s no one I want more, no one I trust more than you. Got that?”

  She nodded and kissed him, reveling in the ability to believe in what he said. “Me too.”

  “Good.” He brushed his lips against hers. “I want to take you out tonight.”

  She blinked at the abrupt change in conversation. “You do?”

  “Mmhm. It’s our last night in Utah. We’re both getting dressed up. I’m bringing you to the fancy little lounge down the hall.”

  She smiled at the idea. “Okay.”

  “Um, sorry to interrupt.”

  Wren pulled away as she and Tucker both looked at their waitress. “You’re fine.”

  Mona put their meals down with several extra glances at Tucker.

  “I’m actually going to move back to the other side.”

  “Oh,” Mona slid his plate across the table. “Enjoy your lunch.”

  “Thanks.” Tucker turned to Wren after Mona walked away and gave her another quick kiss. “We good here, Cooke?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s eat.” He went back to his side, picked up a quarter of his sandwich, and bit in. “Mmm. Good stuff.”

  Wren smiled as she blew on the creamy broccoli cheddar.

  Tucker was taking another bite when his cellphone rang. He pulled his phone from the holder, glancing at the readout. “I’ve gotta take this.”

  “Be my guest.” She took her first bite, savoring pure heaven.

  “Campbell. Yeah. What’d you get? Are you sure?” Tucker steamed out a breath. “No. I thought I was onto something. I’ll let you know if I do.” He hung up and shoved his phone back in its holder.

  Wren glanced up from her meal, covering Tucker’s hand with her own as he looked out the window.

  He met her gaze, giving her a small smile, and picked up his sandwich, taking another bite.

  She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze, enjoying the contentment of their last cozy lunch in the Park City mountains.

  Tucker slid his finger along Wren’s naked shoulder as they sat huddled in the corner at the bar. She smelled like sin and looked even better in her sleeveless clinging dress, which stopped mid-thigh. Her impromptu stop-off at the resort’s boutique had been well worth the half-hour he’d followed her around as she perused her options, ultimately choosing the sapphire blue frock on the discount rack. And she’d done something fancy with her hair, twisting it all up so that her long, graceful neck was exposed.

  He tucked a stray strand of wavy black behind her ear, bumping his Glock concealed beneath his sport coat. With every brush of his arm against his weapon he remembered Wren was still a target and their nightmare wasn’t over. He’d struggled to stay in the moment throughout the day, as he did now, while her pretty gray eyes held his and she fiddled with his fingers.

  “This was a perfect idea. He’s very good.” She gestured to the man playing the piano across the elegantly decorated space.

  “Yeah, he’s not bad.” During the two hours they’d sipped wine—or beer in his case—and nibbled at the sampler of hors d’oeuvres, he’d hardly paid attention to the notes flowing from the glistening baby grand. Candles glowed around them, and Wren smiled into his eyes, yet his mind stubbornly wandered to his tattered theories and phone calls with Ethan. JT Cartwright wasn’t their man. Flight records and credit card trails proved he’d been spending his time in Vegas or Los Angeles, working on a case. So now what? He and Wren were leaving in less than twenty-four hours, and they were no closer to a resolution. He wanted this over so she could move on with her life—so they could move on with their lives. Wren had certainly relaxed where their relationship was concerned, but she was expecting an ending once they landed in California. He had no intentions of saying goodbye. Eventually she would figure that out.

  “…beer?” Wren’s brow rose as she stared at him.

  “What was that?”

  “I said I’m going to order one more half glass of wine. Do you want another beer?”

  “No, this is good.” He scanned the room as he did periodically, studying faces, making certain the lounge guests were more preoccupied with their dates and dinner than with Wren.

  “…up. Hello?”

  His gaze whipped to hers. “I’m sorry?”

  “What is up with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Do you want to go back to the room?”

  He wanted to study his diagrams and play everything through again. “Do you?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then we’ll stay.”

  A bartender he hadn’t seen before came from the kitchen, carrying plates. He set the food down in front of two guests, wandered down the long bar, stopping along the way to pour several draughts and talk with a few other patrons. Tucker frowned, trying to place him. He knew the clean-cut blonde. The man turned and their eyes met. Tucker grinned. “Nick Pellerin.”

  “Well what do you know? Tucker Campbell.”

  Tucker stuck out his hand. “How the hell are you, man?”

  Nick grabbed hold, shaking firmly. “Not too bad. Not too bad.”

  He and Nick had played many soccer, baseball, and flag football games during their summers in Utah. “Wren, this is Nick. Nick, Wren. He and I go way back.”

  She smiled and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  �
��You too.” He gave her a friendly wink, then turned his attention to Tucker. “So what brings you back this way? You still in California?”

  “Can’t imagine living any place else.”

  “It’s like a Park City reunion around here. Everybody’s making their way back to the old stomping grounds. I saw Jasmine and her husband last month. I guess they live in Florida now. Then I ran into Johnny Simmons a couple weeks ago and again the other night. I think they’re living in Los Angeles.”

  “Jonathan and Lois Simmons?” Wren piped up.

  “Yeah, I think that’s his wife’s name.” Nick poured Wren another glass of wine, setting the stem on a fresh napkin.

  “It’s a small world. I decorated their home about six months ago. Super people.”

  Tucker’s stomach clutched. Johnny Simmons was not a super person. He’d been a cocky little asshole for as long as they’d been acquainted. Their rivalry had worsened with every summer that passed. He and Johnny had exchanged blows the summer before Staci died, and JT had joined in.

  Cartwright had despised Johnny too. Their dislike for one another had turned brutal the summer of Staci’s death. JT had never mentioned why he detested the creepy bastard, but Johnny and JT had definitely loathed one another.

  Tucker gripped his pint glass as several dots lined up. He had known Johnny growing up, and Wren knew him now. The coincidence was too huge to dismiss.

  “So what are you doing now, Tuck-Man?”

  “Uh, I’m a bodyguard. I work for Wren’s brother.”

  Nick nodded. “I could see that.”

  He itched to pull out his phone and call Ethan, but wrapped his arm around Wren’s shoulders instead, trying to keep up with the conversation. “You and Angie still together?”

  “Absolutely. We have our second baby on the way. I’m picking up a few hours here a couple nights a week with Christmas coming. Teaching doesn’t exactly provide the life of luxury.” The small pager on Nick’s belt buzzed. “Got an order up. I’ll leave you guys to enjoy the rest of your evening. Nice to see you again, Tucker. Nice to meet you, Wren.”

  “You too,” they said at the same time.

  Wren leaned into his chest. “He seems nice.”

  “We had some good times.”

  “I recognized him from several of the pictures in Staci’s room.”

  “We all hung out. He’s a local. His dad owns one of the ski shops in town.”

  “I’m sure they’re doing a brisk business with all of this snow.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” He slid a finger down her neck. “So, you know Johnny Simons.”

  “Yes, I guess I do. He and his wife are very sweet, and their living room is gorgeous.” She smiled teasingly.

  He returned it as his mind raced. “How long did you work on their place?”

  “Mmm, about four or five weeks. We knocked out a wall, added more livable space, laid new floors, painted and refurnished.”

  “Sounds nice. What’s Johnny doing now?”

  “He and Lois own several upscale coffee shops in the Los Angeles area.”

  His brow shot up. Of all the professions he’d imagined Johnny doing—drug trafficking, pimping, hit man—selling fancy coffee hadn’t made the list. “Seriously?”

  She bumped his arm. “Yes, seriously. I didn’t notice Jonathan in any of your sister’s photographs.

  “We didn’t get along.”

  “Oh.”

  Tucker shrugged. “He was a prick.”

  It was Wren’s turn to raise her brow. “Well, let me assure you, he’s changed his ways. He’s very much a family man.” She kissed his cheek.

  He doubted it, but kept his mouth shut.

  The music stopped and Wren glanced toward the baby grand. “The pianist is taking a break. I want to go over and put a tip in his jar.” She scooted off her leather stool.

  “Stay where I can see you.”

  “Will do.” She wandered over to the older man talking to several guests.

  Tucker didn’t waste any time yanking his phone from its holder. He hit Ethan on the speed dial and waited.

  “Cooke.”

  “I want you to run Jonathan Simmons. Father’s name is Markus. Mother’s name is Eloise. They live in Aurora, Colorado—or did. I’m assuming they’re still married. I knew him as a kid—fucking hated his guts as much as he hated mine. I just figured out he knows Wren.”

  “I’ll run him.”

  He glanced toward the kitchen door as Nick came out. “Let me give you another name. Nicholas Pellerin.” He felt like a dick even thinking it, but better safe than sorry. “Father Lucas Pellerin. Mother is Krissy. They’re locals. I don’t think there’s anything here, but check it out anyway.”

  “I’ll get on it.”

  He looked at Wren, chatting with the man in his tuxedo. She sent Tucker a smile across the room, and his heart beat a little faster. “Thanks, man.” He shoved his phone away and smiled back. What the hell was he doing? The gorgeous woman talking to the pianist was his, and he wasn’t paying her a damn bit of attention. That would end now. There was nothing more he could do until Ethan ran the names. The rest of the night belonged to Wren.

  She made her way back to him, stopping next to his chair.

  He skimmed his fingers along her jaw. “Do you want your wine?”

  “No. I want you.”

  The piano started playing. “Wanna dance?”

  “In our room.”

  Desire curled tight in his stomach as he stood and took her hand. “Let’s go.”

  They walked to the elevator, got in, and started up to the fifth floor. Wren’s perfume crowded his nose as her thumb slid along his in slow, gentle strokes, driving him crazy. She smiled up at him and he reached over, pressing the red button, halting the car in its tracks.

  Wren grabbed hold of his arm as the elevator jerked. “What are you doing?”

  He wasn’t exactly sure as he turned, taking her face in his hands and brushed his thumbs over her cheeks. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

  She rested her hands on his waist. “Yes, when I stepped from the bathroom.”

  “Once isn’t enough. You’re beautiful, Wren.” He captured her lips, gently, tenderly, enjoying her as he should have all along.

  Her fingers slid up to his wrists, holding tight, as her mouth gave against his.

  He deepened the kiss slowly, savoring her sweet taste, her scent, her petite body pressed to his.

  “Wren,” he murmured against her lips.

  She eased back, staring into his eyes. “You have to let the elevator go.”

  “I know.” He kissed her once more, undone by the swift wave of love moving through him. He wanted to tell her, wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait. Instead, he took a step back and sent the car up.

  “Thank you for tonight.” She pulled his arm around her shoulders, twining their fingers, and pressed her lips to his knuckles.

  “Oh we’re not finished.” If he couldn’t tell her he loved her, he was going to show her.

  She smiled. “Okay, then thank you for tonight, so far.” She bit her lip. “You make me happy, Tucker. I didn’t think I would ever be truly happy.”

  What could he possibly say? The door slid open, and he came to attention. “Come on.”

  They stepped out and started down the hall. Tucker shook his head, barely suppressing a sigh. The cop on door duty was asleep in his chair.

  “Is he sleeping?”

  “That’s what it looks like to me.”

  “Some guard.”

  “That’s why you’ve got me, baby.” He grinned.

  She chuckled.

  His smile vanished as they stepped closer and he read the ugly red scrawl on
the wall at the officer’s side. SC+AB+CW+WC=THE SINS OF TUCKER CAMPBELL. “Shit.” His pulse kicked into high gear as he yanked his gun from the holster. “I knew this was right. I knew this was exactly fucking right.”

  “Knew what? What are you talking about?” Then she saw it. “Oh, God.”

  He pulled her closer and turned them so he could see down both sides of the hallway. “I want you to check his pulse—quickly, then I want you inside.”

  She nodded.

  They stopped in front of the cop, and Wren pressed trembling fingers to the side of his neck. “He’s—he’s alive. There’s blood in his hair and down the back of his neck.”

  “I know. I see it. We’ll get him some help in a minute.” He swiped the keycard, and pushed them through the door, closing it behind him. “Stay right here until I sweep the rooms.” He yanked open the closet door in the small kitchen area, gun pointed, then did the same at every corner or space large enough to hide someone who didn’t belong. He threw the latch to the glass sliders, slid the door open, barely noticing the cool slap of wind against his face as he swept the balcony. He came back in, locking up behind him. “We’re good,” he said as he turned, pulling his phone from its holder, looking at Wren. She stared at the floor, gripping her arms across her chest. “I’m going to phone this in, and I need to help the officer in the hall.”

  “Fine,” she answered dully.

  “I want you to call down to the front desk. Tell them to get security up here right away. Throw the slide over the door. Don’t open for anyone unless it’s me—not security, not another cop.”

  She picked up the resort phone, glancing in his direction with hurt and anger radiating in her eyes.

  He took a step toward the door and stopped. “Wren, what?”

  “Go help the police officer. He’s bleeding.” She opened a drawer and shoved a clean towel in his hand.

  He wanted to stay until she told him why she was staring at him like that, but questions would have to wait. He opened the door, gun drawn, and stepped into the hall. No one was there. He dialed 911, looking at Wren once more as she shut him out and threw the latch in place. He glanced at the cryptic message as he pressed the towel to the officer’s head wound, worrying about what all of this meant for him and the woman on the other side of the wall.