Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) (18 page)

She flung her toothpaste and toothbrush in the case. “Don’t tell me what I will and won’t do. I’m leaving.” She grabbed her shampoo and conditioner from the shower.

“Your safety is my responsibility, and I’m telling you we’re staying put.”

“Not anymore,” she scoffed as she zipped her case and skirted around him. “You’re fired.”

“I’m fired? I’m
fired
? Are you fucking
kidding
me?” He caught her arm and yanked her around. “I’m not your goddamn employee, and you’re not going anywhere.”

She threw her travel case among her clothes, zipped her luggage, and headed for the door with her suitcase in hand. “Watch me.”

Enough was enough. He walked forward and pulled the Samsonite from her grip. “Give it up, Wren.”

She whirled. “Give me my bag.”

“Drop the tough-as-nails act. Go sit down and
think
for a minute.”

“I am thinking—about Patrick.”

“And I’m thinking about you.”

“I don’t need you to think about me. I don’t need you at all.”

Her shattered eyes and trembling lips told him different. “Maybe, but you’re stuck with me.”

She yanked up her purse and walked out of the room without looking back.

He dropped her case and hurried after her, breaking into a half jog, realizing she was almost to the door. “Damn it, Cooke.” If she made it to the Jeep before he got to her… He grabbed her and she turned, shoving him back a step.

“I said I don’t need you!” She reached for the doorknob.

He yanked her back against him.

She fought his hold. “Let me go.”

“That’s enough.” He turned her to face him and braced her up against the solid wood.

“Let me
go
.” She shoved and punched as her breath heaved in and out.

He captured her wrists and pinned them against the door, shoving his face close to hers. “
Enough
, Wren.”

She froze, gasping, looking into his eyes as tears raced down her cheeks.

“Enough,” he said gently, still holding her in place.

She fisted her hands, fighting herself more than him. “I need to go,” she shuddered out before she couldn’t hold back the torrents of emotion any longer. Powerful, racking sobs burst from her body, and she pressed her forehead to his heart.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding tight as he brushed his hand down her soft hair.

“Oh, God,” she cried against his chest, completely undone.

“Come on.” He gathered her up, walking to the bedroom, sitting in the chaise lounge close to the fireplace, cocooning her against him.

“He needs me, Tucker. He needs someone to be there with him,” she said between sobs.

He traced circles along her back. “We’ll make sure someone’s with him.”

“But it won’t be me.”

“No, not for now.”

“What if he doesn’t make it?”

“He’s receiving the best care possible.”

“Please take me home, Tucker.” She lifted her head off his chest and held his gaze. “
Please
.”

She was breaking his heart. “Don’t do that, Cooke. Don’t look at me with those devastated eyes and ask for something you know I can’t give you.”

“Please.” Her lips trembled, and another tear fell.

He slid his finger along her jaw. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you.” He kissed her temple and pressed her palm to his heart. “You got me, Cooke. But I can’t take you home. We can’t risk it. I can’t risk you.”

Nodding, she bit her lip, suppressing the trembling. “I’ll never forgive myself if he dies alone.”

He wanted to tell her Patrick was going to survive, but he just didn’t know. “He won’t be alone.” He pulled his phone from its case and dialed Jerrod Quinn.

“Quinn.”

“It’s Campbell. You keeping an eye on Abby today?”

“No. She and Alexa are with Jackson.”

“Good. I need a favor.”

“What’s up?”

“Wren’s friend, Patrick Stone, was attacked. He was life-flighted to General about an hour ago. Last we heard, he was critical. Can you go stay with him—bring your badge, tell Detective Owens I sent you over on behalf of Ethan Cooke Security. He’ll go with the flow.”

“Yeah, man. I’ll head right over.”

And that’s what friends were for. Jerrod was fairly new to the Cooke team, but he fit right in, making a great addition. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem.”

Tucker hung up and slid his phone away. “Jerrod’s heading over. We’ll find someone to stay with him tomorrow and every day after until we can get home.”

Her breath rushed out on another sob as she wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He returned her embrace, content to stay like this for as long as she was.

“Thank you for staying with me.”

He rested his cheek on the top of her head, breathing her in. “Don’t want to be anywhere else.”

“I—” She lifted her head and met his gaze. “I need you.”

“I know.”

“You scare me.”

He winked. “I know that too. I meant what I said when I told you you’ve got me, Wren.” No one had ever tangled him up the way she did.

She closed her eyes.

“Look at me,” he said gently.

She met his stare.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She studied him as he spoke.

He touched his lips to hers, hopeful for the first time that she might actually believe him.

“What are we going to do?”

He wrapped her up again and leaned more comfortably in the chair. “Stay put until the authorities figure this mess out.”

“That’s not enough.”

“No, it’s not, but it’s the best we can do for now.”

She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder, clinging for the first time.

Chapter 13

W
ren put away the last of the groceries Ms. Hayes’ grandson dropped off, desperately wanting to stay busy. The next order of business was preparing the pot roast—with all the fixings. She shuddered at the thought of eating, but making a meal was something to do.

She hadn’t been able to settle since her father called back with an update. Patrick was in bad shape. If he survived the next few days, permanent brain damage was likely. She clutched the canvas grocer’s bag, fighting another round of helpless tears. Patrick needed her more than ever, and she couldn’t be there for him.

Tucker opened the glass-fronted door of the gym and stepped out, sweaty and gorgeous in his ratty shorts. “You holding up over there?”

“Yes.” She gave him a small smile, knowing that’s what he wanted.

“I’m going to shower off real quick. The alarm’s set. Don’t open the door for anyone.”

“I won’t.” She stared after him as he walked down the hall, nibbling her lip, worrying. Tucker was becoming too important. She was starting to rely on him, and not just for her safety. Her life was careening out of control. One of the people she loved most was fighting to survive hundreds of miles away, and there was nothing she could do to fix it. Her business was falling apart, and she couldn’t leave Utah. The weight of the last few days had finally crushed her to a pulp, and Tucker had been there, holding her while she cried like she never had before, being everything she didn’t know she needed.

Her heart had done a wild flip-flop as she lay cradled against his firm chest and he told her ‘she’d gotten him.’ As she stared into his gorgeous hazel eyes, comforted by his strong arms wrapped around her she’d wanted to be ‘gotten.’ For the first time ever, she’d been tempted to toss caution aside and see where things could go. That alone terrified her, but there was so much more. All these
feelings
… What would happen when she couldn’t resist Tucker any longer? For surely it was only a matter of time before she was completely sunk—if she wasn’t already.

Her eyes grew wide and she shook her head.
No.
She was being over-emotional. Her spirits were at an all-time low. She was vulnerable, that was all. Nothing had changed. Tucker was still Tucker, and she was the same old Wren.

In defense against her own thoughts, she preheated the oven and pulled carrots from the refrigerator, washed them, and peeled them within an inch of their lives. Petite red potatoes were scrubbed next, and onions quartered. She tossed them in a roasting pan, along with the thick beef round and a healthy dash of salt and pepper, then slid them on the rack.

Now what? She glanced at her computer, unable to bear the idea of work—another first. She’d tried to get back to the grind after she climbed off of Tucker, promising him that she was going to be all right, but after several of Lenora’s friends e-mailed their thanks-but-no-thanks on proposed bids for new projects and her long conversation with Brice Movenbeck, she’d lost her motivation to fight a losing battle. Brice had been gracious and understanding once she explained her situation and Patrick’s, but her insistence to refund her fees and deeply discount all furnishings and accents for their huge inconvenience had immediately put Cooke Interiors in the red. She would be eating several thousand dollars in lost profits, and with so many potential new clients turning her away, there wouldn’t be many options to recoup her losses. A rush of nausea twisted her stomach as she thought of her bottom line and the amount of money she would have to cough up for her vendors and Lenora Cartwright. The quarter of a million in product alone for Lenora’s unfinished pool house was going to destroy her.

JT had e-mailed moments after her conversation with Brice, sharing that his mother called him in a snit about the current situation. He assured her he was doing everything in his power to convince her to reconsider her lawsuit, but Wren already understood Lenora wouldn’t back down.

At wits’ end and no longer sure of what to do, she turned away from her laptop and stacked the canvas bags Ms. Hayes would come for tomorrow. She rubbed at the achy tension squeezing the back of her neck and looked toward the wing she and Tucker shared. Now what?

Business was off the table—at least for a little while, and dinner was well on its way. Perhaps she would follow Tucker’s example and indulge in a shower. A long, warm soak was just what she needed. Hopefully the water would loosen the knots along her shoulder blades. She started toward her room, liking the idea of soothing steam and fragrant soaps more and more. Maybe she could find a radio station that played classical—not her typical idea of good music, but what the hell? Patrick always said it helped him relax, so she would give it a try.

She closed herself in her room and turned, gasping as Tucker stood in the bathroom doorway with a towel slung low around his hips. The tension clenching her shoulders squeezed tighter as the swift sexual punch effectively tied her up. “What… Why aren’t you using your own bathroom?”

He shrugged. “My stuff’s in here.”

“Oh.” She flexed her fingers on the doorknob as her gaze followed a drop of water from his solid shoulder, down the mound of his pec, along the bumps of his six-pack, and disappeared into white cotton. “I’m going to…I’m just going to…clean up.”

“Okay. Did your dad call you back?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the word?”

She shook her head and stared at the floor. “It doesn’t look good.”

He walked to her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

She breathed in wafts of his soap as she looked up, meeting his eyes. “He was getting out of a CT scan when my father checked in. His skull is fractured. He has a large subdural hematoma. They need to do a craniotomy to alleviate the pressure on his brain. He’s very unstable, but they have to attempt the surgery anyway or he’ll die. If he makes it through, they believe brain damage is likely.”

Tucker steamed out a breath as he enveloped her in a hug. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“This feels like a dream—all of it,” she said as she returned his embrace, resting her cheek on his warm skin, listening to his steady heartbeat, comforted, then just as quickly pulled away. She couldn’t keep doing this—relying on him to soothe away her worries. She took care of herself. And if she needed an ear, she had Ethan.

Tucker kept his arms around her waist, trapping her against him, easing back enough to look into her eyes. “Where you going?”

“I have stuff to do, and so do you.”

“You’ve had a hell of a day, Cooke. There’s nothing wrong with taking a little time to let things settle.”

“I don’t want to let things settle. I don’t want to think, period. My best friend is fighting to survive, and my business has gone to hell. I don’t want to dwell on the fact that some crazy bastard has ruined Patrick’s life and wants to hurt you as much as he does me.”

“Like I said, hell of a day—hell of a last couple of weeks. Your business isn’t ruined, Cooke. Taking one more day to steady out isn’t going to make or break you.”

“Cooke Interiors is beyond broken. Patrick never made it to the Movenbeck install, I have vendors up my butt trying to find out what I want to do with the product that should have been delivered and now is just sitting there, unwanted, and Lenora pulled out of our project. She’ll be sick’ing’ her attorneys on me and tossing my name through the mud every chance she gets.”

“Have you explained the situation?”

“I did to Brice. He was very understanding. But Lenora… JT’s working on her, but she won’t call me back.”

“She’s a bitch.”

“Yes, she is, but she and the Movenbecks are my biggest client right now—or were.”

He brushed his finger along her jaw. “We’ll smooth this out.”

She pulled further away as she digested his use of “we’ll.” There was no “we” in this equation. There was only her. “I’ll have to see what I can do.”

“No rest for the weary.”

“Pretty much.”

“No help either.”

“I don’t need any.”

“Or not mine anyway.” He shook his head. “Every time I think we’re getting somewhere…”

He knew her too well. “I’m self-reliant, Tucker. Always have been.”

“Another opportunity to point out that you don’t need me.”

She shrugged even as she remembered her confession to the contrary. “You said it.”

He grabbed her chin between his thumb and finger. “You don’t
want
to need me, but you do. It drives you crazy that you’re twisted up.”

“There’s no
twisting
going on here. I take care of myself. I had a weak moment a couple hours ago. I appreciate you being there. The end.”

He tugged her closer. “You can try to keep shutting me out, but sooner or later you’ll figure out I’m just going to keep getting in your way.”

“Let me go.”

He stepped closer. “You need me, Cooke, and I need you. You scare me as much as I scare you, but at the end of the day, I’m more afraid to let you walk than I am to try to make something work. Why don’t you think about that while you take your shower?” Tucker released his grip and walked out, closing the bedroom door behind him.

She breathed in the remnants of his soap as she made her way to the bathroom, her heart thudding. Damn him. She didn’t have any choice but to think of him and what he’d said, whether she wanted to or not.
I’m going to keep getting in your way.
She glared, realizing that had been his plan all along. He’d been in her way since she walked into Sarah’s hospital room months ago.

The doorbell rang, and Tucker frowned. Tom already dropped off the groceries, so who the hell was here? He set his laptop on the coffee table and unconsciously brushed his palm over the holster clipped to his belt as he walked to the door and peeked through the security hole. His frown deepened as he instantly recognized two plainclothes cops. He twisted the bolt and turned the knob, staging himself behind the heavy wood, keeping his hand on his gun until he knew what was up. “Can I help you?”

“Detective Tucker Campbell?”

“Former Detective, but yes.”

“I’m Detective Jasper Rogers,” the portly, gray-haired fifty-something said, “and this is my partner Detective Peter Franklin.” He gestured to the tall, thin, younger man with dark brown eyes. “We’re with the Park City Police Department. Do you mind if we come in and speak with you for a few minutes?”

He was still waiting for an update on Patrick’s missing cellphone, but something told him this had nothing to do with Wren’s situation. “About?”

“We have some questions we’d like to ask you about the Alyssa Brookes case.”

He knew exactly where this was going and reluctantly opened the door wider. “Come on in.” He wanted to resent them for being here, but he couldn’t. Alyssa had been found strangled in her bedroom just like Staci. The last aggravated murder in the area had been Staci’s. The Brookes’ home was less than a mile away. He should’ve figured on a visit. If he were still pulling duty, he would’ve knocked on this door too.

“Tucker? Is everything okay?” Wren’s voice was tight with fear as she stood by the couch in her black yoga pants and snug long-sleeve white top. She’d twisted her mass of damp curls into a thick braid.

“Everything’s fine.” He gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll take care of this. Go ahead and do what you were needing to.” He didn’t want her here right now. The past was the past, and she had nothing to do with it.

“Is this about—has there been a change in my case?”

“Your case?” Detective Rogers’ brow rose.

“This is my family’s vacation home, but I’m here in an official capacity. I’m Ms. Cooke’s bodyguard. I’m an agent with Ethan Cooke Security—Los Angeles branch.”

“No, I’m sorry, Ms. Cooke. We’re here on other business.”

“Oh. Can I get you some coffee?”

“Wouldn’t mind. You, Franklin?”

“Sure would be nice. It’s colder than a bit…” He cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Let me get a tray.” Wren held Tucker’s gaze a moment, her eyes full of questions, then left. Cabinets opened, then the fridge as Wren got busy in the kitchen.

“Go ahead and have a seat.”

The Detectives sat on opposite ends of the couch.

Tucker took a cushion on the loveseat. “I’m not sure what I can offer by way of help with the Brookes’ case, but I’ll do what I can.”

“We appreciate it. We’re here, Mr. Campbell, because a few of our responding deputies were quite taken aback by how similar Alyssa Brookes’ murder scene was to your sister’s.”

“The news reported a strangling in the bedroom.”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. I’m going to be frank here, Mr. Campbell, and say that whoever killed Staci Campbell took Alyssa Brookes’ life as well.”

His stomach pitched and his pulse accelerated as he stared in Detective Rogers’ serious eyes. “My sister was murdered over a decade ago. That’s a pretty quick conclusion to draw in less than a day.”

“You would think. I didn’t live in Park City when your sister died, and Franklin here was in high school up in Montana, but many of the officers still on staff remember Staci’s murder. It’s the only real violence we’ve seen other than a couple of domestics gone wrong. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen around here.”