Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) (22 page)

“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, punctuating 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.”

“
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.