The Bodyguard (3 page)

With everything he’d heard about the Ashtons, he
should
believe she’d come here, like so many women before her, planning a divorce and hoping to use the “abuse excuse” to take her husband for everything he was worth. That would make sense, except for one thing.

The fear in her eyes is real.
He’d bet his autographed Tom Glavine baseball on it.

Still, just in case he was wrong, he proceeded as he would with any other client, probing for the facts.

“Let me guess. You’re getting a divorce, and you want a bodyguard until the divorce is final.”

Her eyes widened again. “I haven’t filed yet, but that’s my intention, yes. I’ve rented a house outside of town. I’m on my way there now. I just need someone to stay with me until things are...settled.”

That admission sent a flash of disappointment through him. Maybe he was wrong about the fear in her eyes. Maybe she
was
just like those other women, the ones who would tarnish their husbands’ reputations with ugly lies so they could profit financially when their relationships went south.

“You need a bodyguard right now?”

“Yes.”

He straightened away from the desk. Regardless of the kind of person she was, he couldn’t afford to turn away a paying client. He had too many unpaying ones to allow that luxury and keep his business afloat.

As for going on assignment right now, that wasn’t a problem. He kept a go-bag packed at all times with his clothes and extra ammunition. Since Luke needed to keep his hands free while guarding a client, Mitch would load the bag into the car while Luke escorted the client outside. Standard operating procedure, and so routine he didn’t even need to remind Mitch, who had already jumped out of his chair and grabbed the go-bag. He stood waiting beside Luke’s desk with the strap over his shoulder.

“We can leave right after you sign a contract and pay a retainer fee,” Luke said. “Do you want to take your car or mine?”

Her cheeks flushed a light pink. “Mr. Dawson, I mean no disrespect, but you’re a bit...small. Is there someone else you could assign to help me?”

He stared at her in stunned amazement. Mitch shook his head, obviously as confused as Luke was.

Luke crossed his arms over his chest. “Mrs. Ashton, in all my thirty years, no one else has ever called me small. I’m six foot three and weigh two hundred twenty pounds. I’m not bragging when I say most of that is muscle. It’s just a fact, a necessity of my occupation. I was a champion boxer in high school and college. I’m extensively trained in self-defense. I carry a concealed weapon, am a crack shot and I know just about everything there is to know about guarding people. I assure you, I’m more than capable of protecting you.”

She politely cleared her throat, not looking all that impressed with his speech. “Have you ever met my husband?”

“Not in person, no. But I’ve seen pictures of him.” He leaned back against the desk again and braced his hands on the edge while he waited for her explanation.

“Richard is a very...large, strong, determined man. He can be...dangerous. He’s extremely... If he were to... I just...” She let out a deep sigh. “I need to know that you would be safe if...
when...
he comes looking for me.”

This time, there could be no doubt that the fear in her voice, in her expression, was real. It was palpable, a living, breathing thing, constricting around her, ready to choke her into submission.

She twisted her fingers together. The diamond ring glittering on her left hand sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights. The center stone had to be four carats, easy. It could have paid the rent on Luke’s office
and
his house for a full year, with money left over.

But that wasn’t why he decided he had to convince her to hire him.

He had to convince her to hire him because whether the threat against her was real or imagined, she
believed
it was real. But even more important than that, he’d never met any clients before who were more concerned about their bodyguard’s welfare than their own. A person like that deserved his protection, because he was one of the best. And regardless of who she was, she deserved something he sensed she hadn’t had in a long time: someone who would look after her, someone to take her seriously, someone who would be her ally.

He waited until her haunted gaze lifted to his before answering.

“Mrs. Ashton, your husband may be a tad taller than me, possibly even brawnier. But fighting isn’t all about size. It’s about training, experience, strategy. I don’t have the slightest doubt I can handle him in a fight...if it comes to that. The best strategy is to avoid a fight if at all possible. But if you hire me, I’ll guard you with my life. I will do everything I can to keep you safe. And I’ll make sure your husband never gets anywhere near you again. That’s a promise. And I never,
ever
break a promise.”

Unshed tears brightened her eyes, inexplicably making Luke want to pull her close and hold her until the fear subsided and the shadows in her eyes disappeared.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice shaking with obvious relief, her throat working as if she was struggling not to cry. “Thank you so much.”

Chapter Three

Caroline sat in her car in the circular driveway of the blue-and-white one-story cottage. She’d lived in a mansion for over five years. Before that, she’d lived with her parents about three hours from Savannah in the same house since the day she was born. But this plain, simple structure already felt like the home she’d never really had.

Because she wouldn’t be sharing it with Richard.

A tap on her car window made her start. But it wasn’t her husband’s angry visage glaring at her through the glass. It was the concerned face of Luke Dawson, who’d hopped out of the car as soon as she’d parked. She’d apparently zoned out, lost in her memories, and her fears, and forgot about him. She pressed the button and lowered the window.

“Mrs. Ashton, we need to get inside. You’re sitting out in the open here.”

“Of course. I’m sorry. Should I pop the trunk for our luggage?”

“No...I’ll get our bags after you’re safely inside the house.”

She rolled the window up and opened the door.

He reached for her hand. She hesitated, bracing herself not to jerk away when his much larger hand closed around hers. But when he touched her, to her surprise and relief, she didn’t feel nausea or dread. Unlike her husband’s touch, the warmth and strength in Luke’s hand made her feel something she hadn’t felt in years...safe.

She smiled up at him, but he was too busy scanning the yard and street out front to notice. As she stood, another sharp pain shot through her belly, making her wince. She was glad Luke hadn’t seen that. It had been difficult enough to admit to a stranger that she was afraid of her own husband. It would be beyond humiliating for Luke to even suspect the extent of her cowardice over the years, to learn just how much she’d endured, all because she’d been too weak to stand up for herself.

A warm breeze filtered through the trees overhead, stirring his lightweight leather jacket. She’d wondered why he wore a jacket in the summer, but now she knew: to conceal the gun holstered on the hip pocket of his jeans. She’d never been this close to a gun before and had always assumed it would terrify her. But the sight of his weapon was actually reassuring. Richard might laugh at her puny attempts to deflect his blows, but even her husband wasn’t immune to the ravages of a well-aimed bullet.

Luke stayed at her back as she walked the short distance to the front stoop, but as soon as she unlocked the door, he rushed her into the foyer and flipped the dead bolt behind them.

His mouth tightened into a thin line. “No security alarm?”

“Not yet. I only rented the house a little over a week ago.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “We’ve never had one at the mansion. Richard didn’t like the inconvenience of having to worry about using a keypad if he decided to step outside at night.”

“You didn’t need one at the mansion because the estate was gated and had security guards watching it 24/7. I’ll get someone out here today to install one.”

He gently pushed her aside as he opened the hall-closet door, apparently searching for intruders. Next, he glanced through the archway to their right into the family room, then back down the hallway to their left. “Stay here while I check the bedrooms.”

He disappeared down the short hall. It took him less than a minute to search the two bedrooms and bath. Then he was back at her side in the foyer.

“I assume the kitchen is through the family room?” he asked.

“Yes, through that other archway.” She didn’t bother to add that this was her first time seeing the house in person. Leslie had handled everything for her: helping her find the house, arranging for the lease, getting the key. Caroline had only seen the house online and knew the layout from the virtual tour. There was never a chance for her to physically go to the house. Richard would never have let her out of his sight long enough for that.

Luke headed into the family room, which had a panoramic view of both the street out front and the fenced backyard. The long, narrow style of the house was one of the primary reasons Caroline had chosen it. When Richard eventually discovered where she was—and she didn’t doubt that he would—she wanted to see him coming. And with both front-and rear-facing windows in most of the rooms, she’d always have an exit nearby so she could flee if she had to.

After looking behind the couch and the few other places big enough to hide someone, Luke continued into the kitchen.

A moment later, the sound of his deep voice carried to Caroline, in a one-sided conversation she couldn’t quite make out. He must be talking to someone on the phone. Obviously there wasn’t anything to worry about if he could take the time for that.

She wiped her brow, surprised to find it damp with perspiration. The inside of the house was nice and cool, both from the air conditioner and because of the majestic, Spanish moss–dripping oak trees that hung over the roof, shading it from the merciless summer sun.

Maybe she was catching a cold, or the flu. That would explain why she was achy all over, even in places where Richard hadn’t hit her. She dropped her purse on one of the end tables that had come with the furnished cottage and headed toward the kitchen. When she stepped into the entryway, she froze.

On the far side of the room, Luke was talking to someone on his cell phone. But on the white tile floor at his feet, lying in a pool of blood, was Richard Ashton III.

The room began to spin. Richard had found her already. How? It was a trick. It had to be. Any second now he would jump up and point an accusing finger at her. Then he’d teach her another lesson. Her eyes widened as she stared at him. The blood.
No, no, no.
The blood was soaking into his favorite Italian suit—the suit he’d worn the day they met. He’d
kill
her if that suit was ruined.

She took a step toward him, then stopped. She started shaking. Someone called her name. Her world tilted. Everything went black.

* * *

L
UKE
SHOT
AN
aggravated glance at the balding Chatham County police officer sitting across from him in the E.R. waiting room. “I’ve already told you all this, Detective Cornell.”

“Then tell me again. You said you’ve never met Mrs. Ashton before today?”

“That’s right.”

“What time did she arrive at your office?”

“About 9:10.”

Cornell wrote something on the old-fashioned little spiral notebook he carried. “And she was in your office how long?”

“Ten minutes, give or take. She wanted to hire a bodyguard. She signed a boilerplate contract, gave me a retainer—”

“How much?”

“How much what?”

“How much was the retainer?”

Luke shook his head. He was never big on patience anyway, but answering the detective’s relentless questions had destroyed what little patience he had.

“My standard fee for a full-time assignment, two thousand a week, plus expenses.”

The detective whistled. “Sounds steep.”

“You get what you pay for. Look, I want to check on Mrs. Ashton.”

“There’s no point in checking with the nurse again. Once a doctor has time to examine her, we’ll be updated about why she fainted.”

Luke laughed without humor. “She didn’t just ‘faint.’ There’s something wrong with her. I couldn’t wake her up. And there were bruises on her wrists, bruises that looked like handprints. Do you know how hard someone would have to squeeze a woman’s wrist to leave marks like that?”

“You think her husband hurt her?”

“Don’t you?”

He shrugged. “You think she was justified in killing her husband?”

Luke stilled. “You don’t seriously think she’s the one who killed him.”

“She’s the wife. She’s the first person I’ll look at.”

“Richard Ashton was already dead when we arrived at the house. And if she’s the one who killed him, why would she hire a bodyguard?”

Detective Cornell slid his notepad and pen into his shirt pocket and sank back against the unyielding hard plastic chair as if it was the most comfortable of recliners. “Sounds like a good defense, something that might give the jurors reasonable doubt. Pretty smart, if you ask me.”

“Do you know the time of death yet to see if she has an alibi?”

“No. And that’s the main reason I haven’t arrested her.”

“That, and the fact that she’s unconscious, I suppose.” He couldn’t help the sarcasm that crept into his tone.

Cornell smiled as if amused by Luke’s statement. “Yep. There’s that, too.”

Luke stared at the exasperating police officer. Part of him thought the detective was latching on to the easiest explanation, but another part of him agreed with Cornell. If Caroline Ashton was abused, as Luke believed, she might have planned her revenge. She may have used Luke and his company as part of that plan so someone would be with her when she “discovered” her husband’s body.

That possibility didn’t sit well with him. But he’d signed a contract, and he’d given her his promise. He was duty-bound to protect her until the contract expired this time next week, or until she released him from that promise.

“There’s another angle to consider,” Luke said. “The killer’s target may have been
Mrs.
Ashton. After all, it was her house. The killer could have been waiting there for her, but the husband showed up. The killer may have felt cornered, so he shot Mr. Ashton and ran off.”

The detective pursed his mouth. “I won’t dismiss that out of hand. But it’s not high on my list of probable scenarios.”

It wasn’t high on Luke’s, either, but he was trying to keep more of an open mind than the jaded policeman across from him.

“I’ve got to make a call.” Luke shoved out of the hard, narrow chair he’d stuffed his body into for over two hours while waiting for a doctor to see Caroline Ashton.

He hurried outside the waiting area and turned his cell phone on. When Mitch answered his call, Luke didn’t waste time on small talk. “Have you found out anything?”

“Sure did. I called a buddy of mine who works for Stellar Security. He said they keep a log of everyone going in and out of the Ashton mansion, right down to the minute. And Mr. Ashton keeps a GPS tracker on his wife’s car. Can you believe that? I have a printout of every place she went this morning, with the exact times.”

A GPS tracker sounded invasive, controlling, which made Luke’s suspicions about abuse even stronger. Wouldn’t it be ironic if Richard Ashton’s attempt to keep a tether on his wife ended up proving her innocence? “Go ahead. Tell me.”

“Mr. Ashton left the house at 7:55. His wife left fifteen minutes later. She drove directly to a dry-cleaning company and stayed there for ten minutes. After that, she drove across town to Wiley & Harrison, again without making any stops along the way, arriving at precisely 8:40.”

“Wiley & Harrison, the law firm?”

“One and the same. Her visit at the law office lasted twelve minutes. After that, she headed down Highway 80, pulled over and stopped for fourteen additional minutes.”

“Any clue why?”

“You’ll have to ask her that.”

“Okay, then what.”

“You know the rest. She drove straight to our office, arriving at 9:12, hired us, and you followed her to the cottage, arriving at 9:47. You placed the 911 call four minutes later.”

Luke considered what Mitch had said. “I haven’t been told an official time of death yet, but Richard Ashton’s body was still warm when I checked for a pulse. From what you just told me, there’s no way she had the opportunity to kill him.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Some of the tension went out of him. It was only then that he realized how much he’d hoped Caroline Ashton was innocent. He was normally an excellent judge of character, a skill that helped immensely in his line of work. From the beginning, Caroline had seemed kind and caring, as evidenced by her concern about whether he might get hurt protecting her. She didn’t strike him as the type of woman who could murder someone, even if they deserved it.

“Thanks, Mitch.”

“You bet. You need me to follow up on anything else?”

“Not right now. Just keep the office going. I’ll call you later.”

He headed back into the waiting room. When he updated the detective about what he’d found out, disappointment flashed across the policeman’s face.

As if noticing Luke’s puzzlement, Cornell gave him a lopsided smile. “I’d hoped for a quick open-and-shut case. The coroner called while you were outside. He said the victim was killed within an hour of when the body was discovered. I already confirmed Mr. Ashton arrived at his office at 8:30 and left again at 8:45. His limo driver said he dropped Mr. Ashton off at the cottage, per his instructions, twenty minutes later. That would have been about the same time Mrs. Ashton arrived at your office. If everything you just told me checks out, she didn’t have the opportunity to shoot her husband.”

“His limo driver dropped him off? And left him there?”

“Apparently. I’ve got another detective interviewing the driver right now to find out more. I’m also sending someone over to your place of business to take a statement from this Mitch guy, the one you said can vouch that Mrs. Ashton was there this morning.”

“Mr. Dawson?” a voice called out. “Detective Cornell?” A doctor stood in the entrance to the waiting room, looking around at the various groups of people. Luke and Cornell both rose. The doctor hurried to them and introduced himself.

“Is Mrs. Ashton okay?” Luke asked.

“I’m hopeful for a good outcome. She’s in recovery now.”

“‘Hopeful’?” Luke said. “‘Recovery’? You had to operate?”

“She was bleeding internally, from a ruptured spleen. If she hadn’t gotten here when she did, she might not have made it.”

“Do you know how she was injured?” Cornell asked.

Luke shook his head. The answer was as obvious as the bruises on Caroline’s wrists.

The doctor’s jaw tightened. “I’ve got a pretty good idea. Follow me.”

He led them through the double doors and turned left down a brightly lit hall, stopping at a door marked Recovery. Inside, he brought them down a row of curtained-off enclosures to the last one at the end. He pulled the green curtain back to reveal Caroline Ashton, asleep, looking pale, vulnerable, her small body lost in the middle of the hospital bed. An IV tube ran from the back of her right hand to a bag suspended on a pole. A blood-pressure cuff was wrapped around her other arm. The monitor behind the bed beeped and displayed numbers and graphs as it tracked her vital signs.