Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) (10 page)

“Haven’t a clue. I guess I’ll check out the rest of the place on my own, since your hosting skills suck.”

“Those rooms are off limits.”

She scoffed and kept going.

“Hey,” he snapped sharply. “I said off limits.”

Shocked to her core, she stopped in her tracks, turning slowly to face him. Why was he acting like this? The man staring at her was a stranger, and she didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Not knowing what else to do, she went back to the kitchen to begin dinner preparations. She no longer had an appetite for the pot’s deliciously creamy contents, but she wanted to be busy. Nerves were easier dealt with when there was a task at hand. Tucker’s sudden mood swings were something she’d never expected. She’d had more than her share of unsettling surprises over the last couple weeks.

Standing on her tiptoes, she opened cupboards at random until she spotted soup bowls deep in the recesses on the second shelf. She scooted closer, brushing the dishes with the tips of her fingers, but her efforts were no use.
Damn
her height.

Tucker came up behind her. His chest and stomach pressed against her back as he grabbed two bowls.

She turned as he set the dishes on the granite.

“I’m sorry for being pissy.”

“No big deal.” She averted her eyes and tried to scoot away, but he kept her boxed in against the counter.

“Yeah, it is. I was rude. The west wing of the house doesn’t get used—my mother’s wishes.”

She bit her tongue, stopping herself from asking why. What was it about this place that set him so on edge? “I didn’t mean to invade her privacy.”

He shrugged. “You didn’t know.”

His voice was strained, his eyes troubled. She wanted to help him, but he’d made it clear he’d rather be left alone. She gave him a gentle push to the chest, freeing herself from his trap, and made herself busy with the deli bread, a serrated knife, and a cutting board. Attempting some semblance of normalcy, she cut thick slices of doughy Italian. “This really is a beautiful home. Do your parents come here often?”

“No, not anymore.” It was his turn to lean against the counter. “My dad lets his business associates use the place when they feel like getting away. Someone’s usually here every couple weeks or so. Do you want some wine?”

“Sure. I’ll take half a glass of white.” She set the bread on a plate. “What does your father do?”

Tucker twisted the wine key into the cork and pulled. “Travels mostly.”

She frowned, confused. Tucker told Ms. Hayes his mother stayed close to home, but his father traveled a lot? Maybe they had an unhappy marriage. “Oh.” She turned to the stove and flipped the burner to ‘off.’ “How hungry are you?”

“Not very.”

She had no interest in eating either. Tucker’s blatant evasions were frustrating and unnecessary. If he didn’t want to talk, they didn’t have to talk. He could keep his mysterious family and secret rooms to himself for all she cared. Tucker typically intrigued her—reluctantly so, but this Jekyll and Hyde routine of the last couple hours was already old. “I think I’m going to pass on dinner.” She made her way to the foyer and grabbed her luggage. “Which room is mine?”

“I’ll show you.”

“I can find my own way if you just tell me.”

He shrugged. “Down that hall. First door on your right.”

Wren started down the lighted wing, stopped, and turned. “You know, Tucker, Collin can take over my protection if this isn’t working for you. I could’ve stayed in LA for another week and waited for him or someone else to bring me to London. If you don’t want me here, say the word and I’m gone.”

He held her gaze for several seconds before she shook her head in irritation and walked away. She didn’t have time to play games with the cold, miserable man in the kitchen who was so adept at pushing her buttons. Mockups and orders waited to be created in her room for the time being. She had a business to keep afloat. Tucker could brood all by himself.

Chapter 8

T
ucker rolled out of bed, blinking against the rising sun. He stood by the huge panes of glass in his room, scrubbing his hands over his cheeks and rubbing at his tired eyes, carefully avoiding the bandaged gash that still hurt like a son of a bitch. He’d tossed and turned all damn night, watching the hours tick by on the digital clock. Years ago, the country dark and silence of the woods had soothed him; now they left him edgy. He was used to city noise—traffic rushing by, car alarms, and the squeal of tires. He wanted the urban clamor back. Anything was better than the racing thoughts and haunting memories that had plagued him since they’d set off for Park City.

He stared out at the bold pinks and purple of the spectacular sunrise, the dark green of tall pines, and the pure white snow coating the rooftops downtown and gray mountaintops beyond. He’d seen this breathtaking picture on many Christmas vacations—and would have been content to never see it again.

He turned away from the view, as if doing so would somehow banish the pain, and pulled on a pair of black pajama pants over his boxers. He sat on the edge of the bed and lay back, running his fingers through his hair. What the hell was he doing here? Why did he think bringing Wren to the summerhouse would be okay? They had to go. Maybe he could take her to one of the resorts. They could use assumed names…and constantly look over their shoulders.

He clenched his jaw, knowing the idea wouldn’t work. Rex Richardson, along with numerous others, knew he was heir to the Campbell Empire. And if he didn’t, it wouldn’t be hard to find out. Once Wren’s stalker realized she’d left LA with him, his father’s hotels would be a plausible place to search for her. There were Campbell Resorts all over the world. Hunting for Wren would take considerable time and effort, but her stalker’s escalating behavior proved he would look anywhere and everywhere until he found her. What if the resort he took her to was the one Rex chose—if it was even Rex to begin with…

That’s why he’d brought her here. Hardly anyone knew of the house in Utah. Most people assumed his father sold the family getaway after Staci’s death. Deep down, below the well of misery, he recognized he’d made the right call. Now he had to deal with it. The sooner the police took care of Richardson, the faster they could go home.

Tucker glanced at the bedside clock. Eight on the dot. Ethan was up…or he would be when his cellphone started to ring. Tucker grabbed his cell and dialed.

“Cooke.”

“You’re up.”

“I have a ten-and-a-half-month-old and a four-year-old. Sleeping in doesn’t happen around here.” Kylee screamed in the background, and Emma’s gibberish echoed through the phone.

“Guess not.”

“What’s up?”

“I wanted to see if Owens shared anything with you while Wren and I were en route to Utah. Thought I’d be merciful and let the guy sleep awhile. He was probably out working a scene until God knows when. Gotta love Saturday nights in LA.”

“I was going to call later when I was sure you and Wren were up and around. I imagine you haven’t slept well the past couple nights.”

Ethan had
no
idea. Sleep was something Tucker had done without since Wren walked through his front door. He’d tossed and turned on his couch Thursday night, torturing himself with thoughts of Wren’s glorious body curled up in his sheets. Friday, he settled for a cot at Morgan and Hunter’s, lying in the same guest room as Wren. They’d both been awake, mere feet form each other, listening to every creak and crack the house made. “Not particularly.”

“Owens and I spoke briefly. They got word on the GPSs. The tracking systems found on both your vehicles linked back to a pay-as-you-go phone. The serial number didn’t connect to a credit card on file, so whoever bought the devices paid cash, which leads us nowhere.”

Tucker didn’t expect anything less. “Does Rex have an alibi for Friday?”

“Owens said they had him in for questioning for quite a while yesterday. He’s insisting he didn’t do any of this—gave Owens his whereabouts for every evening since his first and only date with Wren. He, his lawyers, and grandfather want this put to rest ASAP. Apparently he’s been laying low for the past few days. He took a little time off this week after the board members at Vera Corporation found out about the whole thing. According to his attorneys, he was making arrangements to head out of town Friday afternoon—at their advisement until this blows over, but he was called into an emergency meeting on his way to the airport. He was teleconferencing with Beijing well into the evening. Several witnesses confirmed he was in his office when bricks were crashing through your windows and someone was helping themselves to my sister’s underwear.”

“Doesn’t mean anything. He could’ve paid someone. Hell, he could’ve paid someone to do all of it—the flowers, the cat, the bricks, and the break in.” But it didn’t add up.

“Yeah…”

“You’re not buying that any more than I am.”

“The window deal and the flowers maybe, but the break-in and the cat… Those were personal. He’s angry. He wants Wren to know he can get to her anywhere.”

Tucker nodded his agreement. “Exactly.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“It leaves me wondering if we’re looking at the wrong man.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing.” Ethan sighed. “I didn’t want to go there.”

“You’re not joking.” The situation was a little less complicated when Rex was their prime suspect. His high-profile lifestyle was easy to keep tabs on. “I think we need to start asking ourselves who else might be behind this.” The question left him unsettled. The facts were falling into place, and it appeared less and less likely that Richardson was Wren’s stalker. They needed to find their mystery man before he found Wren. “I’ll call Owens again later. I want all the I’s dotted and T’s crossed before Richardson’s officially scratched from the list. If he’s in the clear, we’ll have to look at other options and go from there.”

“Let me know what Owens says.”

“I will.” The floorboard creaked in the next room. “Wren’s awake. I should go.” He’d been waiting for her to get up. Apologies were definitely in order after last night. He’d been an asshole. His struggle with being here was his problem, and he’d made it hers.

“One second. I want to thank you again for helping me out, man.”

“No problem.”

“I didn’t realize…the Utah house… I never put two and two together…”

He knew where Ethan was going. “No problem,” he repeated wanting to end this right here.

“It’s a big deal, Tucker, and I’m grateful for all you’re doing.”

“Wren’s a good woman. She doesn’t deserve what’s happening to her.”

“Yes she is and no she doesn’t.”

“Then that’s the end.”

“Okay. Call me when you have something.”

“I will.” He disconnected and shoved his cell in the elastic waist of his pajamas as he made his way into the hall. Wren’s door opened, and he stopped as she stepped out in black yoga pants and a white long-sleeved top. She looked good enough to eat with her sleepy eyes and hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Good morning.” He tried a friendly smile.

“Morning,” she responded coolly, then made a beeline for the kitchen.

He winced. She was still pissed, and he couldn’t exactly blame her. He stopped in the doorway as Wren opened cupboards at random until she found the coffee mugs. She tugged the fridge door open and pulled out a one-shot coffee pod and small glass creamer.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Mmm.” She placed the pod in the designated spot in the coffeemaker, pressed the dispenser down, poured a few drops of creamer in her mug, and shoved it beneath the spout.

He walked to where she waited for her brew and leaned against the counter next to her, arms crossed against his bare chest. Sometimes the best way to deal with a cold shoulder was to play with fire. Wren definitely had her fair share of fire. “Heard you up for quite awhile. Get a lot of work done?”

“Not nearly enough.” She whirled away, grabbed the loaf of whole-wheat bread, and shoved a piece in the toaster. Strawberry jam appeared from the refrigerator next, then a knife from the drawer. The toast popped up, and she pulled it from the slot, spreading jellied fruit around the bread, and grabbed her coffee as it finished dripping. She stepped toward the hall, but he stood in her way.

“Where you going?”

“To my room. I have stuff to do.” She took a bite of her toast and tried to skirt around him.

He moved to the left as she did. “It’s Sunday.”

“So?” She dodged to the right.

He followed her dance and stepped forward, leaving her no choice but to back up. He advanced again, and she bumped the counter. Coffee sloshed to the rim of her cup. “Easy, Cooke. You’re going to spill.” He took the mug and brought it to his lips, sipped, groaned. “Good stuff.”

Frowning, she took the cup back. “Make your own.”

“I will.” He rested his hands on the cool granite countertop, purposely boxing her in. Hints of her perfume teased his nose as he leaned in close. “You look damn good in the morning, Cooke.” He wrapped one of her silky curls around his finger. “All sexy and rumpled.”

“Rico’s back, I see.” She smirked.

He lifted his brows. “Huh?”

“Decided you’re going to be friendly again?” She sipped her coffee, measuring him.

“I want to apologize again for last night. I was a jerk. I really am sorry, Cooke. It won’t happen again.”

Still eyeing him, she took another bite of her toast.

“Truce?”

She swallowed. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You tell me where the washer and dryer is. I’m completely out of clean clothes.”

“I can do better.” He grasped her wrist, guiding her piece of toast to his mouth, and bit in. Holding her gaze, he chewed and swallowed. He wanted out of this house, and now he had the perfect excuse. “I’m taking you shopping.”

“Shopping? I don’t have time to shop. I have a business to run.”

“I bet you could sneak away for a little while—couple hours will do us both some good.”

“I can’t.” She set the coffee cup down and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shove.

He moved to let her by and looked to his right, catching a glimpse of downtown in the distance. Cars drove along the busy streets, and early-bird skiers took advantage of the quiet resort slopes. There was fun to be had among the bustling shops and crowded restaurants. He snagged her hand. “Wait.”

She turned. “Tucker, I have laundry and work to get to. Patrick has two big meetings to cover tomorrow. He and I have a lot to go over. I still have several mockups to create and orders to fill, not to mention concept bids to generate for new clients.”

He pulled her to the windows as she spoke and stood behind her, bringing her back up against his chest, gripping her shoulders gently. “Look at the view. It’s like a fairyland.”

“It’s beautiful, but I really have to call Patrick.” She took two steps before he yanked her around to face him.

“Come on, Cooke. Two hours.” Now that the idea was firmly planted, it was suddenly vital that he share the town he once loved with her. “You know what they say about all work and no play…”

“Yes, they say it’s productive.”

He grinned. “Your laptop will be here when we get back, and you need some warmer clothes. We could be here for a while. Besides, Ethan Cooke Security’s paying for this little block of retail therapy.”

“Does my brother know about this?” She stood on her tiptoes, studying his wound, gently touching the tender skin around the bandages. “Looks sore.”

“Ow.” He pulled his head away from her probing fingers. “He’ll know when he gets the bill.”

“Well if Ethan’s buying…” She smiled. “It’s tempting, but I—”

He pressed his finger to her soft lips, sensing another refusal. “Hold up. Listen.”

Her eyes darted left, right, then met his. “What?”

“Do you hear it?” he whispered, moving closer, still looking in her eyes.

“No.” Her brows furrowed as she concentrated. “What?”

“The clothes. They’re calling your name.” He grabbed her hips and nestled his lips close to her ear. “‘Wren, come buy me.’”

She scoffed, swatted his arm, then reluctantly laughed. “You
idiot
. Why on earth did Ethan send me away with you?”

He chuckled. “Because you’re just that lucky.”

She laughed again.

“Come on, Cooke, you know you want to.”

“Oh, all right.” She pulled his hands from her waist and backed up. “Two hours and
only
two hours, then I have to get back to work.”

“Deal. We’ll meet at the door in thirty minutes.”

“I only need twenty.”

“Twenty it is.” He watched Wren walk away, then glanced toward town again. For the first time in fourteen years, the idea of walking the streets of Park City was actually appealing.

Wren took the steps from the garage into the house, loaded down with shopping bags. “Whew. I had no idea I got so carried away.”

Tucker stepped in behind her, closed the door, and locked it. “You’re definitely a champion shopper.” He set down his own bags and tugged the beret from her head.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. You want help bringing those to your room?”

“Nah. I’ve got it.”

“I guess I’ll heat up lunch.” He shook the deli box he held. “You’re in for a treat. Nobody makes a calzone like Tony.”

She breathed in Italian spices and smiled. “Smells amazing. I’m starved.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I’ll be right back.” She headed toward her bedroom, more relaxed than she had been in a long time. It was after one—well past the two hours she’d allotted herself for a quick trip to town. She needed to call Patrick and get those orders in by five if she wanted on-time delivery next week. And she was behind on the new client bids that absolutely had to be completed by this evening, but she couldn’t regret the much-needed break. For the first time in months her shoulders were free of tension and the constant nagging headache was nowhere to be found.

She’d had a good time—a great time actually—wandering from shop to shop, with Tucker at her side. He was the first man—besides Patrick—who didn’t seem to mind sitting in a chair by the dressing room while she tried on clothing options.

He’d been funny and charming, flashing her his slow, sexy grin when she swiped the curtain back, modeling her attire, looking for second opinions on potential purchases. He’d even helped her pick out t-shirts and other little knick-knacks for Kylee and Emma and bought a couple things for himself. And he’d been a good sport, trying on the clothes she threw over his curtain.