Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) (7 page)

“Patrick and I ran through my schedule for the day. While we were talking a delivery arrived—blood-red roses and a note that said, ‘Welcome Home’. There was a number twenty-five on the card as well.”

“What does it mean? The twenty-five?”

“Today’s the twenty-fifth day since my first and only date with Rex.”

“What did Patrick do with the flowers?”

“I told him to throw them away. I didn’t want them.”

“He should’ve called the cops.”

“He doesn’t know. I haven’t said anything to anyone.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. If you get anything else, you call the cops right away.”

“I know that now. I had no idea one bad date would end up like this.” She plucked at the leg of her pants.

“We’re going to figure this out.”

“I hope so.”

“We will.” Though he knew it was bound to take awhile, especially with the DA’s family potentially involved. “Tell me the rest.”

“Patrick and I hung up as I pulled in the drive. It was dark and I was afraid.” She looked up from her jerky tugging movements, meeting his gaze. “I was terrified he was waiting for me. He seems to be watching my every move. I got out of my car and hurried toward the door. The security lights flashed on and I saw the cat.” She laced her fingers, clenching them together. “I knew it was a cat right away. He had a black body, but something looked funny about him, and then I realized he was missing his head. There was blood everywhere.” Her breathing came faster, and she closed her eyes.

“Take your time.”

“I wanted to run and scream, but I kept staring. My cellphone started ringing. I don’t remember answering. Somehow the phone was up to my ear, and he was whispering. He asked me if I liked it. Then he stared whining like a spoiled child. He wanted to know why I wouldn’t call him back. I told him to stop and that I was calling the cops. He started laughing.” She shuddered. “His laugh was more scary than the cat and the flowers and the dark. He said they weren’t going to believe me.” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands.

Enough was enough. He scooted over and wrapped her in a hug. “It’s over now. You’re safe. You’re safe here with me.” To his surprise, she leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Why is he doing this?”

He breathed in the bold scent of her soft hair as strands of wavy black tickled his cheek. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe he’s paying me back for damaging his pride when I hurt him.”

“Cooke, you’re sexy as hell, but there’s typically more to something like this than a bruised ego.” He rubbed his hand up and down the sleeve of her arm. “Not always, but usually. Rex is the Junior VP of one of the richest companies in the world. He’ll find another date.”

“No.” She pulled back. “I really hurt him. I knocked the wind out of him and kicked him in the balls.”

He stared at her, shocked and speechless. She was no taller than five-three and weighed one-ten if she was lucky.

“He didn’t understand ‘no,’” she continued, “so, I helped him out.”

“Good for you, Cooke. Sounds like he’s a first-class pig.” Maybe Rex did have his hand in this. Wren had humiliated him, and he was paying her back by terrorizing her. The tactics seemed petty and out of character for the man he’d met on more than one occasion, but it was definitely worth looking into. “I’m going to phone this in.”

“Whatever you think we should do.”

The police came with their badges and barrage of questions and left two hours later. Tucker’s murmurs mixed with the cops on the other side of his front door, while Wren rested her head on the arm of the surprisingly comfortable leather couch. Her skull throbbed and her stomach twisted with nerves and outright fear. The detective took her statement and asked what he needed to ask, but Rex had been right. They didn’t believe her, even after the officer flipped through several saved texts and the picture of blue roses placed at her door.

The officers were heading over to her house to make a copy of Rex’s initial voice mail, which she hadn’t erased, and to photograph the dead cat. Detective Owens sent someone to Patrick’s for a statement regarding the flower delivery. The detective told Tucker he and his partner would stop by Rex’s and ask him some questions, but an investigation was unlikely to go much further. His lawyers were top-notch, and at this point nothing Wren had showed them was a direct link back to Vera Corporation’s VP. In short, the good ol’ boy network was alive and well.

Wren pressed her fingers to the throb in her temples and sighed. Now that the police were on their way out, she could try to put this away for the night. Tucker had insisted she stay there minutes before the officers arrived, and she hadn’t been stupid enough to refuse. She glanced around at the stark white walls, wretched orange curtains, and enormous flat screen filling up most of the wall. Despite Tucker’s butt ugly living space she felt safe here.

The door opened and she shot up, still on edge.

“Relax, Cooke. It’s just me.”

Her heart settled as Tucker twisted the lock. “They don’t think Rex is doing this.”

“They’re looking into it.”

“So they say.”

“I worked with Owens for years. He said he’s going to look into the situation, so he will.”

She held his gaze. “Obligatory glimpse maybe. He was ready to close the book on this before he even turned a page.”

“Give him a chance. He’ll give this more than a glance, because it’s the right thing to do, and because I’ve asked him to.”

“You’re not one of them anymore.”

“I was for seven years. Loyalty goes a little deeper than that. Brothers for life.”

They’d see about that. She rested her aching head on the arm of the couch again.

“You left out the blue roses when we talked.”

“You asked about tonight.” She closed her eyes in defense against the naked light bulb shining from his ceiling. “Believe me, I’m not trying to keep secrets.”

“All the pieces are important. From now on, you share everything.”

She opened her eyes and met his cool, serious gaze. “Why are you getting upset with me? I just told you I didn’t leave out the roses on purpose.”

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what I’m dealing with.”

She’d never seen him like this. He was usually too busy being smooth. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I didn’t leave the roses out on purpose.”

“When was the last time you had something to eat?”

And just like that, the tense moment was over. She scrunched up her nose at the thought of food. “I’m not hungry.”

He grunted and walked to the kitchen, opened a cupboard, and something clattered moments before the microwave hummed and a pan scraped against one of the burners. Minutes later he came back. “Here.”

She opened one eye and peeked at the perfectly golden grilled cheese on the plate and the poop-brown coffee cup in his hand. He’d cooked for her. She stared up at him, more than a little surprised. “What’s in the mug?”

“Decaffeinated green tea with honey.”

Who was this sweet, sexy god with the amazing body and gorgeous face? Her stomach fluttered from his kind gesture, and she ruthlessly ignored the uncustomary hitch as she reached up and took the dish. “Thank you.”

He set the cup on the coffee table. “Go ahead and take a bite. You look like hell.”

And Tucker Campbell was back. She put down the sandwich she’d picked up. “Stop with all the flattery. I can hardly take it.”

He grinned. “Just eat. We’ll both feel better if you do.”

She grabbed the half and shuddered as she brought it to her mouth. Food was the last thing she wanted. She darted him a glance from under her lashes as he stared down at her. Trapped by manners, she nibbled at the buttery whole wheat and gooey cheddar jack. She chewed, swallowed, and bit in again, oddly comforted by the simple meal. “It’s good.”

“There’s probably more calories in that sandwich than you eat in a week.”

She frowned. “I eat. I eat plenty, thank you very much. I just choose healthy options.”

“Your luggage still in your car?”

She picked up the other half after devouring the first. “Yes.”

“I’ll go get your stuff.”

“No,” she said quickly, thinking of Tucker alone in the dark parking lot.

“I know we’re mixed up and everything, but I think it’s too soon for you to be walking around my apartment naked.”

She snorted out a laugh. “You wish.”

He sent her one of his slow grins. “Maybe.” He took a step toward the door.

“Wait.”

He turned. “What’s wrong, Cooke?”

She thought of the dead cat and the moonless night. “What if he’s out there? What if he hurts you?”

He winked. “I’ll be okay.”

She studied Tucker’s white cotton t-shit hugging his broad shoulders and impressive arms. His navy blue gym shorts hinted at his powerful thighs and showed off his well-shaped calves. He could definitely take Rex if he needed to. She shrugged her embarrassment away and focused on her dinner.

“Keep this up and I might start thinking you’re actually sweet on me.”

“Dream on,” she said without out heat, answering his teasing smile.

Tucker’s cellphone rang. He glanced at the readout. “It’s Ethan.”

She winced. “I didn’t want to tell him about this yet.”

“Too late.” He pressed “talk.” “Campbell. Yeah, she’s right here. She’s shaken up but fine. I was going to call you.” He tossed her a scathing look.

Wren could only imagine what Ethan was firing in Tucker’s ear. She sent him an apologetic smile.

“They just left,” he continued as he held her gaze. “I’m sure he is. She’s staying here tonight. I need to get her luggage from her car. I’ll have her call you back in five. Bye.” He hung up.

She set the remaining quarter of the grilled cheese on her plate. “Ethan’s pretty worked up, huh?”

“Good guess. He’s going fucking bananas. The DA called him. He ripped Ethan a new asshole wondering why his sister’s making wild accusations about his grandson leaving dead cats on her doorstep. Ethan wants you to call him. You can deal with your brother for now. I’m sure I’ll have another turn later.” He pulled her car keys from the top of her purse and grabbed his own from the peg on the wall. “Don’t open the door for anyone. I’ll let myself in.” With that he shut the door behind him and was gone.

Wren stared after Tucker in the silent room. Her stomach felt surprisingly better, and her headache was down to a dull roar. Sighing, she picked up her phone and prepared herself for a grilling from her worried brother.

Chapter 6

W
ren sat at the study table in the Cartwrights’ library staring at the sunny yellow palette and green and white striped fabric swatches Lenora liked best. Thank the lord they finally agreed on something. She squeezed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. The day had passed in a whirlwind. Between the schedule changes to accommodate Jackson and Jerrod’s ability to drive her to her worksites, meetings with potential new clients, and her late-afternoon go-around with Lenora, she was toast.

Typically she handled chaos with ease. Bedlam came with the territory. Her career revolved around the wants and needs of wealthy and often spoiled adults who believed their whims were her top priority. And usually they were, but not today. Today she struggled to keep everything—including herself—together. Her head ached as it did last night, and her stomach churned with unshakeable worry. Tylenol and Saltines weren’t doing the trick, nor were her silent pep talks to herself or deep breathing techniques she relied on when the pressure became too much.

Sighing, she pulled her laptop closer and punched in the first few adjustment codes to update the original mockup she’d made for the Cartwright’s pool house. Now that the foreman had gotten back to her with firm dates for phase one’s completion and Lenora had given her the go-ahead, she could begin placing orders for custom-made furnishings, paints, rugs, and the numerous accents they would use throughout the space.

The next step was to get the reluctant head gardener involved with the landscaping overhaul. Wren had noticed that Romeo did everything in his power to avoid interactions with Lenora. She couldn’t blame him, but he would have to get over it. If she could handle ‘the lady of the manor’ for a few hours, so could he. Still trying to find her groove, she flipped screens and e-mailed Patrick. It would be better to get the meeting over with sometime in the next couple weeks. They could turn the dreaded occasion into a breakfast or luncheon. Food seemed to be important to the somewhat portly Romeo. She would soothe ruffled feathers with a nice meal. “What can I say? I’m a genius.” Chuckling to herself, she returned her attention back to the mockup.

She punched in the color adjustment as her cellphone rang. Wren glanced at the readout, smiled, and answered. “I’m still fine. In fact, I haven’t moved from the study table I’ve been sitting at since the last time you called.”

“Don’t piss on protocol, Cooke. Every hour on the hour until I can come pick you up.”

“Lucky me. And how much longer will we play this game?”

“Ethan’s still rearranging schedules to get you full-time coverage for a while. You just keep answering when I call and stay where we left you. I’d like to avoid any unnecessary confrontations with your riled-up and very cranky brother.”

“What can I say? I inspire love and loyalty wherever I go.”

Tucker snorted into the phone. “You think so?”

She grinned. “Definitely.”

“I’m stuck in traffic. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

“Ten-four, boss.”

“Since you seem to be handling the situation better today, it’s your turn to cook tonight. You can cook, right?”

“Very well, actually.” Ms. Willa had insisted she and Ethan learn to handle themselves in the kitchen. “I’m a jack of all trades.”

“Stay put until I get there, Jack.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Smartass.”

The dial tone buzzed in her ear, and she chuckled. Tucker’s hourly calls had annoyed the hell out of her for much of the day until she decided to have fun with them. After all, he was doing what he was told. Ethan was stuck in Hawaii for the foreseeable future with his family. His trip to the islands wasn’t only for pleasure; he, Austin, and Hunter were attending several conferences in between pulling duty for two Hollywood families on vacation and helping out with the Phillips/Cooke kiddos when Sarah left for her photo shoots.

During their endless phone conversation last night, Ethan insisted she hop the next flight to Hawaii, but she refused. The island brood already had their hands full, and she had a job to do. More than that, she wasn’t about to burden her family with her problems or risk involving Ethan and Hunter’s children. Besides, Rex was likely to lay off now that the police were involved.

Having a round-the-clock guard was probably overkill, but that’s the compromise she and Ethan made. He’d tried to flex his big-brother muscles and demanded she work from his office for the next little while; she’d promptly told him to go to hell. Her business would not suffer because some sicko had a vendetta to settle. She’d worked too damn hard to make Cooke Interiors one of the top design firms in LA. She’d be damned if Rex Richardson was going to ruin her reputation for client-focused service at its best. She and Patrick would continue to run the company just as smoothly as always, with a few minor adjustments.

She understood her situation and was being a team player. She’d slept over night in Tucker Campbell’s apartment, breathing in his sexy scent while she lay in his bed. And she’d rearranged her schedule to fit Jackson, Jerrod, and Tucker’s, staying put, locked behind her client’s gated fortresses, hadn’t she? But tomorrow life got back to normal—whatever that was.

“Hey.”

Wren whirled, almost falling out of her chair. “JT,” she whispered, closing her eyes as her heart slammed a jittery beat.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She took a deep breath. “That’s okay. I’m a little on edge today.”

“I heard.”

Her brows winged up. “You did?”

He nodded and walked further into the room, wearing his fancy courtroom duds. “Kinda hard to keep that sorta news out of legal circles. DA Richardson is pretty riled up.”

“As he should be. His grandson is a nut job.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No…” She stood and leaned against the table. “Actually, yes. I would love some straight-up honesty.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“What’s the likelihood the police are going to make an arrest?”

“Probably not great.”

She puffed out a breath and looked to the ceiling. “And why am I not surprised?”

“I did a little digging after I found out you were involved. Rex Richardson agreed to meet with the police last night with his attorney present. They questioned him for less than half an hour.”

“Unbelievable. They grilled me for two.”

“Other than the voicemail he left on your home phone, there’s no hard evidence linking him to the rest. His attorney called the entire situation ‘ridiculous, baseless, and completely insulting to Mr. Richardson’s exemplary character.’”

Her jaw clenched as she thought of the month-long harassment she’d endured. “Now that’s ridiculous. Did they expect him to have a moment of conscience and confess to everything?”

JT’s cell rang. He glimpsed at the readout. “Damn. I have to take this. I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time.” She needed a few minutes to gather the tethers of her temper. Rex was harassing
her
, yet somehow she had become the villain and he the victim. She walked to the window and stared out at the lush grasses of the manicured lawn while JT’s murmurs echoed from the hallway. Her phone chimed on her hip, alerting her to a new text. She yanked her cell from the leather holder and gaped at the two-word message.

Nice try
.
26
.

Her hand shook as she read and reread Rex’s latest message. “No,” she whispered. “No.” This wasn’t happening.

“Wren? Are you okay?”

She turned slowly to JT as reality blindsided her. “He isn’t going to stop.”

“What happened?” He walked to her and rested a supportive hand on her arm. “What’s wrong?”

She held up her cellphone. “He sent me another one.”

He took the phone. “Let me take you down to the police station.”

“I—”

She heard someone knock against the doorframe. “Hey, JT. Cooke, you ready to go?”

She glanced over to where Tucker stood, wearing khaki slacks and a navy blue polo top. “Tucker.” She pulled the phone from JT’s hand and hurried to him. “Another one. He sent another one.”

Tucker frowned as he studied the screen she held up.

“I thought his ‘date’ with the police would put a stop to this—at least for a little while.” She shook her head. “But it won’t. He’ll keep doing this, because he can. No one’s going to touch him, and he knows it.”

“We’re going to handle it.”

“How? By calling the cop so they can question him with his lawyer at his side, then tell him he’s free to go? Not even twenty-four hours, Tucker, and he’s back to his games.”

He took her chin between her fingers and held her gaze. “We’ll handle it. Trust me.”

Something in his intense stare made her believe him, and she nodded.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“I have to get my stuff.” She turned toward the table and jumped, having forgotten that JT was still there.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”

“I don’t—I don’t think so.” She looked to Tucker for confirmation.

Tucker shook his head. “The cops are going to have to handle this one. Wren will have protection until this bastard makes a mistake. And he
will
make a mistake.” His eyes left JT’s to capture hers. “They all do.”

Wren secured her laptop, then gathered her catalogs and other items, tossing them in her briefcase. She wanted out of there. She wanted to go home and pretend this wasn’t happening.

Tucker walked over and slid the straps of her laptop case and bag on his shoulder.

“Wren, I’m sorry for what you’re going through. If you think of anything, anything at all…”

She nodded, took JT’s hand, and kissed his cheek, fighting against the tears pooling in her eyes. “You’re a good friend. I’m lucky to have you.”

He patted her shoulder. “Be safe.”

“I will.” She stepped back, blinking the worst of her emotions away, refusing to allow Rex Richardson to upset her any further.

“Come on, Cooke. Let’s get you home. Later, JT” Tucker wrapped his arm around her waist.

The solid strength in his gentle hold comforted her. As much as she wanted to depend only on herself, she leaned into him as they left the library and walked out the front door.

Amazing scents wafted from Tucker’s humble galley kitchen as Wren thwacked and chopped away at an assortment of vegetables. Hints of garlic, thyme, and rosemary teased his stomach as he sucked in a breath with his next arm curl. The gym wasn’t an option with the current situation, and Wren’s silence on the ride home had been a none-to-subtle hint that she wanted to be left alone. Her stalker’s latest text had shaken her—enough that she’d been willing to take the comfort he offered on their way out the Cartwrights’ door.

She didn’t want to be afraid, she didn’t want to need him, but she was and she did. Wren was going to have to get used to him being around for a while. Ethan had assigned him to the sassy package in the next room until they got this situation figured out.

They had a long way to go. He’d called in the new text to Owens as soon as they arrived at the apartment and sent a copy of the message via e-mail to the station. There wasn’t much else he could do; he and Wren both knew it. She’d held his gaze for several seconds after he hung up, shook her head in disgust, then marched herself into his kitchen and started pulling food from his refrigerator at random.

Beads of perspiration tracked down his face and chest as he finished his last rep. He set down the thirty-five pound dumbbells and wiped at the sweat with a tattered gym towel. He took a deep breath and stretched his biceps. That last set was a bitch.

Bending at the knees, he reached for the weighted ball, and suddenly his bedroom window smashed. Tucker dropped, rolling automatically as a slice of heat grazed his temple and something landed on the floor next to him with a heavy
thump
. He lay on the carpet among the shards of glass, blinking several times, then rushed to his feet as reaction set in. His heart jackhammered and adrenaline coursed through his veins as he ducked past the window yelling, “Wren!”

Her small frame crashed into his as they collided in the hallway. He wrapped an arm around her and turned, taking the brunt of the force as they slammed into the wall.

“Are you okay?” they asked at the same time. “I’m fine,” they spoke in unison again.

He gripped her upper arms, studying her for himself. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, but you’re not. You’re bleeding.” She pulled out of his hold. “Let me get a towel.” She dashed away.

He was bleeding? And then he felt the warm drops dribbling down the left side of his cheek. He touched his fingers to the throb at his eyebrow and temple and looked at the considerable mess covering his hand. “Son of a bitch.” He wiped his bloodied palm on his shorts. Injuries would have to be dealt with later; he needed to figure out what the hell just happened. He hurried back to the bedroom, cautiously peeking from the side of the gaping hole in the window, then searched for the object that had busted out the entire bottom pane of glass. He crouched in front of a brick wrapped in duct tape next to the edge of his bed, studying the bold black letters written in permanent marker:
SHE’S MINE!