Private Bodyguard (14 page)

When he was done, she looked down at the shorthand list.

“I feel like we're just talking in circles now,” she breathed out. “We're missing something.”

They lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Maybe it was time to leave the case alone. Maybe they were hurting it instead of helping. It was already her fault that Derrick, the lead investigator, had been hospitalized. If she hadn't kept digging...

“Oh, my God, that's it,” Darling exclaimed. Oliver met her wild stare with skepticism.

“What?”

“Let's stick with the theory that there
are
two people involved in the killing of Jane Doe. So far they've shown up whenever I discovered something new. The office was tossed looking for the security tape. They got it, so that should be it, right? But then they grab me two hours later? Why?” Before Oliver could answer, she beat him to it. “Because I found Harriet Mendon.”

“Wait, what do you mean you found her?”

“Before you and I had it out at Acuity, I looked up where she worked.”

Oliver's features seemed to reanimate.

“Oliver,” she continued with new enthusiasm. “I think Harriet Mendon is our key.”

Just as quickly as excitement at a new lead flashed across his face, a darker emotion replaced it. When he spoke, it made the hair on the back of Darling's neck stand up.

“Then we'd better find her before they do.”

Chapter Eighteen

Darling found the number of the boutique where Harriet Mendon worked and left an urgent message with the owner, a friendly woman named Barb. She also left a new message on Harriet's home machine. One way or the other, she wanted to cover all her bases.

“Okay, it's time I change out of this robe,” Darling said when she was done. “Make yourself at home.”

Oliver looked around the living room with a new perspective after she went to her bedroom. He imagined his recliner in the corner, the picture of his parents next to the one of Darling and friends on top of the bookcase, his shoes tossed off next to the front door and the fight that would always come from him leaving them there.

Holiday get-togethers, quiet nights spent in, loud meaningless arguments that would never last long and makeups that would certainly last longer. There they were, moving around the small space without an ounce of regret or anger or guilt.

He pictured the two of them finishing something they had started when they were basically kids.

And loving every moment of it.

“It just isn't my week,” Darling said a few minutes later, interrupting his thoughts.

“What happened?”

“Do you want a list or a long-winded sentence?”

He gave her his full attention. “Let's go long-winded sentence this time.”

She took a deep breath.

“Elizabeth called because she's at the police station with Nigel—who apparently finally realized it was a good idea to tell the truth about knowing Jane Doe. But Elizabeth wouldn't say the name—and because of everything that happened, she terminated my contract,” she said in a rush. “Finding Jane Doe's killer isn't her top priority anymore.”

“Or she wants the police to handle it since you were
kidnapped
and left for dead by the same person or people,” Oliver pointed out. Darling frowned and sent him a pointed stare. He held up his hands in defense. “It's guilt, Darling. She doesn't want to deal with it if something happens to you while under her orders.” His thoughts turned to Nikki. “It has nothing to do with your job performance.”

“I know,” she admitted. “But the way she spoke...” Darling's brow furrowed and she sucked on her bottom lip, thinking of the right words. “She didn't sound upset at all. I guess I just assumed that finding out the identity of her husband's mistress might hit a nerve, even if she already knew about the affair.” She shrugged. “Either way, I've been fired, so the case doesn't matter anymore.”

The private investigator tried to look nonchalant. She leaned on her crutches in the doorway of her bedroom, gaze going through him as she focused on some thought in the distance. Oliver didn't point out that neither of them was ready to let the case go without getting justice for those who had determined Jane Doe's fate
and
hurt Darling. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. It didn't take long.

“Who am I kidding?” Darling exclaimed. “Like being fired is going to stop me.”

Oliver clapped. “That's my girl!”

Darling smiled. He could see how tired she felt.

“But first, coffee?” he suggested.

That earned a bigger smile. “That sounds wonderful, Mr. Quinn.”

* * *

“D
EPUTY
H
EATH
,
I never got a chance to thank you for helping to find me.”

They had already gone through an entire pot of coffee waiting for the deputy to show up to take Darling's statement.

“It's no problem,” she replied, wasting no time in getting down to business. She pulled out her printing kit, and Darling offered her hand. The older woman looked as if she also needed some coffee. “I can't wait until we catch those sons of b—”

“Those?” Darling interrupted. A wild kind of excitement crossed her face. Oliver bet she was ready to call out every clue she had that connected to two killers rather than one. “As in more than one?”

Oliver watched as the deputy's cheeks tinted pink. “I
meant
,” Heath said, “whoever is responsible. We have a very promising lead and I—personally—am confident we'll have this case closed up soon.”

The private investigator held her comments back while Deputy Heath finished the prints. Her gears were turning. That much Oliver could tell from his seat at the kitchen counter. With a bit of distance between them, he tried to look at her from an objective viewpoint.

Tired yet determined. Hurt yet unperturbed. Curious yet cautious.

“I can't disclose that information right now,” Heath said after everything was done. “Give us tonight, Darling. Everything will make much more sense in the morning.”

Oliver was ready to point out that after what Darling had been through, she deserved at least the name of Jane Doe, but the investigator shot him a silencing look. Neither pressed the issue as the deputy left.

“A sane person would probably take all of this—” Darling waved her arms around “—as a sign to change professions, huh?”

Oliver came around and took a seat next to her. “I don't know if you've noticed, but you aren't like most people.” He patted her knee on reflex. She didn't pull away.

“I guess you really dodged a bullet back in the day.”

Oliver tensed. Whether it was an off-the-cuff remark or a pointed comment about him rejecting her, he didn't know. What he was sure of was that he didn't like that she seemed to be blaming herself for what had happened. He cleared his throat.

“Darling,” he started, but he was cut off when she touched his hand with hers.

“I don't want to talk about it,” she said, voice resolute. “What you've done in the last week is more than most would have done for me. You saved me and it cost you. I'm sorry for that, Oliver.” She meant to pull her hand away, but he held it fast. Darling's green eyes were calm as they searched his.

“Don't you dare apologize to me after what I've done,” he said, voice filled with grit. “And I'll never regret what I did trying to find you. Never.” Unlike their kiss earlier that day, the atmosphere darkened. There was lust—he was certainly feeling it—but there was also pain. Had he gone too far when he left her? Had he changed her life for the worse instead of for the better? These thoughts pushed Oliver off the couch as if he had been burned. Darling let go of his hand, eyes wide. He didn't miss the flush across her cheeks, either.

“Well, thank you,” she said in a rush, also standing. “I—uh—think I'm going to dry my hair.” She reached back and took her crutches leaning against the couch. Oliver didn't respond. Guilt and regret were slamming against his rib cage. He shouldn't want her—shouldn't imagine a life with her—after deciding to cut ties with no explanation. She had a life. She deserved better than him. Always had, always would.

He watched as she awkwardly began her walk back to the bedroom. The crutches clinked in the silence. However, she didn't make it far. Oliver was in front of her in an instant.

Her eyes were red, tears waiting on each rim. His last image of the younger Darling had been with tears in her eyes, but his mind didn't connect that vulnerability or memory to the woman standing in front of him. He didn't connect it the day she found out what her parents had done, and he didn't even think to compare it to the cold, naked woman he had held in his arms that morning.

Bringing his hands up, he cradled her face and moved closer.

There
was the difference. Between his fingers and the heat of her skin was an electricity he couldn't ignore. It coursed through each of them before crashing together. Rapid, shocking, sensational.

And it was begging him to not let go.

Before the world could catch up to them, his mouth covered hers.

Chapter Nineteen

Hunger. Passion.

Pain. Lust. Desire.

Everything exploded in the kiss. Darling didn't know which thought to rest on as Oliver's lips pushed and pulled at more than just her body. There were a million reasons they shouldn't be intertwining and yet she couldn't recall a single one.

Darling's eyelids fluttered closed, and she let herself enjoy the moment. Oliver's lips pressed against her with an undeniable hunger that ate its way right into hers. Her crutches clattered to the ground as she wrapped her arms around his neck, seeking a new anchor. A new lifeline. His tongue found hers, and they tasted each other for the first time in eight years.

Their painful past melted away. They were finding their way back to each other. Back to the home they had made all those years ago. Darling moaned against his lips. She had missed this.

Oliver deepened the kiss, moving his arms around her and pulling her flush against him. It forced a new proximity that woke up every part of her body. She arched against him and he grabbed her hips. She felt him push against her and a new thrill began to pool below her waist. Another moan escaped against him. Oliver silenced it with his own. Instead of raw hunger, Darling could feel the control in it. He deepened the kiss only to break it off a moment later.

Darling looked up at him, confused and breathless.

His face was flushed. His lips red and swollen. Those amber eyes searched her face in the quiet. For once, Darling dared not speak.

There weren't a lot of things in life she felt she absolutely needed.

But right then, she knew she needed Oliver Quinn.

“Darling,” he whispered, voice husky. Another shock of pleasure pulsed through her at the sound. He closed the space between their lips again. It was a soft kiss that burned slowly.

He didn't speak again.

With one quick movement, he picked her up and put her legs around his waist. Darling gladly hugged his body back, not breaking their connection. Then they were moving down the familiar path to the bedroom.

Though as she began to unbutton his shirt, she realized that where they were going was a place neither had visited before.

* * *

T
HE
SOFT
CARESS
of cotton against her bare skin.

The mattress that molded against her every curve.

The warmth of a man around her heart.

A wisp of a smile trailed across Darling's lips.

She stretched out, feeling for her bodyguard beneath the sheets. Her hand found the edge of the bed instead. Slowly her eyelids opened.

Fear made her heart beat against her chest. For one awful moment, Darling thought she was back in the clearing, naked and in the dark. However, as panic tried to claw its way through her, common sense blocked its path.

She could feel the bed beneath her, the sheets around her. She smelled the citrus that had attached to her skin after her bath. The scent of Oliver's body wash that mingled with it.

No, she wasn't in danger here.

She waited as her vision adjusted to the low light of the room. From where she was, she could see out into the hallway and to the stools at the kitchen counter. Light filtered across the floor from the TV. She closed her eyes again, still tired. She couldn't lie there and think about what had happened between them
and
keep her eyes open. There wasn't enough energy to sustain both acts.

So she burrowed back beneath the covers and let her smile widen. When she was younger, she would often imagine what it was like to be with Oliver. Would he be gentle? Would he be rough? Or would he be a man who walked the line in between?

It was as if she had been holding her breath for years, waiting for Oliver. Now that she had let him back into her life, into her home and her bed, she felt she could let that breath out.

She drifted back to sleep, thinking of the bodyguard, only to wake up a while later, looking at him.

“Hey there,” he said.

Darling stretched and smiled. “Hey back.” She glanced to her alarm clock to see it was still late. Before she could ask what was going on, Oliver answered her.

“They're running a news story about the murder. I wanted to make sure you saw it, too.”

That made her sit up.

“Yeah, I really do want to see it.”

Much like before, Oliver carried her across the apartment. The heat of his bare chest against her was a welcome reminder of that afternoon. However, this time, once they reached their destination, he set her down and let go. She marveled at how badly she wanted to stay in his arms—to be wrapped up in his touch—but told her brain to focus.

Which wasn't hard when she looked at the television. On its screen was a local news reporter standing in front of the Mulligan police station. A spotlight from her camera crew was positioned on her face, trying to keep viewers' attention on her and not the crowd behind. Even in the dark, Darling could make out reporter Rebel Nash and a handful of others in a semicircle around Chief Sanderson and a few of his deputies behind her. The woman who filled the screen, however, looked excited about whatever story she was reporting on. Oliver turned up the volume on the TV.

“—a corporate conspiracy that is connected to the death of a Jean Watford, found dead in a bathtub at the Mulligan Motel. One of Charisma Investment's board members and its interim CEO, resident Nigel Marks, has refused an interview at this time. His attorney issued the following statement—‘My client cannot confirm or deny at this point in time that Ms. Watford was guaranteed a top managerial position within the company, but she was being seriously considered. The fact that this could have been the cause of her death is abhorrent, and the Marks family wants nothing more than to see those responsible brought to justice.'”

A picture of a red-haired woman—apparently their Jane Doe—popped up in the corner next to the reporter's head.

“Jean Watford, age twenty-three, resided in Miami, Florida. She was visiting Mulligan on business.”

Her picture was replaced by an image of two men talking to each other by the side of a building. They stood in the shadows and didn't seem to be aware someone had been taking their pictures. Darling didn't recognize either of the older men but knew by their outfits alone they were high-level businessmen.

“CFO Lamar Bennington and executive assistant Robert Jensen are being held for questioning after an anonymous tip led to the discovery of controversial emails about Ms. Watford, including one that contained information pertaining to what police believe to be the murder weapon. Both men are currently denying these charges.”

The reporter changed gears and gave viewers some background on Charisma Investments and their merger, which was almost complete. Darling already knew this information. She muted the television and gave Oliver a questioning look.

“So, Jean Watford wasn't a mistress?” she asked. Her entire investigation had been based on that one assumption.

“I suppose he—” Oliver's phone began to ring, cutting him off. “I don't know who this is,” he muttered before answering. “Oliver Quinn here,” he answered. Darling watched as his face hardened. He held up his finger to ask her to wait and headed to the bedroom for some privacy.

Darling sighed. She wished the police would give her phone back soon. Surely there would be no reason for forensics to keep it now that they had men in custody. She didn't like being without it.

The local news cut to a weather segment, so Darling turned it off. She reached for her office chair and hopped into it. Pushing herself with her good foot, she went to the kitchen counter for a pen and paper. Before she could forget the two men's names, she wrote them down. There was no need to pen Jean Watford. Now that she could put a name to the body in the tub, she knew she'd never forget either for the rest of her life.

“Well, looks like we have more of a story to go with,” Oliver said when he came back into the room a few minutes later. “That was actually our friend Deputy Derrick. He's fine, by the way. Should be discharged in a few days.” He grabbed the arms of the chair and rolled Darling over to the couch, sitting in front of her. He placed his hands on her thighs as he continued. “He was brought up to speed right before the news segment aired. He figured we were watching or, at the very least, deserved a bit more than what they had to offer.”

Darling knew that the only reason they were getting the special treatment from Derrick was that the case had become personal for the three of them. Once he had been attacked, Darling had been taken and Oliver had helped save them both, Derrick had mentally put them on the same page. A task he wouldn't have done otherwise.

“Tell me,” was all Darling could manage. Something akin to hesitant excitement had started to flow through her. The case felt as if it was almost over, even if it had taken a turn she didn't expect.

“Nigel admitted that he had been seeing Jean in secret for the past year. He met her at a business conference when he was in Miami and was impressed. Apparently Jean was a very smart cookie. Nigel was beginning to finalize the merger but wasn't happy with the people who were going to be in charge. He wanted some new blood and decided to start grooming Jean in secret.”

“Why in secret?”

“He was afraid that if he publicly acknowledged he was about to restructure the new business, stocks would suffer and he'd have to deal with unnecessary backlash. No one was supposed to find out until the end of the month, but apparently word got out somehow.”

“To the CFO and the assistant?”

Oliver nodded. “Nigel told the chief that the CFO had formed not-so-beneficial friendships with those who worked for him. He didn't care that they weren't doing their jobs anymore.”

“And Jean was going to take one of their jobs at the new company?”

“Bingo. Nigel wasn't sure why the executive assistant was involved. He only guessed Bennington offered something in exchange for his help. They had emails about the rumor that Jean was going to replace someone, and the CFO was furious about it. They flew in the day before Nigel, and neither of their alibis can be confirmed for the time of death.”

Darling leaned back, trying to take it all in.

“Robert, the assistant, also can't provide an alibi for the time Derrick was attacked and you were taken,” he added, voice dropping to a whisper. “But they found a long blond hair on his jacket that the chief thinks might be yours.”

The excitement she had been feeling at shutting down a case left in an instant. She recalled the picture of the two men, trying to place a face with the body that had choked her. Oliver took her hands in his and rested them against her legs again. It was enough to ground her emotions and make her able to ask another nagging question.

“What about the murder weapon? Surely they weren't stupid enough to
email
about it?”

“Bennington asked the assistant if he had some tools they could use for a secret project.”

“The hammer!”

“He didn't ask for one specifically, but he did mention they needed to make sure they had pliers.”

Darling's mouth dropped open. “To pull out her teeth,” she said, horrified. “They put all of that in emails?”

Oliver shrugged. “Derrick said the chief thought Bennington was under the influence of some narcotics when they picked him up, so that definitely could have made him sloppy. Plus, I think this is a man who usually gets what he wants. Having a loyal follower—like Robert Jensen, who had access to Nigel's entire schedule, emails and probably calls—helped him pull off the murder without leaving anything behind.”

“If all of this was business related, then why didn't Nigel just tell the cops about it all when Jean was found?” Darling didn't understand why the man had preferred to look guilty rather than coming clean in the first place, especially if the link would be easy to make when everything was out in the open.

Oliver's eyes lit up. “Get this,” he almost sang. “He thought his wife was the one behind it. That she had hired someone to take care of a woman she thought was his mistress.”

Darling didn't speak for a moment. “Wow. If they stay married, they definitely are going to need some counseling about trust.”

Oliver agreed. “That's all Derrick knew. They were getting search warrants to go through each man's hotel room and belongings, but the way it sounds, both men are in trouble.”

Darling nodded. “So, it's over, then?”

“It looks that way. The killers are in custody, and Jane Doe now has a name.” Oliver squeezed Darling's hands. “No more looking over your shoulder. Unless I'm walking behind you and you just want to see all of this.” He motioned to his chest and abs. A smile had stretched his lips, changing the mood from dark to playful. He felt relieved, and she knew it. But did she feel it, too? The motive, means and suspects made sense even though she had never even known about them until now. Logically, everything had fallen into place. However, her gut felt as if something was off.

Oliver brought his hand up to her chin and pulled her face forward.

“I know that look,” he whispered, an inch from her lips. “You took the entire day off, remember? That means the night, too.” He brushed his lips across hers, sending a wonderful thrill from her stomach downward. “That means no overthinking.”

“But that's what I'm good at,” she defended herself with no real weight behind the words.

He passed his lips across hers again, pausing only to speak. “Not tonight, my Darling.”