Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) (29 page)

“Can’t imagine living any place else.”

“It’s like a Park City reunion around here. Everybody’s making their way back to the old stomping grounds. I saw Jasmine and her husband last month. I guess they live in Florida now. Then I ran into Johnny Simmons a couple weeks ago and again the other night. I think they’re living in Los Angeles.”

“Jonathan and Lois Simmons?” Wren piped up.

“Yeah, I think that’s his wife’s name.” Nick poured Wren another glass of wine, setting the stem on a fresh napkin.

“It’s a small world. I decorated their home about six months ago. Super people.”

Tucker’s stomach clutched. Johnny Simmons was
not
a super person. He’d been a cocky little asshole for as long as they’d been acquainted. Their rivalry had worsened with every summer that passed. He and Johnny had exchanged blows the summer before Staci died, and JT had joined in.

Cartwright had despised Johnny too. Their dislike for one another had turned brutal the summer of Staci’s death. JT had never mentioned why he detested the creepy bastard, but Johnny and JT had definitely loathed one another.

Tucker gripped his pint glass as several dots lined up. He had known Johnny growing up, and Wren knew him now. The coincidence was too huge to dismiss.

“So what are you doing now, Tuck-Man?”

“Uh, I’m a bodyguard. I work for Wren’s brother.”

Nick nodded. “I could see that.”

He itched to pull out his phone and call Ethan, but wrapped his arm around Wren’s shoulders instead, trying to keep up with the conversation. “You and Angie still together?”

“Absolutely. We have our second baby on the way. I’m picking up a few hours here a couple nights a week with Christmas coming. Teaching doesn’t exactly provide the life of luxury.” The small pager on Nick’s belt buzzed. “Got an order up. I’ll leave you guys to enjoy the rest of your evening. Nice to see you again, Tucker. Nice to meet you, Wren.”

“You too,” they said at the same time.

Wren leaned into his chest. “He seems nice.”

“We had some good times.”

“I recognized him from several of the pictures in Staci’s room.”

“We all hung out. He’s a local. His dad owns one of the ski shops in town.”

“I’m sure they’re doing a brisk business with all of this snow.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He slid a finger down her neck. “So, you know Johnny Simons.”

“Yes, I guess I do. He and his wife are very sweet, and their living room is
gorgeous
.” She smiled teasingly.

He returned it as his mind raced. “How long did you work on their place?”

“Mmm, about four or five weeks. We knocked out a wall, added more livable space, laid new floors, painted and refurnished.”

“Sounds nice. What’s Johnny doing now?”

“He and Lois own several upscale coffee shops in the Los Angeles area.”

His brow shot up. Of all the professions he’d imagined Johnny doing—drug trafficking, pimping, hit man—selling fancy coffee hadn’t made the list. “Seriously?”

She bumped his arm. “Yes, seriously. I didn’t notice Jonathan in any of your sister’s photographs.

“We didn’t get along.”

“Oh.”

Tucker shrugged. “He was a prick.”

It was Wren’s turn to raise her brow. “Well, let me assure you, he’s changed his ways. He’s very much a family man.” She kissed his cheek.

He doubted it, but kept his mouth shut.

The music stopped and Wren glanced toward the baby grand. “The pianist is taking a break. I want to go over and put a tip in his jar.” She scooted off her leather stool.

“Stay where I can see you.”

“Will do.” She wandered over to the older man talking to several guests.

Tucker didn’t waste any time yanking his phone from its holder. He hit Ethan on the speed dial and waited.

“Cooke.”

“I want you to run Jonathan Simmons. Father’s name is Markus. Mother’s name is Eloise. They live in Aurora, Colorado—or did. I’m assuming they’re still married. I knew him as a kid—fucking hated his guts as much as he hated mine. I just figured out he knows Wren.”

“I’ll run him.”

He glanced toward the kitchen door as Nick came out. “Let me give you another name. Nicholas Pellerin.” He felt like a dick even thinking it, but better safe than sorry. “Father Lucas Pellerin. Mother is Krissy. They’re locals. I don’t think there’s anything here, but check it out anyway.”

“I’ll get on it.”

He looked at Wren, chatting with the man in his tuxedo. She sent Tucker a smile across the room, and his heart beat a little faster. “Thanks, man.” He shoved his phone away and smiled back. What the hell was he doing? The gorgeous woman talking to the pianist was
his,
and he wasn’t paying her a damn bit of attention. That would end now. There was nothing more he could do until Ethan ran the names. The rest of the night belonged to Wren.

She made her way back to him, stopping next to his chair.

He skimmed his fingers along her jaw. “Do you want your wine?”

“No. I want you.”

The piano started playing. “Wanna dance?”

“In our room.”

Desire curled tight in his stomach as he stood and took her hand. “Let’s go.”

They walked to the elevator, got in, and started up to the fifth floor. Wren’s perfume crowded his nose as her thumb slid along his in slow, gentle strokes, driving him crazy. She smiled up at him and he reached over, pressing the red button, halting the car in its tracks.

Wren grabbed hold of his arm as the elevator jerked. “What are you doing?”

He wasn’t exactly sure as he turned, taking her face in his hands and brushed his thumbs over her cheeks. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

She rested her hands on his waist. “Yes, when I stepped from the bathroom.”

“Once isn’t enough. You’re beautiful, Wren.” He captured her lips, gently, tenderly, enjoying her as he should have all along.

Her fingers slid up to his wrists, holding tight, as her mouth gave against his.

He deepened the kiss slowly, savoring her sweet taste, her scent, her petite body pressed to his.

“Wren,” he murmured against her lips.

She eased back, staring into his eyes. “You have to let the elevator go.”

“I know.” He kissed her once more, undone by the swift wave of love moving through him. He wanted to tell her, wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait. Instead, he took a step back and sent the car up.

“Thank you for tonight.” She pulled his arm around her shoulders, twining their fingers, and pressed her lips to his knuckles.

“Oh we’re not finished.” If he couldn’t tell her he loved her, he was going to show her.

She smiled. “Okay, then thank you for tonight, so far.” She bit her lip. “You make me happy, Tucker. I didn’t think I would ever be truly happy.”

What could he possibly say? The door slid open, and he came to attention. “Come on.”

They stepped out and started down the hall. Tucker shook his head, barely suppressing a sigh. The cop on door duty was asleep in his chair.

“Is he
sleeping
?”

“That’s what it looks like to me.”

“Some guard.”

“That’s why you’ve got me, baby.” He grinned.

She chuckled.

His smile vanished as they stepped closer and he read the ugly red scrawl on the wall at the officer’s side. SC+AB+CW+WC=THE SINS OF TUCKER CAMPBELL. “Shit.” His pulse kicked into high gear as he yanked his gun from the holster. “I
knew
this was right. I knew this was exactly fucking right.”

“Knew what? What are you talking about?” Then she saw it. “Oh, God.”

He pulled her closer and turned them so he could see down both sides of the hallway. “I want you to check his pulse—quickly, then I want you inside.”

She nodded.

They stopped in front of the cop, and Wren pressed trembling fingers to the side of his neck. “He’s—he’s alive. There’s blood in his hair and down the back of his neck.”

“I know. I see it. We’ll get him some help in a minute.” He swiped the keycard, and pushed them through the door, closing it behind him. “Stay right here until I sweep the rooms.” He yanked open the closet door in the small kitchen area, gun pointed, then did the same at every corner or space large enough to hide someone who didn’t belong. He threw the latch to the glass sliders, slid the door open, barely noticing the cool slap of wind against his face as he swept the balcony. He came back in, locking up behind him. “We’re good,” he said as he turned, pulling his phone from its holder, looking at Wren. She stared at the floor, gripping her arms across her chest. “I’m going to phone this in, and I need to help the officer in the hall.”

“Fine,” she answered dully.

“I want you to call down to the front desk. Tell them to get security up here right away. Throw the slide over the door. Don’t open for anyone unless it’s me—not security, not another cop.”

She picked up the resort phone, glancing in his direction with hurt and anger radiating in her eyes.

He took a step toward the door and stopped. “Wren, what?”

“Go help the police officer. He’s bleeding.” She opened a drawer and shoved a clean towel in his hand.

He wanted to stay until she told him why she was staring at him like that, but questions would have to wait. He opened the door, gun drawn, and stepped into the hall. No one was there. He dialed 911, looking at Wren once more as she shut him out and threw the latch in place. He glanced at the cryptic message as he pressed the towel to the officer’s head wound, worrying about what all of this meant for him and the woman on the other side of the wall.

Chapter 20

W
ren lay among the pillows snuggled in her yoga pants and Tucker’s huge gray sweatshirt, trying to stay warm. A cold slap of realization struck her as she’d read the ugly message scrawled along the hallway wall a couple hours ago; she’d been freezing ever since. Another wave of goose bumps puckered her skin as she thought of the bold red letters and the gravity of their meaning. She grabbed the soft navy fleece from the foot of the bed, covering her legs as Greta chattered away, struggling to pay attention.

“They wanted tonight to think on it, but I’m confident we’ll have an offer tomorrow.”

She closed her eyes, swallowing another blow. “That’s great, really great.”

The front door shut, and Wren opened her eyes as Tucker stepped in the bedroom. He’d been in and out of their suite, bringing the detectives with him. They’d hovered over his laptop or flipped through his notebook on the table, discussing Tucker’s theories at length. He’d glanced her way numerous times from his seat in the tiny kitchenette, but they hadn’t spoken since she’d locked him out to deal with the injured officer.

“I overheard them talking,” Greta continued. “It sounds like they’re going to want to move on this fairly quickly.”

She plucked at the blanket, her movements jerky as she felt Tucker’s gaze boring into the top of her head. “Do you have an idea of what they’re thinking of for a closing date?”

“I’m not sure, honey, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

She darted a glance at Tucker, and her heart rate kicked up several notches as it ached. “Agree to whatever they want,” she said in a rush. “The sooner the better. I can be out in a week—two at the latest.” She didn’t want to leave her home, but as she peeked at Tucker from under her lashes, she knew she couldn’t stay in Los Angeles any longer. The faster she got out and moved on with her life, the more likely she was to forget him.

“Honey, I don’t know if we can move that quickly.”

“Regardless, the house will be vacant as of December first, if not before. I’ll be heading to Santa Barbara as soon as possible.”

“All right. We’ll get everything worked out.”

She needed
something
to work out—desperately. “Thank you, Greta. Thanks for the call.”

“You’re welcome.”

Wren hung up and fiddled with her phone, borrowing time to gather herself. Tears floated too close to the surface, as they had since the cryptic message on the wall changed everything. She’d had plenty of time to piece the instances of the last few weeks together while the police dusted for fingerprints and murmured back and forth. Staci’s murder, Alyssa and Chloe’s, her stalking, all of it circled back to Tucker. And he’d known.

“Wren.”

She looked up, meeting his gaze as he leaned against the doorframe. He’d long since ditched the sport coat and now had his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, his holster and weapon still in place.

“We need to talk.”

What could they possibly say? Tucker had made a fool of her. She’d trusted him, and he’d lied. “I don’t think there’s much to say.” She picked up the remote at her side and turned on the television, flipping from station to station, attempting to relieve her nervous energy, waiting for him to go away.

He walked over and snatched the remote from her hand, pressing the power button.

Swallowing, she sat up as the room fell silent and he settled himself on the corner of the bed.

“We need to talk,” he repeated.

Wafts of his cologne tickled her nose as she played trembling fingers through the fringes of the soft blanket. “It’s been a long day. Let’s just call it a night so we can pack up and get out of here tomorrow.” She’d never been so ready to leave.

“Cooke—” He grasped her ankle, tracing his thumb along her skin.

A rush of betrayal consumed her as he held her gaze and touched her as if he still had the right. She pulled free of his grip. “When were you going to tell me? When were you going to share that this whole thing was never about me?”

Clenching his jaw, he sighed. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t put it together, Detective?” She looked down, swallowing over the tight ball of emotion in her throat. “What happened to ‘full disclosure?’”

“I didn’t—”

“What happened to ‘There’s no one I want more, no one I trust more, Cooke,” she scoffed, attempting to disguise the tremor in her voice.

“There
is
no one I want or trust more.”

“How can you look me in the eye and say that?” More than finished, she pulled the fleece back and crawled across the mattress on her way to the bathroom—the only place she could escape.

“Wait.” He reached over, snagging her elbow.

“Let me go.” She tugged against his grip.

He did, but then hurried around to her side of the bed, standing in her way before she took two steps. “Not until we figure this out.”

“There’s not much to figure out.” She breathed him in as she attempted to skirt around him. “We’re going home tomorrow. I’m heading to Santa Barbara as planned, and you’re not. Story over. The end.”

“Just listen for a minute.”

“I’m all listened out.”

He stepped to the left as she did, blocking her way.

She huffed out a frustrated breath as they both moved to the right. “Damn it, Tucker.”

“Wren—”

“We’re finished here.” She tried shoving past him, afraid she was going to burst into tears.

“Like hell.” He grabbed her wrists, locking them behind her back, pressing their bodies together. “We’re far from it.”

She instantly stilled as he held her close.

“Please hear me out.”

She stared into his eyes, desperately wanting him to tell her this was all some big mistake and that he hadn’t purposely been keeping her in the dark. “How long have you known Staci’s killer and my stalker are one in the same?”

“Since yesterday morning. Or I was running with the idea, anyway.”

“Since yesterday morning,” she repeated as the sinking in her stomach worsened. “So when I asked you what you were thinking about at lunch today, and you told me you wanted Staci’s case solved and for all of this to be over, you kind of skimmed over a major point. I guess Staci’s killer and my stalker being the same person wasn’t important enough to share, even though it was clearly weighing heavy on your mind and very much affects my life.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is. It’s exactly that simple. You lied, Tucker, right to my face. And worse, you followed up your evasions with your whole ‘trust’ spiel.”

“Wren, I—”

“I let myself believe there was something real here.” She pulled out of his grip and took a step back. “For one stupid second I thought there might be something to this whole relationship thing, but then I saw the writing on the wall—literally—and understood you’re no different than anybody else. A few pretty words here, a deep, meaningful look there. Those damn slow smiles of yours. You wanted what you wanted, and you got it.” She laughed humorlessly, shaking her head as she stared down, chastising herself for her utter foolishness. “I sure as hell didn’t put up much of a fight in the bedroom.”

He gripped her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Don’t go there. Don’t pull that bullshit card on me.”

“Bullshit card? No, I don’t think so.”

“There’s more here than sex, and you know it.”

“I wanted what… Ethan and Sarah…” she stopped before she humiliated herself any further.

“You want what Ethan and Sarah have, it’s yours, but the thing is, I don’t. I want what we have. We’re pretty damn good together, Cooke.”

“I thought so too, but then tonight happened, and I realized there’s nothing here at all.” Her heart crumbled in a way she never knew it could.

“
Everything’s
here.” He held her tighter. “You and me. This is everything.”

“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “You’re making this worse. Just leave it where it is.”

“I don’t want to leave it where it is. I love you, Cooke.”

Her eyes grew wide as the breath backed up in her throat. “Don’t say that.” She took a step back as jitters of panic set in. “Don’t you say that.”

“I do, Wren. I’m so far passed in love with you.”

“Stop.” She turned away, pressing unsteady fingers to her trembling lips, utterly devastated, steeping in confusion.

He turned her to face him, gently this time, cupping her cheeks in his hands. “I love you.”

She closed her eyes, hating herself for wanting to throw her arms around him and tell him she loved him too. “I can’t do this.” A tear fell, despite her efforts to keep them at bay. “I don’t
want
to do this. You can’t lie and break promises, then expect me to rush into your arms. I’m not that person. I won’t be that person. Not for you or anyone else.”

“I didn’t lie—or not intentionally. I wanted the facts before I had to tell you that the man who killed my sister and ruined your life did so because of me. I was afraid you would walk away when you understood that your business, your house, Patrick’s injuries are all my fault.”

“Nothing that man has done is your fault. I could never be upset with you for some twisted person’s crazy actions, but
yours
have hurt me, Tucker. You didn’t respect me enough to confide in me your ideas, no matter how absurd you thought they were. You didn’t have faith that even if the worst were true, I would stand by you. Those things—confidence, respect, faith, and trust—that’s what a relationship is built on. That’s all I’ve ever wanted; that’s what I thought we had.”

“I’m sorry, Wren.” He took her hand, pressing her palm to his heart. “I didn’t see it that way. I should have, but I didn’t. I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s not okay. I gave you everything, Tucker, everything I was never able to give anyone else, and you’ve thrown it in my face. I won’t do it again. I can’t.” She took her hand from his and stepped away as another tear fell. “For the remainder of tonight and tomorrow, I want you to stay away from me. When we get back to Los Angeles, I want you to bring me to Patrick and wait for Hunter or Austin or whoever Ethan can get to cover me, then I want you to go away.”

“Wren, please.”

Shaking her head, she took another step back. “I believed in you, Tucker. I wanted it all.
You
made me want everything. Damn you for that.” She shut herself in the bathroom, locking herself in the only place she could go to get away from his devastated eyes. She sat down on the toilet lid and let the tears pour down her cheeks.

Tucker sat on the bench in the kitchenette, twisting his half-empty beer bottle round and round on the table. It was tempting to tip the winter lager back, drain it, then grab the assortment of hard liquors from the minibar and drink until he couldn’t feel the pain anymore, but he stayed where he was, staring at the wet imprints the glass made on the dark, smooth wood.

I believed in you, Tucker. You made me want everything. Damn you for that.
He dropped his forehead in his hands, smothering in the heavy weight of regret as Wren’s words echoed in his head over and over. He couldn’t stop thinking of her wrecked gray eyes or the tears dripping down her cheeks as she backed her way to the bathroom.

He clenched his jaw, remembering the deafening silence after the door snapped closed, the blast of water in the tub, drowning out the worst of her sobs. It had taken every ounce of willpower not to barge in and make her listen to him, but she’d made it clear she was finished with the conversation—and with him.

He rubbed his eyes with the edges of his palms, still trying to figure out how everything had gone so damn
wrong
. He’d never meant for things to end this way. Hell, they were never supposed to have ended at all. They were supposed to go back to California, figure out who was destroying their lives, get married, and eventually do the whole kid thing. He wanted that more than anything, for Wren to be his wife and the mother of his children, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen.

Tucker sank further on the seat and rested his head against the wall. He never meant to lie, not even by omission. He’d wanted the facts straight before he told her. That’s how he worked—gather information, make it all make sense, and move forward. If Wren only understood that his approach had nothing to do with secrets or a lack of trust and everything to do with habits long engrained. But she would never see it that way. As far as she was concerned, he’d been caught in a lie and his procedures were an excuse to deceive.

Wren had no tolerance for such misunderstandings, and he couldn’t necessarily blame her. She’d grown up watching two masters play with marriage and deception. He never wanted to pummel Grant and Rene Cooke more than he did right now. Their lifetime of selfish, pathetic behaviors had destroyed a piece of their daughter, making a foundation of trust nearly impossible to build. He glanced at the door, understanding that any gains he and Wren had made were gone—more than likely for good. He’d had her. Wren had been his, completely, and he’d done a fine job of forgetting he still needed to take care. Despite her strength, there was a vulnerable woman beneath, waiting to be hurt.