The Bodyguard (7 page)

The woman stood a little straighter and her smile reached her eyes this time. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be sure to share your compliment with the others. They’ll appreciate it, very much. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No. And, please, continue to put the mail on the desk each day as you always do. This is my office now. I’ll read the mail in here.”

Natasha bobbed her head and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Caroline crossed to the desk. She was about to sit, when she thought better of it. Richard’s chair was far too big for her and it still smelled of the spicy cologne he favored, the cologne she’d once loved but had grown to hate.

Tomorrow, she’d have one of the maids throw the chair away or give it to charity.

She tried to scoot one of the guest chairs behind the desk instead, but it was too heavy. And pushing it across the plush carpet made her incision hurt. She gave up and plopped down in the guest chair right where it was, on the opposite side of the desk from where Richard must have sat when he was in the office.

The mail contained bills and a few letters from people whose names Caroline didn’t recognize, addressed to her.

Surprised someone would send her anything, since she never received any personal mail, she opened the first one. The letter was short but touching, an expression of sympathy from someone who’d worked with her husband. Caroline appreciated the sentiment, even if her own opinion of her husband was a hundred-eighty degrees different than theirs. She’d have to make a point of getting some thank-you notes so she could respond.

The second letter was much shorter than the first. And right to the point. Caroline pressed her hand to her throat as she read it then read it again. She set the note down and opened the drawer where she’d put the papers Leslie had wanted her to sign. When she finished reading them, she was shaking so hard the pages were making rattling noises. She let them flutter to the top of the desk and put her head in her hands.

* * *

L
UKE
STRAIGHTENED
IN
the
driver’s seat of his beat-up Thunderbird, parked beneath one of the centuries-old oak trees lining the street next to the Ashton mansion. With Mitch’s death so raw and fresh, he wanted nothing more than to drown his grief in a bottle of tequila. But that wouldn’t bring Mitch back, and it wouldn’t catch whoever had murdered him. Luke figured his best shot at catching the killer was to keep working the Ashton case. Which was why he was sitting outside Caroline’s house, instead of getting drunk like he wanted. That and the fact that he was too worried about Caroline’s safety to leave.

The mansion took up an area the size of an entire city block at the outskirts of Savannah. And there was definitely something strange going on inside. The front door might as well have been a revolving door as often as it had been used since Caroline had gotten home from the funeral.

First to come in was Caroline with her lawyer, Leslie Harrison. After the lawyer left, the place was quiet for another hour. But that was when things got interesting and a bit crazy. Over a dozen men from Stellar Security came in and out of the front door, as if there was some kind of meeting going on inside. That had certainly piqued Luke’s interest and had him craving to go up the front steps and knock on the door, in spite of the agreement that he was supposed to hang back. But he waited in the car, taking photos and recording everyone who came and went. Security guard after security guard exited the house until he suspected there weren’t any left inside.

Was it possible Caroline had fired them?

Why would she do that? Alex wanted her to keep everything status quo. Caroline definitely needed protection right now, at least until her husband’s killer was caught. If she’d changed her mind and wanted Luke’s company to protect her, the problem was that he was the only one available. His other men were all out on assignment.

A bead of sweat slid down the side of his face. Even in the shade it was probably close to ninety degrees. He debated turning the car on to run the air conditioner for a few minutes. But he’d probably feel even hotter once he had to turn it off again.

His phone vibrated on the seat beside him. When he saw who was calling, his gaze shot to the front windows of the mansion. Sure enough, Caroline stood at the glass with a cell phone pressed to her ear, looking right at him.

He picked up the phone. “Is everything okay?”

“No, Luke. Everything is
not
okay.”

Chapter Seven

Caroline had insisted that she and Luke have dinner before she told him whatever it was that had shaken her up so much. He didn’t know why she’d insisted on waiting, but he sensed she was near the breaking point and needed a few moments of “normal” in order to cope. That was the only reason he didn’t press her. That, and the fact that neither of them had eaten since the funeral, and he figured it would do them both some good.

But the wait was driving him crazy. He needed to
do
something to catch Mitch’s killer instead of sitting here doing nothing. His frustration with the delay was compounded when Caroline entered the sunroom at the back of the mansion carrying a tray of sandwiches and drinks. He jumped up from his seat at the small café table and hurried to take the tray from her.

“Shouldn’t the cook, or maid, or whoever works for you, bring this in here instead of you carrying it through the house? You were only released from the hospital this morning.”

Her face flushed and she took a seat while he set the tray in the middle of the table.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “I hadn’t even thought to ask. It will take a while for the staff, and me, to get used to doing things differently now that Richard is gone.”

He frowned. “‘Differently’?”

“Please, have a sandwich. And some iced tea. I’m sure it must have been horribly hot sitting out in that car.”

Her overly bright smile and evasive answer told him far more than she realized, and confirmed what he’d suspected when she’d opened the front door herself and ushered him inside. The staff basically ignored her. Luke couldn’t imagine Richard answering his own door. A butler or maid would have done that for him and would have seated the guest, then arranged refreshments.

Rather than embarrass her by pointing out what to him was obvious—that she should fire every last one of the idiots who supposedly worked for her—he quickly finished off a half sandwich and emptied a glass of blessedly cold tea. Caroline ate very little, probably because she was so focused on her manners.

Her back was ramrod straight, her left hand in her lap holding her napkin, which she daintily wiped at the corners of her mouth after every bite, whether she needed to or not. He also noted that she didn’t look at him and mostly kept her eyes downcast.

Curious to see what she would do, he propped his elbows on the table. He was pretty sure that was a big no-no according to fancy etiquette rules.

Caroline’s gaze flicked toward him, widening, but she quickly looked away. She took another sip of her water, then dabbed at her mouth with the napkin.

Testing her again, he pushed his plate of food away. “That was a delicious dinner, thank you.”

Sure enough, she immediately stopped eating, even though her plate was mostly full.

“You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can get you?”

He sighed and sat back. “I’d really like to know what got you so spooked. What’s going on?”

Her lips pressed together and she stared out the windows at the sparkling pool behind the house. “Do you know how to swim?”

He followed her gaze, not sure where she was going with this. “Yes.”

“Is it fun? I always thought it would be. Fun.”

“You own a pool and you don’t know how to swim?”

She shook her head. “It was Richard’s pool, not mine. And, no, I don’t know how to swim. My husband always said he was worried I’d burn too easily out in the sun because of my pale complexion.” She tapped the arm of her chair. “But that’s not the real reason he didn’t want me to know how to swim.”

“What was the real reason?”

“Fear. Richard liked to invent new ways to control me, to make me afraid. I always figured one day he’d use the pool to teach me one of his lessons. I’m sure he would have, eventually. He just never got around to it.”

Luke scooted forward in his chair. “Tell me about these lessons.”

She shook her head. “No. That’s not something I’m going to share.”

“But you
are
sharing, aren’t you? You’re telling me little bits and pieces of your life, how your husband controlled you and allowed—or perhaps encouraged—the servants to pretty much ignore you from what I’ve seen.”

She bowed her head. “Yes.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, why share even some of it?”

Her mouth curved into a harsh smile. “Because I’d hoped that I’d never have to admit the truth to anyone. I’d hoped to keep my shame to myself. Earlier this year, for the first time, I shared a tiny part of what was going on with someone I thought I could trust.”

“Your husband’s lawyer, Leslie Harrison.”

“Yes.”

“Did something happen earlier? When she was here?”

She stared at the pool for a moment before answering. “You and Alex were right to doubt her.” She rose from her chair. “I’m ready to show you why I called you.”

Luke scrambled out of his chair and hurried after her. She led him through the maze that was the mansion, to the front room just off the foyer. He barely had time to realize it was probably her husband’s office, when she picked up some papers from the massive desk. She handed an envelope to him.

“Read this first.”

The short missive inside was written in carefully printed block letters.

I KNOW YOU KILLED HIM. I KNOW THE WILL IS FAKE. YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS.

“How did you get this?”

“One of the maids brought it in. From the looks of the envelope, it came through regular mail.”

“When?”

“Today, I guess. The maid brought it to me shortly after I got home.”

He placed the letter and envelope back on the desk. “We need to call Alex and Detective Cornell.”

She laughed bitterly. “Why? So they have more evidence that makes me look guilty?”

“No. So they have more evidence that someone is trying to hurt you, that you’re the target.”

She grew very still. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that it’s most likely the killer sent that note. He’s trying to threaten you, scare you. Maybe that’s why he killed Mitch. But frightening you isn’t his only goal. He wants to torture you, by making you look guilty.”

“Well, if that’s true, goal accomplished.”

He started to round the desk toward her, but she held up her hand. “Wait. That’s not all. Leslie tried to get me to sign something earlier today. I thought it was a simple power of attorney, and I told her I wanted to take control of my own affairs now, that I didn’t want to give up control to her, but I would think about it. She tried to take the document back, but I put it in the drawer. She was fairly nervous about that. After I received that letter—” she waved toward the note he’d just set down “—I took a fresh look at what she wanted me to sign.” She pointed at some papers on another part of the desk.

Luke picked them up, saw the top page was, as she’d said, a typical-looking power-of-attorney form, but then he read the second and third pages. He set the documents down.

“I can see why she was nervous and didn’t want you to read the rest. Did she really think you would sign over a huge portion of Ashton Enterprises to her? And make her a voting board member?”

“Apparently so. And the way I’ve allowed everyone to trample over me for the past few years, I shouldn’t be surprised that she thought she could get away with it. Everyone tries to control me or profit off me in some way.” Her blue eyes lifted to his. “Except you. You haven’t tried to take advantage of me, to push me around. You’re the first person who has really listened, and cared enough to look out for my interests. I never would have thought to hire Alex if it weren’t for you. And I probably would have signed that paper Leslie gave me if Alex hadn’t warned me about being extra careful and holding no one above suspicion.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. “And what do you get in return for helping me? Your friend is killed.”

Without stopping to think about how she might react, he moved around the desk and gently pulled her toward him, holding her close. At first, she stiffened, but then she melted against him. He reveled in the feel of her softness molded to his hardness and rested his chin against the top of her head.

He told himself he was holding her to make her feel better, but he realized that wasn’t the whole truth. Holding her made
him
feel better. For the first time since losing his friend, he felt some of the tightness in his chest begin to ease. He selfishly held her, using her as his lifeline, a balm to his troubled conscience.

“I lost a good friend today,” he whispered against her hair. “But I know Mitch wouldn’t want either of us to wallow in guilt over his death. He’d want us to work together and find justice.”

When she didn’t say anything, he pulled back and looked at her. “It’s not your fault.”

“My brain knows that, but my heart is having a lot harder time with it.”

She moved out of his embrace and wrapped her arms around her waist. “What do we do now?”

He resisted the urge to pull her back into his arms, just barely.

“For one thing, I think you should fire Leslie.”

Her face paled and her eyes took on a haunted look. “I know. I will. But not today. That’s not an easy conversation, especially after she helped me escape Richard. I owe her so much.”

“You don’t owe her your company, your wealth, and that’s what she tried to take. She basically tried to steal it from you, hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“You’re right. And I will take care of it, just not today.”

He didn’t like that, but it was her decision to make. “I recommend you don’t wait too long. She knows too much about you and your holdings, enough to be dangerous if she can’t be trusted, which she’s proven she can’t.” He waved at the letter and the power-of-attorney document. “Are you going to call Alex and Cornell?”

She blinked at him. “You’re
asking
me?”

“Of course. I’m not going to try to order you around. You’re a full-grown woman.” The look of astonishment on her face made him realize what she’d been thinking—that Richard would never have asked her. He would have told her.

Luke stiffened. “Caroline, don’t confuse me with your late husband. I would never hurt you, would never try to control you or dictate your actions. Richard Ashton and I are nothing alike.”

Her face turned a light shade of pink. “I see that. I’m sorry. I’ll try not to confuse the two of you again. Maybe it would make it easier if you’d quit calling me Caroline. That was Richard’s preference, not mine. My maiden name was Caroline Bagwell. My friends, my parents, always called me Carol. But Richard thought it sounded too common, so he insisted on calling me Caroline.”

Humbled that she would put him in the same category as her friends and family, he smiled. “Carol. It’s a beautiful name.”

She returned his smile with one of her own. “Thank you.” Her smile faded, replaced by a look of worry.

“Is there something else?” he asked. “Something you haven’t told me?”

She briefly closed her eyes, and when she opened them, they looked so haunted his heart ached for her.

“After Leslie’s visit, and getting that letter in the mail, I searched Richard’s desk. I knew he kept his most private papers in those drawers. I guess I just didn’t want any more surprises, no more secrets. So I went through all his documents.”

She pulled the bottom drawer open, lifted the first piece of paper out and handed it to Luke.

He scanned the short letter, from a private-investigation firm, dated two months earlier. Then he met her tortured gaze and waited.

She sighed and admitted out loud what she already knew. “We need to call Alex and Detective Cornell.”

* * *

C
ORNELL
FINISHED
PUTTING
the documents into evidence bags. He sealed them and wrote something across the front in permanent marker before sliding them into his suit-jacket pocket.

Carol sat behind her husband’s desk while Alex, Cornell and Luke sat in chairs they’d pulled up to the other side. Carol had to admit Richard was right about one thing: the large desk that dominated the room gave someone a sense of power and control. She decided right then and there that she was going to keep it, and that she would stop thinking of it as Richard’s desk. It was her desk now.

“Mrs. Ashton,” Cornell said. “That letter from the investigation firm makes it clear your husband suspected Miss Harrison was stealing from him. He was working with that company to entrap her with false documents and information they were feeding her during your weekly visits to her office. It’s also clear he was going to fire her soon and provide the evidence he’d gathered to a prosecutor to press charges. Do you have any reason to suspect that Miss Harrison was aware of this, prior to your husband’s death?”

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t know anything about it until today.”

Alex tapped the desk. “Depending on what types of traps the investigator was setting, Miss Harrison may have realized something was ‘off’ with the documents. She may have been suspicious and figured out what was going on.”

“If so,” Cornell said, “that gives her motive. I imagine if she lost the Ashton account, she’d be in serious financial trouble. And of course she’d be in danger of losing her license, even if she wasn’t found guilty in criminal court. Those are powerful motives for murder.” He jotted some notes on his notepad. “What about the anonymous note? Miss Ashton, do you have any reason to believe the will that was filed with the courts was fake as the note states?”

“No. I know my husband drew up a will right after we got married, making me the primary beneficiary. I didn’t know the details, of course. And if he changed the will later on, I have no knowledge of it. But Richard wouldn’t have told me about it if he had.”

He pursed his lips and considered. “It does seem odd that he would only give his family members five million each and give you the rest, with...everything that went on between you two. Seems reasonable that he changed the will later to cut your portion much smaller and give more to his brothers. Do you know if his brothers have much money?”

“They both own their own businesses and live in expensive homes. Not as grand as this one, but certainly not cheap by any means. I’d say they’re both doing extremely well without their brother’s money.”