Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) (34 page)

“Well, well, well. I think someone’s coming around.”

“Don’t—don’t hurt him.”

“Aww, loyal to the very end.” JT got to his feet and started Tucker’s way. “That’s touching, Wren. Nauseating, but touching.”

Tucker’s heart jackhammered, pounding in his arm, his head. This would either work, or he was dead.

JT knelt behind him, grabbing his wrist, pressing on his shoulder, attempting to push him face down. “Let’s get you—”

Tucker reversed his grip, clamping hold of JT’s forearm, and rolled, fighting the wave of dizziness. He brought his good arm up, delivering a fist to the fucker’s nose as Wren screamed. Using his moment of advantage as JT hollered out in pain, tears streaming from his eyes, hands pressed to his face, Tucker grabbed the gun from the floor where JT laid it, picked it up, and scooted himself back, using his injured arm to steady his poor balance. “Put your hands up, you son of a bitch, or you’re dead,” he panted out as adrenaline soared through his body.

JT pulled his hands from his nose, lifting them as blood fountained to the floor. “This isn’t
right
! This isn’t how this is going to end! You always ruin everything!”

“Game’s over, asshole. Now shut your mouth and keep those hands nice and high before I decide to pull the trigger.”

“Pretty Boy to the rescue.” JT eyed him, smirking, and made a quick move toward the weapon in the waist of his jeans.

Tucker shot two rounds into JT’s chest, and blood instantly bloomed as he collapsed back, hitting the carpet with a thud. He held his aim, his ears ringing with the deafening blasts, until he was certain JT wouldn’t be getting up again.

“Tucker.” Wren rolled to her side, her right bra strap draping off her shoulder, tears streaming, fidgeting her way in his direction.

He got to his hands and knees, blinking against the blurry haze, too dizzy to stand, and crawled to her, his arm protesting his every movement. “It’s okay, Cooke. It’s all right.” He helped her sit up and fought with the knots, struggling to untie her. The nylon finally gave way, and she threw her arms around him, burying her face against his neck.

“Oh, God, Tucker,” she choked out.

He enveloped Wren in a hug, pulling her in his lap, holding on as tightly as she did with his good arm. There were several minutes during the last hour he’d worried they wouldn’t get out of this alive. “It’s all over.” He rubbed his hand over her back, breathing in her scent as her shoulders shook, and she sniffed, shuddering out hot breaths against his skin.

“I was so afraid.” She pressed her lips to his, once, twice, and clung again. “I didn’t know if you were going to wake up. I didn’t want you to watch me die.”

“We’re both okay. We’re both in one piece.” His voice sounded weak and far away. Lifting his hand to caress her was suddenly a strenuous chore, as all of the energy left him.

“Tucker.” Wren cupped his cheeks in her hands, her brows furrowed with concern. “You’re sheet white.” She scrambled out of his lap, her entire side smeared in his blood. Her eyes tracked down her own body, taking in the horror. “Oh, my… Here, Tucker, lie back.” She helped him prop his arm up, making him wince, and pressed his hand to his wound. “You’re—you—you need help. I’m going to call for help. I’ll be right back.” She rushed from the room. “Try to apply pressure, and don’t go to sleep,” she hollered down the hall.

Tucker lay still, struggling to do as Wren asked. Now that the worst was over and she was safe, all he wanted to do was close his eyes and succumb to oblivion.

Wren ran back with towels from the bathroom and his phone at her ear. “Yes, twenty-twelve Mountain View. Detective Rogers has been murdered and my friend has been shot.” Her voice floated around him as she pulled his hand from the pillow sheet knotted above his bicep and immediately pressed the towel to the wound, pushing all her weight on his arm.

He wanted to holler out from the pain, but managed a dull groan, finding the effort to do anything more exhausting.

“Yes, he’s conscious but concussed and he’s lost a lot of blood. I’m not sure. I’m applying pressure now. I won’t.”

He had no idea how much time passed while Wren continued to hold the line and he drifted in and out. He blinked at the saturated hand towel and up at Wren’s face, struggling to concentrate on her firm demand to open his eyes through the fog.

“…awake, Tucker.”

Somewhere a door burst open, and officers rushed in. Wren dropped the phone she held in place with her shoulder as the cops waved the paramedics into the room.

“He’s lost a lot of blood. He needs help right away.”

The paramedics moved in, replacing her hands with their gloved ones, tight against his arm, taking over his care.

“Let’s get the lady a blanket,” someone said as Wren stood close by in her panties and bra.

Tucker held her worried eyes as an officer draped her in a blanket and tried to usher her from the room.

“No.” She held her ground. “I want to stay with Tucker.”

“I’m all right, Cooke,” he mumbled. “Let them clean you up and take a look at your wrists.” The paramedics rolled him onto the backboard and lifted him to the gurney.

“Blood pressure’s dropping. Pulse is thready. Let’s get him out of here.” They yanked the gurney up.

“I’m going with you.” Wren’s worried voice floated through his ears.

“Ma’am we have to go right now.”

He heard nothing else as they whisked him away.

Wren sat by Tucker’s side, gripping his hand, waiting for him to come around. He’d opened his eyes several times, but he’d been out of it. The machine above him monitored his vitals, but she pressed her cheek to his chest, reassured by the steady beat of his heart.

He was so pale; he’d lost so much blood, but he was going to be fine. Despite his concussion and the gunshot wound, the doctors were confident he would make a full recovery. He was young and strong, the surgeon had reassured her the dozen or so times she’d asked. Rest and a few weeks of physical therapy were on the horizon, but Tucker would be his old self again before long.

His parents were here. And Ethan. She knew she should let his mother have a turn with her son, but she couldn’t go until she saw for herself that the doctors didn’t make a mistake. Once she was sure, she needed to be on her way.

She’d had hours to think and reflect while Tucker went through surgery and slept off the worst of the anesthesia in Recovery. If she stayed, she might never leave, and that wasn’t an option. She wasn’t cut out for long-term commitments, and that’s what Tucker wanted and deserved. He’d lied, but maybe somewhere deep down she understood that his mistake was the perfect excuse to push him away for good. She didn’t know how to depend on others. “Happily ever after” was for Ethan and their friends. She lived her life alone and was stronger for it. She needed to leave, get on with things, and allow Tucker the same opportunity. By the time he was up to snuff and back in LA, what they had here in Park City would be a distant memory. He would soon forget his declarations, and that was for the best.

Tucker’s fingers moved through her hair, and she gasped, sitting up. She clutched the hand she still held, pressed it to her cheek, and looked into his drug-fogged eyes.

“Cooke,” he whispered and smiled.

“Tucker.” Emotion clogged her throat as she smiled back. “You’re going to be okay.” She kissed his knuckles. “Everything’s going to be all right now.” She sniffled, fighting her tears. “Your parents are here, and Ethan. We’ve all been waiting for you to wake up.”

“I got shot.”

She nodded. “The surgeon said there’s no permanent damage. Your mom and dad are going to take you back to Monterey for a couple of weeks while you recover.”

“I’m tired.”

“So rest.”

“He’s dead? JT’s dead?”

“Yes.” Poor guy was still out of it. “He’s dead.”

“I shot him?”

She nodded again. JT had been the worst kind of soul, preying on the innocent, destroying the lives of so many, and Tucker had ended him. Hopefully they could all move on now and find some peace. “You saved us.”

“I’m tired,” he repeated.

Smiling, she kissed his knuckles again and stood, leaning close to his face, brushing his hair back from the bandages along his temple. “Get some sleep.”

“I love you.” He closed his eyes.

Her heart ached as she bent closer and pressed her lips to his. “I love you too,” she whispered.

He blinked up at her.

“I know you won’t remember this.” She shook her head, wiping away the tear rolling down her cheek. “That’s for the best, but I needed to tell you before you go your way and I go mine.” She touched his lips once more—for the last time—as he closed his eyes. “Goodbye, Tucker.”

She settled his hand at his side, turned, and walked out of his life.

Chapter 23

W
ren wove her way through the groups of people, with Emma snuggled in one arm and an apple pie balancing in the opposite hand. “Excuse us. Pardon us.”

“Looks like your hands are full.” Abby sidled herself next to Wren as they made their way from the chaotic kitchen to the crowded dining area. Thanksgiving—Cooke style—was in full swing.

She smiled. “Oh, we’ve got this. Don’t we, Emma?” She nuzzled her niece’s soft, baby neck.

Emma gave her a huge grin as her little fingers made a grab for warm, cinnamony apples in a golden flaky crust.

Wren pulled the pie further out of reach, and Abby grabbed hold before the dish crashed to the floor.

“Okay, then again, maybe we don’t.” She chuckled. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll take this along to the masses.” And just like that, Abby disappeared into the next room.

“Where’d she go with our dessert, Emma?” She lifted the pretty blue-eyed baby high, listening to her giggle.

“Do my turn, Auntie Wren. And Olivia too.” Kylee tugged on Wren’s gray slacks.

Wren crouched down to Kylee and Olivia’s level, with Emma on her hip. She missed seeing these adorable faces whenever she wanted. “Oh, sweetie, you girls are half as tall as me.” She gently tugged Kylee and Olivia’s matching side ponytails and brushed a finger down their little noses. “I don’t think I can lift you the way I can Emma.”

Kylee’s face fell.

“But I can push pretty princesses on the swings.”

Kylee and Olivia jumped up and down, clapping. Emma squealed, bouncing on her hip in her attempt to copy the older girls.

“Go tell your mommies or daddies that I’m taking you out to the swing set. I’ll grab your jackets.”

“Auntie Wren’s taking us on the swings!” Kylee screamed down the hall, with Olivia following.

She stood, laughing. “I don’t know, Emma, but I think they might be excited.”

Emma clapped. “Da, da, da, da, da!”

“Oh, you agree?” She glanced into the crowded living room, and her gaze locked with Tucker’s as he sat on the couch, a beer in his hand, his arm in a sling, shooting the breeze with Austin and Hunter. Her smile vanished, and her heart did a violent flip-flop. They’d caught each other’s eye all day—when he first walked through the front door with his parents, across the table during dinner, now.

He stood, unfolding his powerful body in khaki slacks and a white polo, starting her way.

She clutched Emma closer. “Oh God, what is he doing?” She’d systematically avoided conversation with him the entire time he’d been here. She took several steps backwards, hoping to vanish among the crowd of family and friends standing around, but it was too late. His cologne already intoxicated her as he stopped in front of her.

“Hey.”

She swallowed, her mouth growing instantly dry. “Uh, hey.”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

She swept stray strands of hair behind her ear. “Happy Thanksgiving to you.”

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. You’ve been busy all day. How are you?”

“Good, good. Great. How about you?” She adjusted Emma on her hip.

“Hanging in there.” He gave her one of his slow grins as he gestured to his arm.

Dear God, why did he have to go and do that? Her stomach clutched as she glanced at his straight white teeth and stared into his gorgeous hazel eyes. “Well, the girls are waiting for me.” She took a step back. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“Do you mind if I hold Emma?”

She glanced from Emma to Tucker. “No. Of course not.”

He moved closer, his arm brushing hers as he swooped in for her niece. “Hi, beautiful girl.”

Emma smiled. “Da da da da!”

“Ah, wrong guy, kiddo.” He looked at Wren, grinning. “Must be the black hair.”

“Must be.” She couldn’t do this. “Looks like she’s settled in. I’m going to get Kylee and Olivia’s jackets. I’ll see you around.” Turning, she walked away before Tucker could respond and made her way down the hall, skirting guests, stopping short at Ethan’s office. She closed herself in the room and sagged against the door, savoring the quiet. One stupid encounter with Tucker and she was shaking—the awkward first ‘conversation.’ Thank heavens it was over.

Sighing, she walked to the plush leather couch and pulled off her black pumps. She’d been doing all right without him—kind of. She’d been too busy to miss him—almost. Her life had been utter chaos since she landed in LA two and-a-half weeks ago. She’d hit the tarmac running and hadn’t stopped. Between her back-and-forth commute from Santa Barbara to the Palisades, unending meetings, mockups, frantic packing, apartment hunting and visits with Patrick, she barely had time to sleep and eat, yet Tucker was never far from her thoughts.

She rested her elbows on her thighs and kneaded with stiff fingers at the tension in her temples. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
Nothing
was working out the way she’d planned. Santa Barbara was beautiful, but she didn’t love her new hometown. The dozens of apartments and small two-bedroom bungalows she’d looked at were all wrong. On more than one occasion Greta told her she was being too picky. And perhaps she was. She just needed to
choose
a place and stop spending her nights in a hotel.

A rental didn’t have to be forever. Her position at Clayton Designs wasn’t either, she’d decided the first day she walked through his doors. Clients were already flocking her way. Six months, maybe a year, and she could try again here in the city. The Cartwrights had dropped their lawsuit and headed to Europe with their impeccable reputation in tatters now that word was out about their sociopathic nephew’s decade-long crime spree.

Patrick was making huge strides everyday. His speech was improving, as was his vocabulary, and he could dress and feed himself independently. He’d hit his final milestone yesterday—walking the entire unit with a cane. Now he needed a spot to open up at the private rehabilitation facility. The doctors had warned them both it could take weeks, but Wren had other ideas. Grant Cooke, General’s Chief of Staff, would be calling in a favor tomorrow morning, and Patrick would be transferred over by Monday at the latest. Patrick would have the best. Her friend would be back, sitting behind his desk, whenever he was ready. His slight limp, more than likely permanent, wouldn’t slow him down. She’d already promised him his job and a timeframe—motivation for both of them to work their butts off to get back to where they wanted to be. She had her best friend back—a little different than he used to be, but he was still her Patrick.

So why was she so unhappy? Why did she always feel like she was on the verge of tears? She was no longer being stalked, Patrick was well on the mend, Tucker was back in the office on very limited hours doing paperwork because Ethan couldn’t keep him away. Everyone was safe, everything was fairly close to normal, yet she couldn’t banish her sadness. She missed Tucker; she knew she would, but she didn’t know it would feel like
this
—like her heart had been ripped out of her chest, like she was forever unsteady.

Maybe she longed for him and dreamed of him every night; maybe she’d almost made the biggest mistake of her life when her car somehow drove to his apartment one evening on her way back to Santa Barbra. Luckily fate had been on her side when she sat at the stoplight, waiting to make the left turn into his complex. She’d stared in disbelief as Tucker and a beautiful blonde hugged in front of his Jeep and walked to his building, the lady’s arm wrapped around his waist. A concussion and bullet wound weren’t slowing him down, and neither was a broken heart.

She’d done the right thing for both of them when she walked away. Tucker may have declared his love and assured her that what they had was special, but the truth of the matter was they’d been in an intense situation, creating equally intense yet false feelings. Utah was long over, and so were they. Tucker had moved on as he had every right to; she was determined to do the same.

She stood, sliding on her heels, wiping at the foolish tear tracking down her cheek. Kylee and Olivia were waiting for their turns on the swings. She walked to the door, yanked it open, and almost crashed into Tucker’s mother and father. “Oh, excuse me.”

“Sorry to startle you, Wren,” Travis touched her arm.

“Oh, no, you didn’t. I was just on my way to grab jackets so I can take the girls out to play.”

“Doesn’t that sound like fun?” Melanie smiled. “We wanted to come say our goodbyes.”

“You’re leaving?”

“We have to get back to Monterey. We still have to see to the details for Staci’s remembrance tomorrow. It would mean the world to us if you could be there.”

She had an eight thirty breakfast meeting with clients and no desire to bump into Tucker again, but as she looked into Melanie’s kind hazel eyes, she couldn’t say no. “Of course I’ll come. I have an early meeting in Santa Barbara, but I’ll be along directly after.”

“That sounds wonderful. Go ahead and call me later for details.” Melanie smiled as she pulled Wren into a hug. “It’s been so nice seeing you again. Tucker speaks so highly of you.”

Wren held on, ignoring the knife to her heart. “I’ve enjoyed seeing you as well.”

Travis stepped in for a hug as Melanie moved back. “We appreciate your family’s hospitality.”

“Anytime. I know we’re all so glad you could enjoy the holiday with us.”

“We had a lovely time. I guess we’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nodded. “Definitely.”

“Now we just need to find our boy and say so long.”

“Oh, uh—” she scanned the crowded hall and met his eyes. “Tucker’s right there by the living room.”

“Ah, so he is.” Travis took Melanie’s hand. “Happy Thanksgiving, Wren.”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

Tucker held her stare as his parents walked his way. Wren hurried off in the opposite direction, determined to find her girls and leave Tucker in the past where he belonged.

Wren hurried down the crushed seashell path as quickly as her heels and snug, black pencil skirt would allow, following the twists and turns through the beautiful gardens encompassing much of the Campbells’ massive estate. The Pacific winds whipped at her hair and plastered her white blouse to her chest as she walked closer to the rows of people seated.

Travis was up front, addressing the crowd. He finished speaking, and suddenly everyone stood and started toward the tents, where music played and waiters roamed. “Damn. I missed it.” Sighing, she spotted Melanie among her guests and rushed ahead.

Melanie smiled as Wren moved closer. “Wren, you made it.”

She gripped Melanie’s outstretched hands and kissed her cheek. “I’m so sorry I’m late. My meeting ran way over, and traffic was a mess.”

Travis stepped up to their side and patted her arm. “We’re just glad you could be here to help us celebrate our beautiful girl.”

“Staci was certainly special.”

“That she was.” Travis’ blue eyes scanned the groups under the tent. “Tucker’s around here somewhere.” He looked out over the manicured lawns. “Ah, he’s over by the trees.”

Wren followed Travis’ finger, watching Tucker stand with his back to everyone. He wore a black suit and stared out at the ocean next to the blond she saw him with at the apartments. She struggled to ignore the clutching sensation in her stomach. “Yes, I’ll have to say hello.”

“Please make yourself comfortable, Wren,” Melanie said. “Have a glass of wine and some hors d’oeuvres. Ms. Hayes is looking forward to seeing you again, and I would love to introduce you around.”

Wren gave Tucker’s parents a small smile. “That sounds nice.”

Melanie gently squeezed her fingers. “We’re glad you can be our guest this evening. Let one of us know when you’re ready to be shown to your room.”

The idea of staying on the same grounds as Tucker left her uneasy, but on an estate this size it would be easy to avoid him. The Campbell home made the Cartwrights’ look like a shack. “Thank you.”

“Oh, I think Tucker’s spotted you.”

She glanced his way. Even with the distance between them and his dark lenses covering his eyes, she absorbed the heat of his penetrating stare. “I’ll go say hello. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Certainly.”

Taking a steeling breath, Wren straightened her shoulders and started in Tucker’s direction, down another crushed seashell path. Her heart pounded as the wind blew his thick black hair about and molded his clothes to his beautiful body. Two encounters in twenty-four hours was proving to be too much, but she’d come because Melanie asked, and she somehow felt a bond with a girl who died long ago. The next few minutes didn’t have to be a big deal. She just had to say a quick hello, then she could head back to the tent and make the best of a horrifyingly uncomfortable situation.

She breathed in Tucker’s cologne as the breeze carried his scent in her direction. The blonde’s perfume mingled with his, and the fragrances fit well—like the man and woman standing in front of her. “Hello,” she said to Tucker and nodded to the stunning blond with huge brown eyes.

“Hey.” He slid his sunglasses on top of his head.

She wished he would put the barrier back so she didn’t have to look into the hazel eyes she missed so much.

“Thanks for driving all the way up here. My mom was thrilled when you said you could come.”

His mother was thrilled, not him. God this was agony. “I was happy to.”

He nodded. “Wren, this is Casey Albright. Casey, Wren Cooke.”

Wren shook Casey’s sleekly manicured hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you.” Casey smiled. “I think I’ll go grab us a drink.”

“Oh, please don’t let me interrupt.”

“You’re not. Excuse me.” Casey walked away.

Now what? Wren looked past Tucker to the pounding waves, counting down the seconds until this hellish moment could be over. “How—how are you feeling?”

“Pretty good.”

“Good.” She clasped her hands together, squeezing. “And the arm?”

He flapped his sling about as if he were a bird. “Much better. Couple more days and I should finally be rid of this thing.”

“That’s great.” She licked her dry lips. “This is a beautiful area, and a beautiful day to remember your sister.”

He nodded again. “I’ll always miss her and wish things were different, but I think we’re going to be able to put some of the sadness behind us. My mom’s going to Paris with my dad for a couple of days. She hasn’t been since Staci died.”