Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) (4 page)

“I’ll pick you up at eight.”

She smiled. “Let me give you my address.”

He crept up the stairs in the dark, even though he knew he was alone. Sneaking around somehow heightened the moment as he breathed in Wren’s scent and wandered from guestroom to bathroom, master suite to office, touching her things—the pricey vase set atop the fancy table, the sweeping curtains on huge windows overlooking the well-tended back yard.

She had expensive taste. Her home was classy and beautiful, with a subtle hint of flair—just like Wren. Her looks alone filled him with desire, but these delicious new developments made her downright irresistible. He had to have Wren Cooke—
had
to.

It had been so long since he’d played this game. He was ready to try again. Getting to work, he walked about the pretty space, unsure of what he was looking for. But he would know when he found it. He sat in the soft leather chair, opening the desk drawers, the filing cabinets, pressing play, listening to numerous voicemails, when Wren’s leather-bound planner caught his eye. He flipped through the last couple months, noting several dinner dates among the meetings and various other activities. He smiled as he read ‘Rex Richardson’ penciled in toward the end of September, Michael Collins this past Sunday, and JT Cartwright as her guest for tomorrow night’s Gala.

He sat back, steepling his fingers, thinking of all the ways he could officially introduce himself to Wren. She was about to get to know him in a way she never had before. Grinning with the rush of anticipation, he studied the framed picture of Wren’s brother and his happy little family posed in blue jeans and crisp white shirts with the ocean in the background. He chuckled as he zeroed in on Ethan Cooke’s wife, knowing how the festivities would begin. Some things were just perfect.

He dropped his hands and settled himself more comfortably, then rushed to his feet as the beam of headlights cut across the wall. He hurried to the edge of the window, peeking out as Wren stepped from her pretty little Mercedes, talking on her phone, reaching for her bags. She was stunning in her tailored slacks and blouse. It was tempting to stick around and greet her, but that would be for another day.

He hustled down the hall to the master suite and let himself out the back, as Wren opened the front door, coming in for the night.

Chapter 4

S
omehow Monday had turned into Friday. Consultations, virtual mockups, and buying trips for several clients’ homes consumed every hour except for the five or six Wren allowed herself for sleep. That’s what she wanted to do now more than anything—take a shower, slap together something quick to eat, and pull the covers up on her king-sized bed, but oblivion would have to wait. JT was due to pick her up in forty-five minutes. Canceling with less than an hour’s notice wasn’t an option. Sighing, Wren punched ‘one’ on her cell and listened to it ring.

“Cooke.”

“Hey, big brother.”

“Who’s this?”

Confused, she pulled the phone away from her ear. “It’s Wren.”

“Wren… Wren… That name sounds vaguely familiar.”

She smiled. “I get it. I’ve been a stranger.”

“A guy starts to take it personal when he doesn’t see or hear from his baby sister from time to time.”

She rolled her eyes. “Give me a break. You’re just as busy as I am, with my beautiful nieces, your lovely wife, and a somewhat successful business.”

He chuckled. “Wanna compare profit margins?”

Ethan Cooke Security blew Cooke Interiors out of the water, but she was still doing just fine. “Not really.”

“Did you change your mind? Are you coming to Hawaii with us?”

“I wish I could, but I can’t. I figure at this rate I’ll be able to take a week off when Kylee’s ready for college.”

“Hmm… We’ll have to find a way to do better than that. Why don’t you hire another designer to help with the load?”

She’d been toying with idea of taking on an associate; eventually she would have no choice, but she liked seeing to every detail and bringing her clients’ dreams to life on her own. “Maybe some day.”

“We’re going to miss you. The whole gang’s going—Morgan and Hunter, Hailey and Austin.”

“Don’t rub it in. I have too much work, especially with the Portland Project coming up. And
someone
from the Cooke clan should be here for Abby’s fashion debut next Thursday. It’s a good thing I’m willing to pick up your slack, big brother.”

“I appreciate it. Sarah already arranged for a flower delivery.”

Wren slowed and pulled in her driveway. “Ethan, I just got home. I’m going to have to cut this short. I need to get ready for the gala.”

“Tell Tatiana hello from Sarah and me.”

“I will.” Holding the phone with her shoulder, she gathered up her briefcase and laptop bag.

“We’ll be gone for the month with Sarah’s photo shoots and the renovations.”

“I talked to your contractor myself this morning. Let Sarah know I’ll send over the preliminaries for the new studio and guest rooms tomorrow.”

“Will do. Hunter and Austin will be with me for the next couple weeks, but Jackson, Tucker, and Jerrod are still around if you need anything.”

A wave of love consumed her as she got out of the car and closed the door. Ethan was a great big brother—the only family member she’d ever been able to count on. “Thanks, but you don’t have to worry about me. I want you to have fun. Hug Sarah for me and give the girls a kiss from Auntie Wren.”

“You got it. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Smiling, she hung up and made her way toward the house in the dark. She’d forgotten to leave the porch light on again. If Ethan ever found out she deactivated the motion lights he’d installed after Sarah’s issues with her stalker, he would kick her butt.

She took the first two steps to the entry and reached forward, feeling around for the knob, sending the key into the lock. She opened the door and barely missed stepping on an object on the top step. Squinting, she bent closer, recognizing the mystery item as flowers. Her clammy hand fell away from the cool brushed nickel, and her heart skipped a beat as she stood slowly. Blue roses.

Trembling, she looked over her shoulder and hurried inside, slamming the door, locking it, turning on every light with the security panel at her side. Why were blue roses laying on her steps? She pressed her back to the solid wood as her eyes darted toward the living room, kitchen, and up the stairs, half expecting to see the sick freak who had tortured Sarah.
Ezekiel Denmire is dead,
she reassured herself.

She set her bags down with a thud and pressed ‘one’ on the cellphone she still clutched tight, her breath shuddering out as the phone rang.

“Cooke,” came her brother’s familiar voice.

She could hear Kylee laughing in the background. “You can’t get me, Daddy.”

“Hold on, honey. Wren?”

Another fit of laughter filled her ear, and Wren took a deep breath. Ethan was busy with his family. “Woops. Hit the wrong number.” She closed her eyes and opened them just as quickly, willing the terror away. All she had to do was say come and he would be here.

“You okay?”

“Yup.” She glanced wearily at the dark beyond the windows. “Meant to call Patrick. He’s number two on my speed dial. Sorry.”

“Guess I’ll talk to you later then. Bye.”

“Bye.” She ended the call, and her phone vibrated, alerting her to a new text. On edge, she jumped as she glanced at the sender. She didn’t recognize the number but opened the message anyway.

Do you like them? They’re just for you. I’m still waiting. Nineteen days.

Her heart accelerated to a dizzying beat as fear and anger warred inside her. She stared at the screen in disbelief. “You sick bastard. Keep it up and you’ll be on a fast-track to a jail cell.” She’d thought she was finished with Rex. This was his first attempt at contact since his call to her business line on Monday. More pissed off now than afraid, she saved the message, yanked opened her door, and snapped a picture of the disgusting ‘surprise’ Rex left her. She grabbed up the de-thorned stems, slammed the door behind her, locked it, and headed for the trash, shoving the flowers into the Glad bag with vengeful purpose. She’d be damned if she was going to think about his sick games for one more moment. JT would be here in less than half an hour, and she would be ready. Rex Richardson had another thing coming if he thought she was going to cower to his foolish tactics. She passed the alarm panel on her way up the stairs, hesitating, backing up, then punched in her code, waiting for the red light to flash. Then she resumed her path toward the shower.

Twenty minutes later, Wren hurried downstairs in her fitted spaghetti strap cocktail gown. The A-line cut in pretty powder blue accentuated her slim figure and subtle curves, while the severe slit up the right leg showed off plenty of thigh and her fabulous strappy ice-pick heels—her favorite part of the entire ensemble. She’d spotted the shoes at Sarah’s mother’s boutique, fell in love, then found the dress to go with them.

She stopped in front of the hallway mirror and slicked her lips with light pink gloss seconds before the doorbell rang. She shoved the tube of lipstick in her small bag, gave herself a final once-over, and headed for the door, ready to get this evening over with. Hopefully she and JT could dance a few times, mingle for a bit, then leave. Her flight left at eight tomorrow morning, and she had yet to pack.

She reached for the knob, pausing as she thought of the blue roses, and peeked out the window, spotting JT done up in a tux. She sighed her relief and opened the door with a smile. “Hello.”

JT’s eyes widened. “Wow, Wren, you’re a vision.” He pulled a single white rose from behind his back. “I’ll be the luckiest guy in the room.”

She smiled again, accepting the sweet gesture, wishing the pretty bloom could be any other flower. “Thank you. Come on in while I put this in water.”

JT stepped inside, walking with her to her spacious kitchen she’d redone in whites, creams, and stainless steel. “Very nice space.”

“I like it.” She unearthed a bud vase from below the sink, setting the delicate glass on the black marble countertop while she studied JT’s attractive face and boxer’s build accentuated in his tuxedo. “Something’s different.”

He pointed to his brown eyes. “Contacts for the big event.”

She nodded as she filled the glass and placed the rose in water. “Aha. That’s it. You’re quite handsome, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Thank you.” He extended his arm. “Are you ready to go?”

“I am.” They made their way out the door, and she sent her key in the lock, stopping. “Hold on. Let me set my alarm.” She dashed inside, dealt with the panel and activated the motion sensors for good measure. She pressed another function, overriding the silent setting. If Rex came back, the state-of-the art system would give him one hell of a jolt, along with most of the neighborhood. She smiled as she stepped into the cool October evening.
You’re messing with the wrong woman, Rex Richardson
. “Let’s go have some fun.”

Tatiana Livingston and Jam, America’s current chart-topping pop band, kept Tucker and half-a-dozen of his pals scrambling for the first hour-and-a-half of the End Famine Now fundraising event. They’d more than earned their pay while they dealt with one mishap after another—breaking up fights between the lead singer and the drummer, dealing with the bass guitarist’s hysterical wife when she barged in on her husband bopping a couple of the groupies, but the
coup de gras
had been two fans rushing the stage during one of Tatiana’s live televised spiels, encouraging viewers to call in with their pledges to end world hunger. Cameras continued to roll while Tucker and Jerrod sent the over-enthusiastic men sprawling mere feet from one of Hollywood’s biggest stars and dragged them away, handing them over to the waiting police.

With the worst behind them—he hoped—Tucker waited for Tatiana to make her way back from her home in The Hills to partake in the dinner portion of tonight’s event. Now that Tatiana would be in a fairly controlled environment, the evening had the potential to be boring at best, and that was fine by him after the concert from hell.

“We should be pulling around to the side entrance in about five minutes,” Jerrod’s voice echoed in Tucker’s earpiece.

“Everyone’s in place,” Tucker responded as he stood at the back of the Beverly Hills Hotel’s Crystal Ballroom. “Things are in full swing around here and uneventful.”

Box-office celebrities, rappers, pop artists, and a few of LA’s most wealthy mingled in the grand room, all done up for the five-thousand-dollar-a-plate party, and Tucker wasn’t impressed. People were people whether they stood in front of a camera to make their money or served a side of fries with a burger and shake.

He continued his scan of the noisy space as six familiar voices buzzed in his earpiece with updates on who was where, whom they were with, and the occasional muttered snide remark about one of Tatiana’s guests.

“Damn,” Collin Michaels whistled subtly. “I’ve never been so happy to pull door duty. Wait ‘til you get a look at what’s headed your way, boys. Fucking fantastic.”

Smiling, Tucker looked to the pocket doors, waiting to check out Collin’s version of ‘fucking fantastic’ and lost his breath when Wren walked in. Michaels couldn’t have been more right. He’d never seen her as beautiful as she was now. She’d done something different with her hair; some of the shiny black twisted up in a fancy knot while the remaining riot of curls flowed free. Her light blue dress clung in all the right places, and the slit up the side showed off a teasing sample of smooth, glorious leg. And those eyes…

Wren turned as someone spoke to her, and Tucker swallowed. “My god,” he whispered between clenched teeth. The powdery blue plunged dangerously low, exposing her slender back. It was all he could do to stay where he was. He physically ached from his need to touch her. Wren had him by the throat, and she didn’t even know it.

She turned again, and her gaze locked with his. Pure heat sizzled between them, then she looked away as a man sidled up next to her carrying a glass of champagne. JT Cartwright. JT touched the small of her back, and she smiled, locking her arm with his as they strolled further into the room.

What was she doing here with him? Tucker didn’t have anything against the guy personally—or maybe he did now that his childhood friend had his hands all over the woman he wanted. Clenching his jaw, he conceded that below the torrents of jealousy, JT was a good person. He’d been there for him during the darkest hours of his life. And that was part of the problem. He didn’t like revisiting the summer of 1999. The pain still consumed him if he let it. Staci was dead, her killer was free, and life had carried on, despite the injustice. He’d cut himself off from memories of Park City, including anyone and anything that triggered thoughts of his sister.

Minutes ticked by, and one hour turned into two while Tucker watched Wren dance, laugh, and converse with Hollywood’s A-list. He wanted to hold her against him while sexy notes poured from the live band’s saxophones, the way JT did now. JT stopped suddenly, said something to Wren, then answered his phone. He signaled to the hallway and walked quickly from the room, disappearing down the hall.

Wren glanced in Tucker’s direction as she had several times throughout the evening, but this time she started toward him through the crowd. She stopped in front of him, smiling. “Hi.”