Saving Sophie: Book Seven In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series (3 page)

Gritty rock n’ roll poured through high definition
speakers while Stone worked grout between the joints of his new marble tiling. Teasing the mixture into place, he made certain the air bubbles were gone before moving on to the next spot. He paused, wiping at the sweat dripping down his forehead despite the kerchief he wore on his head, and sat back on his heels, looking around his bathroom with a satisfied nod. The play of warm, sandy tones throughout the space had turned out exactly the way he’d envisioned. Another day or two and the first room in his new place would be completely finished.

The tiny fixer-upper across from the beach was just what he’d been looking for when he plunked down a good chunk of his savings late last September. With the addition well underway and new roof in place, by mid-summer he’d be living between the walls of his home instead of the camper parked outside, easy. He could technically live here now—there was running water and the kitchen was functional—but then he might rush, and he had nothing but time to make this place into exactly what he wanted.

He’d envisioned his beach house more than a few times while he sweated his ass off in the desert dodging gunfire. He’d scored big when he stepped off the plane and found this gem nestled on the hill overlooking the Pacific Coast Highway and ocean beyond. The structure had been little more than ruins, but the foundation had been good.

He glanced through the doorway toward the new windows in his soon-to-be bedroom, staring out at the cloudless blue sky and palm trees in the distance, content for the first time ever. This spot was his, and he was never leaving.

His cellphone rang on the waist of his grimy jeans, disturbing his moment of peace. He was tempted to let the call go to voicemail until he saw that it was Jerrod. Today was his day off, but that didn’t mean work didn’t need him. He set his trowel back in the thick paste and answered. “McCabe.”

“Hey, Stone, it’s Abby.”

He closed his eyes with a deep sigh. The exhausting Abigail Quinn. The woman talked too much, and she was so damn chipper. But he liked her. It was impossible not to. Somehow she wore a body down until they couldn’t help but adore her. She’d been through hell, yet she was a sweetheart. “Hey.”

“I haven’t seen you in awhile. How are you?”

“Good.”

“Do go on, Stone.”

He smiled.

“Have you been by the office lately?”

Abby asked but they both knew the answer. He’d ignored her and Jerrod last night when they came barreling down the hall, pawing at each other with their tongues shoved down each other’s throats. “Yeah.”

“Have you noticed the cleaning woman?”

“Sure.” He’d noticed her all right. She was gorgeous, and she didn’t say much, which worked just fine for him.

“Do you know her name?”

“Nope.” He picked up his trowel, sliding more grout among the empty spaces where the new pedestal sink would eventually go.

“Well, what do you know about her?”

“Not much.”

“Wow, two words. You actually said two words in a row. I think this might be a record.”

He grinned. “What do you want, Abby?”

“Holy crap, a whole question. I’m going to pass out.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“No. Don’t do that. Do you know what nights she works?”

“No.”

Abby sighed in his ear.

“Monday through Friday, I guess. Why?”

“No reason. Just curiosity.”

He narrowed his eyes. During the week he helped cover Abby’s protection in Maryland, then the two days he’d had solo duty here in LA and one
long
damn plane ride with her to New York City, he learned that Abby had a million questions and a purpose for every one of them. “Bullshit. What’s up?”

“I can’t get into specifics, but I think she’s had some trouble.”

He shrugged off her concern. If the blond had problems, she could handle them. She was a big girl. “Okay.”

“Stop with all the compassion.”

He let Abby’s frustrated comments slide off his back. He took care of himself unless he was paid to take care of someone else.

“Maybe if you see her—”

He already knew where this was going, and it was going to end here. “I’m on duty all this week.”

“Yeah but—”

“I’ll be in The Hills for the most part. I probably won’t see her.”

“But if you do—”

“Abby.”

“Just give her a once over and make sure she’s okay.”

He said nothing as he scooped up more grout.

“Can you do that? Stone?”

He huffed out a breath. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Promise?”

He didn’t make promises to anyone. “If I see her I’ll give her a once over.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“You wanna come over for dinner?”

“No.”

“I’ll make that garlic chicken you liked.”

“Who says I liked it?”

“You grunted and nodded your head.”

He bit his cheek instead of chuckling. The last thing he needed to do was encourage her to keep talking.

“I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Bye.” He hung up before she could say anything more and slid his phone away, then scooped up more grout, concentrating on his bathroom floor. He had no desire to worry about some cleaning woman with trouble on her hands.

~~~~

Stone stepped from the elevator and let himself into the Ethan Cooke Security Offices expecting to hear the vacuum humming in one of the rooms beyond, but there was only silence. Frowning, he checked his watch—eleven-thirty. The blond was usually finishing up right around now, which concluded with the hum of the Hoover somewhere in the distance.

He moved down the hall, certain he would see her gathering trash in the cart she pulled with her most nights or spot her putting the buckets and vacuum back in the supply closet, but she wasn’t there. He shrugged, turning, ready to head home. It had been a long damn day with his ten-hour duty, but he said he would check on Abby’s mysterious cleaning woman. Now he could tell her he’d tried.

The blond probably quit. She always wore jeans and a simple t-shirt to change the trashes and chase away the dust, but he knew high-end when he saw it. Whoever she was, she wasn’t used to swabbing toilets to earn a few bucks. With a shake of his head, he moved toward the bathrooms in the dim light, catching an armful of woman as she rushed from the men’s room, crashing into him.

Screaming, she tried to jerk away.

“Whoa.” He dropped his hands from surprisingly firm arms. “Take it easy.”

“Sorry,” she shuddered out, swiping at her long braid with trembling fingers.

He took a step back. “I didn’t think anyone was here.”

“I got a late start.” She swallowed as she met his eyes, looked down, then glanced up just as quickly. “I just finished with the bathrooms.”

He grunted, studying her. Was she always this jumpy? He’d never paid much attention other than when she bent down to grab the trash bag next to his desk. She had an excellent ass.

“I’m going to—I have to put my stuff away.” She picked up the bucket she’d dropped.

He made a noise in his throat again, staring. She was a stunner—blonde hair, blue-eyes—or maybe gray, full, lush lips that didn’t smile, all set in an oval face. Her skin was flawless and creamy, like the airbrushed models he kept away from the prying paparazzi. She definitely had the whole package.

“Sorry for bumping into you,” she mumbled.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve gotta go.” She licked her lips. “Bye.” She turned and booked it down the hall, taking her cleaning supplies with her.

He watched her open the closet door and lean her forehead against the wood as she pressed her hand to her heart. Interesting…but not his problem. He started toward the main lobby as the closet door closed, picking up his pace, not wanting to share an elevator with the jittery woman. He descended thirty floors and walked through the parking garage to his mint-condition 1966 Mustang, listening to the rain pound as he took his seat behind the wheel. The drive home was bound to suck in this downpour. He was probably looking at a good hour back to the Palisades. That’s what happened when he played Good Samaritan. He should’ve been in his bed sleeping, but he’d driven himself into the city to check on the blond, because Abby’s curiosity got the better of him.

Shaking his head, he turned over the engine and circled his way to the ground floor, taking a right out of the exit. He turned his wipers up to full blast as the woman walking on the desolate, dark sidewalk in the sheets of rain caught his eye. He squinted, recognizing her as Abby’s new pal from upstairs, and swore. “Not your problem,” he muttered to himself even as he slowed and pulled over to the curb. Leaning over to the passenger’s seat, he rolled down the window. “You want a ride?”

The blond glanced his way, her clothes plastered to her short frame. “No thanks.”

“You’re soaking wet.”

She stopped under the streetlight. “That’s okay. I’m walking to the bus stop right over there.” She pointed to the empty glass enclosure half a block up.

“If that’s the way you want it.”

“Yes, thanks. I should hurry. It’s the last bus of the night.” As she spoke, the bus slowed at the stop sign and drove off. Gasping, she ran after her ride. “Wait! Stop!” The bus was halfway down the block before she slowed, her shoulders slumping as she continued walking.

He sighed, pulling up next to her again instead of driving off the way he wanted to. “Just get in. I’ll take you home.”

She reached for the door handle, hesitating, as water streamed down her face.

“You’re not getting any drier standing out there.”

She opened the door and took her seat. “Thank you,” she murmured through chattering teeth.

Stone cranked up the heat, wincing as she dripped all over the antique leather interior. “Where to?”

“Uh, East Sixth and Sanford Ave.”

He stared at her. “East Sixth and Sanford Avenue?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head and made a left, starting down Sixth Street. The rain slowed to a drizzle as they stopped for several lights. With each block he drove, the neighborhood grew more hopeless and the graffiti on the surrounding buildings increased. He passed bangers and addicts looking for their next score. Hookers waited for their Johns on the corners. Stone slid the pretty, classy blond a look as he turned on Sanford. “You’re telling me you live down here?”

She held her hands clasped in her lap. “Yes.”

“What the hell are you doing down in Skid Row?”

She shrugged. “It’s that motel right there.” She pointed to a rundown by-the-hour establishment.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No.”

He rolled to a stop, not daring to box himself in with the group of trouble standing at the corner watching him. He itched for the gun he wasn’t carrying.

“Thank you.” She reached for the handle.

“You’re seriously getting out of this car?”

She licked her lips. “Yes. Thank you again.” She stepped out and hurried toward the dilapidated building with the ‘O’ and ‘L’ glowing bright in the mostly burnt-out sign. The men at the corner whistled and hollered her way, wanting a piece of that, as she rushed up the stairs to the second floor, unlocked her door, and closed herself in.

He stared as the light blinked on behind dingy curtains in the window. “Unbelievable.” He hesitated, then started back down the road, shrugging off his concern. Blondie was a big girl. If this was where she hung her hat, that was her problem.

~~~~

“I’m worried sick, Clyde.” Eric sat in his La-Z-Boy with his feet up, flipping the ring he’d given Sophie between his thumb and index finger, blinking when the morning sun glinted off the diamonds and silver, accentuating the superior cut and quality of the gift she’d thrown in his face. Ungrateful. Stupid and ungrateful.

“I understand, Eric. I absolutely do. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

“You haven’t heard anything? There’s no news whatsoever?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“It’s been a month.” His private investigator hadn’t been able to come up with anything either. Somehow Sophie had managed to vanish.

“Her credit card and bank accounts haven’t been touched and her purse is missing, but I still believe she left of her own accord. You found her ring on the bed. If foul play was involved, someone would’ve wanted that, I suspect. It’s a beaut. It’s apparent she was in a hurry to be gone with the way she closed up her shop.”

He grit his teeth as he thought of the fool she’d made of him. Everyone was talking about Sophie Burke ditching him. For that alone he wanted her found. He’d expected the cops to bring her back the morning he woke from his stupor, but they’d had no luck. He’d kept the beer and whatever she’d drugged him with to himself. She’d make that up to him when the time came. “We’re supposed to get married in eighteen days.”

“And I feel real bad about that. Unfortunately there’s not much I can do from a legal standpoint. There was no crime committed. It sounds like a case of cold feet. She’ll come home, Eric. Just give her a little time.”

Oh, Sophie would come home all right. She was too dumb to stay gone for long. And if he needed to help things along, he would. “I didn’t want to bring this up. I hate to.” He added a hint of anguish to his voice for the sake of Bangor’s Chief of Police. “I checked my safe yesterday. There’s about five thousand dollars missing.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “She broke my heart and stole from me, Clyde. I thought I knew her, and God knows why, I still love her. I still want to marry her.”

“Do you want to press charges?”

He let his breath shudder into the phone. “I think—I think I have to. No. No, I can’t.” He grinned, trying hard not to chuckle. The good officer was eating it up.

“If you’re sure she took it, you have every right to your money, son.”

“I don’t know…” She thought she’d outsmarted him when she slashed her prices and sold off all of her ugly jewelry the day she closed shop. And she’d been skimming from her books since early March. She owed him, just about five thousand dollars. Sophie wasn’t allowed to have money. Everything she earned belonged to him.