Saving Sophie: Book Seven In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series (4 page)

Clyde sighed. “I’m going to encourage you to file charges. I sure hate to say that. Sophie’s a sweetheart, but five thousand dollars is a decent chunk of change. Why don’t you come on down to the station and we’ll fill out a report?”

Five thousand was nothing. He demanded ten times that for his paintings, but paying Sophie back meant everything. She had almost five weeks to make up to him, and the humiliation he’d suffered, well, that was priceless. “I just want her to come home, Clyde. I need her. I miss her so much. I have the art show coming up next week in Boston. I wanted her with me.”

“Hang in there. We’ll get some posters hung and get her name in the system. We’ll get this figured out.”

“If you think that’s best.”

“I do.”

“I’ll come down soon.”

“I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Thanks.” He hung up and grabbed the photograph of Sophie’s smiling face from the end table. “You think you can outsmart me?” He laughed at her stunning image and smashed the picture to the wood floor, splintering the glass. “You’re too damn stupid to outsmart me. You’re
nothing
without me.” He stomped on her face with the heel of his shoe and made his way to the front door. He had a police report to file. Sophie would be coming home real soon.

Sophie looked at her watch, huffing out a
frustrated breath. She was just going to make it to the bus stop, and that was only if she hurried. No matter how she streamlined her routine, coming into the office later wasn’t working. Making sure she avoided another run in with Abby Quinn was vital, but her work was suffering as a result—so was her paycheck.

She spritzed more Windex on the mirror, swiping quickly, then moved to the last sink, glancing at the time again with a shake of her head. She was losing an hour’s pay each night, and her income was already meager at best. She’d redone her budget this afternoon while she snacked on the apple she’d designated as her lunch, and the new adjustments weren’t pretty.

Now that she was staying at the motel, her financial situation had become even direr. The place was horrible. By day her room was disgusting at best, no matter how she scrubbed it. By night, room 22 was downright scary. Squeaking beds and prostitutes moaning through paper-thin walls competed with gunfire and police sirens. And the bugs skittering on the floor… She shuddered thinking of the roaches and trash bag in which she kept her belongings to keep them clean.

She needed more than this part-time job if she planned to get herself out of her current situation. If she ever wanted to open her own shop again, she was going to have to do better than this, but working under the table left her few options. She had no doubt that if she tried for something different, Eric’s private investigator would find her the second her employer filed her W-2.

Going back to Stowers House was tempting, but she couldn’t risk it. Abby had probably forgotten about the whole thing, but she wasn’t willing to find out. Bugs and her by-the-hour neighbors were better than Eric’s beatings. Even if she had to live in that motel for the rest of her life it would be better than seeing him again. He’d told her more than once that if she ever left he would kill her. Eric always meant what he said.

She scoured the sink until it shined, threw her rubber gloves in the trash, and pulled open the door, noting that Stone’s light was on down the hall. He was here late for the second night in a row. She needed to pop her head in and thank him again for yesterday. He’d been kind to drive her home, and he’d actually spoken to her—not a conversation per se—but he’d done more than grunt. His voice was deep, and he smelled good, like expensive, sexy cologne. And his face. She’d finally gotten an up-close-and-personal, full-on look when they crashed into each other in the shadows. His longer hair and sharp cheekbones should’ve made him appear feminine somehow, but they didn’t. They accentuated the guarded intensity in his brown eyes. And there was nothing wrong with his full, serious mouth and strong jaw with hints of dark stubble either. He was so tough and…
hot
, but that didn’t matter. She had a bus to catch.

Focusing on what she needed to do, she put her cleaning bucket away and grabbed her hoodie, which was still damp after last night’s soaking. She slid her bag on her shoulder, already bracing herself for another long night in the ghetto.

~~~~

Stone heard the closet door close and shut his laptop. He’d been pretending to type up a report for the last hour while Blondie hustled around doing whatever it was she did. He’d packed up his stuff twice, ready to leave, then pulled everything back out, trying to figure out why the hell he’d come in the first place. He didn’t belong here. He was caught up on his work, and his living room walls were waiting to be patched and painted. He should’ve taken a right when he left his duty in The Hills, but he found himself on the 101 instead, heading downtown.

Blondie had been on his mind all day, no matter how hard he tried to shrug her off. Her haunted eyes and unbelievable living arrangements were impossible to forget. Even when he’d reminded himself that she wasn’t his problem and he didn’t really care, she kept sneaking back under his radar. She didn’t belong down in that section of town. If she didn’t smarten up, she wasn’t going to live very long.

He slid his laptop in its case for the third time as she quickly walked his way, giving a quick knock on the doorframe.

“Um, hi.”

He glanced up, taking in her smooth complexion and glossy hair slicked back in a tight braid. “Hey.”

“I’m in a hurry, but I wanted to thank you again for the ride last night.”

He zipped the case closed. “No problem.”

“All right.” She gave him a small, uncomfortable smile as she adjusted the backpack on her shoulder. “Well, thanks again.” She spun away.

“Wait.”

She stopped, hesitated, and turned back.

“You want another lift?”

“Oh, no thanks. I’ll just take the bus.”

He shrugged. Now what? “Suit yourself.”

She nodded and left.

He hurried after her instead of avoiding her the way he’d tried to not even twenty-four hours ago. He couldn’t let her go back there.

She tossed an uneasy look over her shoulder as the elevator doors opened and she stepped inside.

He slid in before they closed. “I’m on my way out.”

She crossed her arms and hunched herself in the corner, looking down.

“You sure you don’t want a ride?”

“No thanks.”

“You still staying in the same place?”

She glanced up. “Yes.”

He nodded and leaned back against the control panel, pressing the red button with his elbow, sending the car to a jerking stop.

Her eyes widened as her gaze flew to his. “What—what are you doing? I’m going to miss my bus,” she hollered over the piercing alarm.

“You’re putting me in a hell of a spot here, Blondie.”

“What do you mean?” She swallowed, moving further back into the corner.

“You’re living in a shit hole in an even shittier part of town. I’d hate to see that face of yours in the
Times
. The least you can do is let me take you home so I know you get there safe.”

“I don’t mind taking the bus.”

He glanced at his watch, fairly certain she wouldn’t be riding any buses tonight. “Have it your way.” He pressed the red button, sending the car down.

“I don’t understand,” she said quietly. “Why do you care where I live?”

Hadn’t he been asking himself the same thing all day? “I wish I knew.”

The elevator stopped on the fourth floor. “You might as well get out with me.”

“I’ll be fine, thank you.”

He shrugged. “Can’t say I didn’t try.” He got out, watching the door close her inside, and turned toward the parking garage more than a little relieved she’d let him off the hook. He’d offered to help and she shot him down. There was nothing else he could do—or wanted to do. The doors opened again before he’d taken two steps.

“Wait.”

Pausing, he looked over his shoulder.

“I’ll—I’ll take the ride. I’m pretty sure I missed my bus.”

He nodded, trying to figure out why her acceptance annoyed him when he was the one who made her miss her bus in the first place. “Let’s go.” He pushed the door open, letting her into the garage ahead of him. “The Mustang right over there.” He pointed to his black beauty.

“I remember.”

He got in, leaned over, and unlocked her door.

She took her seat, mumbling her gratitude.

He grunted, turned over the engine, and pulled out of his spot as Staind’s guitar riffs filled the car. He twisted down four stories and gunned it through the yellow light across from the entrance, glancing her way as she sat against the door, her hands clasped tight around the bag in her lap. She looked so stiff and uncomfortable. Taking a chance, he decided to try for a conversation. Her smooth, quiet voice wasn’t exactly hard on the ears. “So, I’m curious, why East Sixth and Sanford?”

She shrugged. “It’s by the bus stop.”

He nodded, accelerating through the next green light. She’d summed it up easy enough. Points for her. There was nothing wrong with a woman who didn’t feel the need to talk all the damn time. They cruised along the rough streets in silence as he made his way down block after block, finally turning on Sanford. Dozens of blue lights reflected off the rundown buildings the closer he got to the motel. “Looks like some action up at your place.”

She slid him an uneasy glance as she clutched her bag tighter in her arms. “I guess so.”

He stopped several feet from the police barricade, assessing the situation, watching CSI carry evidence bags out of the room next door to the one she’d closed herself in last night.

She reached for the handle. “Thank—”

“You’re not getting out here.”

She paused. “I have to.”

“No you don’t.”

“This is where I live.”

Was she
thick
? “You see that van right there?” He gestured to the white vehicle with the back doors open.

“Yes.”

“That’s the ME. This is a murder scene.”

She swallowed as her gaze darted from the van to the motel. “Maybe—maybe they can give me a different room.”

“Forget it,” he said with more heat than he meant to.

She flinched, gripping the door handle tighter.

He frowned, surprised by her reaction. “Do you really expect me to leave you here while they roll a corpse out of the building? They’re not going to let you anywhere near that place for hours.”

She bit her lip as their eyes met.

“You’re putting me in that bad spot again. Let me bring you to your sister’s or mother’s, girlfriend’s or boyfriend’s.”

She stared down at the floor.

He steamed out a breath, realizing she had no place else to go. This just kept getting better and better. Why the hell didn’t he just let her get out? Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “You got a name?”

“Sophie.”

“Sophie.” Classy and quiet. The name fit her well. “You can stay with me tonight.” He smiled as her eyes darted to his. “I wasn’t planning on sleeping with you. I have an extra bed, a cot in the place I’m renovating. You can figure something else out for tomorrow.”

“I don’t—”

He reversed before she could finish her refusal. He wasn’t any more excited about tonight’s arrangement than she was.

Sophie stared out the windshield, trying to catch
glimpses of the ocean in the dark as Stone headed north on Highway One. For the last ten miles of their drive, she’d breathed in the salty scent she desperately missed. It had been too long since she heard the violent crash of water against the sand. Eric had broken her spirit the day he forbade her from going anywhere near the place she loved most.

Sighing quietly, she closed her eyes, listening, savoring, remembering her daily walks along the beach with her mother before mom’s yearly checkup changed everything. They’d only gotten to the ocean once more after the devastating diagnosis. The cancer had moved quickly, eating away at the beautiful woman she’d adored.

She gripped her backpack, willing away memories of her mother’s frail, sick body, concentrating instead on her turn of good luck. By some miracle, the tough, handsome stranger at her side had more or less rescued her from spending the night in that horrid motel room.

She slid him a glance, watching the warm breeze play with his hair as she caught another whiff of his cologne. She was sitting next to a virtual stranger in the dark while he drove her to some mysterious location. What in the world was she thinking, and why wasn’t she afraid? Stone, last name still unknown, was gruff, direct, and more than a little rude, but he hadn’t left her in the ghetto to fend for herself. She could only be grateful. “Thank you again.”

“Yeah.” He slowed and took a right, heading up a dirt road to the hills high above. The Mustang twisted and turned for a good quarter mile before finally making it to the top.

Sophie stared as Stone parked, taking in the tiny Airstream trailer, second car resting on blocks not far from a basketball hoop, and the small cottage in need of siding with its new windows reflecting the glow of the full moon.

“This is your house?”

“Yup.”

“It’s lovely.” Or it could be. There was certainly potential.

“Not yet,” he said, pulling his keys from the ignition.

Now what? She gripped her bag tighter, her stomach suddenly jumpy as her brain felt frozen and her cheeks hot, the way they always did when she didn’t know what to do or say next. And somehow the wretched sensations were worse than usual. Stone made her nervous. Not the way Eric did; this was different. Stone’s presence was so…primal and unapologetically sexy, which tied her up in knots. “I—I—”

“I’m tired.”

She swiped at her hair. “You’re tired?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his fingers over his forehead.

He didn’t want to talk. Thank god. She let loose a quiet breath of relief. “If you’ll just tell me where the cot is, I’m sure I can find it.”

“I’ll take you inside.”

She wanted to tell him he didn’t have to, but she nodded, fighting the need to stare at her bag as he held her gaze.

He got out and she followed, shouldering her backpack, standing next to him as he unlocked the door. She studied his face in the shadows, watching his long lashes brush his skin with every blink. Her gaze trailed over sharp cheekbones and powerful, tanned arms, darker in the play of light. She’d never thought a man beautiful before, until now.

He stepped inside and flipped a switch.

She walked in behind him, blinking against the shock of bright light pouring from the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. She glanced around, taking everything in. The room was much bigger than it appeared from outside and smelled of sawdust. Drywall had been hung, framing large, gorgeous picture windows facing the ocean. If she listened closely, she could just hear the surf.

“Watch your step. I haven’t gotten to the floors yet.”

She looked down, realizing she was standing on plywood.

He walked away, down the unfinished hallway and into another room. He poked his head out. “You coming?”

“Oh.” She moved in the direction he had, glancing over her shoulder at the tiny kitchen with dingy appliances. She passed two rooms along the way that were little more than two-by-fours and wiring, hurrying into the open space where Stone stood among more of the same. “This is nice.”

He tossed her a baleful look.

She licked her lips as heat rushed to her cheeks, cursing herself for saying something so foolish. “I mean—”

“It will be.” He threw a fitted sheet and two blankets on the cot’s mattress. “I’m assuming you can make your own bed.”

“Yes.” It was hard to relax under his penetrating stare. He was so
big
. Not as tall as Eric, but Stone had her by a good seven inches. However, where Eric was long and lean, Stone was broad and powerful. Despite his brawn, he didn’t invoke a heart-stopping fear the way the monster in Maine did.

Frowning, he took a step closer until they were standing almost toe-to-toe. “They’re violet.”

“Huh?” She stood perfectly still, waiting for him to give her some space.

“Your eyes. They’re violet.” He gripped her chin between his thumb and index finger, moving her face from side to side. “I thought they were blue, then gray, but they’re violet.”

She swallowed as his rough, calloused fingers pressed gently to her skin, sending her pulse scrambling. “Yes.”

He let her go, stepping back. “Contacts?”

“No. The real deal.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s pretty rare. A genetic mutation.” She shrugged, giving him a small smile. People had been commenting on her eye color for as long as she could remember but no one had ever touched her like that when they did.

“Huh. I’m going to bed.”

She blinked at the abrupt change in subject. “Okay. Goodnight.”

“Night.” He walked from the room, stopped, and turned back. “The bathroom’s through there.” He pointed to the half-closed door down the hall to the left. “And there’s some food in the kitchen.”

“Thank you.”

He turned and left.

The front door closed, and she set down her bag, glancing around at the hammer, pliers, and other tools scattered about the skeleton of a house. She moved to the windows, opening them, breathing in the fresh air, smiling as she listened to the rush of waves several hundred yards in the distance—a welcome change from gunshots and moans. Stone’s view had to be amazing.

She peeked her head in the small space that was probably going to be a closet, then moved to the next room across the hall, looking out another grouping of glass facing the driveway. She watched as Stone’s tough frame filled the doorway of the camper before he shut the door behind him.

She went to her bed, slipped the fitted sheet in place, and fell back against the soft mattress, grinning. She was safe. For the first time in
years
she was actually
safe
. She laughed in delight, treasuring a sensation she hadn’t felt in so long. She lay still, closing her eyes, listening to the waves. Tomorrow she would stare out at the mighty Pacific and sink her feet in the warm sand while seagulls cried and flew overhead.

Letting loose a huge sigh, she rolled to her side, looking at her backpack. She rushed to her feet, grabbing her plastic baggie full of travel toiletries, then pulled out the white t-shirt and sweat-shorts she’d taken from the donation bin at Stowers House, and made her way to the bathroom. Flipping on the light, she gaped.

“Wow,” she whispered, stepping further in, instantly captivated by the intricate tile patterns covering the shower wall. The whole room was spectacular—a work of art—with the glass shower stall and multiple jets, beautiful marble flooring, and pretty pedestal sink. If this little piece of elegance was what Stone had in mind for his entire house, the place was going to be a masterpiece.

She undressed, turned on the shower, and stepped into the warm spray, reveling in the idea that she could stand here and not have to watch bugs crawl along the walls or keep one ear trained on the door, forever fearful someone would find a way to work their way past the chair she always wedged below the doorknob. She closed her eyes as water cascaded over her head, letting the tension release from her shoulders.

This was all hers. For one night she would sleep soundly. Eric wouldn’t be searching for her here on Stone’s cliff top. Tomorrow she would be forced to go back to the motel. Everything would go back to normal when the sun came up, but for now, she planned to savor every second of her reprieve. Who knew how long it would be before she had an opportunity like this again?

~~~~

Sophie opened her eyes, expecting to see water damage and filthy paint covering the motel ceiling. Frowning, she stared up at two-by-fours set in place every few feet instead. The rush of waves filled her ears as she turned her head slowly, stretching, waiting for the typical discomfort of a stiff neck and sore ribs after a night of rest on the three wooden chairs she lined up and slept on instead of the disgusting bed. She yawned huge, enjoying the serenity of her perfect Wednesday morning.

She’d planned to stay up and savor the sound of the ocean, but somehow she’d blinked and the sun was up again. She yawned for the second time and glanced at her watch, her eyes widening in surprise.
Eleven o’clock?
“Crap.”

She jolted up and hurried out of bed, pulling the sheets she’d used off the mattress, and folded the two blankets. Stone was bound to think her a lush. She moved toward the kitchen, hating the idea of eating his food, but she hadn’t had a real meal since breakfast at Stowers House on Saturday. Apples and peanut butter and jelly were getting old. She opened the fridge, spotting eggs, milk, beer and some unidentifiable black stuff she would stay far away from. Checking the date on the eggs and milk, she smiled. Scrambled eggs were a must.

The front door opened and she froze, guilty for getting caught helping herself, even though Stone had invited her to before he walked off last night.

He stumbled in, bare-chested, wearing ripped jeans he hadn’t snapped. He was magnificent, looking like a model on a billboard with all those bumps and ropes of muscle. She’d never seen him in anything but slacks and a polo or the tuxedo he wore when he stood next to movie stars on the red carpet in the celebrity gossip magazines from time to time. She looked away, realizing she was staring. “Um, I was going to have a quick breakfast and get out of your way.”

He grumbled something, his voice much deeper after sleep.

“I can go now if you’d rather.” She glanced down wistfully at the egg carton in her hand and stepped right as he did, then left.

“
Move
, Blondie.” He gripped her waist, picking her up in the small, crowded space.

Gasping, she clutched at his warm, firm shoulder, breathing him in as he turned with her in his arms, set her down, and made a beeline for the beat-up counter and coffee pot. She blinked as he grabbed the tin of coffee and scooped. Twice he’d touched her in a way no one ever had. Eric was always so proper unless he was beating her—then he was just plain vicious. She and Stone barely knew each other, and he’d put his hands on her again. Why did she want him to do it again? She cleared her throat, shocked by her own thoughts as he set a cup beneath the drip instead of the glass server.

“Milk,” he said.

She frowned.

“I need the milk.”

“Oh.” She reached into the fridge, pulling out the half-gallon.

He snatched the container, pouring the two-percent in while the coffee still drizzled into the cup. He lifted the half-f mug, swallowing the contents down as he jammed the glass catcher in place.

She knew she stared, but she couldn’t look away as he put his mug back under for the second time.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said with a start. “I just—I’ve never seen anyone drink coffee like that before.”

He smiled. “Some people need crack. I need coffee.”

She grinned. “I was going to make some eggs if that’s okay.”

He shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Can I make you some too?” It was the least she could do.

“Sure.”

“Do you have any bread?”

“Over there.” He pointed to the dark, ugly paneled cupboard to her left. “You look different with your hair down.”

She paused mid-reach as he slid a finger down a long strand.

“You’re easy on the eyes, Blondie.”

She set the eggs down before she dropped them, unsure of what to do. She didn’t know how to handle casual touches and compliments.

“Uh, thanks.” She opened the cupboards pulling out a wretched bright green bowl, and found the bread while he sat at the card table. She cracked eggs, attempting to think of something to say in the humming silence. “Can I make you another cup of coffee?”

“I won’t turn it down.”

She dumped out the sludge he made and started again, scooping the proper serving, adding the right amount of water. Moments later she set the steaming mug in front of him along with the milk container.

“You find another place to stay?”

“Yes, thank you.” She turned back to the counter, not wanting to make eye contact as she whisked eggs and poured them into the heated pan. “The view is wonderful here. You have your own piece of paradise.”

“Where are you staying?”

She pushed the eggs around, careful to prepare them just right. Eric would be angry if—she stopped. Eric wasn’t here.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’ve got it taken care of.” There was no need for him to know that she would go back to the place he refused to drop her off. He’d been kind to let her stay here for the night. They would go their separate ways after breakfast, and he would be none the wiser.

“Good. I’ll drop you off on my way into town.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” she said quickly. “I’ll take the bus. I don’t want to inconvenience you any more than I already have.” She set the perfectly cooked eggs on a plate along with the toast, giving him her share as well. She wanted the golden, deliciously scented eggs desperately, but it was time to go. He was asking too many questions. “Here’s your breakfast.”

“Where’s yours?”

“I’m not hungry.” Her stomach growled as she said it. “Excuse me.” Turning away from his penetrating stare, she ran warm water into the pan, and left the room. She went to the room she’d slept in and slid on a pair of jean shorts and a white tank top. Deodorant and a brush came next. She pulled her hair back in a bun and shouldered her pack, then walked out of the bedroom, hating that she had to leave a place that felt like home after so short a time. “I’m going to be on my way.” She put a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “Thanks for the hot water and bed.”