Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) (32 page)

He passed JT’s old house and glanced at Wren as she stared out her window. She was gorgeous and city-slick in her cream-colored beret and leather jacket—ready to take on the world, like the cool, career-focused woman he’d arrived with three weeks ago.

He barely suppressed a sigh as she pulled her phone from her purse, her thumbs flying over the keypad as she typed herself another reminder. She was slipping through his fingers, and there wasn’t much he could do about it. In less than a week’s time, she would be in Santa Barbara, starting a new life that had nothing to do with him. He gripped the wheel tight, wondering how he was going to let her go.

He glanced her way again, catching her looking at him. There was so much hurt radiating in those big eyes. Despite her best attempts, she could no longer hide all her sweet spots and hints of vulnerability—not after what they’d had.

Goddamn he hated this—categorizing their relationship as if what they shared was in the past. There was something
here
, right now—powerful and real whether she wanted to accept it or not. He planned to remind her as soon as their plane reached altitude and there was nowhere she could run to get away—a last ditch effort to repair everything that mattered. Perhaps his tactics were slightly underhanded, but too much lay on the line to play completely fair. But first he had to help Staci.

Slowing as they approached the house, he pulled in the drive, studying the glass and timber structure he once called home, looking toward his and Staci’s wing, dreading the next little while. He waited, craving the moment when “cop mode” would kick in and his personal problems would disappear until he surfaced again.

Rogers parked his unmarked car behind the Jeep, got out, and met him at the driver’s side door.

Tucker readied his weapon as he rolled his window down halfway, habitually sweeping the trees surrounding the property.

“Guess we should get on with this. It’s damn cold out here.” Rogers pulled his hat farther over his ears.

“Cooke, I want you to stay close. We’re pretty sure our man’s back in LA, but we’re not taking any chances.”

She nodded.

Tucker got out on his side and hurried around to Wren’s door. The brutal winds blew strong, cutting right through the thickness of his coat. “Son of a bitch. We’ll start inside.”

Wren stepped from the Jeep, hunching against the unyielding chill. Tucker wrapped an arm around her shoulders, catching whiffs of her perfume as the three of them hustled to the entrance.

“I got a call from Detective Owens on the way here,” Rogers said as he gripped the edges of his coat close to his cheeks. “He told me—”

Two blasts rang out, and Hayes crumbled to the ground, blood spurting from the wound in his neck, pooling from the hole in his face.

“Oh my god! Oh my god, Tucker!” Wren tried to turn away from the gore puddling on the pristine snow.

“Fuck!” He grabbed Wren, yanking her around and closer to his side, shielding her as he reached for his weapon, then he ran with her to the door. They were wide open. There was nowhere to go but inside. “Unlock the door!” He held the keys in his left hand, next to her elbow as he kept aim, pointing his pistol in the direction the shots were fired. Seconds passed like days as Wren’s trembling fingers struggled to send the key home. “Come on, Cooke. Come
on
.”

“I’m trying,” she shuddered on wheezing breaths, and finally the key slid in the lock.

“Hit the panic button and head for the bathroom,” he said as she twisted the knob.

Another shot echoed through the air, grazing the arm of his coat. “Goddamn. Get inside.” He shoved her into the entryway as he caught sight of a figure moving in the trees. He fired twice, and a man fell with a piercing scream.

“Panic button,” he said, slamming the door shut behind him, locking them in.

“Nice moves,” JT said as he appeared from the coat closet, pointing a Glock 22 at Tucker’s forehead, the muzzle mere inches away. “Very Rambo-like. I guess I won’t have to pay him, not that I was planning to anyway. Don’t press the button, Wren, or your boyfriend here will lose his pretty face.”

“JT, what—what are you doing?” Wren asked, taking a step closer to Tucker.

“Executing a well-thought-out plan. I knew you’d come after I dangled Johnny in your face. Now drop your gun, Tucker, or I will shoot.” He wiggled his index finger against the trigger, giving them a cool smile.

Hesitating, Tucker glanced at Wren. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes glazed with terror as she stared at JT.

A blast echoed in the room, and heat tore through Tucker’s shoulder. The gun fell from his hand with a clatter as the force and shock of the bullet knocked him back a step.

“Tucker! Oh god, Tucker!” Wren rushed toward him.

“No!” JT shouted. “Stay right where you are. I’m not going to have you bawling all over him, ruining my moment.”

“He’s—he’s… You shot him.”

“Is that what I did?” He aimed at Tucker’s other shoulder. “I’ll put another hole in him if you don’t listen. We’ll watch him bleed to death together.”

Tucker sucked in air through his teeth, and sweat instantly beaded along his forehead as he clutched at the unspeakable burn just below his shoulder. Blood oozed despite the firm pressure he applied. “I’m okay, Cooke. I’m okay,” he gritted out as the cellphone on his belt rang.

“Answer.” JT said to Tucker as he moved his arm to point the gun at Wren. “Answer the damn phone and pretend everything’s hunky-damn-dory, or I’ll shoot her in the fucking head. And Wren, lose the coat and stay awhile.”

Tucker stared into JT’s cool eyes. There was no fear, no regret, not even madness. He would shoot Wren and not even blink. Pulling his blood-soaked hand from his shoulder, Tucker grabbed his phone and answered as Wren took off her leather jacket. “Campbell.”

“Where are you?” Ethan asked.

“At the house.” He fought to school his breathing and keep his voice steady. The pain in his arm was excruciating.

“Get out of there. Owens just called. Simmons isn’t your man. He’s been up in northern California fucking his mistress. It’s Cartwright. They can’t find him. They’ve put out an APB.”

“Guess they should contact Park City PD.”

JT rushed up to Wren and pushed the muzzle to her temple. “Don’t think I won’t. End the call—nice and smooth.”

“Ethan, I’ve gotta go.”

“What the hell do you mean you’ve gotta go? I still have information. Apparently Simmons and JT had a falling out at that prep school in Colorado. Jonathan caught JT peeping in some girl’s closet. The headmaster kicked Cartwright out, but everything stayed hush-hush after pressure and promises of several lucrative donations. JT’s been harassing Simmons off and on ever since.”

“Hmm.” What the hell else was he supposed to say as he looked from Wren’s pleading, terrified eyes into JT’s calculated stare?

“Owens put two and two together and they rushed to JT’s apartment. He didn’t answer, so management let them into his place. He’s been using fake IDs to fly back and forth from Vegas to Salt Lake City.”

“I’m getting twitchy.” JT wiggled his finger against the trigger.

“Ethan, I’ll call you back.” He disconnected. “There. Now stop pointing that at her head.”

“Makes you kind of nervous?” JT asked with mock sympathy. “You can rest easy, Pretty Boy. I’m not going to kill her like this. I’m going to strangle her the way I did Staci.”

“You son of a bitch!” He lunged toward JT.

JT fired into the air, and ceiling particles showered over their heads. “Stay back by the door, and drop your phone while you’re at it. Can’t have you sneaking calls while you watch me rape and murder your girl. I mean, Wren
is
your girl, right?”

Tucker gritted his teeth as a tear slid down Wren’s cheek.

“I asked you if Wren is your girl?”

“No, she’s not. She called it off last night.” He hoped to God that would take some of the thrill out of JT’s desire to kill her.

JT’s brows rose in surprise. “Wren, is this true? Did you dump Pretty Boy?”

Tucker gave her a barely perceptible nod.

“Yes. It wasn’t working out.”

JT hooted with laughter. “You went and got yourself dumped? Now that’s one for the books. Maybe you aren’t God’s gift to women after all.” He shook his head. “Have to admit, this kinda takes some of the fun out of it all.”

“Why?” Wren asked quietly. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can.” He shrugged casually. “Because I want to. There’s little that brings me quite as much joy as watching Tucker Campbell suffer. No one has a right to all that you have, Golden Boy.”

“You’re doing this because you’re jealous?”

JT’s eyes changed from amused to deadly in a flash. “I’m not jealous—just righting the wrongs of the world. Call it cosmic justice.”

“But
this
is wrong. You have to know this is wrong, JT.”

“You got me, Wren.” He pointed in her direction. “I
do
know it’s wrong. I just don’t care.”

“So then—”

“Cooke.” Tucker met her gaze and shook his head. “It’s okay.” She was trying to reason with a madman and make sense of all this, but she never would. He had to find a way to get them the hell out of there.

“You know what, Tuck-Man,” JT pressed his finger to his chin, contemplating. “It’s really not okay.
Nothing
about you is okay. Heir to the Campbell fortune; beautiful, doting parents; an adoring sister; a face and body that belong on fucking magazines; natural athleticism; a saintly need to do what’s right; and let’s not forget the women—any goddamn one you want. I mean you wanted him, Wren.”

“Not at—not at first.”

JT raised his brow at her. “Don’t try to kid a kidder, Wren. I saw the way you were looking at him the day
I
came to ask you out. I thought you two were going to jump each other right there in the library. Just proves my point further. You’ve got it
all
—always have. Everything you touch turns to goddamn gold, man. Gets tiresome, real fucking tiresome. I pretty much feel duty-bound to cause you as much pain as possible any chance I can get, but it has to be worth it. It really has to count.” He slid a piece of Wren’s wavy hair between his fingers. “And you definitely count, Wren. Watching you die will totally fucking count. Wouldn’t you agree, Pretty Boy?”

Tucker stayed silent as he pressed his hand harder against his wound. He wouldn’t be able to get them out of this if he lost too much blood.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He glanced at his watch. “We should probably move this along. The cops’ll figure out the good detective is dead sooner or later. Might as well have a decent body count when they arrive. I say we make this
epic
.” He pulled Wren close. “How about you?”

Her breath shuddered out, and Tucker struggled to follow JT’s order to stay put.

“Let me guess—you want to say goodbye to the love of your life before we have a little fun. Kinda loose, Wren, guy-hopping this way, but I’m a reasonable guy. Go say goodbye.”

Wren’s eyes filled as she walked to Tucker, folding herself around him.

He winced, attempting to return her embrace. “We’re going to find a way out of this,” he whispered against her hair, close to her ear.

She nodded, touching his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

He held her gaze and skimmed his fingers along her jaw. They
would
find a way out of this. Like hell he’d leave her to die the way Staci did. “Don’t give up on me, Cooke.” He hugged her close again. “Do what I say when I tell you,” he murmured.

“All right. Enough already. I think I’m going to puke.”

Tucker’s cellphone began to ring.

“We’ll leave that behind. Let me set the alarm, then we’re off to one of my favorite places.”

Tucker watched as JT punched in the new code.

“Wondering about that, aren’t you?” He chuckled. “Ms. Hayes leaves all of her client’s keys and codes tucked back in her writing desk. She really does need to be more careful.”

“You hurt Ms. Hayes?” Wren asked, her voice tight with fear and unshed tears.

“That would be too predictable. Breaking and entering is much more fun. The old bat never even knew I was there on the several occasions I showed up. I wonder how she’ll feel when she realizes her carelessness cost sweet little Chloe her life? Now walk in front of me.” He gestured with his gun. “Wren first, Pretty Boy second. And don’t try anything that’s gonna get you killed before I’m ready.” JT picked up Tucker’s gun and shoved the weapon in the waist of his jeans. “Start down the hall. Second door on the left, but I’m sure you already know that.”

Wren went first, then Tucker. He struggled to bury his dark rage and think of a way out of this as his gaze darted about, looking for anything he could use to disarm the crazy bastard.

JT shoved him forward with a boot to the ass. “Faster.”

Tucker lost his balance, falling to his knees, sucking in a sharp breath when instinct had him catching himself with his tender arm.

Wren whirled. “Tucker.”

“Keep going, gorgeous. He’ll get up in a minute.”

Tucker got to his feet slowly. “I’m good, Cooke. I’m good.” But he wasn’t. Sweat poured down his face as he fought against the unbelievable pain.

“No you’re not.” She touched her fingers to his coat sleeve, pulling her bloodied hand away. “He’s loosing too much blood. He’s going to pass out before too long, or worse.”

“Ah, well, we can’t have you dying before all the fun starts.” He gave Tucker a pleasant smile. “Help him into the bedroom. We’ll staunch him up some.”

Wren guided him into the room, kneeling on the floor next to the bed where he sat, helping him ease off his coat. She pressed her lips firm, frowning as her worried eyes met his.

He touched a trembling finger to her jaw. “We’re good, Cooke,” he murmured.

“No we’re not. You’re not. We need to get this stopped.” She looked over her shoulder as JT continued to hold them both at gunpoint. “I need scissors and a clean towel.”

“Oh, sure. Let me get you a pair. And why don’t I leave you alone for a few minutes while I gather up first aid supplies?” He chuckled. “Use the pillowcase.”

“It’s not sterile.”

“He’s going to die anyway. Just not until after you do. Pillowcase or nothing.”

Wren turned back to Tucker and tugged the pink-striped case from the down feather pillow, then leaned in, studying his arm closely. “I can’t get a look at your wound, but I can see the entry and exit point, so that’s something. I’m going to tie this off as tight as I can.” She wrapped the pillowcase around his lower shoulder, above his bicep. “Ready?”

He braced himself, nodding.

She pulled the cotton tight, squeezing until her hands shook from the exertion.

He clenched his jaw, breathing in deep as her efforts brought about a new kind of torture.

“Almost finished.” She wrapped, once, twice. “Can you feel your fingers?”