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Once Upon A Marriage
Tara Taylor Quinn
Anyone could be hiding a secret… Marie Bustamante does not trust or love easily. Growing up with a philandering father and an overprotective mother, she comes by her reservations honestly. So after only three months, how can she be falling for her best friend's bodyguard? This isn't like her at all. But Elliott Tanner is strong, gorgeous and…trustworthy. Honest. At least he seems to be. Of course, some things about him remain a mystery. Protecting the privacy of his clients is Elliott's job. That doesn't mean he's hiding anything from her. Does it?


Anyone could be hiding a secret...
Marie Bustamante does not trust or love easily. Growing up with a philandering father and an overprotective mother, she comes by her reservations honestly. So after only three months, how can she be falling for her best friend’s bodyguard? This isn’t like her at all. But Elliott Tanner is strong, gorgeous and...trustworthy. Honest. At least he seems to be. Of course, some things about him remain a mystery. Protecting the privacy of his clients is Elliott’s job. That doesn’t mean he’s hiding anything from her. Does it?
“You don’t have to apologize for talking to me, Marie. Not ever,” said Elliott.
Her gaze didn’t waver. And she didn’t step back. “I have a tendency to go on sometimes...”
“And I enjoy listening to your voice.” Some things didn’t come with explanation. They just were.
“I’m glad you’re going to be in Las Vegas,” she said.
“Me, too.”
Her mouth was lifted toward his. He needed to kiss her.
And he needed to let her go. To send her away from him.
Before he could do either, she raised up on tiptoe and touched her lips to his. “Thank you,” she whispered, and slid past him to hurry down the hall and back out to her shop.
Dear Reader (#ulink_710e2e6b-58d5-5ebc-87bc-457a70dede87),
Welcome to the Historic Arapahoe! (If you’ve been here before, welcome back!) Though most of the residents here are elderly, they’re still getting up at five-thirty in the morning to work, they’re still going on romantic dates and protecting those around them. Including the three thirty-one-year-old friends who recently purchased the building so that the elderly, fixed-income residents wouldn’t be forced into nursing homes or be put out on the street.
Who’s really taking care of whom remains to be seen. Or maybe this is life, everyone doing what they can to take care of each other. Marie, one of the three owners, has been taking care of others most of her life. She owns the coffee shop on the first floor of the building and spends her days trying to make life a little easier, a little more pleasant, for everyone around her.
There’s a stalker hanging around. And her father, a womanizer who broke up their family but also managed to be a good dad, is struggling. Marie tends to it all. And she’s still lonely. Because, ultimately, she can’t trust.
I think, in today’s world, many of us struggle with trust issues. I also believe that happiness depends on our ability to trust, and that trust is still rewarded. I’m just not sure I can convince Marie of that fact...
I love to hear from readers! You can contact me at staff@tarataylorquinn.com; my website, tarataylorquinn.com (http://www.tarataylorquinn.com); on Twitter, @tarataylorquinn (https://twitter.com/tarataylorquinn); on Facebook; and on Pinterest, pinterest.com/tarataylorquinn (https://www.pinterest.com/tarataylorquinn/).
All the best,




Once Upon a Marriage
Tara Taylor Quinn

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
The author of more than seventy novels, TARA TAYLOR QUINN is a USA TODAY bestselling author with over seven million copies sold. She is known for delivering emotional and psychologically astute novels of suspense and romance. Tara is a past president of Romance Writers of America and served eight years on that board of directors. She has won the Reader’s Choice Award and is a five-time finalist for the RWA RITA® Award, a finalist for the Reviewer’s Choice Award and the Bookseller’s Best Award. She has also appeared on national and local TV across the country, including CBS Sunday Morning, and is a frequent guest speaker. In her spare time Tara likes to travel and enjoys crafting and in-line skating. She is a supporter of the National Domestic Violence Hotline. If you or someone you know might be a victim of domestic violence in the United States, please contact 1-800-799-7233.
For Carol H. R.:
You face hardship in marriage with love and loyalty, and inspire the same.
I am grateful for your example.
Contents
Cover (#u489a7842-a6ae-5335-b16f-a2ea7bc1aa68)
Back Cover Text (#u489a7842-a6ae-5335-b16f-a2ea7bc1aa68)
Introduction (#uf4ab91da-0948-53e1-b8bd-938d2f7f827e)
Dear Reader (#u11cbddcd-1add-5b70-852c-02a81d1c1da1)
Title Page (#u20eac9be-2d86-5699-ae65-ac948fa6c145)
About the Author (#u7de406f4-b616-595f-9804-1a0e57199d1f)
Dedication (#ufc5b2788-82b0-50a6-ac1a-ce1a79620a1f)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue3fc5caf-d3e9-5871-8114-a3e802472a12)
CHAPTER TWO (#ue3452aad-5d0a-50b7-b8b0-b5123e1e4299)
CHAPTER THREE (#u5a6c3744-9504-5c30-8dc3-023c28282338)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u8c69d2c7-7068-52e3-80da-2533d05e2678)
CHAPTER FIVE (#uae2d41a7-461b-5046-aba4-5283c4b9a763)
CHAPTER SIX (#u88e368d0-ece9-5747-824c-407927874142)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_230d025f-390e-5632-8522-2a7c08a91a87)
ELLIOTT TANNER WAS in trouble. There was no denying it. Sitting in his parked SUV outside a downtown Denver nightclub, waiting for a very spoiled, overly made up daddy’s girl to get bored and move on to her next hot spot, he tried to refrain from contemplating his utter stupidity.
Unfortunately the job he was on—babysitting said self-centered party girl—required no real effort, leaving him far too much possibility for losing the battle he was waging with a brain that just wouldn’t let go.
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this, Elliott.” Marie’s voice repeated itself in his brain—a replay of a conversation he’d had with the daughter of another client that afternoon. Difference being that Sailor Harcourt, tonight’s job, knew her parent had hired him to keep an eye out for her safety. Barbara Bustamante, Marie’s mother, adamantly refused to allow Elliott to let Marie, her daughter, know that she’d hired Tanner Security Services to watch over Marie.
He’d been hanging out at Marie’s coffee shop for over three months now. She’d gone through some tough times. Life changes. They’d talked. Become friends. But under false pretenses.
In fact, Marie thought Elliott was around to keep an eye on Liam Connelly—not only her best friend’s new husband, but also their business partner. Elliott had capitalized on Connelly’s circumstances, presenting himself as a bodyguard when the fraud scheme exposed at Liam’s father’s company was impacting Liam’s safety. It was the perfect way to be close to the situation and protect Marie without her knowing that he was watching out for her.
Gabrielle, Liam and Marie. Threefold. The name of the business they’d formed to purchase the old apartment building that was not only home to Marie’s coffee shop, but their home, as well. Threefold was also an apt description for the friendship forged in college that had made the three of them more like family to each other than their biological counterparts had been.
Cars passed. Groups of people moved down the sidewalk. A woman strolled alone in the balmy April weather. Not smart, no matter how nice this part of town was. Not after eleven on a Saturday night...
He’d taken on Liam as a paid client, albeit at a sub-rate fee, with the complete blessing of Barbara Bustamante, who had called him initially because Marie and her friend had just entered into the business deal with Liam, and Barbara had never trusted the Connelly heir. When threats and vandalism ensued just after the building purchase, Tanner had been present to ensure that no harm came to Liam—or to his two new business partners.
Keeping his gaze on the side door through which he’d instructed Miss Harcourt to travel to and from the club’s interior, Tanner rubbed a hand across his face in the darkness and groaned. While his association with Liam was somewhat convoluted—the other man assuming that his estranged father had sent Tanner to him through the elder Connelly’s own highly paid bodyguard—that particular subterfuge was only the beginning of Tanner’s troubles.
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this, Elliott.”
Liam Connelly’s father had not been charged in the Ponzi scheme that had robbed investors of millions, but his company, Connelly Investments, had been the conduit for the scheme. Run by his corporate attorney and closest friend, George Costas, who’d been charged by a grand jury but who was still adamantly asserting his innocence to the point that the public wasn’t sure who was misusing power and bullying by public persuasion and who was really the victim between the two men.
There’d been another couple of threatening letters left for Liam at Marie’s coffee shop, which was on the bottom floor of the apartment building the three friends owned. With Liam and Gabrielle now married and occupying three-quarters of the third floor, Marie was alone in her large second-floor apartment, and Barbara Bustamante insisted that Elliott maintain his cover and remain right where he was—on at least one daily surveillance of the apartment building and coffee shop, investigating Liam and staying on top of the investigation involving Liam’s father, while keeping tabs on Marie.
She was paying him well. He was holding the checks for now. Not comfortable with cashing them, the way he was feeling. Another reason why he was escorting the dilettante, Miss Harcourt, during her two-day visit to Denver. Her father, Rod, a man Tanner protected anytime he was in town, had specifically asked him to do so, believing her to be at risk simply for being born a Harcourt. Tanner needed to maintain his client base of paying jobs.
Tanner Security Services, a one-man fully licensed and accredited operation with a better than average reputation, wasn’t usually in the habit of babysitting. Or working for free.
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this, Elliott!”
Marie. Long blond hair came instantly to mind. Followed by those eyes. So filled with emotion. Always.
When he’d first met her, more than three months ago, the compassion he could read in those eyes—compassion for Liam, the man he’d been sent to investigate and protect her against—stabbed him in a way he’d never forget.
He’d wanted her to look at him that way.
And more, he’d wanted to make certain that no one, ever, caused her open heart to close up, to wall off in pain. He’d sworn to himself that he’d never let anyone hurt her.
Absurd.
He had no control over Marie’s heart. Who she gave it to. Or what they did with it.
He was just an overly large guy her mother had hired to protect her.
The door he was watching opened. Hand going immediately to the ignition, Elliott straightened. Lord knew where Miss High and Mighty would insist he take her next—as if he were her driver. His job was to see that she arrived safely.
Two couples emerged. Neither of the women was Sailor Harcourt.
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this, Elliott...”
She’d been leaning over the counter of her coffee shop, those big brown eyes warm and soft—and trained on him. It was as if the emotion that welled up inside her had overflowed onto him, into him. He’d glanced down quickly, breaking contact. She was completely off-limits.
“Liam’s a great guy. I trust him with my life. It’s just...one of the reasons we were always just friends was because Gabi and I know all the nitty-gritty about him. He’s always come to us to as his ‘confessors,’ he said. He likes women. A lot. He told us he’d be with one woman and get feelings for another. He was younger then and he’s done nothing at all, that I know of, to warrant my fears, but until Gabi and he got together he hadn’t seemed to change his inability to stay interested in one woman. And they’ve only been married a month, and already he’s out to dinner with this editor woman of his...”
She’d thought the fact that they were alone in the shop had been a stroke of luck. An opportunity to talk to someone impartial so that she didn’t make a big deal out of nothing. She’d thought that he just happened to show up to her popular coffee shop during a brief late-afternoon lull. In actuality he’d been watching the place for half an hour. As he did at some point every single day.
Either by stopping in for coffee. Or simply observing.
“The worst part is, I know I’m being paranoid, but I just can’t stop myself...”
When he’d noticed her alone in the shop—her morning-to-midday-shift full-time employees gone and her late-afternoon shifter unusually late for some reason—he was unable to stop himself from getting out of his vehicle parked across the street and going in.
“It’s just, you know, I told you about my dad...”
That first month he’d been around, she’d made a derogatory comment about Liam’s father, implying that scaggy dads were something the three friends had in common, which had given him an opening to ask about something that made him curious—Marie’s father. Barbara’s ex-husband. When she’d sent over the paperwork required by Tanner Security Services, the woman indicated that she was divorced. She’d given him no idea why she was so mistrusting of Marie’s wealthy college friend, but he’d figured it had something to do with personal experience.
What Marie had told him only solidified that supposition.
Marie’s father had been unfaithful to Barbara. Marie had been seven the first time. Barbara had forgiven him twice. The third time, when Marie was twelve, she’d changed the locks and filed for divorce. According to Marie, the man had spent the next five years earning his way back into their hearts and home. He was devoted, dedicated and 100 percent faithful to them and their family. Barbara, who’d loved only him since they’d first met in high school, had finally taken him back. And during the summer after Marie’s freshman year of college, when Marie and Gabrielle were at Marie’s parents’ home for a visit, they’d caught her father cheating again.
Barbara, who’d nearly had a breakdown, had been in counseling ever since.
The backlit LED on the dashboard clock was too bright, garish in the darkness, shedding light where he’d rather not have it shed. Who cared if it was eleven-thirty? Sailor was known to party until dawn. Might as well be at the elite nightclub as anywhere else. Better there, really. Less hassle.
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this, Elliott, but I fell for a lot of the same lines my father gave my mother the first time I fell in love.” Marie’s words from that afternoon came back to him. His gut clenched again as it had then. The closest he came to expressing intense emotion.
She’d said she’d fallen in love. That there had already been a first time for her (completely expected considering the fact that she’d passed her thirtieth birthday) and he’d tensed up like a kid. For a split second there he’d been overcome.
With jealousy.
* * *
MARIE MEASURED VINEGAR, poured it into the carafe. Added water. Poured the mixture into the water dispenser of the first of twelve professional-grade silver coffeemakers, flipped the button to make coffee and moved on to maker number two. One by one she filled carafes with the vinegar mixture, poured it into the dispensers and hit Brew.
Then, with all the blinds drawn so that she wasn’t on display like a fish in a bowl, she stood there and watched twelve pots drip.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
After midnight on a Saturday wasn’t a good time to be calling anyone. So she was cleaning the water dispensers. It was a job that had to be done. At least once every three months.
Beat sitting upstairs alone in her apartment feeling sorry for herself.
She’d had a date. Of sorts. Dinner and the theater with Burton. A safe, completely boring man she’d met three years before during the intermission at Phantom of the Opera. Gabi had been going to go with her, but she’d had a custody emergency with a client. Unwilling to waste her ticket, or to miss one of her favorite shows of all time, she’d gone to the theater alone. Burton had been sitting a couple of rows back. He was a season ticket holder, as well. His companion had been his mother until she passed away.
Not wanting him to sit by himself, she’d invited him to join her.
Eventually they’d fallen into the habit of going to the theater together.
She was never going to fall in love with him. He was never going to expect her to marry him. The relationship suited her just fine.
Pot number one was full. Dumping it in the sink, Marie filled the carafe with clean water and dumped it back into the dispenser, hitting Brew again. And down the line she went. For all twelve coffeemakers.
And then another time.
Twelve-thirty. She had to be downstairs to open the shop at seven. Grace, the eighty-year-old spritely and self-sufficient resident who did most of her baking, would be there two hours before that. The stairs at the back of the shop beckoned. Or she could take the elevator next to them. Now that it was fixed, it required a code to travel upstairs from the coffee shop in order to prevent coffee shop patrons from having access to the private apartments on the remaining eight floors.
Her apartment did not beckon. After thirteen years of living with the same roommate, she found that adjusting to her best friend’s marriage was proving to be even more difficult than she’d expected.
Hence the paranoia. She was letting things get to her that had no basis in fact simply because for the past thirteen years she’d run all of her thoughts by Gabi at night. She was becoming a ninny. Like worrying that Liam was heading toward a path of infidelity. And that Gabi could end up as heartbroken and destroyed as her mother had been.
Well, not exactly the same. Her best friend, a lawyer, had a stronger backbone than her mother had ever had. Gabi had been taking care of herself for most of her life and could give thugs on the street a run for their money.
Liam didn’t stand a chance.
Nor did he need one. The two of them were besotted with each other. It didn’t take a believer in true love to see that. The reason Liam had never settled on one woman was that he’d been in love with Gabi all along. That was the fact that was as clear as day.
Still, Marie would rather clean than face her own thoughts alone upstairs in the apartment she and Gabrielle used to share. She was going crazy with loneliness.
What she needed to do was talk to someone. Another voice to drown out the reverberating of her own mind.
And there was one person who owed her an abrupt awakening in the middle of the night. He owed her as many of them as she needed for as long as he lived.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Marie? Baby? You okay? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Daddy. Are you alone?”
“Yes, of course I’m alone. You know the only woman I’ve ever spent the night with is your mother.”
“It’s only a little past midnight. You don’t necessarily have to be down for the night.” She was being petty. She knew it. Hated it. And took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. And sorry for calling so late.”
“Don’t you ever apologize for calling me, baby. You know I’m here for you anytime you need me. Anytime.”
Hard part of it was that she did know that. Her father was a great dad. Had always been a great dad. Even when he’d been sleeping with his assistant while Marie and her mother thought him hard at work on whatever architectural plans his firm had been implementing. Or getting a little afternoon delight from a less reputable source before arriving right on time to coach Marie’s softball team to victory.
“I need to understand, Daddy. I need to know why. And how.”
“Sure. Of course. What are we talking about?”
“The women. All the women.”
Silence fell on the line. In all the years since her parents’ divorce, she’d never asked that particular question.
Because she’d been too afraid of the answer? Because she didn’t want to see her mother in a new and less favorable light?
“I don’t know that I can answer that.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Now that she’d asked, she couldn’t let it go. “It’s making me crazy, Daddy. I... Did you love her?”
“No!”
Okay, then. Though she was actually shocked by his vehemence. Frowning, she slid down to a seat in a shadowed corner of the deserted shop. The one thing she’d thought a given through her rocky years growing up had been her father’s love for her and her mother. Both of them.
She’d bet her life that her mother believed he’d loved her. Still did. Though he knew better than to ask for a third chance. For Barbara’s sake.
“Does Mom know that now? Maybe if she knew you’ve never really loved her you’d set her free.”
Because one thing was for sure. Barbara Bustamante was still helplessly in love with her cheating ex-husband.
“Wait. What? You were asking if I love your mom?” It sounded as though there was a bit of her shock running over into his voice.
“Yes. Of course.” If she’d been referring to anyone else, she’d have had to use the plural. And then some.
“Then, yes! Unequivocally. I thought you knew that. All my life I have only ever loved one woman. Your mother.”
Her heart sank. Liam loved Gabrielle that way, too.
“So why?”
Gabi said Liam and his editor had just had dinner once, to go over strategy for the series of articles he was writing on his father’s life and the ongoing investigation. They’d needed to speak out of the office, and Liam was careful not to bring any aspect of his father’s life to the historic Arapahoe—their apartment building—not only for Marie’s shop and their home, but also to preserve the homes of the elderly residents who’d been there most of their lives and who had been soon to be put out on the street.
But Marie’s father’s first affair had started out with just one working dinner with his assistant. And then another had been necessary. After which he’d taken her home because her car was in the shop.
Or at least that was the story she’d been told.
“Why, Daddy? If you loved Mom, why were you unfaithful to her?”
“I wish I could tell you that.”
She could feel her father’s sigh all the way from Arizona.
“I wish I had the answer for myself.”
“Try. This is important.”
“You in love, baby?” Was that a note of hope in his voice.
“No, Daddy, absolutely not. I’m just...” She was not going to tell her father about her fears where Gabi was concerned. Still couldn’t believe she’d actually told Elliott.
She knew they were unfounded. Knew that she had severe trust issues. Unfortunately that knowledge didn’t erase a lifetime of example. Or the worry that stemmed from having been hurt by that example.
And not just from her father.
He was just the only unfaithful male she had access to at the moment.
The thought did occur to her that she was obsessing over Liam’s ability to be faithful as way of avoiding an even harder truth.
Gabrielle was married, and Marie was alone. All alone. And didn’t see any hope for a remedy to the situation.
She was going to end up like Grace—able to change the insides of a toilet when she was eighty because she’d been alone for so long.
Worse than Grace. At least the older woman had known true love. He’d just died too young.
“Hurting your mother was the last thing I ever wanted to do...” Her father sounded old. Tired. And sadder than she was.
“Then why did you?” She’d been there. Still felt the pain. She knew who’d wronged them.
“I...guess I thought I could get away with it. I never thought she’d find out.”
The answer made her angry. And frightened her at the same time.
“What were you thinking when you were with them, Daddy? Did you ever even think about Mom and me waiting for you at home?”
“What I thought was that I was desperate to save my marriage.”
She scoffed. And then choked. Such a ludicrous remark didn’t deserve comment.
“Your mom and I had reached a state of comfortable, secure, forever love. I wanted that kind of love. Had always wanted it. But something inside me was missing. I was getting irritable with you. With your mom. Starting to feel trapped. While at the same time craving every minute I spent with you both and missing you every minute I was away.”
She listened. Needing something from him. Just not sure what he could give her that could help.
“I guess I thought that I could fill the hole inside with the excitement of meaningless afternoon liaisons, and then come home to the perfect life.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
“You want the truth?”
“Yes.” She’d asked. And she braced herself.
“For the first several years, it worked out just fine. Better than I’d imagined.”
She’d asked. Struggled to breathe. “Y... Y...” Her throat was dry. “Years?” Marie glanced at her newly cleaned pots, wishing for a sip of water. Standing, she steadied herself with a hand on the small brown wood pedestal table and then pushed off toward the counter.
“You asked.”
All those years, when he was swearing his fidelity, begging to be let back into the family, he’d been...
“What made it not work anymore?” She was an observer of a tragic accident now. Watching with horror, but needing to see.
“I got caught.”
Thank goodness she was close enough to the counter. It caught her as she swayed backward. She leaned there. Letting it take her weight. “You mean you were unfaithful for years before Mom knew?”
“From before you were born.”
She wanted to die. To cry. To pull the covers over her head and stay unaware forever.
But she couldn’t.
If Liam Connelly turned out to be anything like what she feared he was... He’d once told her and Gabi that he’d never been in a relationship for more than a few months before he started to feel attraction to other women...
Other women like his editor? Was it too late already? Her parents had only been married a year before she came along.
But Liam adored Gabi. And...
Some men were just seemingly born to cheat.
Or her perceptions were too skewed to see reality.
Whatever. One thing was for sure. She was going to stand up. Be strong.
She was going to be ready if Gabi needed her.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_e8d76af6-30fe-504f-9622-5df7470373cd)
AT 1:22 A.M., Miss Sailor Harcourt, twenty-five-year-old heiress to a $2.3 billion fortune, texted him.
Sorry I’m keeping you so late.
His job didn’t entail a response to Sailor’s comment. He was being paid to keep her safe. Not happy.
When he heard his phone buzz again, every nerve in his body went on alert.
Something was going on. Sailor, who obviously found him a nuisance, usually ignored him.
The man I’m with doesn’t know I have a bodyguard. He doesn’t know I’m related to Rod Harcourt or that I’m rich enough to need protection.
He didn’t need a blow-by-blow of her evening. He’d prefer if she’d get her butt outside, into his car and let him take her home. He had to be back to get her in a matter of hours to take her to the airport.
He’s asked me out to breakfast. I’ve agreed to go.
The third text had him out of his car, gaze glued to the door of the club. And then, ready to move, he texted her back.
You ride with me.
No.
This isn’t my deal. You made the deal with your father. You go out only if I drive you. I’m just doing my job.
His fingers might be overly large, but they could text as fast as any kid’s. Came from a lot of hours on surveillance, sitting in his car with only his phone for company.
His phone buzzed again.
I know. I’m an adult. My father can’t make me get in a car with anyone. Or prevent me from doing so, either.
He can take away your allowance.
This wasn’t Elliott’s first time chaperoning the spoiled heiress.
I’m twenty-five. I have access to my trust. And I’m a working girl now.
Daddy had hired her to manage the production of a fashion magazine he’d inherited in a buyout the previous fall. According to him she’d found her niche, but Elliott figured there were probably highly experienced professionals doing a lot of the work.
How many drinks have you had?
He didn’t expect an accurate account. But he needed to know how bad the situation was going to be.
None.
It was going to be bad.
I’m a working stiff who needs to get paid for this job. Please come out and get in the car.
Even drunk she’d know he meant business.
He felt for the revolver he was wearing under his black sweater. And another text came through.
I understand what you think you’re dealing with here. I admit on other occasions I’ve given you reason to treat me like a recalcitrant child. But I’m different now, Elliott. I’ve found my own purpose in life, separate and apart from my father. I’ve also, just tonight, met a man who has somehow enticed me to spend the entire night sitting in a corner talking. We didn’t drink. Didn’t dance. Just talked. And now he’s invited me out for breakfast. I intend to go with him.
Even someone who texted as a primary means of communication shouldn’t be able to string that many letters together, that quickly, on a QWERTY keyboard, without a single mistake. Most particularly if they’d been drinking.
Could she be telling the truth? She’d met someone without trying to impress him with Daddy’s money? And hadn’t had a thing to drink?
Before he formulated a response, she’d sent him another text.
You can follow if you’d like. I’m an adult. Legally, you can’t force me into that car with you.
She was right. He had several certifications and licenses, but not one of them allowed him to get away with kidnapping.
So he’d follow. Glue himself to them. And make certain that he didn’t let the two of them get out of his sight.
But first...
I’ll make a deal with you. He typed fast. Not wanting her to think he’d given in. You sit tight long enough for me to check his credentials and then I’ll concede to following you on your breakfast date.
He expected argument. Was prepared to enter the club, show his identification and get his charge out of there.
Deal. His name is Terrence Metcalf. He says he’s a yacht designer, Sailor replied.
And Elliott didn’t like it one bit.
* * *
FIVE MINUTES LATER, after Elliott had sent the okay, Ms. Sailor Harcourt burst out the front door of the well-known, upscale club she’d been in since 10:00 p.m., her bare arm entwined with the suited arm of a man Elliott had never heard of before that night. Not in the dossier he’d been handed by the woman’s wealthy father—a respected client who’d been on Elliott’s roster for four years—nor in any research he’d done on his own in preparation for Miss Harcourt’s impending visit to Denver.
But he’d run the man on his member-only people-finder database. And had seen plenty. From charity contributor, to the Better Business Bureau. The man was clean. And who he said he was.
His vehicle was running and he was standing outside it, just in case Ms. Harcourt sent him any kind of signal that she’d changed her mind. His eye was on the man still attached to Sailor’s arm. He was of average height. Slender. Clean-cut. The spitting image of the man Elliott had just pulled up on his tablet. Elliott could take him with two fingers. Not that he wanted to hurt anyone. Ever.
When Ms. Harcourt didn’t even so much as glance his way, Elliott slid quietly behind the wheel of his car. His clothes were dark. His hair was dark. As long as he stayed behind the wheel, he’d blend in. Remain anonymous. And see Ms. Harcourt safely to her plane a few hours hence.
But he wouldn’t hesitate to put someone’s lights out if he had to do so to keep his charge safe.
* * *
MARIE WATCHED FOR Elliott all day Sunday. Though things had calmed down a lot since George Costas, Liam’s father’s attorney, had been formally indicted for fraud, Liam was still paying Elliott to keep an eye on things around the apartment building. He’d also permanently hired the security team Elliott had brought in to man the private residence entrance in the back of the building.
“You can leave that. I’ll get it,” she said to Sam, a twenty-four-year-old single father who was in his third year of a business degree program and also one of her full-time employees. He worked weekends to make up for the two days of classes he took during the week, and did the rest of his studies online or in the evening, while his mother watched his two-year-old son. “You said your mom had to leave for the funeral at three.”
“I’m off at two,” he said, continuing to restock under the cupboard supplies from the back room. A chore he did every afternoon that he worked. “I’ll make it in time.”
Sam lived with his mother in an apartment a few streets over. “Go now,” she said, motioning him toward the door. “I’ve got this.”
They’d had their Sunday morning rush. It was past noon and the only people in the shop—three tables’ worth—were sitting with computers. She’d finished the weekly orders. Grace had handled the baking. The walk-in was filled with the veggies she’d need to make sandwiches in the morning.
“If you’re sure,” Sam said, untying his Arapahoe apron with a frown. “I just don’t want to leave you in the lurch.”
Sam was a nice guy. The woman who’d left him and their newborn to go to New York to be a dancer was a fool. Smiling, she shooed him out.
She wanted him gone in case Elliott came in. She had to set the bodyguard straight. To apologize for unloading on him the day before. What had she been hoping? That he’d betray his client and give her a rundown on everything he knew about Liam? Like she didn’t already know far more than Elliott would ever know about the man who’d been one of her two best friends for more than a decade—since she and Gabi had lived next door to him their freshman year in college.
Liam wouldn’t purposely or knowingly hurt Gabi. Or her, either.
The door rattled and she looked up to see...not Elliott. A young woman, dressed in leggings and a spandex top with expensive-looking running shoes, wanted a cappuccino with peppermint spice. Drink made and money collected, Marie watched the woman out the door and couldn’t help glancing up and down the sidewalk. No Elliott.
She didn’t see him every day. Or ever know what time he’d show up if he did. He had other clients and was a private investigator as well as a bodyguard—a private security expert, he’d once told her. And it wasn’t as if he was working for her. Liam was the one getting threats.
Liam’s dad, Walter Connelly, had had a bodyguard on staff for years. When you worked in high finance, you made a few enemies.
And when your company stole millions of dollars from investors, even if you didn’t know it was happening, people still blamed you. Still, there hadn’t really been much danger around the Arapahoe. Early on, Liam’s car had been vandalized—but not when he was home. He and Gabi had been in-line skating late one night and Liam’s car had been the only one left in the park’s lot.
After that they’d received a total of three anonymous notes: one left at the coffee shop shortly after the car incident and two others slid under the door since the first of March—when Liam’s first installment of a series he was writing about his father’s life was published. Both of those notes had arrived during the night when the shop was closed, proclaiming that Liam would get what was coming to him. All three notes had been addressed to Liam. Not Gabi or Marie.
When Liam’s car had been painted with graffiti just after news of the Ponzi scheme at Connelly had hit, Elliott came to them as a recommendation from Walter’s bodyguard. Elliott had been to school for both guarding bodies and investigating. Was certified and licensed in both fields.
From the beginning Marie had felt safe with him.
A mild feat considering her ready propensity for mistrusting the male species.
But she didn’t really know that much about him. He couldn’t talk about his work—clients’ business was private, and there was a code of ethics he was sworn to follow or risk losing not only his good reputation but his license to practice. He had an aunt and cousin in California somewhere. His parents had been killed in a small plane crash when he was a toddler.
She knew nothing more.
Except that she’d told him about her paranoia, how fearful she was that Liam was ready to cheat on Gabi.
Made herself sound like a crazy woman. When, in fact, she knew her fears were completely groundless. She was just obsessing because she had too much time to think. Too much time alone. But she’d adjust.
She’d known she and Gabi weren’t going to live together forever. She’d just never seen herself living alone. But it wasn’t as if she didn’t have enough to do. Or enough friends.
And she still saw Gabi and Liam all the time. Pretty much every day...
Another customer came in. And then two more. A group of law students were studying in the corner, making use of the free Wi-Fi Liam had just had installed for the entire building. Elliott was nowhere to be seen.
At three, Eva, her new evening part-timer came in, and the two of them spent the next two hours serving a steady flow of sandwich eaters and coffee drinkers. Elliott Tanner wasn’t among them.
At six the back door of the shop opened—someone coming in from upstairs. Expecting to see Liam or Gabi—or both, as was the case more often than not these days—she was surprised when Dale Gruber, an eighty-two-year-old retired railroad worker, came toward her with a worried look on his face.
“What’s wrong, Dale?” she asked, moving from behind the counter down the hall before Dale made it halfway into the shop. “Is it Susan?” she asked after the man’s wife of more than sixty years.
“Yep,” Dale said, heading into the shop, still frowning. The man didn’t move as quickly as he once did, but he kept a pretty good clip. “It’s Susan, all right,” he said, standing in front of the nearly empty bakery case.
“Did she fall? Did you call 911?” Marie wasn’t sure the man, who was normally sharp as could be, was all there—perhaps demented with panic? She grabbed her cell phone out of her apron pocket. “Can she talk?”
“What’s that? Call who?” Dale’s false teeth, a little too big for his mouth, hissed a bit as he talked. But she had his full attention.
“Is Susan hurt?”
“What? No! But you can bet your dinner that I’m going to be if I don’t find something pretty quick that can pass as a cake and a present and not look like I just come down here and got it last minute,” he said, staring at the case again. “I darn forgot her birthday,” he said, looking perplexed as he glanced at Marie again. “Sixty years of knowing when my wife was born, and I forgot today was the day. Eighty-one she is today. And a fine-looking woman still.”
With a little adrenaline remaining, Marie went into high gear. She pulled a chocolate cake out of the walk-in, making a mental note to replace it before morning so Grace wouldn’t have to, sent Eva down the block to the drugstore for candles and one of the puzzle books that Susan and Dale liked to work on together and then, with a brain flash, hurried back to her office, opened the safe and pulled out the two theater tickets for next month’s Broadway performance. Grabbing an envelope and a piece of paper, she hurried back in to Dale, who was pulling money out of his pocket so it was ready to give to Eva when she returned.
“Here,” she said, pulling a chair out from one of the small round tables toward the back as she set down paper, pen, envelope and tickets. “Write something. And wrap the tickets in this,” she said. Dropping the envelope beside the pile.
“Tickets?” His teeth clacked as he spoke.
“To the theater. Susan would love to go to the theater, wouldn’t she?”
Dale’s grin made her day. Her week. “That she would,” he said, smiling at her. “You have theater tickets to sell me?”
She’d been planning to give them to him. But one look at his face and she changed her mind.
“What do I owe you?” he asked, pulling a roll of bills out of his pocket. Mostly ones.
“Twenty dollars,” Marie said, trying to remember if the seventy-five-dollar ticket price was on the actual tickets.
“Twenty dollars.” He began counting bills, handed them to her and pulled the chair out to sit down. “I’ll hire a car,” he said. “She can wear that pretty rose-colored dress and her sparkly earrings and I’ll even get a shave and a haircut...”
He bent to his writing.
The door rattled again. Eva returning, Marie hoped.
She looked up, a smile on her face. And blinked.
It wasn’t Eva.
It was him.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_0bcab3a8-68e4-58eb-897b-b9abec92c9dd)
ELLIOTT HADN’T PLANNED to see Marie on Sunday. Or anytime he could avoid seeing her in the near future. After a long night watching Sailor and Terrence Metcalf, the yacht designer, seemingly fall in love at first sight, finding himself relating, he’d been forced to admit to himself that the things he was feeling for Marie Bustamante weren’t just passing infatuation.
He’d found it so easy to identify with the poor guy, who’d looked at Ms. Harcourt as though she was the sun, moon and stars all rolled into one.
And so, with a few hours’ sleep in his own one-bedroom apartment after seeing Miss Harcourt to the airport that morning for her flight back to New York, he’d called Barbara Bustamante. His plan was twofold. To fire himself. And to acquire her permission to tell her daughter who he was.
Asking Marie out, which was his ultimate goal, would follow the meeting of those goals.
He’d failed on both counts. Mrs. Bustamante categorically refused to allow him to tell Marie—ever—that she’d hired him to watch her. Her paranoia had already rubbed off far too much on her daughter. She didn’t want Marie to know that her own mother didn’t trust her to make wise decisions where men were concerned. Specifically where her new business partner, but longtime friend, Liam Connelly, was concerned.
And second, she warned him not to quit. Not while things were still so raw with Connelly Investments. Not while he was still watching Liam. He had the perfect in. She’d financed the plan he’d put in place. It would be highly unprofessional for him to just walk out. She could file a complaint against him.
He’d been tempted to tell her that it would be highly unprofessional for him to have a thing for his client’s daughter, but refrained.
Because she was right. He’d signed on to do a job that was not yet complete. No one else was going to be able to step into his shoes and have Liam believe that his father’s bodyguard had sent him. Elliott’s ability to do that had been a fluke of timing. A godsend. And had worked so well in part because Liam hadn’t been speaking with his father at the time. And also because everyone had assumed he’d been hired in secret and hadn’t asked too many questions.
Later, when Walter Connelly had denied having any part in Elliott’s presence in their lives, Liam had taken the words with a grain of salt. His father might not be an embezzler, but he’d been found out to be an inveterate liar.
If not for the plea agreement he’d been offered in exchange for full cooperation in the ongoing investigation of the Ponzi scheme being run through his company, Walter would be facing his own trial on lesser charges. And Liam was now in position to know everything that went on in his father’s company, and in much of his personal business, as well.
If anyone else stepped in to watch over the Arapahoe and her owners and occupants now, a big question would be raised as to why. As to who’d sent the new bodyguard. Liam would ask questions Elliott couldn’t afford to have him ask. Barbara’s role in all of this could very well end up being exposed.
The Professional Private Investigators Association of Colorado would have cause to take action against him for a code of ethics violation. He could lose everything.
Falling for Marie could be a code of ethics violation, too. If he acted on his feelings. So the only solution here was to stay away from her.
Or come clean with Barbara and risk Marie’s safety.
He’d decided to give things another month. If no other threats had come forth, if Liam Connelly’s life had no longer appeared to be in danger, he’d pull the plug. Get the heck out of their lives.
Barbara wasn’t ever going to let him tell Marie the truth about their association and he couldn’t enter into a relationship with Marie without doing so.
Not that he was even certain she’d have had him. All of which was a moot now.
“I just spoke with Liam,” he said as Marie joined him at the door of her shop. With a quick look around, he knew they couldn’t talk out there. “He and Gabi are on their way down. I need to speak with the three of you in private. Can we go back to your office?”
He didn’t see anyone behind the counter. Marie wasn’t supposed to work alone. Not since Liam’s father’s company had been under investigation right after the three of them went into business together and Liam moved in.
Coincidence?
Probably.
But he’d agreed with Barbara on her initial assessment of the situation three months before. The coincidence was too suspicious.
He just no longer suspected Liam Connelly of any subterfuge or wrongdoing. The man had been framed.
“Eva’s...” The front door of the shop opened behind him and he swung to see Marie’s newest employee, a somewhat ditzy college sophomore, come in.
“Back,” Marie finished. “You go ahead to the office,” she said to Elliott. “I’ve got something to finish up here and then I’ll join you.”
Elliott thought the better idea was to wait for her out front. So he stood as inconspicuously as a six-foot-seven-inch, broad-shouldered man could stand, and waited while she helped an old man put some things in an envelope, watched Eva put candles on one of Marie’s amazing double-fudge cakes and then watched the front while the two women escorted the man down the back hall and to the elevator.
Liam and Gabi got off the old car as Dale, Marie called him, got on. Trading places with Eva, Elliott made his way back to Marie’s office.
“What’s up?” Liam, who was standing behind his wife’s chair, arms crossed, faced Elliott as he shut the door. The Connellys, in dark dress pants and shirts, looked as though they’d just stepped out of a boardroom—on a Sunday evening. Marie, in the armed office chair behind her desk, on the other hand, was far too attractive in her stained blue-and-yellow Arapahoe Coffee Shop apron with tendrils of long blond hair falling out of the pony tail she always wore.
“I’m upping your security alert level.” He got right to the point. This was business. And he had no business finding any pleasure while he was there. “It’s just a precaution,” he added, raising a hand when all three mouths facing him opened at once. “But to be on the safe side, we’re back to no one in the coffee shop alone, even during the day, and you call me every time you have to go out.” The latter was directed at Liam.
“I’m available to see Gabrielle to work every morning and home again in the evening if you so desire.” The protocol Liam had insisted upon when he first took Elliott on.
Gabrielle looked at Marie. “Did you get another letter? We should have been here. I’m so sorry...”
Marie shook her head. “No,” she said, glancing toward Elliott with concern written all over her face. And then, with her expression softening, turned back to Gabrielle. “And you have no reason to be sorry. It isn’t every day that Liam’s father invites you two to accompany him, and brunch at the governor’s mansion is an honor. A sign of his growing acceptance and respect.”
Elliott had known Walter was in town for the weekend to take care of some business. He hadn’t been told exactly what the business was.
“I’m assuming your father’s on his way back to Florida?” he asked Liam, just to make certain that there hadn’t been a change of plans.
“Yes. Tamara’s got a softball game tomorrow night. They’re in the play-offs.”
Tamara Bolin, the fourteen-year-old half sister Liam had just found out about during the initial investigation of his father’s company. She lived with her mother, Missy, in a beach cottage Walter Connelly had purchased for them years before. Walter and Missy were married now and Walter, having given Liam a lot more control in the business he’d almost lost, was spending a good bit of his time in Florida. Working from his home office. With trips up to Denver to meet face-to-face with the powerful and moneyed clientele he’d taken on over the years.
Most of whom were still with them.
“So what’s going on?” Gabrielle sat forward, her expression stoic but focused. She reminded Elliott most of himself.
A woman who kept her heart under lock and key.
Except when it came to Marie and Liam.
He envied her them. Or would, if he allowed himself foolish luxuries.
“I’ve noticed a car parked down the street on several occasions lately. The driver is always inside, slumped down wearing a baseball cap. Today, when I approached, he—or she—pretended not to see me motion him to roll down the window and drove off. I ran the plate on the car. It was stolen.”
Marie sat up straight on the edge of her seat. “Someone in a stolen car’s been watching us?”
“I’m not saying that.” He enunciated this carefully. “And no, I’m not saying the car is stolen. The plate was stolen. It came back as belonging to an ’82 Ford Granada belonging to a woman who died six months ago. The Granada has been parked in an alley behind a garage at her grandson’s house while they waited for the estate to settle. No one noticed the plate missing.”
“You’re sure they were watching this place?” Liam asked. Elliott had labeled him the Pollyanna of the group.
“No, I’m not.” He had to be honest. “But with everything else that’s gone on, we’d be remiss not to treat it like it was.”
Marie looked at Gabrielle and the two women exchanged glances with Liam, who slid his hands into his pockets.
“Fine,” Gabrielle said. Marie nodded.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d see my wife to work every morning,” Liam said. “I can have the company car pick me up.”
“Not a good idea,” Elliott said. “A stretch limo parked out back would be salt in a wound around here.”
“I agree with him, Liam,” Gabrielle said. “I can get myself to work. You’re the target. Elliott should go with you.”
Pulling his hands out of his pockets, Liam faced Elliott. “You go with her.” He nodded toward his wife. “I’ll work from home for the next couple of days. Let’s reassess later in the week.”
One by one, Elliott looked at his three charges. One by one they nodded.
And he turned, wanting only to get out of there.
* * *
MARIE SAW ELLIOTT ready to leave, and her heart dropped.
What was the matter with her? It had no business dropping because the giant her friend had hired was going home.
Without giving her a chance to set things straight between them.
No wonder he was so eager to leave. He probably thought she’d been hitting him up for information on his client. Trying to coax him into breaking his code of ethics, or client/investigator privilege or something.
The elevator door opened before Elliott made it out to the hallway.
“Oh! Good! You’re all here!” Eighty-one-year-old that day Susan Gruber, slender and statuesque in a flowered housedress and black shoes with inch-thick soles, blocked Elliott’s departure. Dale, right behind her, stood there grinning.
“I just had to thank you,” she said. “Dale told me you all helped him plan my little party and gift, and I just don’t know when he’s made me so happy.” She told them, in second-to-second detail, how he came in the door with the cake and presented her with the envelope. She talked about the last time she went to the theater—thirty years before—and remembered exactly what she saw.
Marie, who ordinarily would have wanted to take the couple out to the coffee shop and sit with them through every detail, watched Elliott. Afraid he was going to slip out.
Instead, it was Liam and Gabi who did so. They had another couple upstairs in their huge, luxuriously remodeled apartment, someone Gabi had met at the governor’s mansion that day who could help her get more funding for indigent legal services, and the four of them had just been sitting down to a glass of wine when Elliott contacted them.
And by the time Susan and Dale left, she could see from the hallway that the coffee shop had closed and Eva was gone, too. Expecting Elliott to head straight out, she stopped just as they reached the shop.
“Can I make you a cup of coffee? Dark roast with a shot of espresso, black?” She knew what he liked. Just as she knew a good many of her clients’ preferences.
Expecting him to refuse, she was ready to talk him into at least taking it to go—which would give her time to apologize for her behavior the day before. She was shocked when he said instead, “Have you got a piece of that double-fudge cake to go with it?”
Which reminded her she had to bake another cake for the next day. Grace baked cakes twice a week. Tuesdays and Saturdays. She’d used up Monday’s double-fudge allotment with Dale.
“One piece,” she said, hoping that Eva hadn’t sold Sunday’s last piece of cake during the time she was in the back office.
Her chances of getting him to stay while another cake baked were pretty slim.
As she walked with him into the shop, moved the remaining piece of cake from the serving dish to a plate and started his coffee, Marie considered the ironies of life. Her life with men usually consisted of her thinking of ways to get rid of them.
Not to get them to stay.
Standing at the high-top table closest to the coffee counter, Elliott didn’t wait for his coffee before starting in on the cake. Marie grabbed a bottle of water for herself and took his drink over to him as she slid up onto one of the two stools at the tall round table. Even then, she was shorter than him by a good six inches.
Standing, it was more like a foot and a half. Which could be why she felt so safe with him.
Elliott was like a big umbrella, sheltering her from the storm that was threatening their lives.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted as she opened her water.
“For what? This is great.” He didn’t even look up from the cake he was devouring.
“For yesterday. Saying those things about Liam. I’m not as crazy as I sounded, and I know Liam would rather die than hurt Gabi.”
But then, her father had felt the same way about her mother. The reminder from the previous night’s conversation with her father popped unwanted into her head.
He nodded. Which meant what? That he forgave her? That she had sounded crazy? That Liam wouldn’t hurt Gabi?
Or just that the cake was good?
“It’s just...it’s not just what my father did that makes me paranoid,” she heard herself saying. Justifying. As if the only thing that mattered was that he understand her.
Or maybe it was just that sometime over the past three months, she’d fallen into the habit of confiding in him.
Because he was safe. He was licensed to keep people safe.
Chewing, he glanced at her. Took a sip of his coffee.
Elliott was a man of few words. She knew that about him.
Luckily she’d always had an overabundance of them. “I dated a guy almost my entire freshman year of college,” she said. If he knew the whole truth, he’d understand. “Mark Yarnell. He was from Arizona, too. I thought we’d see each other over the summer, said something to him about it, and that’s when I found out that he had a fiancée back home in Phoenix. He wasn’t in love with her and had thought that maybe he’d break up with her and ask me to marry him. But she was a member of his church and he said it was the right thing to do to marry her.”
“Were you in love with him?”
“I don’t know. I know I liked him more than any other guy I’d ever dated.” She’d gone to church with him, too.
“Then there was Jimmy Jones,” she said, taking a sip from her water bottle and glancing up at him at the same time. His body blocked the overhead light, putting a shadow on the table. Shoulders that big, all in black the way they always were, should be somewhat intimidating. But they weren’t.
Nor was the serious look in those dark eyes. The cake was gone. His coffee almost was, too.
“Jimmy Jones?” He asked, his brow raised.
“Gabi and I met him at a rodeo our junior year. He played us against each other. Telling her she was the one he really liked and telling me the same thing. Luckily for us we tell each other everything.”
“And I’m guessing he lived to regret what he’d done,” Elliott said, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth.
“Let’s just say he’ll probably always cringe a bit when a loudspeaker comes on before a show.”
“You got someone to put a message out over the loudspeaker at a rodeo?”
“We did better than that. The reason we were at the rodeo was that the father of a friend of ours owned a team. Jimmy rode for an opposing team. We recorded him talking to me on the phone. And then making similar promises and proclamations to Gabi. We both got him to play it up big. And then we turned the tape over to our friend. It was her father’s idea to play it in public.”
“What did he do?”
“I have no idea. We opted not to be present.” Because they weren’t mean-spirited. But had been young enough to think they could make a difference. Teach him a lesson. Prevent other women from being hurt...
“And then there was the medical resident my senior year,” she said. “I was probably in love with him. Until I caught him with a girl I worked with at the coffee shop. She’d asked me to take her shift at the shop, and I’d agreed because he was going to be studying. When I got off early I made him his favorite coffee and stopped by to surprise him. I was the one who got the surprise.”
There. He knew her history. The facts. She wasn’t crazy. She had good reason not to trust men.
Elliott didn’t seem moved by anything she’d said—other than the stuff about Jimmy Jones. But then he hadn’t seemed all that put off by her words the day before, either.
So why was she feeling so defensive?
“A study was done recently at Rutgers University,” she blurted when she’d just told herself not to say any more. “And other places, too. By renowned psychiatrists and relationship specialists. At least one said that seventy percent of married men cheat on their wives, and some even go so far as to state that a relationship that lasts a lifetime is a rarity these days.”
His eyes narrowed. “You looked up statistics?”
“No.” She wanted to smile, but couldn’t quite. “My mother did. Many times over the years. She was looking for validation, needed to know that she wasn’t the only woman who’d been duped. And also wanting to know that a lot of women took their husbands back after an affair. Depended on where she was in her life, but she’d always quote the statistics to me when she wanted me to accept whatever she was feeling.”
“But you said the Rutgers study was recent.”
“My father was trying to talk her into another chance. He tried to get me involved, to get my approval, and that’s when she called me with the seventy-percent study. She got that one from some website about cheating husbands.”
“You were siding with your father?”
“No! He’d just told her he talked to me. I’d already chosen not to get involved.”
“Would you have supported them trying again?” It wasn’t a bodyguard question. But then, their conversations over the past weeks hadn’t contained much about Liam or the issues that had brought Elliott to them.
“In my head, yes. It’s their life, you know? But in my heart?” She shook her head. “I think they truly love each other. But my father’s a cheater. And Mom’s a woman who gives her all and needs all in.”
He studied her for a moment. Nodded. Looked as though he had more to say.
And then turned away. “How much longer until you’re ready to go up?” he asked, pushing a couple of chairs back in under tables. Something that was part of closing procedures. Something Eva should have done.
The girl wasn’t the best worker she’d ever had. But she was all heart. And great with customers. Marie liked the way the place felt when Eva was around.
“I can go now,” she said, guessing that he wasn’t going to leave her down there alone, and sensing that he wanted out. “I finished my ordering earlier today.”
He knew her routine. Sunday night was order night.
He didn’t have to know that she’d just decided to get up at three in the morning to get the cake baked before Grace came to work.
Elliott rinsed his cup and put it in the commercial-size dishwasher. Eva hadn’t started it, so she did. And then led him down the hall to the elevator, noticing how he turned off lights as they went. Leaving on the ones she always left on.
One thing was for sure, investigative bodyguards were observant.
She’d have said so. Said thank you. Good night. Anything. If his phone hadn’t just rung. Motioning for her to get on the opened elevator, he took the call. She stepped on and tried not to take it personally when Elliott didn’t return her wave as the doors closed in front of her.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_d1228a10-8d70-5057-9c7f-93f055979168)
HE’D KNOWN WHEN he made his mind up to give the Connelly situation a month to calm down that there was reason to believe the danger wasn’t over. He’d already seen the old blue car lurking across the street on two separate occasions. Perhaps that car had been part of the reason he’d allowed himself to be talked into staying on the case.
He wasn’t going to leave Marie or her friends in any kind of danger.
He wasn’t worried about himself actually acting out of turn, as much as he hated the subterfuge. Elliott was nothing if not in complete control of himself at all times. And it wasn’t as if he’d already fallen for Marie Bustamante. He just found her...interesting.
To the point of taking a vision of her, taking the memory of her words, with him everywhere he went. And he went a lot over the next few days. Escorting Gabrielle to and from work. Picking up a British client who was in Denver for a brief lunch stop on Tuesday, standing guard just feet behind him during the two-hour lunch and then delivering him back to the airport in time to get Gabrielle. The rest of the hours, in between watching the Arapahoe Coffee Shop and conferring with the private security at the residence entrance of the Arapahoe, he canvassed the area, looking for anyone who’d seen the old blue car with the stolen license plate. The Denver police had made a cursory round, but a stolen license plate was hardly worthy of their stretched-thin time.
On Wednesday he knocked on doors and talked to residents in the neighborhood where the plate had been stolen.
No one had seen anything in either area. And because he had nothing else to go on, he ended up at the coffee shop that afternoon after dropping Gabrielle off at the resident entrance in the back.
Eva was there, behind the counter. There was no sign of Marie. He ordered a dark roast minus the espresso. Had a seat in the corner. And sipped.
He really needed to speak with Marie. It was important to check in with his charges on a regular basis. You never knew when they might have seen something, witnessed something, that was harmless in and of itself, but that could spell potential danger to one who was trained to see such things.
While he’d seen her at a distance every day, they hadn’t spoken since Sunday. Barbara Bustamante was paying him to do better than that.
Twenty minutes passed with no sign of Marie. She took time off. But not often. And not usually with only one person behind the counter. Most specifically not with just Eva downstairs—though the girl was handling the small rush of late-afternoon customers with aplomb.
And shouldn’t have been alone in the shop. That was the rule he’d thought he’d established.
He waited until everyone had been served and then approached the counter. He’d just asked where Marie was when he saw her outside, walking toward the shop in the company of a man not much taller than she was. His brown hair was cropped, his pants a little short to be stylish and he was wearing a sweater vest instead of a suit jacket.
Nothing stood out as a threat. Elliott recognized him anyway. Burton Augustine. Her longtime theater date. She should have told him that she had matinee tickets. He’d let them know they were under higher security protocol. She knew what that meant. All three of the Arapahoe owners knew what that meant. It hadn’t been that long ago that they’d all lived under the protocol full-time.
Waiting while she bade the other man goodbye at the door, Elliott approached her before she had her purse off her shoulder.
“We need to talk.” His voice was always an octave below base. Came with his size. But even he heard the extra note of...displeasure in his quietly spoken words.
And wondered at it. She’d gone out, escorted, in the light of day. Yes, he should have known. If something had happened to her...
But, really, the infraction wasn’t so great as to raise his ire...
At a fast walk, Marie led him down the hall to her office, dropped her purse on her desk and shut the door behind him.
“What’s up?” Her cheeks, her lips, were pinched.
And he felt like a heel for upsetting her.
“You should have let me know you had tickets to the matinee.” He’d toned down the potentially threatening tone. Had a lot of practice doing so. His voice, as low as it was, had a tendency to scare people.
Something he’d learned while he was still in high school and had been called to the principal’s office for allegedly trying to intimidate a teacher—after which he’d learned to keep his mouth shut as often as possible.
“I didn’t have tickets to the matinee,” she said, frowning. Grabbing her purse, she moved it to the drawer at the bottom of her desk where she normally kept it, locking it in. She looped her apron over her head, giving it a yank when it got stuck on her ponytail. Dropped the desk keys into the pocket. She sat. And then stood. “Burton and I went for a short drive and shared an avocado sandwich.”
Freshly made that morning, he translated. By Marie. For sale at her shop with the rest of the organic lunch options on her limited menu.
“And before you say anything else, Eva wasn’t supposed to be alone. Sam was here. He just left because his mother called saying his son had a fever. They called me and I came straight back.”
She’d seen Burton for lunch. A change in their routine. Could indicate a change in the relationship from casual to more serious.
The tightening in Elliott’s stomach was as unexpected as it was uncomfortable. Emotion swirled within him. Negative emotion. Not warning signals. Not a sense of imminent danger.
He sat. And so did Marie.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d stick to the high-security protocol for at least a few more days,” he said.
She nodded. Looking straight at him, but for once the warm look in those big brown eyes was absent. Her gaze was almost vacant.
As if she was looking past him.
He’d grown accustomed to the compassionate openness she’d shown him since the first night they met.
“Have I done something to displease you?” he asked. Hoping that his tone of voice hadn’t put her off. He’d had no business being...
Jealous.
“No, of course not.” she said, appearing to focus on him now. “If anything I was beginning to think I’d scared you away,” she said with that unique openness of hers.
Such an incongruent woman, she was. Open and sharing and giving everything of herself. And trusting no man with her heart. No wonder her mother worried about her.
She was the type of woman people took advantage of.
“I don’t scare,” he said. “But just for full disclosure, what do you think you’d done that I’d find distasteful?”
He’d eased down in his seat and rested an ankle over his knee. And she still had to look up to meet him eye-to-eye.
“All that nonsense about thinking Liam would be unfaithful to Gabi. And giving you my disastrous love life history...”
He’d already known about the ex-boyfriends. Marie’s past relationships had fed Barbara’s own fears about her bighearted daughter following in her footsteps. Her “disastrous” love life, as she’d just described, was a big part of the reason Barbara had felt compelled to hire a private investigator bodyguard when Marie called to say that she was investing her savings to go into business with Liam Connelly and, with Gabrielle, purchase the historic Arapahoe.
“How could I possibly think less of you for caring about your friends? Or for the fact that the men in your life have treated you shabbily? If anything, I was impressed by the way you handled the Jimmy Jones situation.”
Barbara hadn’t told him about that one. Maybe, with the whole thing happening so quickly, Marie had opted not to tell her mother about the debacle. A shame, really. It would have done Barbara good to know that her daughter had been able to see through the man and then take care of herself quite effectively.
He’d have lingered awhile, curious about what else she might have to say, but Eva buzzed her, letting her know they had a line out front.
Reminding her that they were on high-security protocol, Elliott watched her all the way to the front of the store and then let himself out the back.
* * *
SHE DIDN’T HAVE to make a trip to the members-only bulk store that exact night. Marie bought enough in advance to always have extra supplies on hand. But she’d opened her last case of organic chips and the store had a coupon special on them. She also wanted a new air purifier for the apartment and those were on sale, too. Ben Schumann, the seventy-seven-year-old who, with his wife, Matilda, lived on the second floor with her, had been smoking in the hallway again and the stench was beginning to permeate her apartment and was driving her crazy.
Probably because she had enough quiet time to notice it there, all alone as she was.
She didn’t, technically, have to call Elliott to let him know she was going out, either. But he’d asked. Insisted. And she didn’t want to be more of a pain in his backside than she’d already been.
When his agreement to accompany her lit a burst of excitement inside her, she knew she had to start getting out more. To get a life.
Living alone, being alone every evening, just didn’t agree with her. Maybe she should find someplace to volunteer in the evenings. And start looking for a new roommate.
The fact that the weight had started to slowly lift from her heart as she walked down the huge aisles of floor-to-ceiling warehoused bulk sale items with Elliott walking quietly beside her, his hands in the pockets of his black chino pants, reiterated her earlier thought. She needed a roommate. To get out more.
She...
“Sorry about that.” His deep voice sounded beside her as he pushed the oversize cart that was getting heavy beneath the load she was piling in it. Cases of organically grown beans for salads. Toilet paper for downstairs and up. Paper towels. Trash bags for home and the shop.
“Sorry about what?” With a frown she glanced over at him.
“The stares. They can be off-putting the first few times.”
He didn’t quite smile. But she liked the way his eyes had softened. She was also confused. “What stares?”
With a movement of his shoulder he directed her gaze to the right. A teenager was looking at them. He turned away as soon as he saw them noticing him.
And she glanced at Elliott. “Maybe he likes your sweater.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t say anything else, and Marie turned down the aisle of professional-grade vacuum cleaners, smoke detectors and air purifiers. She read the specifics of the three models offered. Couldn’t decide between more BTUs or square footage estimates. Asking Elliott, as she’d have asked Gabrielle anytime in the past that she’d been purchasing a home appliance, she was relieved by his input and made what she was confident was the best choice.
“Is this for the shop?” he asked as he lifted it into the cart for her.
“Nope. It’s for home.” She told him about Ben, smoking in the hallway.
“It’s against Arapahoe rules to smoke in any public places,” Elliott said.
“I know.”
“Did you serve him a notice?”
“No.”
“But you asked him to stop?”
“No.”
He didn’t say any more. Didn’t question her. But she felt as if he had.
“Ben’s got cancer. He’s dying. His wife, Matilda, doesn’t want him to smoke, afraid that he’s shortening what time he has left. The man’s been a smoker since he was a kid working in his dad’s auto shop. It’s one of the few pleasures he has left. If he can have a few happy moments each day, sneaking his smokes out in the hall, and keep Matilda happy, too, thinking that he quit, then I’m sure not going to stand in his way.”
Not waiting for Elliott’s response, she moved on to the next aisle. And noticed, as they rounded the corner, the shocked look on the face of the middle-aged woman who’d been standing in front of a display of pots and pans. She looked from Elliott to her and back to Elliott again. Eventually she turned back to the cookware, leaving Marie with a huge dose of defensiveness where Elliott was concerned.
He didn’t say anything, so neither did she. And on they shopped. Not saying much. It was just past dinnertime and employees were out with little metal carts, serving samples of many of the food items the warehouse had for sale that week. As always, she passed them by. Elliott didn’t skip a single one of them—earning him another stare or two.
She earned herself one—from him—when she made a stop at the candy aisle and added a ten-pound bag of little individually wrapped chocolate bars to the cart.
“You serve all homemade food.”
“I know.”
“Surely you don’t go through that amount of candy at home.” She noticed him look at her figure.
“It’s not for me,” she said. “You’ve met Janice Maynard and her mother, Clara.” Janice, a seventy-three-year-old spinster, who lived with her ninety-five-year-old mother, had been in the shop one of the days reporters had swarmed the place after news of Connelly Investments’ fraudulent activities hit the internet. Janice had been upset by the cacophony and Elliott had personally escorted the two women to the private elevator and up to their apartment.
“Janice and her mother are almost as small as you are.”
Maybe. Though Marie had never thought of herself as small. Gabrielle was small. Neither of them was overweight. They both had good figures. But Marie took two sizes bigger on top, which made it difficult to share clothes.
“Janice’s mother has a penchant for snatching candy out of bowls or off from tables and hiding it in the seat of her walker,” Marie said. “I make it a habit to always have some on hand for her to snatch. It’s harmless.”
It was only as they were waiting in line to pay that Marie realized how much of a kook she must look to him. And wondered why the idea bothered her so much.
She’d never really cared before what other people thought of her. She liked herself, and that was what mattered. Or so her mother had always said.
But as a little girl gave a bit of a yelp when they approached her in the parking lot on the way to the car, hiding behind her mother’s leg as she watched them walk past, Marie couldn’t help being bothered. “That’s why you were apologizing, earlier. You get this a lot, don’t you? People staring at you?”
His shrug made her curious. More than curious. She wanted to know what it hid. Wanted to know everything he didn’t say to her.
“I’m larger than what most people are used to,” he said with no inflection as he began to load her purchases into the back of his SUV. “I’m not only tall. I’m broad. I have to special-order my pants and shoes.”
The words were personal. She wanted more. “What size shoe do you wear?”
“Sixteen and a half.”
Marie glanced at his feet. They were huge. She’d never really noticed before. Because they fit his body.
And she’d made him feel uncomfortable. Which wasn’t her way at all.
“Burton’s in love,” she blurted as soon as they were buckled into the SUV for the drive home. She hadn’t meant to tell him. It wasn’t as if Burton’s love life had anything to do with him.
But the news had depressed the heck out of her.
And she’d had to say something to get rid of the awkwardness that had arisen between her and Elliott.
He looked over at her before he’d even started the vehicle. Tall, bright security lights popped on around them as dusk was turning to darkness.
“That’s why he asked me to lunch today,” she babbled, to fill the silence. “He wanted to tell me that he won’t be able to accompany me to the theater anymore. He and Rebecca are getting season tickets together.”
There. She’d told someone. She hadn’t even been able to keep a boring mama’s boy faithful to her.
Not that she’d tried. She’d told Burton, quite emphatically, that she was not and was never going to be interested in a romantic relationship with him.
“I’m happy for him,” she blurted next. Why didn’t he turn on the car? Get them home where she could take a hot bath and forget life’s little embarrassments?
Or cry in a glass of wine?
“The timing kind of sucks, though,” she added when he just sat there.
“Why’s that?”
He’d been listening to her. “You know, with Gabi and Liam all newlywed-like. At least I could count on Burton for a night out when I needed it.”
She couldn’t believe how selfish that sounded. Out loud. What about what Burton needed?
“I really am happy for him,” she said, feeling better for no reason whatsoever. As evidenced by the smile she sent Elliott’s way. She’d just needed to talk the whole thing through. Would have done so with Gabi by now if her friend were around more.
“I think you really mean that.”
“Of course I do. He’s a nice man. A good man. He deserves to be happy.”
He’d probably be faithful, too.
Marie kept that last thought to herself.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_a841714c-e430-5dc0-aaf9-77139c762fe6)
LIAM, WHO’D GRADUATED with a degree in finance and business administration, but a minor in journalism so he could pursue his first love—writing—had a full day at the Connelly Building on Thursday. Jeb Williams, his father’s bodyguard and also a financier on the top floor, had Liam’s back while he was in the building, but Elliott insisted on seeing the man to and from the downtown high-rise. Gabrielle first, then Liam. Reverse on the return. With time in between to watch the neighborhood around the Arapahoe. To talk to people. Get a report from the security guard checking residents in at the back door. Something was amiss. He just didn’t know what.
So there’d been a blue car with a stolen plate that had left when he approached. Didn’t mean it had anything to do with Liam Connelly. Or was any threat to Marie.
His gut was telling him not to walk away from this one. Not to let go.
Because there was something he hadn’t seen yet? Something he’d missed?
Or because he needed to believe there was still danger so he’d be forced to stay on this job?
Liam waited inside the employees’ private parking garage entrance to the Connelly Building until Elliott pulled up in the SUV. Finally. He’d been telling his client to take his safety more seriously since news of his father’s duplicity—and the company’s criminal activities—first broke.
“Williams is going to be calling you,” the expensively suited man said as he settled casually into the seat. Before Elliott could ask why, his cell rang and Williams’s name popped up.
“You got Connelly there with you?” The man, whom Elliott had first visited during his initial investigation of Liam on behalf of Barbara Bustamante, didn’t introduce himself.
“Yes.”
“Has he told you about the reporters?”
“No.” He didn’t look at his charge.
Pulling out of the darkened garage into bright sunshine, Elliott turned left, making another quick left to head toward the building that housed the public law offices where Gabrielle worked.
“He sent me an email while I was out. While he assured me he was going to be lunching in, after which I kept the business lunch I’d scheduled, he instead skipped out to a corner deli apparently to meet with his editor to go over last-minute edits to the May installment of the series he’s writing on his father’s life...”
The words earned Liam Connelly a sharp look from Elliott, but the financier didn’t seem to notice.
Elliott knew better. Liam Connelly was a smart man. He knew he’d made a mistake. He’d emailed Williams.
And warned Elliott.
Liam was an honest man. He also was his own man. He did what he thought was right. To the point of stupidity, in Elliott’s opinion. Not that he blamed the guy. Liam’s adamant independence was a product of growing up under the abusively domineering hand of a father who’d been determined to control him at all costs.
“Let me talk to him,” Elliott said now, breaking into whatever Williams had been about to tell him. “I’ll get back with you.”
He didn’t work for Jeb Williams. Didn’t really even know the guy. Other than to know that his initial association with Williams had inadvertently allowed him to walk into the perfect cover for the job he’d been on. And while Liam Connelly was paying him—a nonnegotiable term on Liam’s part, one that Elliott had fought—even Liam was unaware that he’d come to them initially through Barbara Bustamante. And was still on her payroll, as well.
“I screwed up,” Liam said as soon as Elliott slid his smartphone back into its holster.
“How bad is it?”
“That jerk reporter, Tarnished Truth...”
Elliott recognized the name. The sleazy reporter who sold his work to sensationalistic independent internet news sources had gone after Liam and Gabrielle back in February, lying in wait and then infusing slimy innuendo into the stories he reported.
“He must have followed me,” Liam said. “I can’t believe it was the coincidence he claimed that he happened to be there. He said that he thought he owed it to me, because of his unbecoming behavior earlier in the year, to let me know that there’s been some talk at a bar he hangs out at—some reporter hangout, according to him. Word is I’ve now taken over my father’s business.”
“You’ve taken on a more active role,” Elliott said.
“He claims that the rumor is that this whole scheme was prearranged, like Agent Menard and the FBI originally thought. That my father and I had some big plan to frame George so I could take over if the Ponzi scheme ever came to light.”
“They have reams of proof that George Costas was behind the fraudulent investments.” Elliott tackled the obvious while his mind worked furiously on the real piece of news.
The press—at least certain members of it—were still out to hang Liam. Probably because he was young, good-looking and recently married, making him of keener interest to their readers. He was good for drama to those who cared more about such things than about newsworthy facts. And a source of jealousy to a lot of people.
“You and I know all about the evidence against George. Doesn’t mean the press knows.”
“My understanding was that Costas could be close to a plea deal.” He’d heard that straight from Liam.
“That’s what Gwen Menard told me when I spoke with her last week.” The FBI agent who’d originally questioned Liam.
Talk of a plea deal was worth nothing until it actually happened. Could change in the space of a heartbeat—or a conversation. And until it was done, Liam and his father were going to be under attack.
Even after it was done the suspicious-minded would probably still doubt them. Still wonder. Still tell the stories conjured up by their conspiracy-theory mind-sets.
“I’m assuming you set him straight,” Elliott said, making the last turn that would allow him to pull up at the curb right outside Gabrielle’s building.
“Of course I did. And he thanked me for allowing him to know the truth firsthand.”
“He’s up to no good,” Elliott said aloud.
“That’s a strong possibility.”
He couldn’t stop a reporter from reporting—even when the news was false. The guy would just claim that he believed his story to be the truth. Liam could always sue for defamation of character, but not until after the damage was done.
“So I’ll call and get some extra security for the front of the coffee shop just in case. And we stay on high alert,” Elliott said, sliding the vehicle into the curb as Gabrielle, in a navy pantsuit and with briefcase in hand, came outside.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Liam grumbled.
But he didn’t argue.
* * *
MARIE WAS ALREADY UPSTAIRS, having left Eva and Nancy—another college student, a weekend employee who’d asked to pick up some extra hours—to close up the shop for the night, when Gabrielle got home. Gabi called her to invite her to share Chinese takeout in their apartment.
Chinese takeout that had already been ordered and that would be delivered momentarily. Which meant one thing to Marie. Trouble was brewing.
She hoped to God it wasn’t between Liam and Gabi.
Anything but that.
Putting the tuna she’d been mixing in a container and shoving it in the mostly empty fridge, she changed into a clean pair of jeans, a black tailored blouse and sandals before heading out. In the olden days, during most of the past thirteen years that Gabi had been living with her, Marie would have shown up to the table for Chinese takeout in the sweats she’d had on. But in the olden days, they’d never gone to Liam’s world. He’d always come to theirs.
As soon as she stepped into the apartment, she was glad she’d changed. Elliott Tanner was there, his big body looming over the small cardboard cartons from his seat at the table. Liam was in the kitchen getting drinks. But it was clear from the table setting that she’d been left to sit next to the bodyguard.
She wanted to be upset about that.
Or at least unmoved.
It would be their first dinner together.
She pulled out her seat with such force it almost toppled. “How’d you know I’d be free for dinner?” was the first question she asked.
And then, with a glance at Elliott, she answered her own questions. “Because you have my schedule.”
He nodded. Offered her the honey walnut shrimp. “Gabrielle says this is for you.”
They had more for her, too, she found out as they started to eat. With apology written all over his face, Liam confessed his actions of early in the day.
Marie cared about the reporters. Didn’t want their residents or her customers harassed. She cared that Liam and Gabi could be dragged through the mud again socially.
But what worried her most was that Liam had been caught out at an undisclosed lunch meeting with editor woman.
* * *
TARNISHED TRUTH’S THEORY made it onto two internet news sources Friday morning. Elliott had had to search three levels deep, but he’d found the proclamation that Liam and his father had concocted the entire rift in their relationship in an attempt to distance Liam—not to protect him. Liam was completely innocent, as Walter had publically confessed when he’d admitted to his own duplicity in hiding the Ponzi scheme he’d discovered in his company. He’d intended to protect his son from any kind of accountability so that he could take over his father’s business, keep it in the family, in the event that Walter ended up serving any kind of prison term for obstruction of justice. But Liam had not been in collusion with him.
Walter’s plea deal, which included no prison time, had already been accepted and recorded. Either Tarnished hadn’t done his homework, or he simply hadn’t cared, as the ultimate sentence couldn’t have been known at the time that Walter and Liam would have made the plan.
Didn’t really matter at that point. With the news out there, Elliott was bound right where he was. Working for Liam and using the job as a cover for watching over Marie Bustamante. He’d been bound anyway.
He’d known that. Until the Connelly case was settled, tensions around the family were going to be running high with a lot of angry people trying to recover from financial ruin.
They’d get their money back. Walter was seeing to that—paying them out of arms of his company that were legitimate and fluid. But for some the return would be too late in terms of lost credit and homes.
Which inevitably led to some broken relationships, substance abuse, lost jobs, lost hope...
All things that made people desperate.
And that was where he came in. Protecting his clients from desperate people.
He’d been sitting outside Marie’s coffee shop just after nine on Friday, having dropped off Liam and Gabrielle at their respective places of work, watching for any replay of the reporter fiasco they’d had two months before the Connelly investment news first hit the airwaves, when his phone rang. A past client of his—an esteemed doctor who’d been threatened by the family of a man who’d died under his care.
He answered on the first ring.
And by the time a second could have pealed, he had hung up again. To quickly dial the security guard positioned by Marie’s front door, warning him that he was going to be gone for a bit.
There was an alleged gunman at the doctor’s son’s elementary school. The place was on lockdown. He wanted Elliott there, to do anything he could to assist in saving the lives of the endangered children. The sum he’d offered was astronomical.
But having his services hired allowed Elliott to be at the scene.
He’d worry about money later.
* * *
MARIE WAS IN her office with Grace, her eighty-year-old baker, having lunch, when Edith Larkin, a seventy-year-old widow who lived on the fifth floor, came off the elevator. “Do you have your television on?” she asked, clearly agitated as she wiped her hands on the apron she seemed to wear from morning until night.
The small flat-screen in the corner was off. Grace, who was closest, grabbed the remote and turned it on.
Certain that she was going to see something to do with Gabi and Liam—or at the very least Liam—Marie braced herself. She’d had the news on in the shop all morning, just in case, so she could warn her friends, but all morning there hadn’t even been a Connelly mention.
Leave it to fate to blast news during the half hour she took to enjoy a broccoli and cucumber sandwich.
“There,” Edith proclaimed as soon as Grace had turned to the local channel. “Isn’t that our head security guy?” the woman asked, pointing to the screen.
Heart pounding, Marie had already noticed Elliott on the screen. But was confused by all the flashing lights coming from the cars and trucks and ambulances surrounding the scene. Where was he?
“...don’t know any more yet, but stay tuned. We’re on the scene and...” The female announcer’s voice-over could be heard loud and clear.
“Where are they?” Marie asked. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a gunman at Heathrow Elementary,” Edith told her. “Why is our security man there?”
Marie had no idea.
Jumping up from her seat, she moved closer to the screen, scared to death.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_573c0b5d-fd7a-5d11-9726-6e4310a3d50e)
THE FBI HAD been called to the school and was in charge. Police were working the scene with them. Because of the credentials he showed and the fact that his client’s child was inside the building, Elliott was permitted to remain at the scene.
And do little else. So far no shots had been fired. No injuries reported. Because he had to be of use, Elliott made himself a media guard, keeping reporters at bay so that those who were trying to save lives could do their jobs unimpeded. He didn’t have the authority to move everyone back. Or to stand guard over them, but he did it and they responded.
He spoke to no one. Didn’t want to be the source of any false alarm or false hope, either. He knew as little as they did.
And kept his eye out for anyone suspicious. He was licensed to shoot if he was being threatened with a gun. He’d put himself in the perpetrator’s way, if need be, to be able to save innocent people from being hurt. He’d get the first shot off. And make certain that he hit his mark.
Voices were white noise around him. Clouds blocked blinding sun, making it easier for him to see. Uniformed officers had surrounded the perimeter of the building on foot—and in a larger ring farther out in vehicles, too. He’d heard a description of the alleged gunman. Male. Late teens or adult. In a hooded sweatshirt, a balaclava and baggy jeans. It was sixty-three degrees outside.
Even warmer in the building.
Nervous tension, worry, buzzed through the air—electrifying every breath taken. Elliott was aware and yet distant. In a world of his own. Standing tall above the crowd. A world where silence was preeminent, and crystal clear vision the only focus. A world he’d discovered young, having reached six feet in height by junior high.
A world that gave him the ability to be so good at his job.
Cars were lining up in the distance—back two blocks—behind the crime scene tape the police were hanging. Parents had been sent to a nearby church to wait for their children. Not all of them had followed orders. He didn’t blame them.
No one was leaving the building. No buses were transporting kids to safety. A couple of vans with station call letters emblazoned on their sides were inching their way forward. They wouldn’t be allowed through the tape. Only those first responders who’d arrived before the FBI were permitted access to the first block cordoned off area. The area where Elliott now stood.
Every once in a while he caught the sound of a police radio. From a car, or a belt, he didn’t know. The houses across the street from the school were silent and still. They’d already been evacuated—through their back doors.
Elliott didn’t think twice when he saw, over the heads of the reporters he was guarding, the blur of gray and denim, running away in the distance. He ran.
The blur of color had a good head start on him, but with his long legs, Elliott was able to cover twice the distance with half the stride and was closing in when officers exited cars en masse and cornered his suspect.
A kid. Maybe fifteen. With a loaded hunting pistol. On his knees on the ground, with his gun in front of him, the boy put his hands behind his back. And sobbed.
He didn’t hurt anyone. He hadn’t been able to hurt anyone. And he wanted his mom.
As much as Elliott abhorred the terror the boy had caused—as much as he knew that in spite of the fact that the teenager hadn’t been able to follow through on his plan, his intent to kill had to be punished to the fullest extent—Elliott felt sorry for the troubled kid, too.

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Tara Quinn

Тип: электронная книга

Жанр: Современные любовные романы

Язык: на английском языке

Издательство: HarperCollins

Дата публикации: 16.04.2024

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О книге: Anyone could be hiding a secret… Marie Bustamante does not trust or love easily. Growing up with a philandering father and an overprotective mother, she comes by her reservations honestly. So after only three months, how can she be falling for her best friend′s bodyguard? This isn′t like her at all. But Elliott Tanner is strong, gorgeous and…trustworthy. Honest. At least he seems to be. Of course, some things about him remain a mystery. Protecting the privacy of his clients is Elliott′s job. That doesn′t mean he′s hiding anything from her. Does it?

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