Читать книгу Private Bodyguard - Tyler Anne Snell - Страница 8

Chapter One

“It was just a little misunderstanding.”

Darling Smith was standing behind the bars of one of two holding cells in Mulligan, Maine, and not at all amused.

Deputy Derrick Arrington, however, was all humor. Maybe that was due to the fact that the two had dated on and off the year before with less than favorable results. They were normally amicable if not downright pleasant, but Darling figured it wasn’t every day he was able to arrest his ex. Her thoughts slid back in time for a moment.

Oh yeah, she would have loved to put a certain man from her past in the slammer and throw away the key.

“That should be tattooed across your forehead, Darling. ‘It was a little misunderstanding, Officer. I’m too cute to be up to no good.’” He grinned.

“Deputy Arrington, did you just say that I’m cute?” she replied with a big dose of sugar.

He pointed at her and laughed. “See? That right there is what I’m talking about.”

“Oh, come on, Derrick.” Darling dropped the cuteness from her tone. She was tired. “We both know that George Hanely overreacted.” Just saying the gate guard’s name made her mad. He’d acted as if he was a Secret Service agent and Darling was an enemy of the state.

“He did his job. George saw a suspicious person snooping around private property.” He eyed Darling a moment, waiting for her to confess. He’d keep waiting, too. “What’s more, that suspicious person was found going up to his employer’s garage.”

“Not confirmed, just accused,” she said.

The deputy shook his head. “I’d take this a little more seriously, Darling. You were caught breaking and entering into Nigel Marks’s house. He’s a beloved figure in this town. This will be the first time he’s been back to stay for a while in years. The last time he came, do you know what he did?”

Darling let out a long breath. She had already researched the millionaire, but that didn’t mean she was buying what he was selling. “He donated a new wing to the children’s library.”

“That’s right. He was here for a little over a week, and he brought joy to an entire town’s kids. Now he’s coming to stay for almost a month. His visits, even if they are work related, usually benefit our community.” He paused, making sure he let his words sink in before he tacked on, “We want him to enjoy that stay, not worry about some spunky private eye.”

“I preferred ‘cute,’” she grumbled.

“Well, I preferred starting my Tuesday morning with a cup of coffee and not picking up a criminal just as the sun rose.”

“Accused criminal.”

He rolled his eyes and checked his watch. Derrick was tall, had jet-black hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. He was handsome, sure, but he also wasn’t anywhere near her type. Though, admittedly, her type had revolved around one man and one man alone throughout the years. She stopped herself before she could picture him, angry for entertaining thoughts of a past best forgotten.

“Okay, I’m going to head back up,” he said. “I just wanted to come check on you and see if you wanted that one phone call.”

“But Deputy, why would I call you when you’re already here?”

“Oh, Darling, how I’ve missed your sarcasm.” They both knew that was a bold-faced lie.

It had been two days since Elizabeth Marks had walked into Acuity Investigations and asked for the twenty-five-year-old’s help. Darling could recall with almost perfect precision the way the graceful woman had breezed in. She had shaken Darling’s hand with a firm grip but had seemed hesitant to introduce herself. However, Darling hadn’t needed to know the woman’s name to understand she was important, if only financially so. It had been Elizabeth’s shoes—silver-toed, red-soled, python-heeled Louboutin shoes—that had spoken volumes to Darling. Mrs. Marks came from money, and that always made a case more interesting.

“My husband is having an affair,” Elizabeth had said after adjusting the Gucci sunglasses that sat atop her crown of bleach-blond hair. “I just need concrete proof now.”

Darling had been taken aback. Normally when a spouse sought out a private investigator, it was to confirm a suspicion. The way Elizabeth’s back had straightened and her shoulders had squared had suggested there were no doubts in her accusation.

“If you already know he’s cheating, why do you need the proof?” Darling had asked.

A surge of energy had seemed to pulse through Elizabeth. Her face had become lively for a moment.

“We married when I was young, my husband, Nigel, and I. His career was just taking off, and we were so in love. He drew up a prenuptial agreement that I should never have signed, but I was foolish and naive and believed he was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.” She had stopped herself then, as if trying to pick the right words. “If I divorce him right now, because of the prenup, I’ll receive almost nothing. Even the money I personally earned. But if I get proof that he’s cheating, it will void the prenup and I can take at least half of what he owns, which will be enough for me.”

So that had been the bottom line.

Darling sat on the uncomfortable cell’s cot as the memory of their first meeting came to an end and a new wave of determination washed over her. She wasn’t the biggest fan of the wealthy—having a past like hers left an unforgettably sour taste in her mouth for them—but she had believed in the woman’s pain and anger enough to want to help. Just because Darling had fought her own personal battle against the rich, and lost, didn’t mean Elizabeth deserved the same fate.

* * *

“YOU SURE YOU can do this?”

Oliver Quinn looked up from the desk to see his boss leaning in the doorway. Nikki Waters’s tone was light, though her demeanor carried unintentional importance. Since she not only founded the Orion Security Group but also ran it, he decided that importance was deserved. He certainly respected it.

“Excuse me?” he asked, half of his mind still going through the travel details in the open folder between his hands. He was twenty minutes away from heading to the airport to start a three-week contract and, since Oliver was the lead agent of Team Delta, he was triple-checking their route. He wanted to avoid as much traffic as possible—a goal made easier by the somewhat remote location.

“Maine,” she replied, staying in the doorway. It was almost seven in the morning and she was dressed in her workout clothes, her dark red hair slicked back in a short pony tail. Most likely she was headed to the twenty-four-hour gym across the street. There were several of them spread throughout downtown Dallas. “In April, no less.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow at her.

“Oh, come on,” she continued with a smile. “Every time I checked in on you during that stint in Montana two years ago, you talked about how crazy you were going from being in the cold.”

If he had been a rookie like Thomas, the newest addition to Delta, or even someone who had been around a year like Grant, he would have thought she was serious in questioning whether he could do the job or not. However, if there was one thing he rarely doubted, it was Nikki’s faith in his abilities. If she hadn’t believed in them, she wouldn’t have sought him out when Orion had only been a name.

“What can I say? I’m from California. We tend to love the sun and heat. I don’t think Maine will be too bad, though. I’m just glad we aren’t going there a month earlier. I can handle April.”

She laughed. It was clipped. He knew something was bothering her and waited until she spoke again.

“Listen, I wanted to thank you for not giving me grief about this client,” she said. “I know Mark and Jonathan think taking him on is unnecessary.” She was referring to the lead agents of the other two teams and Oliver’s closest friends. They had worked together before Orion, sharing a past that had been fused together by tragedy.

“They don’t like thinking about the big picture,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. He knew she had been struggling with her decision to accept millionaire Nigel Marks as a client.

“It’s just...” She hesitated. “We’ve spent the last few years claiming to protect those who need it but can’t afford it. That’s the Orion Group’s bottom line. We provide security and guarantee safety to those who don’t have bottomless pockets. And now we’re taking on an almost monthlong project with a millionaire?” She sighed. “I feel like I’m selling out.”

“But if we don’t occasionally pick up an elite client, then we can’t continue to be Robin Hoods. Right?”

Nikki snorted. “Robin Hoods, huh?”

“Well, we don’t steal from the rich, but you get the idea.”

She seemed to like that way of thinking and nodded. “You’re right. I need to be firm in this decision. You’re heading there soon?”

Oliver pulled out his plane ticket. “Since he insisted on us meeting him there, I want to head up there a little earlier to make sure everything is okay,” he said. “The rest of Team Delta will follow but might be a bit late since their flight last night was cancelled.”

“Team Delta. It still sounds as corny as it did when Mark suggested the name.”

“Says the woman who named her security group Orion,” he replied. Though as he said it, he glanced past her to a picture framed on the wall. The real reason behind the name.

The picture weighed less than an ounce, but it left an unbelievably heavy weight on his heart.

Nikki didn’t have to follow his gaze. She knew what he was feeling. Her pain had turned to anger over the years. His had only drowned in guilt.

“Well, be careful,” she said after the moment passed. “And, Oliver? Keep this client happy. We need him, as much as I hate to say it.”

Oliver needed to ensure everything was on the up and up since Nigel had been clear he didn’t want to start the contract until Wednesday morning. He still didn’t understand why the man had hired a security group to protect him while he traveled if he didn’t want to use them as he traveled to Maine. He’d been cautious enough to hire Orion after he’d earned a few nasty anonymous letters at work. He clearly had felt threatened. Oliver didn’t think about it too much, though. He’d learned the hard way that most of the upper class was stubborn, and arguing with them did little to change their minds.

Oliver tried not to dwell on the past as he arrived at the airport and then boarded his plane.

Nigel Marks had been transported by way of his private jet; Oliver’s long legs were pressed against the back of a snoring man’s chair in coach. When he finally landed, stretched and turned on his cell phone, he wasn’t in the mood for the voice mail from Nikki.

“Oliver, I received a call from the security guard who watches Nigel’s house. I think his name is George? Anyways, he found a woman lurking around early this morning and had the cops come pick her up. They are holding her on trespassing and potentially breaking and entering. George didn’t give me all of the details. He seemed too excited. I already talked to Nigel. He’s actually at work in the next town over and will be delayed until later this afternoon. He liked the idea of you going to talk to her to see if she’s a threat. Call me after you do.” She didn’t say goodbye. She was in business mode. Nikki the boss, not Nikki the friend.

He hung up, aggravated.

“Great,” he grumbled, making his way to baggage claim. “Not even in town and already having problems.”

The town of Mulligan—a name that Oliver found humor in—was thirty minutes away from the airport via one dust-covered SUV. Oliver hated rentals. Due to the company’s track record, no agent was offered the rental insurance that was an option with each vehicle. In his line of work, there was a high chance they would receive damage in some form. Oliver knew from experience the rental companies were a pain to deal with when that happened, and as team lead, he was the one who dealt with it. The man he’d rented the car from had taken his sweet time passive-aggressively warning Oliver about how it would be unwise to bring it back in anything less than pristine condition. Every pothole he bumped through made him cringe.

Thinking of the uptight man only dampened his darkening mood. He mentally ran through a list of questions he would ask Nigel Marks’s intruder as the vehicle’s GPS directed him to Mulligan’s police department. It wasn’t until he was nearing Main Street that his phone blared to life.

“Quinn,” he answered, pressing the speaker button.

“It’s Nikki.” There was no mistaking the annoyance in her voice. “I wanted to warn you that our intruder is a private investigator.”

“A private eye?”

“Yep. I finally got the chief on the phone, and he said she’s a local. And she’s feisty. Try to figure out why she was snooping around, but don’t make her too mad. If she’s a local, it might make the next three weeks unpleasant.”

“Okay. Don’t tick her off. Tread lightly. Yada yada.”

“The sheriff also made a point to warn me not to let her name fool you.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow to no one in particular. “Her name? What is it? Candy? Bunny?”

Nikki laughed. “No, even better. Darling.”

Oliver almost swerved off of the road.

Before he could stop himself, the image of a woman popped into his head. Dirty-blond hair, round green eyes, a button nose and a set of soft, curvy lips.

“Come again?” he asked. He was already certain he’d heard Nikki wrong.

“Her name is Darling. Darling Smith.”

A silence followed before Oliver found his voice again. “I hate to say this, but I can almost guarantee she’s already pissed at me.”

* * *

FOOTSTEPS SOUNDED FROM the stairs, bringing Darling out of her haze of absolute annoyance. Derrick had been coming down a few times each hour to talk her ear off. She wished Nigel Marks’s lackey would hurry up and question her. Anything was better than staying any longer in the mildew-scented cell. As the steps got closer, she ducked her head and rubbed her eyes. She didn’t think she could take another round of Deputy Derrick.

“If you’re going to keep bothering me, the least you could do is bring me a coffee,” she called when the footsteps stopped outside of the bars.

“Well, I haven’t been in town long, but I’m sure I could find some somewhere.”

Darling’s heart skipped a beat. Slowly she raised her head to look at the new speaker. She could only stare.

Out of all of the town jails in the world, Oliver Quinn had picked hers to make a grand appearance in.

It had been almost eight years since she had seen him, yet she recognized him instantly. Brushing six feet, the twenty-eight-year-old had broad shoulders and a stocky but muscular build, giving him the look of a well-toned soccer player. His blond hair was cut short but not too short, still covering the top of his forehead with a golden swoop. His amber-colored eyes and ridiculously soft-looking lips only added to the attractive angles of his tanned face. Not to mention a jawline that simply begged to be touched. For a moment Darling wondered why she ever had ill feelings toward the man who looked like an angel. But then, all at once, she remembered not only who he was but also what he had done.

No matter how handsome he was, Oliver Quinn had crushed her heart. A fact Darling wouldn’t forgive or forget anytime soon.

“Miss Smith, this is the security agent Nigel Marks sent,” Deputy Derrick said, coming up behind Oliver. “His name is—” He stopped, noticing Darling’s deer-in-headlights stare. “You okay?”

Oliver, with a small smile attached to his lips, was about to interject, but Darling found her voice. Though she had to tamp down several less-than-pleasant responses.

“Deputy Arrington, this is Oliver Quinn,” she said, standing. “We used to make out in my father’s Ferrari.” Derrick raised his eyebrow before looking at Oliver.

“What can I say? Fast cars and pretty girls equal a winning combo in my book,” Oliver shot back with an easy laugh. It was not the response she had expected, but Derrick thought it was funny enough. When Darling didn’t show signs of joining in on their shared mirth, the deputy sobered.

“Do you want me to stay down here during the questions?” Derrick asked her directly. They might not have had the best romantic relationship, but they did consider each other friends.

“I can handle this one,” she answered. It earned another little laugh from Oliver.

“When you’re satisfied she isn’t a threat, let me know,” Derrick said, turning to leave.

“She isn’t a threat. You can let her out now.” Oliver moved aside and motioned to the lock. Derrick and Darling exchanged a confused glance.

“You don’t want to question her?” Derrick asked.

“I do, but unfortunately, I have to get back to work.” He looked at her. “I was thinking we could pick this up tonight?”

Alarm bells as loud as the Monday-morning trash pickup rang in her head.

“Like on a date?” she blurted, heat rushing to her cheeks.

Oliver gave off another short laugh. “More like catching up with a few pointed questions concerning my client,” he said. Then, when she was about to decline fiercely, he added, “I need to make sure I was correct in saying you aren’t a risk. If you are, my client will press charges.”

Both men looked at her, waiting for an answer.

If Oliver was the only thing that kept her from receiving the potential wrath of Nigel Marks, she’d have to take up his offer. She sighed, thinking about her bad luck so far on this case.

“Fine, but you’re buying.”

Oliver produced a business card as Derrick opened the cell door. He handed it to Darling, never dropping his grin.

“Would it be okay to stop by your office around seven?” he asked.

“Do I have a choice?” she replied with one of her sweet, yet not sweet at all, smiles.

“Of course you do, but it might be better if we could have that dinner.”

“Then I guess that’s what will happen.”

The three of them went back upstairs. Oliver the Bodyguard didn’t even hesitate to get into his car and leave, while Darling got into her car that had been brought to the station. She sat in the driver’s seat, trying to process all of what had happened in the past ten minutes. Fate? Coincidence? A cruel joke? She couldn’t decide which category her situation fell into.

She might have kept wondering had her phone not buzzed with a text she had been hoping to receive. Looking at the caller ID, she couldn’t help but feel better.

Darling pulled up to the Mulligan Motel a few minutes later with excitement coursing through her. Her caller was Dan Morelli, a transplant from New Jersey and the owner of the less-than-ideal motel. There was a Holiday Inn fifteen minutes south of Mulligan, but those who participated in not-so-legal extracurricular activities often stayed at the Mulligan Motel.

Or people who wanted to meet someone in secret.

“Hey, Dan,” Darling greeted him, walking into the lobby with her camera swinging around her neck. Dan had been a valuable contact throughout the past few years, keeping an eye out for certain persons Darling had cases on. Though since she had tried to stay away from the dirty-laundry spectrum of stereotypical private-eye jobs, she hadn’t seen him in a good few months. She’d paid him in cookies, movie rentals and the promise of an exciting bust in the past. There wasn’t much else to do in Mulligan for a man who hated the cold. Plus, he’d confessed once that Darling reminded him of his little sister, which apparently worked in her favor.

Dan didn’t look up from his paper when she stepped inside.

“Room 212,” he responded, intent on his crossword. “And you figured that out all on your own.”

“Of course I did. You know nothing—everyone knows that, Dan.”

He laughed but didn’t say anything more. Darling went behind the desk and grabbed the key with the chain marked 212. Some people might have felt guilty for what she was doing, but Darling could justify it easily enough. Nigel Marks had spent a few hours in the Mulligan Motel’s room 212 last night. And what’s more, he hadn’t been alone. The millionaire had left while the sky was still dark, but his mistress hadn’t checked out yet. It was time Darling paid a visit.

She walked up the stairs and down the length of the second floor until she came to a stop at the last door. A TV could be heard on the other side, but no voices. Darling, using a method her former boss had applied in the field before, adopted a high-pitched voice and knocked.

“Room service,” she sang. There was a Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the doorknob. If she kept nagging, the woman would answer, annoyed yet visible. Then Darling would do what she did best and question or trick her into confessing. Who needed pictures when the mistress would admit publically to the affair? Sure, it was a little brash of her and maybe not what she would have done under normal circumstances, but she felt oddly off-kilter after seeing Oliver. Even though they’d barely had a conversation.

She knocked a few more times and waited.

And waited.

“Room service. I’m coming in,” she sang again in a lower voice. She slid the key into the lock and turned, an excuse for her intrusion ready on her tongue.

But no one yelped in surprise or yelled in anger. Aside from the TV, the room was still and spotless. Maybe Dan had gotten it wrong, Darling thought. There was no luggage or bags of any kind, the trashcans were empty and all the lights were off. She walked past the two double beds and peeked into the bathroom, hoping for some kind of clue that would prove Nigel Marks’s mistress had been there.

However, the proof she found was more than she had bargained for.

Lying in the bathtub was a woman wrapped up in the shower curtain. Blood was everywhere.