The Bodyguard Page 8

  She blinked at him. “You’re asking me?”

  “Of course. I’m not going to try to order you around. You’re a full-grown woman.” The look of astonishment on her face made him realize what she’d been thinking—that Richard would never have asked her. He would have told her.

  Luke stiffened. “Caroline, don’t confuse me with your late husband. I would never hurt you, would never try to control you or dictate your actions. Richard Ashton and I are nothing alike.”

  Her face turned a light shade of pink. “I see that. I’m sorry. I’ll try not to confuse the two of you again. Maybe it would make it easier if you’d quit calling me Caroline. That was Richard’s preference, not mine. My maiden name was Caroline Bagwell. My friends, my parents, always called me Carol. But Richard thought it sounded too common, so he insisted on calling me Caroline.”

  Humbled that she would put him in the same category as her friends and family, he smiled. “Carol. It’s a beautiful name.”

  She returned his smile with one of her own. “Thank you.” Her smile faded, replaced by a look of worry.

  “Is there something else?” he asked. “Something you haven’t told me?”

  She briefly closed her eyes, and when she opened them, they looked so haunted his heart ached for her.

  “After Leslie’s visit, and getting that letter in the mail, I searched Richard’s desk. I knew he kept his most private papers in those drawers. I guess I just didn’t want any more surprises, no more secrets. So I went through all his documents.”

  She pulled the bottom drawer open, lifted the first piece of paper out and handed it to Luke.

  He scanned the short letter, from a private-investigation firm, dated two months earlier. Then he met her tortured gaze and waited.

  She sighed and admitted out loud what she already knew. “We need to call Alex and Detective Cornell.”

  * * *

  CORNELL FINISHED PUTTING the documents into evidence bags. He sealed them and wrote something across the front in permanent marker before sliding them into his suit-jacket pocket.

  Carol sat behind her husband’s desk while Alex, Cornell and Luke sat in chairs they’d pulled up to the other side. Carol had to admit Richard was right about one thing: the large desk that dominated the room gave someone a sense of power and control. She decided right then and there that she was going to keep it, and that she would stop thinking of it as Richard’s desk. It was her desk now.

  “Mrs. Ashton,” Cornell said. “That letter from the investigation firm makes it clear your husband suspected Miss Harrison was stealing from him. He was working with that company to entrap her with false documents and information they were feeding her during your weekly visits to her office. It’s also clear he was going to fire her soon and provide the evidence he’d gathered to a prosecutor to press charges. Do you have any reason to suspect that Miss Harrison was aware of this, prior to your husband’s death?”

  She shook her head. “No, I didn’t know anything about it until today.”

  Alex tapped the desk. “Depending on what types of traps the investigator was setting, Miss Harrison may have realized something was ‘off’ with the documents. She may have been suspicious and figured out what was going on.”

  “If so,” Cornell said, “that gives her motive. I imagine if she lost the Ashton account, she’d be in serious financial trouble. And of course she’d be in danger of losing her license, even if she wasn’t found guilty in criminal court. Those are powerful motives for murder.” He jotted some notes on his notepad. “What about the anonymous note? Miss Ashton, do you have any reason to believe the will that was filed with the courts was fake as the note states?”

  “No. I know my husband drew up a will right after we got married, making me the primary beneficiary. I didn’t know the details, of course. And if he changed the will later on, I have no knowledge of it. But Richard wouldn’t have told me about it if he had.”

  He pursed his lips and considered. “It does seem odd that he would only give his family members five million each and give you the rest, with...everything that went on between you two. Seems reasonable that he changed the will later to cut your portion much smaller and give more to his brothers. Do you know if his brothers have much money?”

  “They both own their own businesses and live in expensive homes. Not as grand as this one, but certainly not cheap by any means. I’d say they’re both doing extremely well without their brother’s money.”

  “Millionaires?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “It must have galled them that their brother was a billionaire. Maybe they assumed he’d leave the estate split equally if he died. They would have been shocked when the will was filed and they didn’t get much, relatively speaking.”

  Luke leaned forward in his chair. “You think one of them killed Richard?”

  “We’ve been looking at them all along as potential suspects, but I think we need to dig harder and see what shakes out.”

  “What about Mitch?” Luke asked. “Have you gotten anywhere with that investigation? Are you convinced his death is related to Ashton’s?”

  “I’m keeping an open mind on a link, but investigators on both cases are sharing information since it seems highly likely both murders were performed by the same killer. Unfortunately, I don’t have anything new to offer you.” He turned to Carol. “Have you thought of anyone else who might have wanted to harm your husband?”

  “Or harm Caroline,” Alex added from his chair on the other side of Cornell. “We haven’t established who was the target, her or her husband.”

  Cornell frowned, obviously not caring for that reminder. “I haven’t made up my mind on anything. I’m exploring all possible angles. Mrs. Ashton? Did your husband—or you—have any enemies?”

  She shook her head. “Actually, just the opposite. Everyone loved Richard. They thought he was an extraordinary humanitarian.” She couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into her voice. “I suppose, from the outside looking in, he was. He certainly gave an incredible amount of money each year to charities. As for me, I don’t see how I could have made any enemies. I barely know anyone.”

  “What about your attorney, Leslie Harrison?”

  “She’s not an enemy right now. I consider her a friend—or I did, until I read that document she left. I imagine the friendship will be over tomorrow, when I fire her. But, honestly, I can’t count her as an enemy, at least not as someone who might have wanted to harm either me or my husband.”

  “It’s getting late,” Luke said. “I think the more important consideration right now is how to protect Carol.”

  Alex’s brows rose. “‘Carol’? Not ‘Caroline’?”

  “It’s what I prefer,” she said.

  “Carol,” Alex corrected himself. “As for protection, I thought there was a team of security guards watching over the mansion, but I didn’t see anyone when we drove up.”

  She cleared her throat. “I fired them—at least, from watching this house. They still handle security for the rest of my husband’s—the rest of my holdings.”

  “Any particular reason?” he asked.

  She glanced at Luke before responding. “They were my jailers for years. I suppose I wanted to take off my shackles and cast them aside.”

  Alex’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything else.

  “You still need security,” Luke said. “Even if nothing was going on, a mansion like this needs a show of security to dissuade would-be thieves. And until we find your husband’s killer, you need to assume it’s possible the killer was targeting you and therefore you need to be protected.”

  She looked pointedly at him. “Fine. Then I’d like to hire you instead, permanently, to stand guard over this house.”

  “While I appreciate the faith, all my guys are still ou
t on other assignments.” His mouth tightened. “Not to mention the office is in chaos without Mitch to direct everything.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said again, offering him a watery smile. “If you need to cancel our contract, I’ll understand. But if there is any way for you to keep me as a client and stay here as my personal bodyguard, I’d appreciate it. I can give you money to hire someone to watch the office, and to hire more guards so they can watch the house.”

  “I’m sure we can work something out, but it will take time. Of course I’ll stay to protect you, but I can’t do it alone. The house doesn’t have a security alarm. And a house this size has dozens of entrance and exit points. Without a full security staff right now, it’s not safe.”

  “Couldn’t you get an alarm company to wire the house, like you said you were going to do at the cottage?”

  “Yes, but it’s after seven o’clock at night, on a Sunday. It will take days to adequately wire this house. That’s not something that can be done before tonight. I’ve got another recommendation. And you’re not going to like it.”

  “What?”

  “I think you should rehire Stellar Security, at least until the alarm system is installed and I have a chance to hire some more guards and bring them in.”

  She bit her bottom lip.

  “I agree,” Cornell said. “You can’t stay here without more guards.”

  “Then I’ll leave. I hate this house anyway. There are no good memories here. I have no intention of living here long-term again. I can go somewhere else.”

  Alex leaned forward, resting his arms on top of the desk. “The simplest, safest thing for tonight would be to get Stellar Security to send their guards back here. If you don’t want to stay, you can plan where to go tomorrow. But tonight, I’d be more worried about you trying to figure out a new place that’s safe and arranging all the details. You just don’t have enough time for that.”

  She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “All right. I’ll call Stellar and ask them to guard the house again. But tomorrow I’m moving out.”

  * * *

  A LITTLE OVER two hours later, the staff of security guards from Stellar Security was back in place as if they’d never left, with one notable exception—Luke.

  Per Caroline’s—Carol’s—request, he accompanied her everywhere she went. He would have recommended that he stay glued to her side anyway, but having her suggest it made everything smoother, and made him feel good that she trusted him and seemed to derive strength and confidence from his presence.

  When she’d spoken to the head of security on the phone, after Alex and Cornell had left, she had tentatively reached for his hand. He took the gesture for what it was. She needed his support, someone to help her find the strength she’d forgotten she had inside her all this time.

  But once the security guards arrived, she hadn’t needed to hold his hand anymore. He could see her blossoming, coming out of her shell, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. And it amazed him how different she seemed already, less than a week after her husband’s influence over her had been severed. Looking at her now, he couldn’t imagine she would ever allow another man to control her the way Richard Ashton had. And it made him wonder how she’d gone from the strong woman before him to the timid, insecure woman he’d met that day in his office. Thank God her husband hadn’t been able to completely kill the strong woman inside her. Hopefully, in time, she’d learn to smile far more often than she did now and have a happy life. Lord knew she deserved it.

  After accompanying him on a tour of the house so he could verify the doors and windows were locked and that there were sufficient guards posted, she led him to the massive winding marble staircase in the two-story foyer. They’d passed it several times today, but she’d never seemed to notice it, as if she was avoiding it. But it couldn’t be avoided any longer. It was time for bed. And now, as she paused at the bottom of the staircase and looked up at the next landing, he couldn’t miss the telltale shaking of her hands.

  He edged closer to her side and did what she’d done earlier: he offered her his hand.

  She entwined her fingers with his. “I shouldn’t be scared to go up these stairs, but I can’t help picturing him up there, waiting, watching, ready to punish me for thinking I could escape him.”

  “He can’t hurt you anymore, unless you let him.”

  Her mouth tightened. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I let him hurt me for so many years. How could I have been so weak, so cowardly, for so long?”

  He gently pressed his hand beneath her chin, urging her to look at him. When she did, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her eyes widened.

  “What was that for?” she whispered.

  “A reminder.”

  “About what?”

  “That you’re an intelligent, beautiful, strong woman. You faced a monster in this house every day, a man who was over twice your size and used his size to intimidate and hurt you. And in spite of that, you did what few women could have done in your position. You survived. You didn’t let him destroy you. Look at what you did today. You made some tough decisions, like deciding to fire someone you had once thought of as a friend, and rehiring the security company because you knew it needed to be done. A coward couldn’t have survived what you have and wouldn’t be getting stronger every day like you are.” He squeezed her hand and gestured toward the second-floor gallery. “Tell me what you see.”

  Her gaze followed his, up the stairs, pausing on the middle landing, then higher as she looked left and right down the gallery with its doors opening off it.

  “I see fear, and misery, and pain,” she whispered.

  “Do you know what I see up there?”

  She shook her head.

  “I see a white marble railing. Behind it, I count five wooden doors, with thick, carved molding around them. I see red plaster walls—”

  “Burgundy,” she said, her voice halting.

  “Okay. I see burgundy plaster walls, some little wooden tables with shiny tops.”

  “Granite tops.” Her voice was stronger this time.

  “Expensive, pretentious shiny tops.” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her lips curve into a tiny smile. Encouraged, he continued. “And on the walls of the pretentious gallery are paintings. Most of them are of other buildings or animals, a few portraits here and there. And smack-dab at the top of the stairs is some alleged artist’s really blurry, wretched attempt at painting an outdoor scene, but it looks more like a picture taken out of focus.”

  She let out a burst of laughter. “It’s a Monet! And it probably costs more than this entire house.”

  He cocked his head. “Hmm. Can’t say that I see the appeal.”

  She cocked her head as well, mimicking him. “Honestly, I don’t see its appeal, either.” Her eyes danced with laughter as she smiled up at him.

  Unable to resist the impulse, he brushed her hair back from her forehead.

  Her smile faded, but she didn’t look upset that he’d been so familiar. Instead, she looked puzzled.

  “I should be afraid of you,” she said.

  He stiffened. “I would never, ever hurt you.”

  “I know. I’m not sure how I know, but I know. You’re a large, muscular, incredibly handsome man.”

  He grinned. “Good to know.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment. Big men, handsome men, scare me. Normally. Because I expect them to be like my husband. But you’re...different. You make me smile. And you make me feel...safe.”

  She turned back toward the stairs. Her eyes were still full of shadows, but she squared her shoulders, and her mouth tightened into a determined line. “Let’s do this.”

  * * *

  THE HOUSE WAS DARK, silent. The live-in staff had retreated to the wing on the opposite side of the es
tate hours ago. And Carol was asleep in the guest room next to Luke’s. So what had woken him?

  He slid out of bed, yanked his jeans on and shoved his gun into the back of his waistband. Moving as quietly as possible, he rushed through the open doorway that joined his room with Carol’s. She was lying in the middle of the bed, looking like a fairy princess in her diaphanous, long, white nightgown, her golden hair splayed out on the pillow around her like a halo. The door from her bedroom to the hallway was still locked. If he’d heard something in his sleep, it hadn’t come from this room.

  He hurried back to his own room and eased the door to the hall open. Wall sconces along the gallery spaced about every twenty feet gave off a dim glow, like expensive, crystalline night-lights. Just enough light to change the pitch black to a muddy gray, to reveal images, shapes, but little else. Enough light to keep someone from stubbing their toe on one of the decorative tables that lined the hallway, or to keep them from stumbling against the marble balustrade and taking a nasty fall to the foyer two stories below.

  He waited, listening intently, watching. But he didn’t see or hear anything. He thought about going downstairs to check on the guards, but that would mean leaving Carol upstairs alone. Not an option. Instead, he pocketed the door key to his room and locked the door closed behind him to prevent anyone from going inside and getting to her that way. He quietly made his way to the end of the gallery, listening at each door, then quickly searching each room until he stood in front of the double doors that led to the one room he hadn’t searched. The master bedroom.

  Earlier, when Carol had led him upstairs and pointed out the guest rooms where they would both stay, she’d waved toward the end of the hall and announced that was the master bedroom. But she hadn’t looked at it, and she’d quickly turned and gone into her own room after saying good-night.

  Now he stood in front of the elaborately carved double doors, carefully turned the knob, then eased one of the doors open. The room was surprisingly well lit, as if the former occupants didn’t like the dark. Dim light filtered from wall sconces spaced throughout the room, much like the ones in the gallery.