Книга - The Bodyguard

The Bodyguard
Lena Diaz


SHE HAD NO ONE TO FIGHT FOR HER - UNTIL ONE POWERFUL BODYGUARD REFUSED TO LEAVE HER SIDE Her perfect marriage was a sham and Caroline Ashton had the physical and emotional wounds to prove it. With nothing left to lose, Caroline is ready to walk away - and hires Luke Dawson as her personal bodyguard. But before he can do more than secure her a safe house, Caroline stumbles upon the body of the man she’d fought day and night to escape. Now, confronted with fears beyond anything she ever imagined, Luke is the only man she can trust. Putting her life in someone else’s hands isn’t easy, but Caroline knows survival never is. Besides, Luke’s proven himself to be a worthy protector - one who’ll stop at nothing to see she never suffers again.









Luke stepped in front of her, holding his finger to his lips again to tell her to be quiet.


She flung her arms around his waist and gave him a tight hug before stepping back. The look of surprise on his face had her feeling foolish. But then he pulled her close and hugged her, and leaned down with his lips pressed close to her ear.

“Glad you’re okay, too, but you should have stayed upstairs in the closet. Or better yet,” he whispered, “you should have gotten out of here and hid in the woods.”

She shook her head and pulled back. “I’m not leaving you here alone. So you’d better figure out a way to include me in your plans.”

His brows lowered. “You promised.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But it wasn’t a promise I should have given.”


The Bodyguard

Lena Diaz






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


LENA DIAZ was born in Kentucky and has also lived in California, Louisiana and Florida, where she now resides with her husband and two children. Before becoming a romantic suspense author, she was a computer programmer. A former Romance Writers of America Golden Heart


finalist, she has won a prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for excellence in mystery and suspense. She loves to watch action movies, garden and hike in the beautiful Tennessee Smoky Mountains. To get the latest news about Lena, please visit her website, www.lenadiaz.com (http://www.lenadiaz.com).


I dedicate this book to abused women everywhere. It’s not your fault. It’s NEVER your fault that someone else chooses to hurt you. You deserve a life without fear. Please, don’t wait until it’s too late. For information or help, visit The National Domestic Violence Hotline at www.thehotline.org. (The website has a quick escape option in case your abuser monitors your internet activity). Or call 1-800-799-SAFE(7233) or TTY 1-800-787-3224.


Contents

Chapter One (#u75726e0a-2022-5d74-8900-dc2e154b3102)

Chapter Two (#ucfc5cc75-4e7d-5859-83d4-0420cc898da6)

Chapter Three (#ufe0d8a5a-c9e0-5d40-8ade-77e4236cf36b)

Chapter Four (#ua1840eec-e72b-501d-8415-7499791ed587)

Chapter Five (#u9c1fd582-0a95-5d78-a4bd-462c1d81f9a1)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

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)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

The monster sat across the breakfast table from Caroline, looking deceptively handsome in a dove-gray, thousand-dollar suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and the bulging muscles in his upper arms. The tanned hand that flicked the page on his electronic tablet was elegant, strong, with perfectly groomed nails.

They should have been talons.

Talons would have warned people who didn’t know Richard Ashton III that those hands were lethal, especially when they were clasped into fists.

He skimmed through the latest stock-market figures, then looked pointedly at the untouched food on Caroline’s plate.

In spite of the worry that had kept her awake most of the night, the worry that had nausea churning in her stomach this morning, she picked up her fork and took a bite of egg the cook had prepared exactly to Richard’s specifications. She dabbed her napkin on the corners of her mouth as he’d taught her, before training her face into the carefully blank expression she’d learned was the safest.

His brows lowered. “You’re getting too thin, Caroline. That displeases me.”

She stilled, her fingers curling against her thigh.

“I—I—I’m sorry, Richard.”

Calm down. He hates it when you stutter.

She fought back the fear that so often jumbled her words. “I’ll eat everything on my plate. I promise.” She took another bite of egg.

Tiny lines of disapproval tightened around his eyes.

Her stomach twisted. What had she done? She raced through a mental checklist. Her hair was neat and curled to drape over one shoulder in the style he preferred. She’d painstakingly applied the makeup he’d selected for her, natural looking but polished. She held her napkin in her left hand in her lap, her fork in her right, no elbows on the table. What had she missed?

“Don’t look so alarmed,” he chided her. He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “Or have you done something that requires further instruction?”

“No, no, no, I’ve been good. I don’t...n-need another l-lesson.”

Stop it. Calm down.

“Don’t stutter, Caroline. It’s unbecoming of an Ashton to stutter. Tell me, why aren’t you eating enough?”

Her hands went clammy with sweat and shook so badly she almost dropped her fork. Desperation had her scooping another forkful of eggs into her mouth. As she chewed, she smiled across the table at him, trying to placate him.

He shook his head. “You’re being rude. I asked you a question, and now your mouth is full. You’re making me wait for an answer.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should have answered him first and then taken a bite. She swallowed hard, forcing the lump of eggs down her tight throat without taking the time to chew.

“I’m so sorry,” she rushed to assure him. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I w-wanted you to be proud that I was obeying, that I was eating.” She wiped her moist hands on her pants.

“I’m still waiting for an answer.”

She blinked. What was the question? What was it? She couldn’t remember. He’d said something about her being too thin, and then he’d said—

“I asked why you aren’t eating enough.” His voice was clipped, harsh.

“I’m s-sorry. I guess I’m just...tired. Not hungry.”

One of his elegant brows arched. “And why, exactly, are you tired?”

She grasped for an excuse, anything but the truth—that she’d lain awake most of the night, going over her plans, trying to build her courage.

“I—I don’t know. Perhaps I worked too hard in the garden yesterday. I am a bit sore.”

The slight reddening of his face had the blood draining from hers, leaving her cold and full of dread. He would take her comment about being sore as an accusation against him, a complaint. Because, as he frequently reminded her, it was always her fault when he was forced to teach her a lesson, her fault he had to punish her.

“You’ve worked in the garden plenty of times without being sore.” His voice lashed out at her like a whip. “I’m more inclined to believe you’re complaining that you forced me to teach you a lesson yesterday.”

She dropped her gaze, her pulse slamming in her ears. A whimper bubbled up inside her, but she couldn’t let it escape. Crying was undignified. Ashtons did not cry.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he demanded.

“Please,” she whispered, trying to appeal to the man he used to be, the man that must surely still be there, somewhere, hidden deep inside, the man she’d loved once, so very long ago. “Please, Richard. It was a...poor choice of words. I’m sorry.”

He plopped his napkin on the table and stood. “Yes, it certainly was, a very poor choice.” He stalked to her chair.

She shrank back and hated herself for it.

The cook walked into the dining room, smiling a greeting at Richard, ignoring Caroline, as she’d been ordered to do. As they’d all been ordered to do. The staff knew Richard was the perfect, loving husband saddled with an unbalanced wife who made his life miserable—a wife who was to be ignored, for her own safety, lest she get too worked up. A wife who must never be allowed to leave the estate without her husband, except for her once-a-week errands, which were carefully timed and reported upon so Richard could immediately come to her aid if she became confused. Only Richard knew how to handle her, how to take care of her, how to keep her calm, or so they all believed.

At times like this, Caroline almost believed the lies herself. After all, she had to be insane to have stayed with the devil as long as she had.

“Mr. Ashton, good morning to you. Can I get you anything else, sir?” the cook asked.

His face smoothed out and he returned her smile. “Yes. Please let Charles know I’ll be leaving a bit later than planned.” He circled his fingers around Caroline’s wrists and pulled her to her feet, smiling the entire time. “Have him bring the car around front in exactly one hour. Mrs. Ashton and I would like to...talk.”

He added a wink that had the cook blushing and assuming exactly what he wanted her to assume—that he was a loving husband intent on loving his wife.

“Very good, sir.” She hurried out of the room.

Richard’s grip on Caroline’s wrists turned crushingly brutal.

She gasped and tried to pull her hands back. “Please, you’re hurting me.”

He immediately let go, frowning at the red marks he’d left. “Later, you will change into long sleeves. I won’t have someone misinterpreting anything they might see. Now, come along. Apparently yesterday’s lesson was insufficient.”

He put his hand on the small of her back. She tottered on shaking legs toward the winding marble staircase in the two-story foyer.

She could endure this. She could get through this. She could survive this.

Those three sentences went through her mind over and over, like a prayer, giving her the strength to climb the stairs with her husband at her side, towering over her, like a prison guard leading an inmate to the death chamber.

At the first landing, he caught her shoulders, turned her around and kissed her. She was so stunned she forgot to pretend to respond. He broke the kiss and pressed his lips close to her ear.

“Close your eyes, Caroline. Kiss me back.”

She saw the reason then for his pretend affection. A maid had entered the foyer below. This was part of Richard’s game, making others believe he was devoted to her. Appearances were everything to an Ashton.

His lips touched hers again. When the hard ridge of his erection pressed against her belly, she shuddered with revulsion. His arms tightened painfully around her bruised side where he’d kicked her last night. She fervently hoped he’d taken her shudder for passion instead of disgust, or her lesson would be more severe than usual.

He led her to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. As he closed the thick, soundproof double doors behind them, she reminded herself again that she’d endured his lessons many times. She could survive one more. She had to. Because after today, she would be free. After today, she would never see Richard Ashton III again.

He yanked her long hair, jerking her backward, twisting her neck at an impossible angle. She sucked in a sharp breath, loathing and despair boiling up inside her. His eyes darkened with the anticipation she’d grown to dread, even as he shook his head like a teacher bitterly disappointed with his star pupil.

She knew what he would say next, the same thing he said every time he “instructed” her, the same thing he would tell her when he plunged into her bruised and battered body to slake the lust that always consumed him after giving her a lesson.

“I love you, Caroline. I do this because I love you.” The disappointment in his voice might have been convincing if it weren’t for the anticipation that had his mouth curving into a feral smile.

His eyes narrowed when she didn’t rush to say what she was supposed to say.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that this was the last time she’d ever have to endure his touch that made her brave. She glared at him, refusing to give him the words he wanted.

He grabbed her upper arms, his fingers digging into her with bruising force.

The pressure made her cry out. Unwelcome tears pricked the backs of her eyes. “Please, stop.”

“Say it!” His fingers dug harder, like the talons she’d pictured earlier.

Her vision blurred.

“I love you,” she choked out, despising him all the more for the coward he’d forced her to become. But she would say the empty, meaningless words a thousand times if it would stop the blinding pain. “I love you, I love you, I love—”

“And?” He shook her, snapping her teeth together, making her bite the inside of her cheek. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

“I—I’m...s-sorry.”

He abruptly let her go. She staggered back. A wave of dizziness sent her wobbling to the nearest piece of furniture in the expansive room, the four-poster bed. She clung to one of the thick posts. The pain that lanced through her upper arms made her cry out again.

His nostrils flared. He stalked toward her, shedding his clothes as he approached, his arousal stiff and heavy, an unyielding sword to wield against her. She cringed against the bed as the monster’s perfect hand coiled into a fist.


Chapter Two

Another wave of nausea hit Caroline. She clutched the edge of the receptionist’s desk and drew in deep breaths, fighting the dizziness that had plagued her since she’d dragged her aching body out of bed this morning. Richard’s “lesson” yesterday had delayed her plans by a full day. But nothing would stop her this time. She’d just have to fight through the pain.

“Mrs. Ashton, are you okay?” The receptionist hurried around the desk, her youthful face mirroring concern.

“She’s fine.” Leslie Harrison, the Harrison part of the law firm of Wiley & Harrison, admonished the other woman. “I’ll escort Mrs. Ashton to her car.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The receptionist resumed her seat, aiming a resentful look at her boss’s back.

“Leslie, I’m actually not feeling all that well. Perhaps I should sit down for a moment.”

“Come along, Caroline. You’ll feel better when you get out of this stuffy office into the fresh air.” She leaned in close. “It’s just nerves.” Her voice was low so no one else would hear her as she escorted Caroline outside the busy lobby. “You’re taking a huge step today. Besides, you don’t have a minute to waste if you’re going to get to the new house before your husband discovers you’re missing.”

Caroline gave her a shaky smile. “I’m sorry. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to help me. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” She clicked her key fob and unlocked the black Mercedes S600 sedan Richard had chosen for her. Not for the first time, she wished he would allow her to drive something simpler, less pretentious.

Leslie held the car door open. “No worries, dear. I’m happy to help. Remember, go straight to the new house. No stops along the way. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Leslie smiled and stepped back as Caroline eased into the driver’s seat.

A few miles down the road, another wave of dizziness hit. A sharp cramp shot through her belly. She yanked the wheel, pulling to the shoulder of the road amid a flurry of honking horns as other drivers swerved to avoid her.

Sweat popped out on her forehead in spite of the cold air blasting out of the air-conditioning vents. She tried to sit as still as she could, willing the dizziness and pain away. Being sore the morning after one of Richard’s lessons wasn’t unusual. But for some reason it was so much worse today. It must be nerves, as Leslie had said. She’d been plotting her escape for months. And now that she was actually going through with her plan, the stress was making her sick.

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and clutched her cramping belly. Richard’s extra lesson had almost ruined everything, making it physically impossible for her to do her Wednesday chores. But this morning it was Richard who insisted that she couldn’t be lazy two days in a row. He’d ordered her to get out of bed to take care of the errands she’d skipped yesterday. Her eagerness to do his bidding had pleased him. What he didn’t realize was that he’d given her a gift by ordering her to go.

After breakfast she’d stood at the door and waved goodbye to her husband for the last time while Charles pulled the Rolls-Royce around the circular driveway. Richard closely watched her through the rolled-down window in the backseat. His suspicious gaze had her clutching the doorway, worried she’d done something to give away her plans. But the car hadn’t stopped, and Richard continued down the road toward his office.

Careful not to do anything that might trigger a call from the household staff to her husband, she’d stuck to her usual weekly itinerary of going to the dry cleaner’s and then to the lawyer’s office. The difference this time was that instead of dropping off her clothes with Richard’s at the cleaner’s, she’d only dropped off Richard’s. She kept the small bag of her clothes and toiletries she’d carefully packed to begin her new life. Using the dry-cleaning trip as her excuse, she’d been able to carry her bag out of the house without tipping off the security guards that something was different.

After the cleaner’s, she drove to the lawyer’s office to deliver the accordion of tax receipts and documents to Leslie and to supposedly collect any papers Richard needed to review or sign. Of course, this week, there would be no return trip to give him anything. She wasn’t going back.

Since he could have ordered any number of people to perform both chores every week, Caroline assumed her errands were some kind of test. So she’d always been careful to go straight to the cleaner’s, then straight to the lawyer, then straight home.

The clock in the dashboard had her hands tightening on the steering wheel. Leslie had warned her not to make any stops. She didn’t have time to sit on the side of the highway, no matter how much she hurt. In exactly twelve minutes, the security detail would notify her husband she wasn’t home. Richard would call Leslie and ask when Caroline had left. Once he realized she hadn’t gone straight home, he’d leave the office and go searching for her.

She lifted a shaky hand to her brow. Dear Lord, what was she doing? What had made her think she could escape? She debated turning around and racing back home. But even if she managed not to get pulled over for speeding, she’d never make it in time. How would she explain being late?

If she told the truth, that she’d been sick and had pulled over, he probably wouldn’t believe her. But even if he did, he’d accuse her of complaining again. It was her fault that she felt bad, and she shouldn’t make him worry or have to come check on her just because she couldn’t accept the consequences of her actions. He’d feel compelled to “instruct” her again.

She clenched her teeth. She was already one huge mass of bruises. Everything hurt. Endure another lesson? No, she couldn’t, she just couldn’t.

Protection. She needed protection. But who could protect her? She had no friends, no family—not in Savannah, anyway. And her parents wouldn’t exactly be pleased to find out she’d left her wealthy husband. They’d be worried the monthly checks Richard sent them would stop.

Who else, then? Leslie was the only person she ever dared to speak to outside the house, unless she was with her husband at some function. And since her duty at those functions was to cling to his arm like a decoration and not leave his side, she never had the opportunity to foster any friendships.

But she couldn’t ask Leslie to outright defy Richard by harboring her. Leslie’s law practice depended on Ashton Enterprises’ lucrative account. Jeopardizing Leslie’s income wasn’t fair, especially after everything the lawyer had already done to help her. No, she’d started down this path. She had to see it through. So, what, then? What could she do?

The idea of going to the police flitted through her mind but was quickly discarded. She’d seen the shows on TV. The cops couldn’t do much until after a crime was committed, except maybe tell her to get a restraining order. And what was the use of a flimsy piece of paper against a man as rich and powerful as Richard Ashton III?

Not that a judge would believe her and give her a restraining order in the first place. Society worshipped and adored Richard. To them, he was a generous humanitarian who donated millions every year to charity and supported the campaigns of just about everyone holding office in Savannah right now, including the sheriff of Chatham County. No, going to the police wasn’t an option.

Then how could she protect herself? Richard’s idea of protection was a twenty-four-hour guard at the house. Maybe that was what she needed: her own guard, someone who would be loyal to her and only her.

She drew her hand across her damp brow and used her car’s voice-command center to search the phone book for “bodyguards in Savannah, Georgia.” She selected the first company that popped up in the search results and set the GPS to direct her there.

* * *

IF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS—Kate Middleton—had materialized in the offices of Dawson’s Personal Security Services, it would have surprised Luke Dawson far less than the woman who’d just stepped through his door: Caroline Ashton—beautiful, platinum blonde, wife of billionaire businessman Richard Ashton III.

Luke couldn’t say what designers had made her tasteful silky tan skirt and matching blazer, or the tiny, shimmering handbag hanging off her shoulder. But he did know her clothes were expensive—and totally out of place in the cramped, dusty office that normally catered to hookers looking for protection from their pimps, or small-business owners needing protection when they got behind with their bookies.

Obviously, she was lost.

He glanced at the only other person in the room, his office manager, Mitch Brody, sitting a few feet away. Mitch shrugged, indicating he didn’t know what was going on, either.

Luke waited for their guest to say something, but she simply stood in front of his desk as if she was waiting for permission to speak—probably some quirk of the superrich. He shoved his chair back and offered his hand to shake.

“I’m Luke Dawson. And that’s Mitch Brody. What can Dawson’s Personal Security Services do for you, Mrs. Ashton?”

Her blue eyes widened, providing a stark contrast to her pale complexion. Was she surprised he knew her name? Didn’t she realize everyone in Savannah knew who the Ashtons were? The “perfect couple” was plastered on the front pages of the local gossip rags at least once a week, and their annual Christmas party was the event of the social season, rivaling the acclaim of the infamous parties held by Jim Williams back in his heyday. Or at least, that was what Luke had heard. His name would certainly never appear on the Ashtons’ Christmas party’s prestigious guest list.

She swayed slightly, as if caught in a daydream, before stretching her manicured hand out to shake his.

His hand practically swallowed hers, and he felt a shudder go through her. What the hell? She pulled her hand back, but not before he noticed something flash in her eyes, something he’d seen too many times in his line of work not to recognize it.

Fear.

Was it possible she was here on purpose, and that she needed help? That seemed so unlikely as to sound ludicrous, but Luke’s internal radar sounded a warning. Rather than show her to the door as he’d been tempted to do the moment she’d walked in, he rounded his desk and picked up a stack of folders from the one guest chair he owned.

He frowned at the lint on the dark green fabric. Normally he wouldn’t give it a second thought, but Caroline Ashton was far too sophisticated to sit on a dirty chair.

“Give me a minute and I’ll find something to cover the seat.”

“No, no, please. Don’t go to any trouble on my behalf. This is fine.”

She sat before he could stop her.

He raised a brow in surprise and leaned back against the edge of the desk, his legs stretched out in front of him as he waited for her to explain why she was here. But again, she seemed perfectly content not to say anything. She simply looked up at him with a polite, blank look. He wondered again at the foibles of the wealthy.

“Mrs. Ashton, how can we help you today?”

“I n-need t-to...” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as if she was in pain. “I need to hire a bodyguard.”

Her nervousness had him studying her more closely. “I figured you came in here by accident and needed directions.”

Her thick lashes dipped down to her lap, as if keeping eye contact was too difficult.

“I’m not lost. I need protection.”

Her words, and the desperate quality of her voice, had those alarms ringing in his head like church bells on Sunday. Still, he didn’t want to offend her if he’d misunderstood—because surely a billionaire’s wife didn’t really need Luke’s protection.

“Mrs. Ashton, it’s no secret that your husband has a contract with Stellar Security, one of the best security firms in Georgia, one of my biggest competitors.” He glanced at Mitch, who’d gone stone-faced as soon as Luke mentioned Mitch’s former employer. Mitch hated Stellar Security, but since he’d never explained why, Luke could only go by his own personal dealings with the other firm.

“I wish I could tell you my company could do better,” he continued, “but honestly, I don’t have the resources the other firm has. I have five bodyguards, besides myself. Stellar has dozens. If someone’s bothering you, I can call your husband’s security guys and talk to them for you.”

She shook her head, her eyes widening. “No, don’t call them. They’re the last people I would trust.”

He frowned. “Why wouldn’t you trust them? They work for you.”

For the first time since coming into the office, she seemed to really focus on him. The blank look evaporated, replaced by a look of startling clarity and intelligence, as if she’d been playing a role earlier and she’d decided to drop all pretenses.

“No. They don’t work for me. They work for my husband.”

Few people surprised Luke Dawson anymore, but Caroline Ashton had just given him a sucker punch. Was it possible she was afraid of her husband? If something...bad...was going on between them, Luke would have expected rumors in those gossip magazines. At the very least, he’d expect to hear something in the bars when he and his security friends bantered about their clients and the crazy things they sometimes did. But he’d never heard a whisper of anything bad about the Ashton couple. Not one.

He had heard the exact opposite, that Richard Ashton III was practically a saint, in spite of his wife being a bit...needy, to put it kindly. She was said to be nervous, high-strung, but her husband was the epitome of tenderness whenever they were seen together. He was always at her side, seeing to her every whim.

Luke studied her face. Her skin tone was even, her makeup accenting her natural beauty, not thick like women wore when trying to cover bruises. Long sleeves covered her arms—no clues there. But her legs, at least what he could see beneath her modest, below-the-knee skirt, were long and sleek, without the hint of a bump or a bruise. There was nothing about her appearance that made him think she had valid reasons to fear her husband.

With everything he’d heard about the Ashtons, he should believe she’d come here, like so many women before her, planning a divorce and hoping to use the “abuse excuse” to take her husband for everything he was worth. That would make sense, except for one thing.

The fear in her eyes is real. He’d bet his autographed Tom Glavine baseball on it.

Still, just in case he was wrong, he proceeded as he would with any other client, probing for the facts.

“Let me guess. You’re getting a divorce, and you want a bodyguard until the divorce is final.”

Her eyes widened again. “I haven’t filed yet, but that’s my intention, yes. I’ve rented a house outside of town. I’m on my way there now. I just need someone to stay with me until things are...settled.”

That admission sent a flash of disappointment through him. Maybe he was wrong about the fear in her eyes. Maybe she was just like those other women, the ones who would tarnish their husbands’ reputations with ugly lies so they could profit financially when their relationships went south.

“You need a bodyguard right now?”

“Yes.”

He straightened away from the desk. Regardless of the kind of person she was, he couldn’t afford to turn away a paying client. He had too many unpaying ones to allow that luxury and keep his business afloat.

As for going on assignment right now, that wasn’t a problem. He kept a go-bag packed at all times with his clothes and extra ammunition. Since Luke needed to keep his hands free while guarding a client, Mitch would load the bag into the car while Luke escorted the client outside. Standard operating procedure, and so routine he didn’t even need to remind Mitch, who had already jumped out of his chair and grabbed the go-bag. He stood waiting beside Luke’s desk with the strap over his shoulder.

“We can leave right after you sign a contract and pay a retainer fee,” Luke said. “Do you want to take your car or mine?”

Her cheeks flushed a light pink. “Mr. Dawson, I mean no disrespect, but you’re a bit...small. Is there someone else you could assign to help me?”

He stared at her in stunned amazement. Mitch shook his head, obviously as confused as Luke was.

Luke crossed his arms over his chest. “Mrs. Ashton, in all my thirty years, no one else has ever called me small. I’m six foot three and weigh two hundred twenty pounds. I’m not bragging when I say most of that is muscle. It’s just a fact, a necessity of my occupation. I was a champion boxer in high school and college. I’m extensively trained in self-defense. I carry a concealed weapon, am a crack shot and I know just about everything there is to know about guarding people. I assure you, I’m more than capable of protecting you.”

She politely cleared her throat, not looking all that impressed with his speech. “Have you ever met my husband?”

“Not in person, no. But I’ve seen pictures of him.” He leaned back against the desk again and braced his hands on the edge while he waited for her explanation.

“Richard is a very...large, strong, determined man. He can be...dangerous. He’s extremely... If he were to... I just...” She let out a deep sigh. “I need to know that you would be safe if...when...he comes looking for me.”

This time, there could be no doubt that the fear in her voice, in her expression, was real. It was palpable, a living, breathing thing, constricting around her, ready to choke her into submission.

She twisted her fingers together. The diamond ring glittering on her left hand sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights. The center stone had to be four carats, easy. It could have paid the rent on Luke’s office and his house for a full year, with money left over.

But that wasn’t why he decided he had to convince her to hire him.

He had to convince her to hire him because whether the threat against her was real or imagined, she believed it was real. But even more important than that, he’d never met any clients before who were more concerned about their bodyguard’s welfare than their own. A person like that deserved his protection, because he was one of the best. And regardless of who she was, she deserved something he sensed she hadn’t had in a long time: someone who would look after her, someone to take her seriously, someone who would be her ally.

He waited until her haunted gaze lifted to his before answering.

“Mrs. Ashton, your husband may be a tad taller than me, possibly even brawnier. But fighting isn’t all about size. It’s about training, experience, strategy. I don’t have the slightest doubt I can handle him in a fight...if it comes to that. The best strategy is to avoid a fight if at all possible. But if you hire me, I’ll guard you with my life. I will do everything I can to keep you safe. And I’ll make sure your husband never gets anywhere near you again. That’s a promise. And I never, ever break a promise.”

Unshed tears brightened her eyes, inexplicably making Luke want to pull her close and hold her until the fear subsided and the shadows in her eyes disappeared.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice shaking with obvious relief, her throat working as if she was struggling not to cry. “Thank you so much.”


Chapter Three

Caroline sat in her car in the circular driveway of the blue-and-white one-story cottage. She’d lived in a mansion for over five years. Before that, she’d lived with her parents about three hours from Savannah in the same house since the day she was born. But this plain, simple structure already felt like the home she’d never really had.

Because she wouldn’t be sharing it with Richard.

A tap on her car window made her start. But it wasn’t her husband’s angry visage glaring at her through the glass. It was the concerned face of Luke Dawson, who’d hopped out of the car as soon as she’d parked. She’d apparently zoned out, lost in her memories, and her fears, and forgot about him. She pressed the button and lowered the window.

“Mrs. Ashton, we need to get inside. You’re sitting out in the open here.”

“Of course. I’m sorry. Should I pop the trunk for our luggage?”

“No...I’ll get our bags after you’re safely inside the house.”

She rolled the window up and opened the door.

He reached for her hand. She hesitated, bracing herself not to jerk away when his much larger hand closed around hers. But when he touched her, to her surprise and relief, she didn’t feel nausea or dread. Unlike her husband’s touch, the warmth and strength in Luke’s hand made her feel something she hadn’t felt in years...safe.

She smiled up at him, but he was too busy scanning the yard and street out front to notice. As she stood, another sharp pain shot through her belly, making her wince. She was glad Luke hadn’t seen that. It had been difficult enough to admit to a stranger that she was afraid of her own husband. It would be beyond humiliating for Luke to even suspect the extent of her cowardice over the years, to learn just how much she’d endured, all because she’d been too weak to stand up for herself.

A warm breeze filtered through the trees overhead, stirring his lightweight leather jacket. She’d wondered why he wore a jacket in the summer, but now she knew: to conceal the gun holstered on the hip pocket of his jeans. She’d never been this close to a gun before and had always assumed it would terrify her. But the sight of his weapon was actually reassuring. Richard might laugh at her puny attempts to deflect his blows, but even her husband wasn’t immune to the ravages of a well-aimed bullet.

Luke stayed at her back as she walked the short distance to the front stoop, but as soon as she unlocked the door, he rushed her into the foyer and flipped the dead bolt behind them.

His mouth tightened into a thin line. “No security alarm?”

“Not yet. I only rented the house a little over a week ago.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “We’ve never had one at the mansion. Richard didn’t like the inconvenience of having to worry about using a keypad if he decided to step outside at night.”

“You didn’t need one at the mansion because the estate was gated and had security guards watching it 24/7. I’ll get someone out here today to install one.”

He gently pushed her aside as he opened the hall-closet door, apparently searching for intruders. Next, he glanced through the archway to their right into the family room, then back down the hallway to their left. “Stay here while I check the bedrooms.”

He disappeared down the short hall. It took him less than a minute to search the two bedrooms and bath. Then he was back at her side in the foyer.

“I assume the kitchen is through the family room?” he asked.

“Yes, through that other archway.” She didn’t bother to add that this was her first time seeing the house in person. Leslie had handled everything for her: helping her find the house, arranging for the lease, getting the key. Caroline had only seen the house online and knew the layout from the virtual tour. There was never a chance for her to physically go to the house. Richard would never have let her out of his sight long enough for that.

Luke headed into the family room, which had a panoramic view of both the street out front and the fenced backyard. The long, narrow style of the house was one of the primary reasons Caroline had chosen it. When Richard eventually discovered where she was—and she didn’t doubt that he would—she wanted to see him coming. And with both front-and rear-facing windows in most of the rooms, she’d always have an exit nearby so she could flee if she had to.

After looking behind the couch and the few other places big enough to hide someone, Luke continued into the kitchen.

A moment later, the sound of his deep voice carried to Caroline, in a one-sided conversation she couldn’t quite make out. He must be talking to someone on the phone. Obviously there wasn’t anything to worry about if he could take the time for that.

She wiped her brow, surprised to find it damp with perspiration. The inside of the house was nice and cool, both from the air conditioner and because of the majestic, Spanish moss–dripping oak trees that hung over the roof, shading it from the merciless summer sun.

Maybe she was catching a cold, or the flu. That would explain why she was achy all over, even in places where Richard hadn’t hit her. She dropped her purse on one of the end tables that had come with the furnished cottage and headed toward the kitchen. When she stepped into the entryway, she froze.

On the far side of the room, Luke was talking to someone on his cell phone. But on the white tile floor at his feet, lying in a pool of blood, was Richard Ashton III.

The room began to spin. Richard had found her already. How? It was a trick. It had to be. Any second now he would jump up and point an accusing finger at her. Then he’d teach her another lesson. Her eyes widened as she stared at him. The blood. No, no, no. The blood was soaking into his favorite Italian suit—the suit he’d worn the day they met. He’d kill her if that suit was ruined.

She took a step toward him, then stopped. She started shaking. Someone called her name. Her world tilted. Everything went black.

* * *

LUKE SHOT AN aggravated glance at the balding Chatham County police officer sitting across from him in the E.R. waiting room. “I’ve already told you all this, Detective Cornell.”

“Then tell me again. You said you’ve never met Mrs. Ashton before today?”

“That’s right.”

“What time did she arrive at your office?”

“About 9:10.”

Cornell wrote something on the old-fashioned little spiral notebook he carried. “And she was in your office how long?”

“Ten minutes, give or take. She wanted to hire a bodyguard. She signed a boilerplate contract, gave me a retainer—”

“How much?”

“How much what?”

“How much was the retainer?”

Luke shook his head. He was never big on patience anyway, but answering the detective’s relentless questions had destroyed what little patience he had.

“My standard fee for a full-time assignment, two thousand a week, plus expenses.”

The detective whistled. “Sounds steep.”

“You get what you pay for. Look, I want to check on Mrs. Ashton.”

“There’s no point in checking with the nurse again. Once a doctor has time to examine her, we’ll be updated about why she fainted.”

Luke laughed without humor. “She didn’t just ‘faint.’ There’s something wrong with her. I couldn’t wake her up. And there were bruises on her wrists, bruises that looked like handprints. Do you know how hard someone would have to squeeze a woman’s wrist to leave marks like that?”

“You think her husband hurt her?”

“Don’t you?”

He shrugged. “You think she was justified in killing her husband?”

Luke stilled. “You don’t seriously think she’s the one who killed him.”

“She’s the wife. She’s the first person I’ll look at.”

“Richard Ashton was already dead when we arrived at the house. And if she’s the one who killed him, why would she hire a bodyguard?”

Detective Cornell slid his notepad and pen into his shirt pocket and sank back against the unyielding hard plastic chair as if it was the most comfortable of recliners. “Sounds like a good defense, something that might give the jurors reasonable doubt. Pretty smart, if you ask me.”

“Do you know the time of death yet to see if she has an alibi?”

“No. And that’s the main reason I haven’t arrested her.”

“That, and the fact that she’s unconscious, I suppose.” He couldn’t help the sarcasm that crept into his tone.

Cornell smiled as if amused by Luke’s statement. “Yep. There’s that, too.”

Luke stared at the exasperating police officer. Part of him thought the detective was latching on to the easiest explanation, but another part of him agreed with Cornell. If Caroline Ashton was abused, as Luke believed, she might have planned her revenge. She may have used Luke and his company as part of that plan so someone would be with her when she “discovered” her husband’s body.

That possibility didn’t sit well with him. But he’d signed a contract, and he’d given her his promise. He was duty-bound to protect her until the contract expired this time next week, or until she released him from that promise.

“There’s another angle to consider,” Luke said. “The killer’s target may have been Mrs. Ashton. After all, it was her house. The killer could have been waiting there for her, but the husband showed up. The killer may have felt cornered, so he shot Mr. Ashton and ran off.”

The detective pursed his mouth. “I won’t dismiss that out of hand. But it’s not high on my list of probable scenarios.”

It wasn’t high on Luke’s, either, but he was trying to keep more of an open mind than the jaded policeman across from him.

“I’ve got to make a call.” Luke shoved out of the hard, narrow chair he’d stuffed his body into for over two hours while waiting for a doctor to see Caroline Ashton.

He hurried outside the waiting area and turned his cell phone on. When Mitch answered his call, Luke didn’t waste time on small talk. “Have you found out anything?”

“Sure did. I called a buddy of mine who works for Stellar Security. He said they keep a log of everyone going in and out of the Ashton mansion, right down to the minute. And Mr. Ashton keeps a GPS tracker on his wife’s car. Can you believe that? I have a printout of every place she went this morning, with the exact times.”

A GPS tracker sounded invasive, controlling, which made Luke’s suspicions about abuse even stronger. Wouldn’t it be ironic if Richard Ashton’s attempt to keep a tether on his wife ended up proving her innocence? “Go ahead. Tell me.”

“Mr. Ashton left the house at 7:55. His wife left fifteen minutes later. She drove directly to a dry-cleaning company and stayed there for ten minutes. After that, she drove across town to Wiley & Harrison, again without making any stops along the way, arriving at precisely 8:40.”

“Wiley & Harrison, the law firm?”

“One and the same. Her visit at the law office lasted twelve minutes. After that, she headed down Highway 80, pulled over and stopped for fourteen additional minutes.”

“Any clue why?”

“You’ll have to ask her that.”

“Okay, then what.”

“You know the rest. She drove straight to our office, arriving at 9:12, hired us, and you followed her to the cottage, arriving at 9:47. You placed the 911 call four minutes later.”

Luke considered what Mitch had said. “I haven’t been told an official time of death yet, but Richard Ashton’s body was still warm when I checked for a pulse. From what you just told me, there’s no way she had the opportunity to kill him.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Some of the tension went out of him. It was only then that he realized how much he’d hoped Caroline Ashton was innocent. He was normally an excellent judge of character, a skill that helped immensely in his line of work. From the beginning, Caroline had seemed kind and caring, as evidenced by her concern about whether he might get hurt protecting her. She didn’t strike him as the type of woman who could murder someone, even if they deserved it.

“Thanks, Mitch.”

“You bet. You need me to follow up on anything else?”

“Not right now. Just keep the office going. I’ll call you later.”

He headed back into the waiting room. When he updated the detective about what he’d found out, disappointment flashed across the policeman’s face.

As if noticing Luke’s puzzlement, Cornell gave him a lopsided smile. “I’d hoped for a quick open-and-shut case. The coroner called while you were outside. He said the victim was killed within an hour of when the body was discovered. I already confirmed Mr. Ashton arrived at his office at 8:30 and left again at 8:45. His limo driver said he dropped Mr. Ashton off at the cottage, per his instructions, twenty minutes later. That would have been about the same time Mrs. Ashton arrived at your office. If everything you just told me checks out, she didn’t have the opportunity to shoot her husband.”

“His limo driver dropped him off? And left him there?”

“Apparently. I’ve got another detective interviewing the driver right now to find out more. I’m also sending someone over to your place of business to take a statement from this Mitch guy, the one you said can vouch that Mrs. Ashton was there this morning.”

“Mr. Dawson?” a voice called out. “Detective Cornell?” A doctor stood in the entrance to the waiting room, looking around at the various groups of people. Luke and Cornell both rose. The doctor hurried to them and introduced himself.

“Is Mrs. Ashton okay?” Luke asked.

“I’m hopeful for a good outcome. She’s in recovery now.”

“‘Hopeful’?” Luke said. “‘Recovery’? You had to operate?”

“She was bleeding internally, from a ruptured spleen. If she hadn’t gotten here when she did, she might not have made it.”

“Do you know how she was injured?” Cornell asked.

Luke shook his head. The answer was as obvious as the bruises on Caroline’s wrists.

The doctor’s jaw tightened. “I’ve got a pretty good idea. Follow me.”

He led them through the double doors and turned left down a brightly lit hall, stopping at a door marked Recovery. Inside, he brought them down a row of curtained-off enclosures to the last one at the end. He pulled the green curtain back to reveal Caroline Ashton, asleep, looking pale, vulnerable, her small body lost in the middle of the hospital bed. An IV tube ran from the back of her right hand to a bag suspended on a pole. A blood-pressure cuff was wrapped around her other arm. The monitor behind the bed beeped and displayed numbers and graphs as it tracked her vital signs.

The doctor waved to the bruises on her wrists.

For once, the detective wasn’t smiling. He hadn’t seen the bruises earlier, as Luke had. The sight of them now had his mouth pressing into a hard, thin line.

“I won’t disturb her to show you the other bruises,” the doctor said, keeping his voice low. “But I can tell you, there are plenty of them, across her abdomen, her back, her side, in places typically covered by clothing. Unless she was in several violent car wrecks recently, there’s only one obvious explanation. Someone beat her, viciously, repeatedly, over a period of several days, based on the coloration of the bruises. But that’s not half the story.”

He crossed the small space to a computer monitor on a rolling cart. After typing a few commands, he turned the screen around to reveal an X-ray.

“This,” he said, pointing to the screen, “is a healed hairline fracture on her right forearm. It was probably broken a few years ago.” He punched another button to reveal a new picture. “And this is another fracture, on her other forearm. Again, it’s healed, a relatively old injury, probably within the past eight or nine months.” He turned the monitor back around. “I could show you more scans, but they all show the same thing—a history of injuries. None of them were compound fractures, meaning they weren’t bad enough breaks to cause lasting damage or require setting. Which is probably why whoever did this to her was never forced to take her to a hospital. But those injuries should have been stabilized with a cast to aid in healing and to reduce her pain.”

Luke flinched and looked down at the bed. How could someone do that to another person? Especially a woman. And especially a woman as small and delicate as this one.

“How do you know no one took her to a hospital?” Cornell asked.

“Because as soon as I saw the scans, I had my assistant call the Ashton house and talk to the staff. None of them were aware of any trips to the hospital and never saw her in a cast. We also verified that none of the hospitals in Savannah ever listed Mrs. Ashton as a patient. Either she wasn’t treated for these injuries at all, or she was treated out of town, or possibly seen in a private office by a doctor who didn’t know her history of other injuries. If a doctor only saw her once, for one fracture, he might not have had any reason to suspect domestic violence. But this last time, her abuser went too far, ruptured her spleen, nearly killed her. But that’s still not the worst of it.”

Luke’s head whipped up. “What could possibly be worse?”

“Mrs. Ashton is septic. She’s on IV antibiotics and will be moved from Recovery to Intensive Care soon.”

“Why is she septic?” Luke asked.

“Because she was recently pregnant. I suspect she lost the baby during a beating, and she never had medical treatment. I performed a D & C to scrape out her uterus. If she’s lucky, she’ll respond to the antibiotics.”

“And if she isn’t lucky?” Cornell asked, his notebook out again.

“She could die.”

A nurse came into the room and whispered something to the doctor.

“I have to check on another patient, gentlemen,” the doctor said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

After the doctor left, Cornell flipped his notebook closed.

“I’m keeping Mrs. Ashton at the top of my persons-of-interest list.”

Luke stared at him incredulously. “After what the doctor just said? You’d pursue her as a suspect?”

“Regardless of what her husband did to her, she didn’t have the right to kill him. She should have reported the abuse.”

“It’s not that easy and you know it. I’ve seen enough domestic-violence cases to know people feel trapped, with nowhere to turn. Or they kid themselves into thinking the abuser is sorry, that he’ll change his ways. Or worse, they blame themselves. Getting out isn’t as easy as you would think from the outside looking in.”

“Regardless, she’s a billionaire’s wife,” Cornell said. “She wasn’t exactly hurting for money. She could have left him. She did leave him. She wasn’t trapped.”

Luke ground his teeth together and reached for Caroline’s hand. Her skin was burning up, pale, almost translucent. He couldn’t begin to imagine the pain she’d suffered. Did she even know she was pregnant? Did she know she’d lost a baby?

“In the waiting room,” Luke said, “you agreed she couldn’t have killed him.”

Cornell’s gaze flicked to where Luke held Caroline’s hand. “I agreed she couldn’t have shot him. But that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t know who did. Her husband was a billionaire. That gives me a billion reasons she might be involved in his death somehow. And the evidence the doctor just showed us is pretty convincing. What better motive to kill her husband than because he’d abused her and caused her to miscarry?”

His argument was sound. But Caroline had come to Luke asking for his help, and here she was in a hospital bed fighting for her life. She needed someone else to fight for her now. Since no one else was volunteering for the job, that someone might as well be him.

“Do you even know if she’ll inherit?” he asked. “If not, that blows your billion-reason theory away.”

“Not yet. I called the husband’s law firm. His lawyer is going to send me a copy of the will.” The detective looked at Luke’s hand on Caroline’s again. “Tell me, Mr. Dawson. With her resources, how hard do you think it would be for Mrs. Ashton to hire someone to kill her husband?”

Luke wanted to deny the possibility but couldn’t. What Cornell said made sense. If Caroline had finally decided enough was enough, she had all the resources to make it happen.


Chapter Four

Luke shifted in his chair, bracing his forearms on his knees as he watched the doctor and nurses on the other side of Caroline’s hospital room. She’d responded well to the antibiotics and was already out of the Intensive Care Unit. Now the doctor was lightening her sedation to bring her out of her deep, healing sleep. For the first time since the discovery of Richard Ashton’s body, Luke was going to be able to talk to Caroline. He looked forward to seeing her open her eyes, but he also dreaded the pain she might suffer if she hadn’t known about the baby.

All but one of the nurses left the room. The remaining nurse sat in a chair beside the bed. The doctor spoke to her in low tones before approaching Luke.

“It won’t be long now,” he said. “Nurse Kennery will stay and monitor Mrs. Ashton until she wakes up, but I don’t expect any problems.”

Luke rose and shook his hand. “Thank you, Doctor.”

He nodded and left the room.

Luke started toward the bed to check on Caroline, when the door opened again.

A rail-thin woman in a coal-black suit jacket and skirt hurried inside, her high heels clicking against the hard floor. She stopped when she saw Luke, her brows rising.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

He positioned himself between her and the bed. “Who are you?” he countered.

If anything, her brows arched even higher. “Leslie Harrison, Mrs. Ashton’s attorney and friend. I know you aren’t family, so again, who are you and what are you doing in her room?”

“I’m a friend,” he said, not seeing any reason to tell her otherwise.

She snorted. “Caroline doesn’t have any friends.”

“I thought you were her friend.”

Her lips compressed.

“Interesting friend,” he continued. “She’s been in the hospital for several days and this is the first time I’ve seen you here.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but a moan from the bed stopped her.

The nurse rose from her chair to check on the patient.

Caroline’s face tightened as if she was in pain, but her eyes remained closed.

Deciding the game of one-upmanship wasn’t worth playing, Luke introduced himself. “I’m Luke Dawson. Mrs. Ashton hired me as her bodyguard. I was with her when we discovered her husband’s body.”

A look of surprise flashed across the lawyer’s face. “She hired a bodyguard?”

“Yes. Apparently, she realized she was in danger. But apparently...you didn’t? Did you know about the abuse?”

The only change in her expression was a subtle tightening of the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes.

She did know.

“How long?” he demanded.

“How long what?”

“How long did you know she was being beaten by her husband? And why didn’t you report him to the police?”

“None of this is any of your business,” she snapped. “Get out, Mr. Dawson. I’m the closest thing in this town to family that Caroline has, and I assure you if I have to call Security, they’ll take my side—someone who has known her for years—over the side of a man she hired a few days ago. I’m her attorney and the executor of the late Mr. Ashton’s estate. I have every right to be here. You have none. I repeat, get out.”

The nurse looked back and forth between them. Behind her, Caroline’s brow furrowed again, and her lips whitened. She was obviously in pain. The tug-of-war between Luke and the lawyer was distracting the nurse from taking care of her.

“All right,” Luke said. “I’ll go. For now. Just make sure that when you speak to Mrs. Ashton you warn her not to talk to the police without a criminal attorney present—not a civil attorney like yourself. The police are investigating her as a suspect and could misconstrue anything she says.”

“I assure you, I don’t need your advice about how to take care of my client.” Leslie swept past him to the nurse and peppered her with questions.

Luke reluctantly left the room. He might have lost this battle, but he wasn’t leaving Caroline alone for long. He’d never met Leslie Harrison before, but he didn’t get good vibes from her. And her lack of concern for her alleged friend showed in the fact that she hadn’t visited or called since Caroline had been brought into the emergency room. She didn’t strike him as the kind of friend Caroline needed right now.

He took the elevator to the first floor and went outside to use his cell phone. The man he needed to talk to wasn’t someone he spoke to very often. In fact, it had been years since the last time their paths had crossed, so he had to call a few friends to ferret out the unlisted number. Finally, he programmed it into his phone and pressed the call button.

The phone rang twice. Then, “Alex Buchanan.”

“Alex, this is Luke Dawson.”

“Luke.” His voice mirrored his surprise. “Tell me you’re not calling me to bail one of your clients out of jail again. I hung my hat up on that kind of work years ago.”

“Not this time. I’m at Memorial University Medical Center visiting a friend. Are you still a practicing attorney, or are you retired?”

“I keep my license active, but I only take cases for family or friends.”

“How about friends of friends?”

“Depends on who they are and what kind of trouble they’re in. Who’s your friend?”

“Caroline Ashton.”

The phone went silent.

“Alex? You still there?”

“I’m here.”

“Well? Will you help or not?”

A deep sigh sounded through the phone. “Bring me up to speed while I dust off a suit.”

* * *

THE NURSE HELPED Caroline hobble from the bathroom to the bed. The pain in Caroline’s belly was much better than before, so she wasn’t about to complain at the sharp jolt that shot through her when the nurse helped her swing her feet up onto the bed. She drew several shallow breaths until the twinge passed, then collapsed against the pillows.

“Are you sure you’re ready for your friend to come back inside?” the nurse asked, patting Caroline’s hand and looking at her with concern. “The doctor’s visit really seemed to wear you out. If you want to rest a bit, I can make sure no one bothers you.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m okay. Please tell Leslie she can come back in now.”

“Very well. She’s in the waiting room. I’ll tell her. But if she overtires you, or if the pain gets worse, press the call button.”

“I will. Thank you.”

The nurse left. A few minutes later the tap-tap of Leslie’s heels sounded outside the room. The door opened and she burst inside, with three men following her.

Caroline clutched the sheets as Leslie and a stranger she’d never met moved to her left side, while the remaining two men—Daniel and Grant, her husband’s brothers—caged her in on the other side of the bed.

“Leslie, I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Why are Daniel and Grant here?”

“Our brother is dead,” Grant sneered. “We have a right to find out what happened.”

Leslie’s lip curled with distaste. “Unfortunately, they were in the waiting room, demanding to see you. When Detective Cornell and I headed here, they followed like lapdogs.”

Grant looked as if he wanted to leap across the bed and take a swing at Leslie. Daniel’s face turned a light shade of pink, as if he was embarrassed at his brother’s behavior.

The man beside Leslie held up his hand. “Quiet, everyone. Mrs. Ashton, I’m Detective Cornell with Chatham County Metro P.D. If you’re feeling up to it, I have some questions for you.” He glanced at the others, the look on his face showing displeasure. “Your family insisted on coming in with me, but I can ask them to step outside. Or, if you prefer,” he said, his voice sounding grudging, “I can wait in the hall until you speak to them privately.”

“No.” She winced at how loud her voice sounded in the small room. “That is, I’d prefer not to have these other men here, if that’s okay.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Grant said.

“Yes. You are.” Luke Dawson’s deep voice rang out from the open doorway. He strode inside and stopped at the foot of Caroline’s bed, frowning at Cornell and Leslie before looking at the other two men. “You heard her. Out.”

Grant drew himself up, but even so, he was still an inch shorter than Luke and not nearly as broad. “Our brother was murdered,” he snapped, aiming a glare at Caroline. “And we have the right to hear what she has to say about it.”

Luke moved so fast it stole Caroline’s breath. One minute he was standing there, calmly eyeing Grant. The next minute he had Grant’s arm wedged up between his shoulder blades. Grant’s face was bright red, but he didn’t seem to be able to move.

“Let me go, you stupid rent-a-cop,” he gasped.

“I’ll let you go—outside.” Luke raised a challenging brow at Daniel, daring him to intervene.

Daniel glared at Luke before heading to the door. Luke followed, pushing Grant ahead of him. The door softly closed behind them.

Cornell pulled a plastic chair to the side of the bed and sat. “I take it you aren’t close to your brothers-in-law?”

Caroline shook her head. “No. I definitely don’t consider them...family. And I assure you, the feeling is mutual.”

The door clicked back open and Luke hurried inside, stopping at the foot of the bed again.

“Mrs. Ashton, if you don’t want me here, I’ll wait in the hallway.” He looked pointedly at the detective and Leslie. “But I thought you might want one ally in your corner, something you seem to have little of at the moment. I also strongly urge you not to say anything to Detective Cornell without a lawyer. A criminal lawyer, not a civil one.”

Leslie pursed her lips but didn’t say anything.

“Cornell isn’t here with your best interests at heart,” Luke continued. “He considers you a suspect in your husband’s murder.”

Caroline blinked at the detective. His face reddened, telling her Luke’s words were true.

“I’m not your enemy,” Cornell explained. “I simply want to know what happened. But first, I’d like to offer you my condolences on the death of your husband.”

She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Even though she knew Richard was dead, hearing it out loud didn’t make it seem real. She kept expecting him to pounce at her from behind the curtains, or stride out of the bathroom and laugh at her for thinking she could ever escape him.

“Thank you, Detective.”

“Have you had a chance to speak to your doctor yet?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “He was here a few moments ago.”

“Then you know he suspects your husband abused you, that he’s the reason for your fractures, bruises, your ruptured spleen...your miscarriage?”

She winced and automatically moved her hand to her belly. “Yes. He told me.”

“Is it true? Did your husband beat you?”

She blanched, her face growing hot. She’d never wanted anyone else to know about her shame. Until a few days ago, no one did. No one but Leslie.

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“It’s the elephant in the room,” Cornell continued. “It can’t be avoided. You hired a bodyguard, Mr. Dawson here. Why did you hire him?”

She glanced at Luke. “I knew my husband would be angry that I’d left him. And I didn’t want to have to deal with an argument. I wanted someone who could confront him, if necessary, and save me from the ugliness.”

“Are you denying your husband hurt you?” the detective asked.

She twisted her fingers in the sheets. “I don’t—”

“Don’t say another word,” Luke said. “You need a criminal defense attorney before you speak to the police.”

Leslie patted Caroline’s hand. “The sooner she answers the questions, the sooner this will all be over and she can put it behind her. Perhaps it would be best if you waited outside, Mr. Dawson.”

“Not a chance.”

“No,” Caroline said at the same time. She pulled her hand back from Leslie’s. “I’m sorry, but I feel...better with Mr. Dawson here. Detective Cornell, all I can tell you is that I didn’t kill my husband. I don’t own a gun. I don’t even think Richard owned one. There was no need, not with a security firm watching over the house. And regardless of what Richard did or didn’t do, I never wanted him dead.”

“I agree it appears you couldn’t have killed him yourself, based on the timeline of events and the witnesses to your whereabouts. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t hire someone else to kill him.”

Her mouth fell open. “Why would I do that?”

“Your husband was quite wealthy. Maybe you figured you wouldn’t get much if you divorced him.” He cocked his head and studied her. “Was there a prenuptial agreement limiting how much you would get in a divorce?”

“Yes. There was. But I didn’t care. I was leaving my husband, regardless of the money.”

Cornell didn’t look impressed by her statement. He scribbled something in his notepad. “I think when you decided to leave your husband, you didn’t want to lose the money. You called a friend, maybe a lover, offered him a portion of the estate if he’d help you stage your husband’s murder to make it look like you had nothing to do with it. Who helped you?”

She laughed bitterly. “A friend? A lover? My husband made sure I had no one, Detective. I didn’t make a move that he didn’t know about. I couldn’t even leave the house without him.”

“Obviously that’s not true. You left without him Thursday morning.”

She rolled her head on the pillow. “The one thing my husband allowed me to do on my own, the only thing he let me do, was run two weekly errands—taking our clothes to the dry cleaner’s and bringing his papers to his lawyer’s office, to Leslie’s office. That’s what I was doing. That’s how I left without him knowing I was taking off.”

“‘Let’ you?” the detective asked. “Are you saying you were a prisoner in your own home? Did you resent your husband for controlling you that way?”

“That’s enough.” Luke said. “Mrs. Ashton, again, I strongly urge you not to say another word without adequate legal representation.”

The door flew open. A tall man in a business suit stepped into the room. His coal-black hair had tiny streaks of silver, but that was the only thing that hinted at his age. His blue eyes were still vivid, piercing, as they swept the room and landed on her.

“And just who the devil are you?” Leslie demanded.

Luke looked relieved to see the other man.

The man ignored Leslie, nodded at Luke. He stepped to the side of Caroline’s bed and smiled down at her. “I’m Alex Buchanan, a defense attorney with one of the best records in the state of Georgia. Mr. Dawson called me about your situation. And from where I stand, you look like you could use my help.” He pulled a dollar out of his suit-jacket pocket and handed it to her.

“What’s this for?” she asked, automatically taking it.

“I figure you probably don’t have any cash with you here in the hospital. If you’d like me to represent you, you can give me that dollar as my retainer.”

Leslie scoffed.

Cornell’s mouth curved in grudging admiration.

Caroline looked at Luke. “You think I need help?”

“I know you do. Alex really is the best. I recommend that you hire him.”

She held the dollar out to the handsome man smiling down at her. “You’re hired, Mr. Buchanan.”

He took the dollar and slid it back into his pocket. “Excellent. Detective Cornell, miss,” he said, looking at Leslie. “I need a moment alone with my client.”

“I’m not leaving unless he does,” Leslie said, pointing at Luke.

Alex smiled without humor. “Yes, you are. You’re both leaving. But Mr. Dawson stays. Three days ago, someone killed my client’s husband. And if she’d arrived at the house a few moments earlier, she could have been killed, as well. Mr. Dawson is her bodyguard. He’s not going anywhere.”

* * *

APPARENTLY, CAROLINE LOVED GARDENS. Luke had done his best to find one for her so she, Alex and he could talk without anyone overhearing them. The closest thing to a garden the hospital had was a spot in a small, empty waiting room on the first floor that looked out a group of windows to some flowering shrubs.

Not that it really mattered. Caroline wasn’t paying attention to the view. She sat in her wheelchair staring at Alex with the same confusion Luke felt.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

Luke shook his head. “Neither do I. Maybe you should explain one more time, Alex. How, exactly, am I supposed to protect Caroline when I won’t even be in the house with her?”

“Mrs. Ashton already has a contract with a security company to guard the mansion. Stellar Security has an excellent record. There’s no reason to believe they can’t take care of her without your help.”

“If you truly believe that, then why am I even here?” Luke asked.

“To protect Mrs. Ashton.”

Caroline’s brow furrowed and she shared another look of confusion with Luke.

“See, that’s the part where you lost me earlier,” Luke said.

Alex smiled. “Forgive me. I’m not explaining this very well. Based on my current understanding of the case, we only know one thing—that someone murdered Mr. Ashton. We don’t know if the killer wanted to kill him, or if Mrs. Ashton was his true target, or if it was simply a burglary gone wrong with no real connection to either of the Ashtons.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Caroline said.

“I’m sure Detective Cornell has, but he confronted you earlier to shake you up, to see your reaction. Right now, everyone has more questions than answers. What I want to do is keep the status quo, keep the variables as close to normal as possible. That will make it much more obvious if someone has changed their routine, or if they act differently. By returning to your usual routine, it will be easier to judge people’s reactions, easier to point out if someone seems a bit...off.”

Luke tapped the table. “And I’m supposed to sit in my car and watch the mansion? What good does that do?”

“It allows you to become invisible. No one is going to pay attention to you outside, but if you’re inside, everyone acts differently and it will be much harder for Mrs. Ashton to pick up on any changes.”

“Please call me Caroline, both of you. And as far as your plan, Alex, I agree it will be fairly easy for me to spot any changes that way.”

“I’m concerned about your safety,” Luke insisted.

“There’s no reason to believe Mrs. Ashton’s...that is, Caroline’s security company that’s already in place can’t continue to protect the mansion. Stellar Security has an unblemished reputation.”

“You’re right. They do. Caroline, as much as it galls me to admit it, you probably don’t need me anymore.”

She reached for his hand. From the way her eyes widened, it appeared she was just as surprised at her action as Luke was, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he threaded his fingers with hers.

Some of the tension went out of her and she gave him a tentative smile. “It may not seem like I need you, but I do. The mansion has never been my home. No one there is my friend or cares one whit about me. While I’d prefer that you be inside, with me, just knowing you are watching over the place will give me comfort. That is, if you don’t mind.”

He considered the hours he’d be spending sitting in his car. He wouldn’t be able to run the air conditioner all that time, not without overheating the engine, which meant he’d be the one overheating. That thought should have had him wanting to end the contract and go back to his office. But it didn’t. For some reason, he couldn’t bear not being there. He wanted, needed, to make sure she really was safe.

“If that’s what you want, then I’m happy to stay on the case, in whatever capacity you and Alex think makes sense.”

She smiled and pulled her hand back.

Luke sorely missed the feel of her delicate hand in his, which surprised him again. Everything about Caroline and his reactions to her surprised him.

Alex raised a brow at the exchange but didn’t comment on it.

“What about Leslie?” Caroline asked Alex. “You mentioned earlier you had concerns about her.”

“I do. Tell me, how did you end up renting the cottage where your husband was killed?”

“Leslie helped me find it on the internet.”

“Did she know what time you were supposed to arrive on the day you were moving in?”

“Well, yes.” Her eyes widened. “You can’t be suggesting she had anything to do with Richard’s death.”

“Not suggesting,” Alex said. “Just exploring the facts. She knew where you were going and what time you’d be there, so you have to consider she could have planned the murder expecting you to discover the body. She may have wanted you to look guilty.”

Caroline shook her head. “No, that’s not what happened at all. Leslie had nothing to gain from Richard’s death. And she couldn’t have known what time I’d be at the cottage because I changed plans after leaving her office. I hired Luke. Then I went to the house.”

Luke exchanged a look with Alex. From the expression on Alex’s face, Luke realized they were both thinking the same thing. Luke shifted forward in his chair. “Caroline, you changed plans, but Leslie didn’t know that, did she? What exactly did she think you were going to do after leaving her office?”

Her lips compressed into a tight line. She obviously didn’t appreciate where the conversation was going. “She was just looking out for my safety. She didn’t want Richard to find me. We both agreed I would go directly to the rental.”

“And if you had done that,” Luke said, “you would have arrived right about the time your husband was shot. It sounds to me like you wouldn’t have had an alibi if you had done what your lawyer expected you to do.”

The resentment on her face faded as the truth hung in the air between them.

She swallowed hard. “Leslie did stress that I needed to go directly to the cottage, that I shouldn’t stop anywhere. But that doesn’t mean she had anything to do with Richard’s death. You’re suggesting she might have wanted to frame me. What would she gain from that?”

Alex shook his head. “I have no idea. But we need to look at all the possibilities. I have other concerns about Miss Harrison. She’s a tax attorney, but she still took the same oath I did. She knows that protecting her clients is her first priority. And by allowing you to speak to the police without a criminal-law attorney present, she displayed incredibly poor judgment, at the least. I’d like you to be careful around her until the investigation can clear her of any involvement. You can still keep her in your normal routine, but don’t sign anything or agree to anything without vetting it through me first. See if she does anything to raise red flags with you.”

“Okay, but I can tell you there’s no reason to be concerned. Leslie is the only friend I have. She’s the one who helped me get the cottage and helped me plan leaving my husband.”

Alex crossed his arms. “How long did she know about the abuse?”

Caroline’s gaze fell to her lap. “About six months.”

Luke cursed.

Alex looked as if he wanted to do the same, but he refrained. “As a lawyer, it was Miss Harrison’s obligation to help you. While she may not have been legally bound to report the abuse like a doctor would be, she’s ethically and morally bound to do so. I assure you, her turning a blind eye—even if she helped you later on—would not look well for her if she came up for review before the bar.”

“I don’t want her to get in trouble,” Caroline said. “Whether you agree with her methods or not, she’s the only one who ever tried to help me, the only person who ever seemed to notice there was anything wrong. Without her, I would never have figured out how to escape.”

“How long was the abuse going on?” Alex asked.

Her face went pale. “Years.”

“Then why now? After all that time, what made you decide it was time to leave?”

“The baby,” she whispered. “As soon as I realized I was pregnant, I decided I had to figure out a way to get out of there. I couldn’t risk bringing up a child in that environment. I may have been weak and a coward when it came to myself, but I couldn’t do that to a child. I started making plans that same day.” She closed her eyes. “But before everything was finalized, Richard...taught me one of his...lessons. The cramping, the bleeding...I knew I’d lost the baby. I was so ashamed. I couldn’t allow myself to risk getting pregnant again, risk the life of another child.”

Luke took her hand in his. “Stop talking like that. You aren’t weak, or a coward. You were in an untenable situation. I understand the cycle of abuse. I’ve seen it over and over. It’s not easy to get out. Your abuser plays a mind game on you, slowly wearing you down until one day you don’t even know how you got in the place where you’re at. It’s not your fault. None of this. It’s Richard Ashton’s fault. And you didn’t kill your child. He did.”

Unshed tears made her eyes bright. She gave him a watery smile. “Thank you.”

He squeezed her hand in answer.

Alex frowned. “I’m sure Miss Harrison has filed your husband’s will with the courts by now, but I’m new to this case and don’t have the particulars. Can you give me a summary? Who are Mr. Ashton’s beneficiaries?”

“His brothers and me.”

“Split equally?”

“No. For some reason, Richard decided to leave me the bulk of the estate. He left five million to each of his brothers, but everything else goes to me.”

“Did he get along with his brothers?”

“More with Daniel than Grant, but he fought with both of them off and on over the years. Daniel hasn’t been to the house in quite some time, but I don’t know if he and Richard were fighting or not. Grant comes over more often, but his visits usually end in some kind of argument. He and Richard seem to have...issues. They came to blows on occasion. Richard was definitely the type to hold a grudge, so maybe that explains why he didn’t leave much—relative to the entire estate, of course—to Grant. But I thought Richard and Daniel had a better relationship overall. I don’t understand why he left Daniel so little.”

“Forgive me,” Alex said, “but I have to ask because you can bet the police will. If you’d divorced, was there an agreement in place about what you would have received?”

“Yes. Two hundred thousand dollars a year, for life. I was never worried about the money. Trust me, that kind of money would have been plenty.”

“A jury might feel differently. That’s a drastic change in lifestyle for someone who’s used to being in a mansion, married to a billionaire.” He shrugged. “Those are the facts. We’ll just have to deal with them.”

Luke leaned forward in his chair. “Let’s get back to the plan for how to keep her safe until the killer is caught. I’m all for assuming she’s as much a target as her husband. I’d rather be too cautious than to let down my guard. First thing to consider—what do we do about the funeral for Mr. Ashton?”


Chapter Five

It nearly killed Luke being outside Caroline’s inner circle, relying on Alex’s instincts that she’d be safe with her usual bodyguards, at least for now. But he did as Alex had suggested. The plan the defense lawyer had put in place seemed solid. And Alex had hired a private investigator to dig into everything on the side to bolster Caroline’s defense, if that became necessary, and also to try to find out the identity of the killer.

The investigator was also digging into Leslie Harrison’s past to see if she had anything to gain by either framing Caroline, or by having her killed along with Richard if Caroline had arrived at the cottage when Leslie expected her to that day.

Luke watched the hospital entrance from his 1997 Ford Thunderbird parked between two tall SUVs that made it less likely anyone would notice him. Not that they would anyway. Few people stopped to admire his olive-green, beat-up car, which was exactly how he wanted it. This was his work car, built like a tank, dented and scratched from run-ins when the people he was protecting his clients from decided to come after him instead. He even had several spare tires in the trunk instead of the traditional “one,” prepared for the next time someone decided to slash his tires.





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