Книга - Private Bodyguard

Private Bodyguard
Tyler Anne Snell


As a bodyguard, it was his duty to protect her—not fall for her all over again…Orion Security Group’s mission is to protect those in serious danger. So when Oliver Quinn's latest assignment unexpectedly brings him back into Darling Smith’s life, he knows it's going to be his most challenging case yet. And from the moment he comes face-to-face with the beauty from his past, Oliver can't deny their history is going to make for some tension-filled days—and frustrating nights. But keeping her safe, even though she denies she needs his help, has to come before exploring their lingering feelings. She may not have asked for his protection, but with the killer on her trail, she can’t afford not to have it…







Using his foot, Oliver nudged the door open. Anger flared within him. The office had been tossed.

Oliver returned his gun to the back of his jeans. He followed Darling into the small, disheveled room. She stood in the doorway, eyes roaming over the mess. Then, like a switch had been flipped, she hurried to the other side of the desk and started to move through drawers on the floor.

“It’s gone, Oliver!”

“What’s gone?” But before she could answer, it dawned on him. “The security tape.”

Darling nodded, clearly upset. An overpowering urge to comfort her pushed him forward. He put his hands on her shoulders, making her look up into his eyes. The moment from the night before played back into his mind.

She was close enough to kiss.

“Oliver, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Yes?” His voice dropped low. Her green-eyed stare could stir up a drove of feelings in mere seconds.

“I think I know who did this,” she whispered. “And you aren’t going to like it.”




Private Bodyguard

Tyler Anne Snell







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


Table of Contents

Cover (#ua998f8c8-ba1e-55c1-bf1c-679e3a5cc367)

Introduction (#u9abd4659-ed0d-518f-b687-45b3cbfad555)

Title Page (#ufcf4a15f-72d4-5c74-86c5-5b3482118df4)

About the Author (#uc0e36e33-b3e9-5b87-b9f6-7a17520f5097)

Dedication (#u9e1ac5a7-9573-5b22-ac18-c0c984e42f13)

Chapter One (#ulink_70c8b9b3-4813-53e0-8165-467beff6037e)

Chapter Two (#ulink_da75de4b-6bda-5c5d-a996-9ef539ed3ac0)

Chapter Three (#ulink_19f33e2c-b49e-58d5-abd4-c1de88da69a2)

Chapter Four (#ulink_c4142db4-d8b9-52de-b50a-a773c24e5981)

Chapter Five (#ulink_37c86604-dac2-5a51-9e55-c60e0cfbfa0d)

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)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


TYLER ANNE SNELL genuinely loves all genres of the written word. However, she’s realized that she loves books filled with sexual tension and mysteries a little more than the rest. Her stories have a good dose of both. Tyler lives in Florida with her same-named husband and their mini “lions.” When she isn’t reading or writing, she’s playing video games and working on her blog, Almost There. To follow her shenanigans, visit www.tylerannesnell.com (http://www.tylerannesnell.com).


This book is for one of my best friends, Rachel Miller. Thank you for listening to everything I had to say about Darling’s story, as well as every other story I’ve ever created! Your enthusiasm, wisdom and friendship have made my life exponentially better. Here’s to many, many, many more years of staying up late and talking about books!

Also, the quickest of shout-outs to Hunter Hall.

Our friendship is also killer!


Chapter One (#ulink_f0d22339-07de-5690-b2a2-3e04674999be)

“It was just a little misunderstanding.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not confirmed, just accused,” she said.

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

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

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

“I preferred ‘cute,’” she grumbled.

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

“Accused criminal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So that had been the bottom line.

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

* * *

“YOU SURE YOU can do this?”

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

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

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

Oliver raised an eyebrow at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nikki snorted. “Robin Hoods, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hung up, aggravated.

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

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

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

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

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

“A private eye?”

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

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

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

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

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

Oliver almost swerved off of the road.

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

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

“Her name is Darling. Darling Smith.”

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both men looked at her, waiting for an answer.

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

“Fine, but you’re buying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or people who wanted to meet someone in secret.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She knocked a few more times and waited.

And waited.

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

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

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

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


Chapter Two (#ulink_1b284697-c6d0-5dd7-81a1-6a62d383d94d)

“And you’re sure she won’t be a problem?” Nikki asked after Oliver more or less summed up his visit to the police station. He had admitted to knowing Darling, just not how he knew her.

“I’m sure. She was just curious, that’s all,” he said for the third time. Nikki might not have been fond of taking on Nigel Marks as a client, but now that he was under contract, she was going to make sure nothing bad happened. “Listen, I don’t blame her. This place is impressive. I’d have done the same thing. If it makes you feel better, I’m catching up with her when Thomas and Grant relieve me tonight. I’ll bring it up again and if she lies to me, I’ll catch it.”

“Well, just try not to tick off the long-winded gate guard, George, while you’re there. I’d really like to avoid talking to him again.”

Oliver agreed and they ended the call. He looked through the window to the gatehouse down below. George Hanely had been like a kid on Christmas as he recounted the story of how he had saved the Markses’ home from the more-than-suspicious private investigator. Oliver had been at Nigel Marks’s home for less than ten minutes, and in that time he had watched George reenact what had happened.

He had led Oliver from his post in the small one-room, half-bathroom house that sat at the front of the drive around to the garage. It, like the house, was large. It could easily fit several cars. Darling had been spotted next to the side door. Her story of just being close to the gate that surrounded the property was hard to believe. The iron gate was a good forty to fifty yards away. If she had been trying to get back over the fence, then why come so close to the garage?

Oliver could guess the answer. She was trying to get into the garage. But why?

Ever since he had seen Darling, he had been assuming that she was still the same girl he’d known before. The fact that she was in jail to start off with had proven the opposite. And a private investigator?

He smiled to himself. That he could believe. Darling had loved the challenge of a good mystery.

He remembered the first time he’d met her. She had been butt up in a Dumpster behind an office complex, rooting around in discarded papers and files. At the time he’d assumed it was a part of some weird bet. She hadn’t looked homeless with her designer clothes and perfectly manicured nails. Then, when she found exactly what she didn’t want to find, she had opened up in a burst of emotion to the nineteen-year-old him. Her world wasn’t over, but it had changed. Through the next few months the once-spoiled, once-naive teenager transformed into a thoughtful, compassionate young woman. The people around her hadn’t appreciated the changed Darling, and slowly she had become isolated. Oliver, however, had formed a bond with her, staying by her side until...

Self-loathing pulsed through him at the memory of the last night he’d seen her. Time can heal all wounds, but seeing the girl whose heart you shattered only breaks out the salt and pours it into the gashes, he thought with a frown.

Seeing her after all those years had been a shock to his system. One he wasn’t sure was entirely good or entirely bad. As he tried to clear his mind, he marveled at the fact that he still felt so strongly about what had happened almost a decade ago.

Oliver left the guest bedroom Nigel had assigned to him and started to go through each room of the house. He checked windows, catalogued all exits and got his bearings of the Markses’ second home. Its large size didn’t surprise him in the least.

After finishing his sweep, he made his way back over to the gatehouse. George, a slight man in his thirties with dark hair and a pasty complexion, could barely keep his excitement at bay at having someone to talk to. Oliver didn’t blame the man one bit. Even though Nigel Marks hadn’t been at his house in years, it was still George’s job to watch the gate daily. If it had been Oliver’s job, he would have hated it. However, George seemed to take pride in his tasks, and Oliver spied a movie player and several movies under the front desk, which must have made sitting in one room day in and day out a little more bearable.

“So, have you ever met Mr. Marks in person?” George asked when Oliver was satisfied with each part of the property. Aside from the gatehouse, garage and house, there was nothing but open land surrounding the acres the Markses owned.

“No,” Oliver admitted. “My boss handles the client interactions before the contract start date,” he explained. “Do you see him often? I was under the impression he didn’t come visit much.”

George shrugged. “He calls to check in from time to time and ask about things,” he said. Oliver noticed the gate guard puffed his chest out a bit. “I keep him informed on what’s going on in Mulligan.” There was no mistaking that George definitely took pride in working for Nigel. Oliver could respect that, even if he wondered what kind of social life the guard was left with after the hours he worked. Having a good boss was an absolute must for Oliver, especially after the nightmare of what had happened with his last. “That’s how I knew that woman was up to no good.”

They had just stepped outside the gatehouse and were facing the private drive. It wasn’t as cold as the Montana case had been, but there was a chill in the air that moved with the breeze. Oliver tilted his head as another gust pushed against his clean-shaven face, and he thought about his next words carefully before speaking.

“You mean the private investigator? She seemed harmless enough,” he said, not believing himself as he said it.

George snorted. “Private investigator. Yeah, that sounds a lot better than what she really does.”

Oliver raised his eyebrow. “What does she really do?”

“Sneak around, break the law and ruin lives. Just like the rat of a man she got her office from,” he explained with a surge of anger.

“From what I could tell Derrick seemed to like her,” Oliver added.

“Deputy Derrick and her are close, if you know what I mean.”

A quick burst of jealousy flashed through Oliver. The idea that Darling was with someone romantically hadn’t yet breached his thoughts. Not that it should matter either way.

“And as for the chief, he’s one of many people here that have fallen for her charms. If you ask me, she uses her looks to get what she wants. It’s repulsive. She should be using her time better, you know? Get married, have some kids.”

Oliver’s brief jealousy turned to a not-so-brief anger. It was true he couldn’t claim to know this new, older version of Darling the same way he had known the younger one, but he seriously doubted she was this repulsive person George was claiming. He was about to set the man straight when his cell phone beeped.

“They’re almost here,” Oliver said instead. “I want you to call me if anyone other than my team and Nigel comes to this gate. No matter the time. Are we clear?”

George straightened his back and almost looked as if he was ready to salute. “Yes, sir,” he barked.

Within minutes a black SUV came up the drive, followed by a sleek silver two-door Audi. Originally, Nigel was supposed to be escorted from his home in California to Mulligan, but a week ago he had changed this detail, much to Nikki’s frustration. He had spent two days in the neighboring city, working to put out business-related fires due to his company’s newest merger while he stayed at a four-star hotel less than a block from that branch of Charisma Investments. The other two members of Team Delta had been ordered to pick Nigel up that morning, officially starting their contract time frame.

Oliver nodded to Thomas Gage, Orion’s newest recruit, as he rolled down the SUV’s tinted driver’s side window just before the gate. His build was on the lean side, with narrow shoulders and arms toned but not as built as the rest of Team Delta. He had light brown skin, dark hair and bright blue eyes that Nikki had commented on more than once. Thomas never sported facial hair, and that decision often got him mistaken for younger than twenty-five. This was his third job as a Delta agent. Oliver liked his humor and lingering innocence.

“Hey there, Boss,” Thomas greeted Oliver with a smile. He motioned to the backseat, where Nigel Marks sat with a laptop on his lap and a phone to his ear. He looked up and gave a quick wave before turning his attention back to his work. “He had an emergency call that couldn’t wait,” Thomas explained.

Oliver motioned through the gatehouse window for George to open the gate. George didn’t hesitate, and Thomas moved the SUV the rest of the way up the drive, parking in front of one of the garage doors. Grant Blakely arrived next, driving Nigel’s high-end rental. He was already grinning as he paused next to Oliver.

“This assignment may not completely suck after all, especially if we get to play with his toys,” he said as soon as the window was down. He petted the dashboard.

Oliver chuckled. He missed working with his old team of Jonathan and Mark, but he had grown fond of Grant. The thirty-four-year-old was the epitome of intimidating without even trying. Tall, wide and thick with muscles, the dark-skinned bodyguard never looked as if he couldn’t win in a fight.

“Just wait until you see the house,” Oliver said. “Any problems getting here?”

“No, sir. It’s about a thirty-minute commute with no traffic. How about on your end? Did you deal with the private eye?”

“The threat wasn’t as threatening as we thought, but just to make sure, I’m going to ask a few more questions after my shift.” Grant nodded, and Oliver once again told George to open the gate.

“The man driving Nigel is Thomas, and the one in the Audi is Grant,” Oliver explained to George. “You have all our numbers. Don’t hesitate to use them if you need to. At all times there will be two of us with Nigel.”

George took the three cards with their numbers and put them in his pocket. Although he said he understood, Oliver could tell his attention had moved toward the cars, where his true boss had just exited.

Nigel Marks was over six foot, of average size and dressed in a proper suit. His salt-and-pepper hair was cropped close to his head, with a pair of reading glasses resting on top. The file Oliver had been given said Nigel was fifty-three, though he looked years younger. The file also said he was an avid runner, competing in marathons and triathlons in his spare time. That would account for the toned body his suit did little to hide. As Oliver approached, Nigel ended his call and extended his hand.

“Sorry about that,” Nigel said with a smile. “This merger has made everyone forget how to do their jobs. You must be Mr. Quinn.”

Oliver shook. “Call me Oliver.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Oliver. Nikki spoke very highly of you and your team. Hopefully you won’t get too bored on this job.”

“It’s a good sign when a job stays boring,” Oliver replied.

Nigel seemed to consider this and laughed. “I suppose you’re right. Well...” Nigel waved to his house as Grant and Thomas joined them. “As I told Nikki, feel free to treat this as your home while here. There are no off-limits areas, but I do ask my office be left alone unless I’m with you. I have a feeling that my free time will be spent in there.” He paused as his phone rang. His pleasant mood seemed to slide away in an instant. Replacing it was the look of a tired man. “My work is never done.”

* * *

DARLING FELT AS if she was frozen yet couldn’t stop everything around her from moving. It wasn’t until her vision started to tunnel that she realized she was about to pass out. With a quick dose of good sense, she backed out of the bathroom and crouched, flinging her head down between her legs. In the moment she couldn’t remember why that stopped a person from fainting, but she knew she needed to try it nonetheless.

So there she was, crouched just outside of room 212’s bathroom and its body in the tub, trying to calm her stampeding heartbeat and erratic breathing.

This case was nothing but bad, bad luck.

A car door shut in the parking lot some time later. Whether it was seconds or minutes, she wasn’t sure. The room hadn’t been the only aspect of her reality that had warped when she had seen the body. However, instead of sending her into a bigger fit of worries, the sound of the outside world started to make her focus.

She took two deep breaths and slowly righted herself. The camera around her neck slapped against her chest, reminding her of the reason she had been there in the first place.

Nigel Marks and his mistress had been in this room the night before. He had gone, but his mistress hadn’t checked out. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to guess it was her unfortunate fate that she was the one wrapped up in the tub. Darling knew she had to call the police, just as she knew that once she left the room, she’d never be allowed back in.

At the moment, it was a thought that didn’t sit right with her. So, blaming the impulse on her desire to solve mysteries, even ones seemingly cut and dried, she took her camera from her neck and walked back to the bathroom doorway. With hands she let shake, she snapped a few pictures of the bathroom and its deceased guest before she turned back and took a few of the bedroom. Another car door slammed shut in the distance. She glanced once more toward the bathroom.

Darling felt a mixture of anger and sadness pull at her heart. Nigel Marks might be a powerful man in the business world, but by killing this woman, he had unwittingly stepped inside Darling’s domain.

Darling hurried to the main office and was thankful that Dan was still alone. He didn’t look up when she came in, he just raised his hands.

“I know nothing,” he said, still in a bubble of humor. It was a bubble she was about to pop.

“Dan, you need to call the police. There’s a dead body in room 212.”

Dan laughed, thinking it was a joke until he finally met her eyes. Darling figured she must have looked as serious as the situation was. She watched his face and mood sober.

“Where?” was all he could manage.

“Wrapped up in a shower curtain in the tub.”

His lips thinned, and his brows pulled together. “You better give me the key and leave, then,” he said after a moment. He pulled the only landline phone the office had from the second shelf of his desk. Darling felt a quick wave of fondness for the man. He was always trying to cover for her.

“I don’t want you to lie about how you found the body,” Darling said. “I’ll tell the deputy the door was already open.” She handed the key back to him. “We don’t have to tell anyone about the key. Though I don’t think they’ll care either way.” It seemed obvious to her what had happened.

Dan nodded and pocketed the key.

“Then you call them,” he said, already shrugging into his coat. “I want to go see it for myself.”

Darling sat behind the front desk with a very loud, long sigh and did as she was told. Deputy Derrick wouldn’t be happy she had managed to get into this mess, but at least this time she wasn’t guilty. Not that she would have admitted she had been guilty that morning. Instead of dialing 9-1-1, she called the man directly. In a small town like Mulligan, where the members of police force could be counted on two hands, Derrick had the dual duty of being their trusty investigator as well as deputy. Instead of puttering around with someone else in the bull pen, Darling went straight to the source.

“Deputy Derrick,” he answered on the second ring.

“Derrick, it’s Darling. I hope you’re not busy right now.”

She heard him snort. “Is that your way of trying to ask me out? We both know how well that works,” he said, all humor.

“Well, not quite.”

“Where are you calling from?” he asked after a pause. She knew him well enough to recognize something close to suspicious concern creeping into his tone.

“The Mulligan Motel,” she paused for a moment and then dove in. “There’s a body in room 212, wrapped up in the tub.”

“A body?”

She nodded. Then, realizing he couldn’t see her, she said, “And Derrick? The last person seen leaving the room was Nigel Marks.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Stay there and tell Dan don’t let anyone else in that room,” he finally said. “And I mean it, Darling. No one else goes in there.”

Darling agreed to his no-tampering-with-a-crime-scene rule. Suddenly her morning indiscretion didn’t seem as bad. She even bet Oliver’s need to question her would disappear when he found out.

Oliver.

She pulled his card out of her back pocket and looked at his number.

If Nigel did kill whoever it was in the tub, where did that leave Oliver?


Chapter Three (#ulink_be039af6-9811-5a57-b3fe-f9908a800be2)

Oliver didn’t answer when Darling called him.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt she owed it to him to give him a heads-up that the man he had promised to guard was about to need a lot more protection than he could offer. Oliver had said she wasn’t a threat, vouching for a woman he no longer knew. Plus, it was no fun to be blindsided. She knew that from experience.

“This is Oliver Quinn. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible,” his voice mail recording answered. Darling felt her face heat up after the beep to leave a message came and went. She realized then that giving him a heads-up might also give Nigel one before the cops were even able to see the body in the tub. She didn’t want to be the one responsible for giving the number one suspect time to lawyer up or possibly run. Although he probably had already done one or the other. It wasn’t as if the body could have gone unnoticed for too long.

“Um, hi, it’s Darling,” she floundered. “I need you to call me as soon as you get this. Something’s happened. Thanks.” She let out a long sigh as she ended the call. She liked to believe she was a very confident and sure woman, but mix any part of Oliver into her life and she suddenly felt off her game.

Darling went back up to the second floor to find Dan, trying to push thoughts of her ex clear out of her head. She had walked into the crime scene that, most likely, her current client’s husband had created. That gave her a new set of problems and concerns without adding the complication of the man from her past.

“I talked to Deputy Derrick,” Darling told Dan, who was standing in the doorway to room 212. “He said no one else needs to go in there until they get here.”

Dan didn’t answer right away. His eyes were stuck on a point somewhere in the main room. She wondered if he had peeked in the bathroom yet. When he met her gaze, she knew he had. He looked haunted.

“Do you think he really did it?” he asked. “Nigel. Do you think he really killed her?”

Darling shrugged. “I can’t say for certain, but I can make the leap and say I think there’s a pretty good chance he did. You said yourself that he stayed the night here.”

Dan nodded, but there was no enthusiasm in it.

“Do you want me to wait in the lobby and send the cops up when they get here?” she asked when it was clear Dan wasn’t going to talk. He nodded again and returned to staring into room 212. She patted him on the shoulder and made the walk back, thinking a dead body in your hotel couldn’t be good for business.

Darling sat behind the desk again but didn’t let her mind wander. Instead she thought about Elizabeth Marks, the only other woman who knew about her husband’s affair. Or, at least, she had thought so. If Nigel went to jail for murdering his mistress, she’d be in the clear to take what was hers, and possibly his, and leave without any strings attached.

A coldness seeped into Darling’s heart.

She pulled her phone out and went to her email. Searching through discount offers and social media updates, she found the itinerary Elizabeth had sent to her after she had signed on to the case. During the duration of Nigel’s work trip, Elizabeth would be with her mother in the Bahamas. She claimed that if she were far away with no chance of accidentally spotting Nigel and his mistress, he might get careless. It would be easier to catch him, she had said with vigor. If the schedule Darling was looking at was correct, the two women would have left for the trip on Sunday, two days ago. That meant Elizabeth wasn’t even in the country when the woman had checked in.

Plus, why would you hire a private investigator if you were just going to kill the problem?

All at once, Darling realized there was an easy way to figure out who the mistress was.

Jumping up, she hurried to look out the door to make sure no one was coming. Derrick had been at the police station when she had called, which meant she had very little time left before he arrived. She ran back behind the front desk and pulled a big leather-bound registry book out. Dan hated leaving it on the desktop because he claimed it got in the way of his crosswords. He only pulled it out when a new guest had already handed over the money. It was also the only way he kept tabs on the people who checked in and out. Darling could have slapped herself. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of looking at the registry as soon as she had come in.

She flipped through a few pages until she found the entries from the night before. Three people had checked in. All were after 6:00 p.m., and none of them were Nigel Marks. A car door shut in the parking lot, and for the second time that day, Darling took a picture of something she probably shouldn’t have. This time it was with her phone, but that reminded her she needed to hide her camera or else Derrick would take it from her. He was always suspicious of her, which, she guessed, was deserved in this case. She grabbed the camera, put it in the bottom drawer of the desk and replaced the registry seconds before Deputy Derrick came into the office.

“Two times in one day, huh?” she greeted him. Derrick didn’t think it was funny. She sobered. “Sorry, it’s been a weird day.”

Whatever he had been about to say, he must have changed his mind. His face softened.

“What room?” he asked.

“Room 212. Dan is waiting outside. I told him not to go back in, like you said.”

Derrick nodded. Behind his knitted brows, he was probably running through police procedures.

“You okay?” he asked when she kept staring. “I mean, like emotionally,” he tacked on. He had never been that great at talking about feelings, so the question surprised her.

“Yeah, I didn’t really see much.”

He nodded and turned for the door that led to the stairs outside. He paused long enough to add, “And Darling, don’t leave. I have a lot of questions for you.”

“I know.”

* * *

“I NEED YOU to call me as soon as you get this. Something’s happened. Thanks.” Oliver hadn’t recognized the number, but he sure did recognize the voice and the oddness behind it as he listened to Darling’s message. He didn’t have long to think about it, though, before his phone rang again.

This time it was George.

“Oliver, the police are here,” he started. “They want to know if they can come in.”

“The police?”

“Yeah, they say they need to talk to Mr. Marks.”

Oliver looked up as if he could see his client through the ceiling.

“Let them in,” he answered, ending the call.

He left his spot in the kitchen next to the back entrance and walked down the long hallway to the front. Grant, off duty until seven that night, was sitting in the dining room, reading one of the many books he had brought with him. He looked up as Oliver opened the front door.

“Something is up,” Oliver said over his shoulder. A police cruiser was parking next to his rental SUV. Two male cops got out. “I need you on duty right now,” he added, seeing their facial expressions. This wasn’t a courtesy visit.

“Good afternoon, officers,” Oliver said when they were a few feet away.

“Afternoon,” the first one responded. He was in his upper fifties and had almost no hair left on his head. He was built strong but didn’t look intimidating with his short height. “I’m Officer Barker and this is my partner, Officer Clay.” He motioned to the much younger black man next to him, whose lack of hair looked more intentional than his partner’s. “You must be one of Mr. Marks’s bodyguards.”

“Yes, sir. How can I help you?”

Officer Barker looked considerably more uncomfortable than Officer Clay. They shared a glance before Barker straightened his back and answered.

“We need to talk to Mr. Marks,” he said. “Now.”

“Okay,” Oliver said. He turned to nod at Grant, who had been hanging back in the dining room to listen. “Can I ask what about?” Oliver ventured as Grant walked out of the room, heading for the stairs.

Again Oliver caught the feeling of unease that passed between the officers.

“Something’s happened,” Officer Clay answered. Oliver instantly recalled Darling’s voice mail. “We shouldn’t say anything more until we’ve talked to Mr. Marks.”

Oliver wanted to push for more answers but had to remind himself that he was the bodyguard, not Nigel’s personal assistant. He let the officers stand in silence until the man of the hour made his grand appearance.

“Officers,” Nigel said, a question already in his tone. “What can I do for you?”

“We’ll give you some privacy,” Oliver said, falling back into the house with Grant but maintaining a sight line. Nigel didn’t seem to notice, and as soon as they were out of earshot, the officers began to talk in lowered voices.

“What’s going on?” Thomas asked. He had come down the stairs with Nigel, face filled with curiosity. Not that Oliver could blame him.

“The cops are here,” Grant answered. He turned to Oliver. “Do you know what’s going on?”

Oliver watched as Nigel’s entire body visibly tensed.

“No,” he answered. “But I can guess it’s probably not good.”

Probably not good was an understatement. In less than five minutes, Nigel Marks was in the back of the cop cruiser and as mad as a hornet. Before they had driven away, the businessman had asked Thomas to call his lawyer.

“About what?” Thomas had asked.

“I’m being accused of murder,” Nigel had bit back.

All three bodyguards didn’t have time to hide their surprise.

Oliver had had many interesting things happen in his line of work, but he could definitely say a client being accused of murder was a first. No matter the new unique circumstance, he couldn’t forget he was team leader. He sent Grant and Thomas—who had followed Nigel’s directions and was calling Nikki to get the man’s lawyer’s information, and also an earful of confusion from her—to the police station. There they would continue to work as his bodyguards until Nigel was officially convicted of the crime or cleared of it.

Oliver made sure George knew he needed to keep an extravigilant eye on the gate and jumped into his rental, already calling Darling. It wasn’t a coincidence she had called. She knew something.

She always did.

Minutes later, Oliver pulled into the lot of the Mulligan Motel. The coroner’s van along with two police cruisers were parked next to the entrance, while a few guests stood around, but he had eyes only for one woman.

Darling was sitting on a bench next to the lobby’s front door, concentration aimed at her phone. She had been brief during their call but had admitted they had found a dead body. Though how it was linked to Nigel, he wasn’t sure yet.

“Apparently my questions are going to have to be asked a little earlier than planned,” he said by way of a greeting. It made the woman jump, but she didn’t appear angry when she met his eyes. His body tensed at her gaze.

“Believe me, you aren’t the only one who has questions.” She stood and stretched. He was acutely aware of her five-five height, having to incline his head down slightly to look at her. A memory of how easy it was to pick her up into his embrace flashed across his vision. “Where is Nigel, and why aren’t you with him?”

Since Nigel was a client, what went on in the man’s private life was confidential. Oliver was under contract, which meant, unless it was public information, he couldn’t divulge the fact that the businessman had been taken to the jail. Even if the person asking was Darling.

“Grant and Thomas are with him,” was all he gave her. “Now, what’s going on here, and how is it connected with Nigel?”

Darling was visibly trying to hide her anger at not being given a full answer, but she reined in the emotion along with any words born from it. She pushed her shoulders back when she was no longer actively trying to hide her displeasure.

“A body was found in the room your boss was staying in last night,” she answered. Oliver didn’t correct her with the difference between boss and client. His interest level had jumped off the charts instead. He was about to push for more when the Mulligan Motel’s front door swung open and the deputy walked out. His mouth was set in a grim line, one that thinned when he saw Oliver.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” the deputy said, coming over. “I thought you’d be at the station.”

“So Nigel was arrested?” Darling cut in before Oliver could comment.

“He was picked up a few minutes ago,” Derrick said, relieving Oliver of having to withhold the information. Even though Darling kept her face guarded, he didn’t miss the satisfaction that the cop’s words brought her. “Which is why I didn’t think you’d be here,” Derrick said to Oliver.

“The rest of the team is with him,” he repeated. “I came here to find out what’s going on.” Oliver sent a pointed look to Darling. “And how you’re involved.”

Darling crossed her arms over her chest.

“I was actually about to ask the same thing,” Derrick said. The two of them focused on the private investigator. She shifted under their collective gaze. A long exhalation escaped between her lips.

“I was working a case,” she admitted. “It led me here and, to my surprise, right up to a dead body. But as soon as I found it, I called you,” she said to Derrick.

The cop outdid her earlier sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What’s your case?” Oliver had to ask.

Darling set her jaw. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Dammit, Darling, a woman is dead. You need to tell me everything you know,” Derrick said with tried patience. Oliver guessed murder wasn’t a normal occurrence in Mulligan.

“So it is a woman, then?” she asked. Derrick nodded. It was her turn to skate around a direct answer. “I didn’t look hard enough. How was she killed?”

“And how is Nigel connected, again?” Oliver tacked on.

The deputy wasn’t happy about the questions. “It’s my turn to say ‘no comment.’” Darling opened her mouth to argue, but he held up his hand. “This is an ongoing murder investigation, Darling. I can’t give you anything right now. Not even for old times’ sake.”

Oliver didn’t like the way he said the last part or the way the deputy brought up their shared past. The past that Oliver’s past few years didn’t even touch. However, a small part of him did feel a sort of odd joy to know that whatever relationship they’d had was now seemingly over.

“Now, please go wait inside so I can take your statement,” the deputy said to Darling before focusing on Oliver. “And I suggest you head to the station. We’re going to need to talk about that client of yours.”

He was gone after that, leaving Oliver and Darling speechless on the sidewalk.

“You said Nigel was the last to see the woman alive?” he asked, voice low and serious.

“He spent the night with her, Oliver.”

“Are you sure?” Nigel had said he was in his hotel in the city until the morning. Neither Grant nor Thomas had said otherwise. “It could have been a mistake.”

Darling’s lips turned down. “It looks like Nigel Marks isn’t the saint you thought him to be.” There was no mistaking the undercurrent of anger that coursed through her words. He was a step away from a dangerous territory with her.

“This isn’t how I pictured running into you after all of these years.” Silence stretched between them as neither had a response ready for the topic of their past. Oliver then continued, “I’d still like to catch up, but it looks like tonight might not be good.” He had already started a mental list of things he needed to do. “Can I treat you to breakfast tomorrow instead?”

Darling seemed to be thinking it over. Eventually she nodded before she, too, disappeared back into the building. Oliver retreated to his SUV, pulling his phone out to call Nikki along the way.

The job was officially no longer boring.


Chapter Four (#ulink_7960564b-f42f-58d1-b56a-3eaf314afea7)

Darling chewed on her bottom lip, not stopping until she tasted lipstick. She was standing in the lobby of Acuity the next morning, staring into a folder, confused beyond belief.

The afternoon before had blurred by after she’d given a statement to Derrick and then been ushered home. He wasn’t happy with her investigating, or the fact that she wouldn’t say for whom, and had in so many words let her know that she wouldn’t keep that secret for long. So instead she had tried to reach Mrs. Marks. The resort manager she had spoken with had taken a message and promised to give it to her when she returned.

It had eaten Darling up as she lay awake in bed, fuming that Oliver knew more about what was going on with Nigel than she did. Here he was, stepping into her town, and he had already managed to be on the inside loop with the infamous Mr. Marks. She could have called Oliver, sure, but her pride had shut that idea down quickly. Admitting she needed the fair-haired man in any capacity was something she refused to do ever again.

After only a few hours of rest, she had opened Acuity to find a folder filled with curious things lying on the hardwood floor, slipped under the door as an unmistakable greeting.

Now between her hands were four eight-by-ten pictures of Nigel Marks with a woman who wasn’t his wife. Each picture—printed on glossy card stock and dated—was focused on the businessman and a red-haired woman in four varying shows of affection. The first two had them in an intimate embrace, while the third and fourth were of the two sharing meals. In one of those, Nigel was even holding the woman’s hand, a smile splitting his lips. None of the four pictures had a clear shot of the female’s face, but there was no denying it was the same woman in each and that the couple was happy. All pictures were dated from the previous December up until March, the month before.

Elizabeth Marks had been looking for proof that her husband had been seeing another woman in secret. From what Darling could tell, she was holding that proof.

But why?

She stood there, cycling through each picture again, when a knock at the door made her jump. The folder fell to the floor. She hurried to pick it up when she noticed there was something still inside it.

“Knock, knock. It’s me,” called Oliver from the other side of the locked front entrance. “You in there?”

Darling didn’t immediately respond. Her eyes were glued to a newspaper clipping that had been stuck to the inside of the folder. It was a picture of her parents that she knew to be almost nine years old. However, it was the words written in red across it that grabbed all her attention.

Do the right thing this time.

“Hold on,” Darling said after another knock sounded. She hoped Oliver didn’t catch the waver in her voice. She put the pictures, including the clipping, back into the folder and tucked it under her arm to unlock the door.

“You okay?” Oliver asked immediately. Perhaps her poker face wasn’t at its best today. He wore a zip-up black jacket over a black shirt that looked good contrasting with his lighter hair. Staying away from the all-black bodyguard stereotype, he’d donned beige cargo pants with more pockets than she cared to count. She didn’t recognize the brand of tennis shoes, but she bet that he could run fast in them if needed.

“Yeah, just tired,” she lied, leading him into the lobby. “Let me just freshen up and I’ll be ready to go.” She stuffed the folder into her purse and excused herself to the bathroom. There she turned on the faucet and took a deep breath.

What had briefly felt like a gift that could close her case against Nigel now felt tainted and wrong. As far as she knew, no one in Mulligan was aware of her parents’ past, especially the quiet part she had played in the background.

Do the right thing.

She didn’t need to wonder what that meant.

Whoever had sent her the folder wanted her to turn it in to the cops. But why not just do it themselves? If the red-haired woman was the same one who had been left in the tub, that meant the pictures definitely linked the two before the hotel room. Why would they give them to her?

Darling ran her hands under the cold water but didn’t splash her face. For the first time in a long while, she had taken pains to look nice. She wore a pale pink blouse that dipped down into a V—not enough to be seductive, just feminine—a pair of comfortably tight light blue jeans and dark brown boots that folded down at the ankle. Her hair was twisted up into a purposefully messy bun so the yellow daisy earrings she loved so much could be seen with ease. A subtle coral tinted her plump yet small lips. They were downturned at the moment.

She’d convinced herself that Oliver’s presence in Mulligan was a good thing. What Oliver had done in the past had broken a big part of who she was, but she liked to think she had come out stronger because of it. As soon as she had turned eighteen, she had left California, her family and all of those bad memories behind. There was no reason to dredge them up now. If she could keep her head up while Oliver was in town, then she could get through anything.

That thought alone pushed a wave of new purpose through her bones until it made her stand taller. Putting away the man behind the murder of the woman in the tub was more important than her failed love life. Nigel Marks’s mistress deserved better.

Darling eyed her purse before nodding to herself in the mirror.

She did need to do the right thing.

“You ready for some breakfast?” Oliver asked when she emerged. He was talking to her but looking around the office’s lobby. Pride swelled in her chest.

Acuity Investigations was housed in an old strip mall that predated half of the other businesses in Mulligan. Acuity was at the tail end of the shops, next to a narrow road that deposited drivers back on Main Street. The reason Jeff Berns, Darling’s former boss, had rented the particular space was its proximity to traffic yet its backdoor access so clients could be as discreet as they wanted.

Darling remembered the first time she had walked into Acuity. The cream-colored walls, leather and oak furniture, pictures of boats nestled in calm water and slightly musty smell had been a sharp contrast to what she referred to as her former life. Instead of turning her nose up at Jeff and his place of employment like her parents would have, Darling had embraced it with vigor.

Acuity wasn’t fancy or elegant, but it was important to her. As Oliver’s eyes traveled along the hardwood floors to the heavy oak door that led to her office, in the back of her mind she hoped he felt that truth ring through his bones as she did.

“Actually, would you mind if we swung by the police station really quickly?” Darling asked when his eyes finally moved back to hers. “I need to give something to Deputy Derrick.” When he didn’t immediately respond, she tacked on, “If you don’t have enough time, we could reschedule.”

“No, it’s fine,” he answered. “Just as long as we actually eat afterward.”

Darling slipped into her black faux-leather jacket and smiled inwardly at its comfort before ushering Oliver out and locking the door behind her. They walked in silence up to his SUV. She was oddly saddened when he didn’t open the door for her. The Oliver from younger years had not only opened the car doors for her but also occasionally put on her seat belt, laughing and mock-admonishing her about the importance of car safety.

The memory tugged at long-forgotten heartstrings. Now as they settled into their seats, the disconnect between the present and the past stretched between them.

“Is this visit for business or pleasure?” Oliver asked as the SUV pulled out of the parking lot.

She gave him a sideways glance. “Business.”

He nodded to the road. “Does it have to do with Nigel?”

“It does,” she admitted.

“What is it?” he ventured.

“Something very important.”

She didn’t elaborate and he didn’t push.

“I don’t think he did it, Darling,” Oliver said. “I don’t think he killed that woman.”

Darling couldn’t help the reflex to tense up, her body readying automatically for a verbal spar. It was a response she had picked up out of necessity as a young female investigator. She rolled her shoulders back to ease the new tension and answered with a controlled voice.

“Did he admit to being at the hotel last night?” she asked.

She knew Oliver sensed the mood change. He shifted in his seat and lost his smile.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask. As soon as he was released, he locked himself in his study with his lawyer and son. They were still there when I left.”

Darling’s control cracked. “They released him?”

Oliver nodded. “I don’t think there was enough evidence to hold him.”

“But he was there,” Darling exclaimed. “He spent the night with her!”

“Just because he spent the night with her doesn’t mean he killed her, Darling.” Instant anger filled her veins at how he said her name, as if she was some confused child.

“So, what, it’s just a coincidence, then? You can’t comprehend that a man like him, an adulterer, could ever do something like kill his mistress?”

She watched as his jaw hardened. “We don’t know for sure he was having an affair,” he said. “The visit could have been business-related for all we know.”

Darling laughed. “Oh, you’re right. They probably just sat around and talked business all night.”

“It’s possible,” he tried, but Darling wasn’t having it. Defending men like Nigel, bending to their wills, was unforgivable in her book. Heat rose from the pit of her stomach, but it wasn’t embarrassment. It was the force of an old wound breaking open. She yanked the pictures from her purse right as they turned into the station’s parking lot.

“He seems to like to talk to women in secret,” she said, barely able to keep her voice level. Oliver took the pictures from her hand and cycled through them just as she remembered the clipping was on the bottom. Operating on the assumption that Oliver knew he was dealing with an angry Darling, she snatched the pictures back and threw open the door. “I’ll be right back.”

She marched into the weathered, blue-painted building without looking back. Her head was almost spinning with the range of emotions she had experienced in such a short amount of time. It amazed her how Oliver brought out the worst in her, no matter what attitude she wanted to convey. Instead of seeming put together, she had come off as truly childish in the end. Her cheeks heated; this time it was all shame.

The Mulligan Police Department was poorly insulated. Derrick had liked to joke that was one of the reasons the town’s crime rate was so low. No one wanted to spend the night in the cells. She hadn’t even liked spending the morning in one. Darling wondered how Nigel Marks’s act would shake the community’s relative peace and quiet. She made a mental note to grab a newspaper after her breakfast date was finished to see how the media had handled it.

“Hey, Trudy,” Darling greeted the bundled-up secretary. She was the first and only barrier between the front doors and the bullpen.

“Darlin’ Smith, I hope you’re not in trouble again,” she said. Her tone was laced with disapproval. Trudy had more grandchildren than most people had fingers. She was proud of this and often acted as Mulligan’s mother hen, believing she had earned that right even more with every relation that had come from her and her children.

“Not today,” she said with a small smile. “But I do need to see Derrick. Is he in?”

“No, ma’am. He should be in soon, though. Do you want to wait?”

“Um, no, but can I just leave something on his desk?” Darling flashed the woman the folder, though the pictures were in her other hand. Trudy nodded and let Darling around her to the rows of desks. Another cop sat focused on his computer and didn’t seem to notice or care as she went to Derrick’s space in the corner. Glancing at a picture of Derrick’s niece and nephew positioned next to his keyboard, Darling felt as if she was making a good decision by turning the evidence in. Derrick wasn’t her Mr. Right, but he was a good, just man.

However, in true Darling fashion, she quickly snapped pictures of each individual image and their corresponding dates before slipping them into the folder, minus the newspaper clipping. She stuffed that into her back pocket.

A source dropped these off at my office today. Darling.

She scribbled down the lie and was suddenly glad that Derrick and his questions weren’t there yet. He’d call her, no doubt, but not until after he had investigated the evidence. If he caught her now, it would be the other way around, a thought that made her hightail it out of the station.

Dodging one ex only to get into the car with another.

* * *

THE RED LEAF was one of two local coffee shops in Mulligan. Like the town, it was quaint, yet endearing in its own right. They also made a mean coffee, Darling said after she had returned from the station. She hadn’t apologized for her outburst, but he hadn’t expected her to, either.

Bailing Darling Smith out of jail had never been on Oliver’s list of scenarios for when, and if, they ever met again. Sure, he’d thought of the possibility of crossing paths when he went home to California to visit family. Maybe even a random encounter in an airport as he traveled for work. But never like this.

Occasionally, he’d wonder what he would say to her during a chance encounter. How have you been? Isn’t the weather nice? Have you cut your hair? They weren’t good greetings, but how else could he skate around the topic of their past? Now, as they sat across from each other in a worn leather booth, he doubted such a thing could be accomplished. Darling hadn’t forgotten or forgiven what he’d done, and he couldn’t blame her for that.

He hadn’t forgiven himself yet, either.

“Expecting a call?” he asked as she took care to adjust the volume on her cell.

“Expecting? No. Hoping? Still no, but I can’t ignore it.” He raised his eyebrow so she explained, “Work-related.”

“Ah, I know the feeling.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and placed it on the table, as well. With the recent changes in the job, Nikki had made it clear she wanted all guards to have their phones on at all times, even when they were off the clock.

“So, I have to ask. You didn’t seem at all surprised to see me yesterday... Why?” she asked, getting the conversational ball rolling. Darling had never been a fan of silence.

Unlike the seventeen-year-old he had left behind, this Darling was all grown and all woman. Oliver couldn’t deny she was beautiful—she always had been—but now there was something more as he really looked at her. The way her dark green eyes bore into his, trying to figure him out, was so fierce it almost shook his resolve to leave the past just where it was.

“My boss told me the name and I couldn’t imagine it being a coincidence,” he said honestly. “Though I wasn’t a hundred percent given the circumstances.”

“Ah...circumstances. You mean the trespassing accusation.”

Oliver made a gun with his hand. “Bingo.”

“Well,” she said, “given recent developments, I’d say that accusation is the least of everyone’s worries. Wouldn’t you agree?” she finished, crossing her arms over her chest. That movement meant Oliver needed to tread softly.

“We wouldn’t have taken on this case if he was a bad man, Darling. I stand by what I said earlier. Just because he was there doesn’t mean he did it, and I’d like to ask you to drop whatever case you might still have that involves him,” he said. And, apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. Almost instantly the color in her cheeks rose, her brows lifted and her lips thinned. Knowing a storm was brewing, Oliver made a second conversational mistake, hoping to pacify her. “For old times’ sake, Darling.”

He might as well have kicked her beneath the table.

“I can’t believe you’re still simply rolling over for the big dogs,” she bit out, angry. “Nigel Marks is a millionaire, so that makes whatever he does justifiable? Is that why you do what you do, Oliver? Do you get some kind of thrill from protecting the rich? Did you ever stop and wonder why that’s even necessary? No, you probably don’t, because all you care about is pleasing the elite, just waiting for them to yell ‘jump.’”

She stood so abruptly that the booth’s seat pushed back and scraped the tile. The waitress and few patrons looked over, but Darling seemed oblivious. Like them, Oliver looked at her, but in a state of awe.

“You know what?” she said. “I’m not going to sit here and be talked to like I’m still the girl you used to know.” She grabbed her purse and started to leave, pausing for a second to finish her tirade. “And Oliver, if I still had a case, I certainly wouldn’t drop it ‘for old times’ sake.’”

And just like that Darling Smith became the one who left.


Chapter Five (#ulink_be31a2de-3ba8-55c0-8def-3a7709ff9bce)

There was a reason Darling had picked the café as a place to talk with Oliver—it was only a block away from her office. He watched her through the café’s front windows as she walked in an angry huff down the street, turning into the strip mall’s parking lot and disappearing around back. Each step had been rigged with tension, each movement forced.

The waitress waited until Darling was out of view before coming to the table. She also didn’t look so pleased with him.

He let out a long breath.

“Can I place a to-go order?” he asked, glancing back out the window.

For the first time in years, Oliver let the past wash over him, bringing in the flood of memories that pieced together the last conversation he had had with the younger Darling.

She had been wearing a white dress with daisies printed across it, a stark contrast to the tears that had streaked her cheeks.

“They’re horrible, Oliver,” she had yelled. “They’ll never change! They of all people have no right to tell me what I do and don’t deserve. So, please, let’s just leave. Let’s run away together and never look back!”

“We can’t.”

“Oliver, I love you,” she had said, taking his hands in hers. They had been soft and warm. “And if you love me as much as you say, we can make it.” There had been so much hope in her eyes, despite the tears she had shed because of her parents. Despite everything she had gone through in the past year. So much hope that Oliver could still see it clearly today.

“But, Darling,” he had whispered. “I don’t want to.”

Just like that, the hope had died, and the memory of breaking Darling Smith’s heart had burned itself into his mind, becoming another moment he could never forget.

It still amazed him that such a brief conversation had made such a big impact.

“Order’s ready,” called the waitress, holding up a paper bag and a cardboard cup holder. Oliver pulled himself out of the hardest conversation he’d ever had and paid for the food.

Instead of climbing into his rental, he followed the same path Darling had taken until he was, yet again, at Acuity’s front door. He didn’t knock this time. She wouldn’t have let him in if he had.

The private investigator was standing behind the lone desk in the front room, a scowl still attached to her face, when he pushed into the lobby. Her hair billowed around her head, a crown of dark blond that seemed to crackle to life as the rest of her grew angry at the sight of him. Before she could get on a verbal roll again, he held up his café spoils in surrender.

“I’m sorry,” he said, smile wiped from his face. He let his hands fall and took a step closer. “After all this time, I shouldn’t have asked, and certainly shouldn’t have expected, you to listen to me. It wasn’t fair.” Her lips parted to talk, though he wasn’t sure which emotion was trying to push through. He continued before he could find out. “Although you weren’t fair, either. It’s clear you’ve made a few assumptions about me—some I’d like to correct—and, again, I can’t quite blame you for that. But the fact remains that it’s been eight years since we last saw each other. Our lives have changed—we’ve changed with them.” He took one last step forward, testing her waters. “Give me the chance to set a few things straight, Darling.”

“You don’t have to answer to me,” she replied. Her voice was low.





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