The Rancher Bodyguard Read online

  Charlie frowned, knowing her words were barbs flung at him and had nothing to do with the situation at hand. They spoke no more until they arrived at the hospital.

  As she disappeared into Hope’s hospital room, he called Zack West to find out what was going on at the Covington mansion. Zack informed him that the evidence gathering was finished and said Grace was free to get whatever she needed for Hope.

  When Charlie asked him for an update, he merely replied that it was an ongoing investigation and there was nothing new to report.

  As he waited for Grace, he sat in one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room. Charlie had a theory that murder happened for one of three reasons. He called it his “three R” theory. Rage, revenge and reward were the motives that drove most murderers.

  At the moment, the officials were leaning toward rage—a young girl’s rage at being stymied in a love relationship by an overbearing father figure.

  The news was certainly filled with stories of young people going on killing rampages against authority figures. Had Hope snapped that morning and stabbed William while he slept and then, filled with remorse, taken drugs in a suicide attempt?

  Hopefully they would be successful in coming up with an alternative theory that would explain both William’s death and Hope’s drugged state.

  He looked up as Grace entered the room. She sat next to him as if too exhausted to stand. “What did she have to say about Justin?” he asked.

  “She told me she’s crazy in love with him, and she thinks they belong together forever, but she hasn’t gotten physical with him yet.”

  “That’s different from Justin’s story. He made it sound like she was no big deal to him,” Charlie observed.

  “Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way she does. Maybe he was afraid to tell us how he really feels about Hope,” she replied.

  “Maybe,” Charlie agreed.

  Grace reached up and tucked a strand of her shiny hair behind her ear. “She’s not being released today. She’s running a fever and Dr. Dell wants to get to the bottom of it.”

  “You still want to go by the house?” She sat so close to him he could feel the heat from her body. He used to tease her about how she was better than a hot water bottle at keeping him warm on cold wintry nights. He wished he could tell her how he’d been cold ever since he’d lost her.

  She nodded. “Whether she’s here or at my place, I’m sure she’d be more comfortable with some of her own things. Besides, I’d like to talk to Lana, William’s housekeeper. She’d know better than anyone what was going on between William and Hope, and if anyone else was having a problem with William.”

  Grace jumped up from the chair, newfound energy vibrating from her. “We need to find something, Charlie, something that will point the finger of guilt away from Hope. I can’t lose her. She’s all I have left.”

  She looked half frantic, and again a soft vulnerability sagged her shoulders and haunted her eyes. This time Charlie didn’t fight his impulse—his need to touch her. He reached out for her hand and took it in his. Hers was icy, as if the heat of her body was unable to warm her small, trembling hand.

  “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “I promise you that we’ll get to the bottom of this. I won’t let Hope be convicted of a crime she didn’t commit.”

  What he didn’t say was that if Hope was guilty, not even the great Charlie Black would be able to save her.

  The Covington estate was located on the northern edge of town, a huge two-story structure with manicured grounds, several outbuildings and a small cottage in the back where Lana Racine and her husband, Leroy, lived.

  As Charlie pulled into the circular drive and parked in front, Grace stared at the big house and felt the burgeoning grief welling up inside her.

  The sight of the bright yellow crime-scene tape across the front door nearly made her lose control, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

  She’d spent her life being the strong one—the child her mother could depend on, the teenager who often took responsibility for her baby sister, and the woman who’d held it together when her mother deserted them.

  Charlie didn’t know about her mother. When they’d been dating, she told him only that her mother had moved away, not that she’d just packed her bags and disappeared from their lives.

  Without an explanation.

  Without a word since.

  Was she sunning on a beach in Florida? Eating crab cakes and lobster in Maine? Or was she out of the country? She’d always talked about wanting to go to France.

  Grace welcomed the raw anger that took the place of her grief—it sustained her, kept her strong.

  She glanced back at Charlie, wondering if she should tell him about what had been going on in her life when she’d met him. She dismissed the idea. She couldn’t stand the idea of seeing pity in his eyes, and after all this time, what difference did it make?

  “Are you sure you’re ready to go in there?” Charlie asked.

  She focused back on the house and nodded. “I’ll just get some of Hope’s things, then we can go talk with Lana and Leroy.”

  She almost wished Charlie weren’t here with her. He’d stirred old feelings in her, made her remember how much she’d once cared about him. She’d thought her hatred of him would protect her from those old feelings—that it would vaccinate her against the “wanting Charlie” emotion. She’d been wrong.

  All day she’d been plagued by memories of the taste of his lips on hers, the feel of his hands stroking the length of her. Their physical relationship had been nothing short of magic. He’d been an amazing lover, at times playful and at other times intense and demanding.

  But it wasn’t just those kinds of memories that bothered her. Remembering how often they had laughed together and how much they’d enjoyed each other’s company had proved equally troubling.

  Amnesia would have been welcome. She would have loved to permanently forget the six months with Charlie, but spending time with him now unlocked the mental box in which she’d placed those memories the night she’d walked away from him.

  Focus on the reason he’s in your life, she told herself. Hope. She had to stay focused on Hope and finding something, anything, that would reveal the young girl’s innocence.

  She got out of the car, grateful to escape the small confines that smelled of him—a wonderful blend of clean male and expensive, slightly spicy cologne. It was the same scent he’d worn when they’d been dating, and it only helped stir memories she would prefer to forget.

  Charlie pulled away the crime-scene tape, and Grace used her key to open the front door. They walked into the massive entry with its marble floor and an ornate gilded mirror hanging on the wall.

  “Wow,” Charlie said, obviously impressed. “I’d heard this place was a showcase, but I had no idea.”

  “William was an extremely successful man,” she replied. “He liked to surround himself with beautiful things.”

  “I know you said your mother married him when you were sixteen. What happened to your father?”

  “He died of a heart attack when mom was pregnant with Hope. We were left with no insurance and no money in the bank.” Grace paused a moment, thinking about those days just after her father’s death. There’d been a wealth of grief and fear about what would happen to them now the breadwinner was gone.

  She walked from the entry to the sweeping staircase that led to the second floor. Placing a hand on the polished wood banister, she continued: “William was like a knight in shining armor. He and Mom met at the grocery store, and he swooped into our lives like a savior. He was crazy, not just about Mom, but also about me and Hope.”

  “He didn’t have children of his own?” Charlie asked.

  “No. He’d been married years before, but it ended in divorce and there had been no children. We were all the family he had.”

  “Who is his beneficiary?”

  Grace looked at him in surprise. “I have no idea. I hadn’t even thought about it.”

/>   “Maybe your mother?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” Grace agreed, although she wasn’t so sure. Grace’s mother had ripped the very heart out of William when she’d disappeared. William had been a good man, generous to a fault, but he hadn’t been a foolish man, especially when it came to money.

  “Let’s get Hope’s things and get out of here,” she said, her heart heavy as she climbed the stairs.

  Charlie followed just behind her as she topped the stairs and walked down the long hallway toward Hope’s room. The door was closed and she hesitated, unsure she was ready for whatever was inside.

  Hope had been found covered in blood, clutching the knife in her hands, her room trashed. Grace grabbed the doorknob and still couldn’t force herself to open the door.

  Charlie placed a hand on her shoulder. “We don’t have to do this. We can buy Hope whatever she needs for the time being.”

  How could a man who had been incredibly insensitive eighteen months ago, a man who had been so thick he hadn’t recognized the depths of her feelings for him, be so in tune to what she was feeling now?

  She didn’t have the answer but was grateful that he seemed to understand the turmoil inside her as she contemplated going into Hope’s room. Deep within, she knew she was grateful that he was here with her.

  “It’s all right. I can do this,” she said, as much to herself as to him.

  She straightened her shoulders and opened the door. A gasp escaped her as she saw the utter mess inside. She took several steps into the room and stared around in horror.

  Ripped clothes were everywhere. The French provincial bookshelf had been turned over, spilling its contents onto the floor. A hole was punched in the Sheetrock wall, as if it had been angrily kicked.

  The bed had been stripped. She imagined that the investigators had taken away the bedclothes. “Definitely looks like somebody had a temper fit in here,” Charlie said from behind her.

  Grace’s mind whirled with sick suppositions. Was it possible that a rage had been festering in Hope for some time? Their mother’s defection had been difficult on Grace, but it had been devastating for Hope. Grace had been twenty-eight years old when their mother had left, but Hope had been a thirteen-year-old who desperately needed her mom.

  “I’ll just grab some clothes,” Grace said. She’d taken only two steps toward the closet when her foot crunched on something.

  She looked down and saw the arm of a porcelain doll. She knew that arm. She knew that doll. It had been Hope’s prized possession, given to her on the birthday before their mother had disappeared.

  Crouching down, she found the rest of the doll among the mess of clothes and books and miscellaneous items that had fallen from the bookcase.

  The porcelain arms and legs had been pulled from the cloth body. The head was smashed beyond repair, and the body had been slashed open.

  Rage. There was no doubt that rage had destroyed the doll. The rage of a daughter whose mother had left her with a man who hadn’t been able to understand her needs, her wants?

  Hope’s rage?

  The breakdown that began in Grace started with a trembling that seemed to possess her entire body. Her vision blurred with the hot press of tears, and for the first time she wondered if her sister had committed the crime, if it was possible that Hope was guilty.

  Chapter 4

  Charlie saw it coming: the crack in her strength, the loss of her control. Until this moment Grace had shown an incredible amount of poise in dealing with the mess that had become her life.

  Now she looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and lips that trembled uncontrollably, and he knew she’d reached the end of that strength.

  “Grace.” He said her name softly.

  “She couldn’t have done this, Charlie? Surely she didn’t do this?” They weren’t statements of fact but questions of uncertainty, and he knew the agony the doubts must be causing her.

  Again the crazy, overwhelming need to hold her, to be her soft place to fall, swept over him. He touched her shoulder, then placed his hand beneath her arm to help her to her feet.

  The tears in her eyes streamed down her cheeks, and when Charlie wrapped his arms around her, she didn’t fight the embrace—she fell into it.

  Her body fit perfectly against his, molding to him with sweet familiarity. A rush of emotions filled him—compassion because of the ordeal she was going through, fear for what she might have to face, and finally a desire for her that he couldn’t deny.

  The vanilla scent of her hair coupled with that familiar jasmine fragrance filled his head, making him half dizzy.

  The embrace was over soon after it began. Grace jumped back as if stung by the physical contact. “I’m okay,” she exclaimed as a stain of color spread across her cheeks.

  “I never thought otherwise,” he replied dryly. He’d be a fool to think that it had been his arms she’d needed around her, his comfort she’d sought. She’d just needed a little steadying, and if it hadn’t been him, it would have been anyone.

  She didn’t need steadying anymore. Her shoulders were once again rigid as she went around the room, gathering clothes in her arms. After he took the clothes from her, she went into the adjoining bathroom and returned a moment later with a small overnight bag he assumed held toiletries.

  “That should do it,” she said. Any hint of tears was gone from her eyes, and they once again shone with the steely strength they’d always possessed.

  They left the bedroom and went back down the stairs. She relocked the front door, then they stowed Hope’s things in the car and headed back to the caretaker cottage where Lana and Leroy Racine lived.

  If Charlie was going to mount a credible defense for Hope, he knew that to create reasonable doubt he had to identify another potential suspect with a motive for murder.

  He’d never met the Racines, and as he and Grace walked across the lush grass to the cottage in the distance, he asked her some questions about the couple.

  “How long have Lana and Leroy worked for William?”

  “Lana was William’s housekeeper when my mother married him. She married Leroy about ten years ago and soon after had their son, Lincoln.”

  “Leroy works the grounds?” he asked.

  She nodded. “William hired him when he and Lana got married. As you can see, he does a great job.”

  “Theirs is a happy marriage?”

  She shrugged. “I assume so. I’m not exactly privy to their personal life, but they seem very happy. They’re both crazy about Lincoln.”

  They fell silent as they reached the house. It was an attractive place, painted pristine white with black shutters. The porch held two rocking chairs and several pots of brilliant flowers.

  Grace knocked on the door, and an attractive red-haired woman who looked to be in her forties answered. She took one look at Grace and broke into torrential sobs.

  Grace’s eyes misted once again, and she quickly embraced the woman in a hug. “I can’t believe it,” Lana cried. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “I know. I feel the same way,” Grace replied.

  Lana stepped away from her and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue from her pocket. “Come in, please.” She ushered them into a small but neat and tidy living room, where Grace introduced Charlie.

  “Would you like something? Maybe something to drink?” Lana asked as she motioned for them to sit in the two chairs across from the sofa.

  “No thanks. We’re fine. I wanted to ask you some questions,” Grace said. “Is Leroy here?”

  “He just left to pick up Lincoln from school.” Lana looked at Charlie. “Lincoln goes to the Raymond Academy in Linden.”

  Charlie had heard of the exclusive private school located in a small town just north of Cotter Creek. Tuition was expensive, especially for parents working as a housekeeper and a gardener.

  On the end table next to him, he noticed the picture of a young boy. He picked it up and looked at it. The dark-haired boy looked nothing like his red
-haired mother. “Nice-looking boy,” he commented, and put the picture back where it belonged.

  “He’s a good boy,” Lana said, pride shining in her brown eyes. “He’s smart as a whip and never gives us a minute of trouble.”

  “Must be tough paying to send him to the Raymond Academy,” Charlie observed.

  “It is, but Leroy and I agreed early on that we’d make whatever sacrifices necessary to see that he gets the best education possible.” She twisted the tissue in her lap. “Although with William gone, it looks like both of us are going to be without jobs, so I don’t know how we’ll manage Lincoln’s school costs.”

  “I’d like to talk to you about William and Hope,” Grace said. “You know Hope is in the hospital—that the sheriff believes she killed William and then took some sort of drug to knock herself unconscious?”

  “That’s nonsense. I spoke to Zack West and told him it was ridiculous to think that Hope would do such a thing. She’s a sweet child and couldn’t possibly do something like this. Did Hope and William argue? Absolutely. She’s a teenager and that’s what they do, but there’s no way anyone will make me believe she killed him.”

  “Then that makes two of us,” Grace said with fervor. It was obvious that Lana’s words completely banished whatever momentary doubt had gripped her while in Hope’s bedroom.

  “Do you know of anyone William was having problems with?” Charlie asked. “A neighbor? A business associate? Anyone?”

  Lana shook her head. “Believe me, I’ve racked my brain ever since I found him dead in his bed.” Again a veil of tears misted her eyes.

  “I can’t think of anyone. He was a wonderful and gentle man. He was so good to me. One time, before I was married to Leroy, I wasn’t feeling very well. I called William and told him I thought I had the flu and shouldn’t come cook dinner for him. He showed up on my doorstep thirty minutes later with a pot of chicken soup he’d bought at the café. That’s the kind of man he was. Who would want to kill a man like that?”