The Bodyguard

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

“That’s right.”

“What time did she arrive at your office?”

“About 9:10.”

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

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

“How much?”

“How much what?”

“How much was the retainer?”

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

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

The detective whistled. “Sounds steep.”

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

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

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

“You think her husband hurt her?”

“Don’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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