Saving Sophie: Book Seven In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series Read online

  “Sounds tough.”

  She nodded. “It was. After a couple months we barely had any inventory left. I couldn’t keep up. I decided we needed to sell the house or the business. Mom’s medical bills were eating up money faster than I could make it. The savings accounts were gone. I was only getting into the store two or three days a week at most.” She sipped the coffee, wrinkled her nose, and set the cup down. “A friend of ours, a realtor, did a quick sale on the house I’d grown up in to prevent bankruptcy and helped me secure a small one-bedroom apartment. I had to sell off so much of Mom’s favorite stuff.” Sophie sniffled, shaking her head. “That right there just about killed her.”

  He wanted to pull his chair close to hers and wrap his arm around her the way he had at the beach, but he sat where he was, knowing she wouldn’t accept his attempt to comfort.

  “It was around that time that I met Eric. Bangor’s famous artist. He came strolling into the shop looking for a pair of earrings for his secretary’s birthday. He wanted me to design something and make it. We ended up talking for a while. He was very charming. He seemed so understanding, and I was so scared. I started relying on him as the weeks passed and my mother got worse and worse. Christmas came around again, and I needed to sell the business; the rent on the space was killing us. That’s when I got the idea to open the kiosk at the mall. It would keep a little income coming in, but it would free up some much-needed cash.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Mom had signed everything over to me by that point so I could make decisions on her behalf. I was her medical and financial power of attorney.” She pushed her coffee cup away. “Not long after New Years we found out there was nothing more the doctors could do. The day her oncologist told us the news Eric handed me a piece of paper his lawyer had drawn up. He told me he would help me with the sale of the business so I didn’t have to worry about it. I felt like the world was caving in around me. I was so overwhelmed that I hugged him and thanked him and signed my name without even reading what he put in front of me.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I was a business major for God’s sake, and I just scribbled down my name. I’m still mad at myself for being so foolish.”

  He hated that Sophie had struggled with so much on her own. “You were a scared kid with too much on your plate.”

  She shrugged. “If I had taken the time to read the document, I would’ve realized I was signing over financial power of attorney to Eric. Our relationship changed quickly after that. He started belittling me and taking control, but I was so busy with mom I hardly noticed. I was just trying to get through each day and keep her as comfortable as possible. She hung on until March. When she died, my world stopped. I knew it was coming, but still… Eventually I realized I didn’t have a nickel to my name. He’d spent my inheritance and tried to mess with my trust.”

  Anger sickened his stomach as he thought of the detestable Eric. “Trust?”

  “I have a trust worth five million dollars.”

  Stone raised his brows and whistled through his teeth.

  “It’s basically useless. I can’t draw from it unless I’ve been married for a year by my twenty-six birthday.”

  “What the hell kind of condition is that?”

  She shrugged. “My great-grandmother Burke was old fashioned. She didn’t believe a woman should handle money on her own.”

  “Is that even legal?”

  “It was her trust, her money, her conditions. She could and did put in whatever contingencies she wanted.”

  “What happens to the money if you don’t meet the deadline?”

  “It goes to a nature conservatory in Boston.”

  He’d never heard of anything so stupid. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  She shook her head, giving him a small smile. “I couldn’t make that up.”

  He smiled back, hoping they were getting somewhere.

  Her smile faded. “Eric expected me to marry him. The wedding was supposed to be a week and a half ago—some huge, awful, fancy ceremony where I wore an ugly dress I didn’t even get to pick out. It was to be a garden-terrace affair with five hundred of his closest friends.” She rolled her eyes. “He’d been planning it for two years, insisting that we be the first couple married at the brand new Bangor Country Club.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  She let loose a humorless laugh. “No, it doesn’t.”

  He thought of the pictures Jerrod had spoken of on the thumb drive. “Did he hurt you?”

  Her gaze darted to the table, then back to his. “Yes.”

  He closed his eyes, scrubbing his hand over his jaw. “What are you going to do? Keep running?”

  “I don’t know what else to do. He said he would kill me if I ever ran away.”

  “Bastard,” he hissed. “I think we should go to the cops.”

  “No.” The color left her face as she pushed back in her chair.

  He snagged her wrist. “We won’t. We don’t have to.”

  “Eric is friends with several police officers. Have you—have you heard of Eric Winthrop?”

  “The artist? Yeah.”

  “That’s him.”

  “That’s him?”

  She nodded.

  The guy was a genius with a paintbrush, but he was also a fucking string bean prick with a bad, cultured accent. “You don’t have to go. We can help you figure this out—me and Abby, even Ethan.”

  “I don’t know that there’s anything anyone can do.”

  He didn’t miss the stirrings of hope in her eyes. “There’s always a solution; we just have to figure out what it is.”

  “He says I stole from him. I’m sure he and his accountant have made sure it looks like I did.” The bus rolled up across the street. She shouldered her bag and stood. “That’s my bus.”

  “Yeah.” The heavy weight of panic settled on his shoulders. He’d been making headway, but she was going to leave. He got to his feet, tossing a few bills on the table.

  “Thank you for giving me a place to stay over the last few weeks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He fought to stay cool when he wanted to drag her to the car and tell her she wasn’t going anywhere but back home with him, where he knew she would be safe. “What about all of your stuff?”

  “Donate it, except for my mother’s tools.”

  “What do you want me to do with them?”

  “Give them to Abby. I’ll find a way to contact her. I left your car keys with her.”

  “What about Murphy?”

  She shook her head as her eyes filled. “Abby’s going to help me find him a family.”

  “You’re his family.”

  “Please don’t say that.” She pushed open the door.

  “Don’t go, Soph. Please don’t leave.”

  “Goodbye, Stone.” She stepped out and walked away.

  He hurried after her as a thought came to mind. “Marry me.”

  She stopped, turning. “What?”

  “Marry me and take the money from your great-grandmother’s trust.”

  She looked down.

  “I don’t want it.” He rushed forward, stopping in front of her, lifting her chin. “I don’t want a dime. We’ll have a lawyer draw something up—a lawyer you pick that says it’s yours.”

  “Why would you do this?”

  “Because I want to help you. Because I don’t want you to leave. You have a life here. Friends here. A dog waiting for you to pick him up. Clearing things up with the asshole in Maine might be a little easier when he realizes he’s not just messing with you anymore.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t ask you to do this.”

  “I’m offering.” Marriage had never crossed his mind, or not seriously anyway. “It’s a year.”

  “Exactly. What if you meet someone?”

  The only person he was interested in was standing right here. “I won’t.”

  “You could, then where does that leave us?”

  “Twelve months in a lifet
ime is a blink of an eye.”

  “Stone—”

  “You can think on it overnight. If you want to get on a bus tomorrow I’ll drop you off myself.” He held out his hand. “One more night, Soph.” He’d try like hell to make sure one night turned into one more and another until she settled back in and learned to trust him again.

  “One more night.” She took the hand he held out and shook.

  “Let’s get Murphy and go home.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sophie snuggled Murphy in her lap while she sat in the Mustang’s passenger seat, staring out the windshield the way she had the first night Stone brought her home, but tonight she didn’t feel the sense of cautious relief she had all those weeks ago. The wind rushed through her window, bathing her skin in the warm breeze. Despite the salty air and muted rush of waves, her stomach was in knots.

  She slid her fingers through Murphy’s soft coat, trying her best to relax her shoulders, but the shock of wanted posters, bus tickets, and impromptu marriage proposals had been more than she could take in three short hours. Tonight had been a disaster. Nothing had gone as planned. She and Stone were supposed to have enjoyed the meal she’d prepared and maybe a walk on the beach. He was supposed to have kissed her again as she’d hoped he would Sunday morning before he left on his business trip.

  She glanced at him as the wind tossed his hair about, still trying to take everything in. He’d hurt her with his accusations. His lack of faith in her had been more painful than any punch or kick Eric had thrown her way, but then he’d come running after her, hugging her close and listening, offering her a not-so-simple solution to her problems. Marriage. Millions of dollars and help with Eric, all for the bargain price of one year of their lives.

  She closed her eyes, sighing with the ridiculousness of it all. Stone was willing to give up so much to help. But why? He assured her he didn’t have an interest in her trust fund. She looked his way again and couldn’t help but believe him. He’d been kind to her before he knew anything about her inheritance. But money—lots of money—changed people and their intentions.

  He flicked on his blinker, slowed, and took a right when they came to his road, catching her eye and giving her a small smile as he made his way up the hill. “We’re home.”

  She stared straight ahead, not bothering to comment. They weren’t home. Stone was home. This used to feel like her place, like she belonged, but that was when she’d let herself forget that she was a guest. God, this whole situation was a mess. She needed tonight to figure out what to do next.

  Stone turned the last corner, and the house she adored came into view, so warm and cozy with the lights ablaze. His house with the pretty planters she’d filled with thriving blooms and the rooms she’d brought to life with a mix of both of their ideas. But none of this belonged to her. “What about the house?”

  “What about it?”

  “If we get married we have to split everything fifty-fifty.”

  “Do you want my house, Soph?”

  She never wanted to leave this pretty spot of land. “It’s not mine.”

  “There you go.”

  Was it really that simple? Could this whole situation be that cut and dry? “What about vows? You don’t love me.”

  “I care about you.”

  She shook her head, trying to be content with that. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “If we were doing this for the long-haul I’d think twice, but twelve months is twelve months.”

  “Yeah.” It sounded so cold…and awful. Somehow this didn’t seem any less empty than Eric’s country club wedding.

  He rolled to a stop and shut off the engine. “Look, Soph, you and I were getting along just fine before things went to shit tonight. We’ll just keep doing what we were doing while we get some of this mess figured out.”

  “But you—you kissed me.”

  He steamed out a long breath as he held her gaze. “Yeah, I did.”

  “That complicates this.”

  “It doesn’t have to.”

  How could it not? she wanted to ask, but as she stared into his eyes, she no longer needed to. Stone was gorgeous. He more than likely kissed women all the time. Their late-night embrace hadn’t meant anything to him. He’d been curious. He’d told her so. She’d packed a punch, and he’d stolen a piece of her heart. End of story.

  “All we have to do is go to the courthouse, say a few words, and be done with the whole thing. No big deal.”

  But it was a big deal. “We would be legally married.”

  “So?”

  How could he shrug his shoulders? “We’re not just talking about rent, groceries, and laundry anymore.”

  “It’s business, just like the rent, groceries, and laundry.”

  She looked down, trying to ignore the quick stab of hurt. Why couldn’t she look at this situation as casually as he did? She met his gaze again. “What about my warrant?”

  “They don’t check for warrants when issuing a marriage license, but we’ll have Ethan take care of it anyway.”

  She frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’ll handle everything until we can handle Eric. Just trust me.”

  She held his gaze.

  “Or at least try. I know I’m pretty high on your shit list—”

  “I trust you. Maybe that’s stupid, but I do. If I didn’t I’d be sitting on a Greyhound on my way to Boise.”

  “Well, I guess that’s something. Let’s go in. It’s late.”

  She got out of the car, carrying Murphy in her arms and her backpack on her shoulder, staring at the pretty cottage she thought she would never see again.

  Stone unlocked the door, letting her in before him.

  She breathed in the scent of her roast lingering in the air as she walked closer to the kitchen, looking in at the pretty settings and wilted lettuce on the table. Sighing, she set the puppy on the floor, catching sight of her picture on the Bangor Police Department flyer lying on the arm of the couch. She picked up the paper, glancing back at the table, to Stone, then to the sheet, no longer able to pretend her life was as simple as cozy dinners in a cliff-top home with a man who liked her enough to help her out. She shook her head, overwhelmingly confused and afraid for the first time in weeks. This was wrong. All of this was so incredibly wrong. Everything was different now, and soiled. The new life she’d built for herself had been tainted by Eric’s poison. “What am I doing here? Why did I come back?”

  Stone took the paper from her hand, folding it. “I’m going to handle this.”

  “I don’t belong here. I thought I did; I thought I’d found my place, but I didn’t.” She swallowed over the tight ball clogging her throat.

  “Yes you did.”

  She shook her head as her lips trembled. “I should’ve gone to Boise. I should’ve left and started over again.”

  “No.” He slid several strands of hair behind her ear. “I messed this up, Soph. Everything was fine until I did. This is exactly where you should be.”

  On the verge of more tears, she nodded, even though she didn’t agree.

  “Go get some sleep.”

  She nodded again, stepping away from his gentle touch.

  He closed the distance between them for the second time. “Are you going to be here when I wake up in the morning?”

  “Yes.”

  He held her gaze. “I guess I’ll see you in a few hours. We can figure out what you want to do from there.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good night.”

  “Night.” She walked down the hall and closed herself in the room she’d fled mere hours ago.

  ~~~~

  Stone sat on the couch in the dark, sipping another beer, waiting for the light under Sophie’s door to switch off. She’d said she would be here in the morning when he woke, but he’d seen the uncertainty in her eyes as she wished him goodnight. He wasn’t taking any chances that she might slip away.

  Finally, her room went dark and he
pulled the thumb drive Jerrod had slipped him out of his pocket and pushed it into the USB port, needing to see what Sophie had lived through. For weeks he’d assured himself he didn’t care, that Sophie’s problems were her own, but after tonight he figured out he’d been lying to himself for quite some time. With a few clicks of his mouse, he pulled up the file he wanted. Instantly, dozens of pictures filled his screen. He swore looking at nasty bruises and welts covering the delicate skin of Sophie’s arms, thighs, ribs, and stomach. “Damn.”

  He scrolled down, stopping on a photo of three long, bright-red marks across her back that could only have been made by a belt, then moved to the last pictures taken in March, clenching his jaw, staring at huge purple goose eggs on her forearms. “You fucker,” he whispered. “You fucking bastard.” He shook his head, looking away, hating Eric Winthrop for what he’d done.

  He glanced at the pictures again and shoved his hand through his hair, hardly able to stand it. He’d witnessed his fair share of brutality over the years, but this affected him more deeply than anything he’d seen overseas. This was Sophie, the woman down the hall. The woman he hadn’t been able to let walk away.

  He opened Google, typing in Eric Winthrop, finding several images of the pompous bastard with his arm draped around Sophie at numerous art gallery functions. She looked so different. Her hair was so long and her dresses baggy and ultra conservative as she smiled for the camera. But her eyes weren’t bright and beautiful the way they were when she laughed with him.

  He flipped back to the pictures of the bruises and stood, too disgusted to be still. “God. Son of a bitch.” He paced the living room with a helpless feeling that left him ill. They were going to talk. He needed to convince her right here and now that she had to accept the help he was desperate to give. Walking down the hall, he opened her door. “Soph,” he said quietly, peeking in.