Jennifer Morey - Runaway Heiress

After she swallowed and sat with her eyes closed awhile, she blinked and met his. “What are you doing up?”

“Watching over you.”

At first a warm and content look drooped her eyes, but then she saw the cot. Her eyes opened more. “What is that?”

“I asked Finley to put it in here. I’m going to guard you until you can move around on your own.”

“That isn’t necessary. In fact, it’s...it’s improper and...presumptuous on your part!”

“I can see how you’d look at it that way. I can assure you my only motive is to protect you.” And get to the bottom of her mystery—which included far more than Bernie King’s murder.

“There’s plenty of other rooms. Go stay in one of them.”

“I will—when you’re better and not this defenseless.”

Her mouth opened and a few audible breaths stammered out. “Are you always this bullheaded?”

He grinned, a natural thing her petulant face and direct question brought on. “Yes. I have a reputation of solving cases faster than most. No one’s ever been harmed under my watch, either.”

“You’ve done this before?”

“Many times.”

“What are you? A detective or a bodyguard?”

“I was a cop and a detective before I joined DAI. I often stayed with family of victims until I caught the killer.”

She studied him thoughtfully. “That sounds unconventional.”

“It is, which is why I like working for Kadin Tandy.”

Her questions seemingly satisfied for now, she glanced down at herself, smoothing covers and patting the demure neckline of her nightgown. Then her hand stilled.

“How did I get into this?” she asked.

“One of your maids changed you. I waited outside the door. She said you woke but barely.”

She blinked once, and again. Then her gaze traveled down his body and back up to his face, noticing him differently than before, less combative, much warmer. Even under the influence of painkillers she seemed rested, and as long as she didn’t move, relatively pain free.

“Do you feel up to talking?” he asked.

“Sure. About what?”

He moved around the bed and went to the chairs, sitting down. “Why don’t we start with Bernie? Who was he to you and when is the last time you saw him?”

She rolled her head and looked up at the ceiling, obviously upset. “He’s what made me start the Revive Center. I met him on a trip to San Francisco, one of my few and far between getaways. He was sitting against a building, holding a cup and nodding off. He’d been drinking. A policeman approached him and tried to order him to leave.” She rolled her head to look at him. “Bernie chose an upscale spa to take his nap.” She smiled fondly and looked back up at the ceiling. “I intervened. I don’t know what made me. I took Bernie to my hotel, sat him down in the restaurant and gave him coffee and food. When the alcohol wore off, he told me his story. He lost his wife to cancer a few months ago, and then his daughter committed suicide, leaving him alone and facing a crisis he didn’t have enough strength to handle.”

Jasper let her have a few moments to her thoughts, feeling how deeply moved she’d been with Bernie. She showed him a glimpse of her true self, not the one hiding in Wyoming.

“On that particular trip I was scouting for a location for a business. I hadn’t decided what kind of business yet, I only knew I wanted to be involved in some kind of charity. Animal rescue. Health. I hadn’t thought of the homeless, but meeting Bernie made me realize how passionate I felt about them.” She looked at Jasper again. “People will shove the homeless aside before they’ll do anything to fix the problem. Where do people expect them to go? They wouldn’t be in the street if they had somewhere else to go. Bernie had nowhere to go. He made me want to do something.”

“Bernie stayed with you while you started the Revive Center?”

“I put him in rehab first. He had to quit drinking. Once he completed that, then I set him up in an apartment. He needed psychiatric care because of his losses. He did that pretty extensively for a few months. By then I had some space lined up and the apartment building under construction. I kept Bernie in his own apartment. We’d meet once a week so I could check on his progress. He slowly improved. We got to know each other very well.”

She drifted off and Jasper would love to know what her last sentence had made her remember. How much had she told Bernie? Maybe Bernie—other than Steven—was the only other living soul who really knew Sadie Moreno from a remote area of Wyoming who seemed to have carried at least some of her past with her to her new life, namely, the Ferrari.

“Why did you move to Wyoming?” he asked.

Her rumination on the past ended and Jasper watched her eyes grow guarded as she looked at him. “I wanted to get away from the life my father had.”

“What kind of life was that?”

“Rich.” She looked away.

“Why do you have such tight security here?” he asked.

“I like to feel safe.”

“Locking your doors doesn’t do that?”

After a few seconds she met his eyes across the distance between the bed and the seating area. “What are your plans for the investigation? What will you do to start?”

Okay, that was all he’d get out of her for now. “I have a message in to the lead investigator. I’ll talk to him first and ask for a copy of the file. Then I’ll spend a fair amount of time researching that.”

She nodded and then closed her eyes, the painkillers apparently taking effect.

Jasper stood. “I’ll let you get some rest. I won’t be far.” He put a small, round device with a green call button down on the table, within her reach. “Press that and I’ll be here.”

“What is this?”

“A pager.” He showed her the pager clipped to his belt.

Her eyes rose up to his and he felt her admiration along with her wryness. “A little over the top, isn’t it?”

“For your security?” He grinned with his teasing. “Maybe.”

She smiled slightly in return.

He left her, hoping he could get more information out of her security officer.

* * *

Dwight Mitchel met him in the drawing room, another princess caliber work of architecture and interior design. Incredible crown molding bordered a recessed white painted ceiling with a huge round and tan light fixture. Pretty, ivory diamond tufted back sofas and an armless settee with throw pillows in purple, green and orange surrounded an oval glass table on an irregularly striped area rug. Although more modern than other rooms in Sadie’s home, the decor still held a decided English flair.

The guard wore jeans, combat boots and a gun harness over a black henley and stood near a drinks trolley, holding a bottle of sparkling water. A big Colonel Miles Quaritch from Avatar, he even had a scar on his right temple.

Jasper went to him and shook his hand.

“We’ve heard all about you,” Dwight said with an unsmiling face.

“I’m not surprised.”

“How can I help you?” It wasn’t a cordial question. Jasper looked past this man’s impassiveness and saw distrust.

“I’d like you to walk me through your procedures. Roles and responsibilities, that sort of thing.”

“You don’t have to worry, Mr. Roesch. Sadie’s security is well covered.”

“I need to be familiar with your protocols so I know what everyone will do in the event of an emergency, that’s all. I have no issue with the security here. In fact, it seems rather excessive.”

The ex-military man didn’t falter. “We do regular patrols around the perimeter of the property. I can give you copies of the schedule. There are two guards posted in the mechanical room 24/7. We communicate via radio.” He tapped his ear where a clear coiled wire disappeared into his shirt. “One guard at the gate. Cameras have eyes on the gate and the property inside the fenced area.”