Runaway Heiress. Jennifer Morey
a small ops center there.”
Impressive, but...why?
“Don’t even think about making changes,” Sadie said against his shoulder and neck.
He chuckled. “I wasn’t...” Just the opposite.
“I don’t want intrusive security. This is my home. My sanctuary. It’s bad enough that the perimeter wall makes me feel like I’m in prison.”
Didn’t she think she already had intrusive security? “Noted.” He wouldn’t reveal his thoughts, not yet.
He took in the railing with a view of downstairs and then stepped into a wide arching stone hallway with nineteenth-century mirror, lantern-style lighting and floral crewel drapes. He passed a walnut-paneled library with vaulted ceiling and early evening light bringing out the colors of books. A Persian rug and old-fashioned seating were arranged before a fireplace. “Were you into castles and princesses as a kid?”
“What girl isn’t?” she asked sleepily. She’d taken a painkiller a couple of hours ago.
Finley entered a room at the end of the hall. Rose, soft green and cream colors hit the eye first. Then the rich detail came out. The bed looked French, probably hand carved, and a toile fabric chair and ottoman were angled before six sash windows. An etched glass closet door was open to reveal a large walk-in closet with organized walnut shelves and more seating.
Finley pulled back the soft, downy covers. Jasper laid her down and her arms stayed around him as their gazes met. He couldn’t look away and watched her eyes slide closed once, twice, three times, and then they didn’t open. It had to be one of the sweetest sights he’d ever experienced.
“Your quarters are across the hall from the miss,” Finley said. “Cook has prepared dinner. Where would you like it served?”
“Right in here.” Jasper went to one of the pretty chairs and sat.
“Excuse me?”
Noticing Finley’s alarm, he explained. “My first concern is for Sadie’s safety. Best if you tell everyone that’s nonnegotiable.” He nodded toward his charge. “She’s as vulnerable as she’ll ever be in this condition. I won’t take a single chance.” He adjusted his seat. “In fact, why don’t you bring a cot or something in here? I’ll be sensitive to her need of privacy.”
Finley seemed to smother a pleased smile. “Yes, sir.”
“Where did she find you?” Jasper asked before the estate manager could turn to leave.
“I had to take classes on how to manage property like this,” Finley said. “She sent our cook to culinary school.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Jasper said.
“No, sir, I didn’t. I’ll let the miss tell you.”
“Why does she have such robust security?” Jasper asked. He got that protection was necessary when you were as wealthy as Sadie, but her fence seemed overboard. Was there a reason or was she just paranoid? She did not strike him as the paranoid type.
“It’s remote country out here,” Finley said.
“How many guards?”
“Eight.”
Eight guards for a residential home. “I’d like to talk to the one in charge.”
“That’s Dwight Mitchel. Former Special Forces. Had a bit of financial trouble during his divorce. You wouldn’t know it but Sadie has more heart than most in this world. When most first meet her they might get the wrong impression.”
Jasper’s impression had been based on attraction. Her car would stamp her as rich. Is that what Finley meant?
“She likes her money but she spends most of it on her charities.” Finley looked up and around the no-expense-spared bedroom. “A first look at her doesn’t reveal much about her other than appearances, but inside she’s a well of humanity. You have to see her as she lives here to truly know her.”
Comparing the Sadie he’d seen step out of a Ferrari to the one he met in the hospital, he had to agree. She was more than a rich, beautiful woman to Jasper, and just how much had him putting himself in check. Not only would living so remotely bore him to death, the idea of domesticating gave him hives.
* * *
Sometime later, Sadie roused. Jasper heard her and came awake, something he’d learned to do long ago. She moaned in pain. He rose up from the cot Finley had provided along with some bedding. Going to the bedside table, he helped her sit up against several pillows. While she overcame a wave of agony, he took a pain pill from its container and handed that to her along with a bottle of water.
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