Mastiff Security: The Complete 5 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  It needed to be sewn up. She’d seen wounds like this on animals, had sewn them up herself. But this was a human being. He needed a hospital and lidocaine and antibiotics. He needed to get out of here.

  Abigail slapped his face, trying to wake him up. She couldn’t carry him, but she needed him away from this outer wall. There was a breeze coming through the cracks between the planks of wood, wind from the impending storm. If they didn’t get out of there soon, they’d be stuck up there until morning. And that wouldn’t do this naked man any good.

  “Wake up, please,” she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “We need to get you warmed up.”

  He moaned. “Stay here.”

  “We need to move into the main room. It’s a little better insulated.”

  He didn’t seem to understand. He was delirious from the head wound and the cold. There was no telling how long he’d been lying here in the freezing cold, no clothes, no protection from the frigid air. Abigail lifted one of his hands, his colorless fingers frightening to her.

  “Please. You need to warm up or you’ll die.”

  He moaned again, coming around a little. Abigail pulled at his arm, getting up on her haunches to put a little weight behind it. He seemed to understand because he let her pull him into a sitting position. But his head lolled around on his neck like one of those stupid bobble head dolls people put on their dash boards. She smacked his cheek again, a little harder, desperate to wake him before he succumbed to hypothermia.

  “Please, mister. I can’t let you just lie here and die. But I can’t carry you.”

  He mumbled something Abigail couldn’t understand. However, when she stood up and tugged at his arm again, he attempted to climb to his feet. It took a few minutes because he was so unsteady, but he seemed to come around more and more the longer she fought to get him up. When he stood, the blankets fell from his shoulders, and he faced her, not even aware of his nudity.

  Abigail could feel the heat burn over her cheeks as she found herself unable to pull her eyes from him. He was tall, much taller than she would have imagined. His shoulders broad, his hips narrow, his body was that of a man who worshipped at the feet of the gym gods every morning. It was an impressive physique, every long, thick inch of it.

  Abigail could count on two fingers how many men she’d seen naked—including this man. There was no comparison between the two.

  She cleared her throat, fumbling as she bent to snatch up the blankets.

  “Let’s get you covered,” she said in a squeaky voice as she moved closer to him to toss the blankets over his shoulders. He leaned on her, inadvertently pulling her closer to him. His movement caught her off guard, knocking her sideways. She pressed her palm against his chest to catch herself, both overwhelmed by this sudden closeness. She was frightened by the lack of heat she felt coming from his skin. He was shivering, his teeth chattering audibly.

  “We really need to get you warm,” she said, slipping her arm around his waist and moving toward the door, struggling to get her head out of the gutter.

  She walked him into the middle of the barn’s main room. Romance was snuffling along the floor at the back of the room, clearly annoyed at being trapped in this unfamiliar place. Abigail went over and wrapped her reins around a loose board to keep her from accidentally trampling the naked man where he lay on the floor.

  Abigail returned to the office to get the flashlights. She pulled the door closed in an attempt to keep out the breeze that was blowing in there. The walls of the larger room weren’t in much better shape, but there were stalls along each side, a tack room at the back. There was a little more protection from the outside walls here. The man was still shivering violently despite the heavy blankets she had once again draped over him. She shrugged out of her jacket and lay that over him, too.

  Rushing through the stalls, she gathered small pieces of wood that had fallen from the walls or the roof, picking up as much debris as she could and laying it in the center of the room. She wasn’t sure how big a fire she could control, afraid if it got too big, she might burn them out of there. But he needed heat as quickly as possible.

  Where the hell were his clothes? How did he end up out here completely naked? The farm was nearly fifteen miles from town. How could he have survived that sort of walk naked? But if he didn’t come from town, where did he come from? If there’d been some sort of accident on the road . . . but how would that have left him naked?

  All these things were rushing around in her head when he suddenly spoke again, his teeth chattering so hard she almost didn’t understand him.

  “You can’t do that.”

  She tossed a glance over her shoulder. “You need heat.”

  “He’ll see a fire, and he’ll find us.”

  That made her cock her head. Abigail turned on her heels and studied him. He had pulled himself up to a sitting position, the blankets and jacket tugged around his shoulders like he was in a sweat lodge attempting to induce a hallucination. But his every breath was creating a cloud of frozen vapor, reminding her of the quickly dropping temperatures outside.

  “It’s supposed to storm again tonight. Eight to nine inches of snow, they’re saying. And the temperature is going to drop well below freezing. If I don’t light this fire, we’ll both die.”

  “I’d rather freeze to death than die by his hand.”

  Abigail shook her head, turning back to the pile of debris she’d been stacking. It wasn’t but maybe ten or twelve inches wide, a small fire by any means. And she could control that if necessary, she thought. Just get some snow and moisten the wood around it . . .

  “Stop!”

  He’s moved up behind her, sliding on the blankets and his ass. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her back against his chest, his other arm sliding around her waist to hold her still. It was almost a lover’s embrace except that his fingers were like ice, burning against her.

  “You have to listen to me,” he said slowly, precisely, against her ear, his breath the only thing warm about him. “My name is Axel Kinkaid. I’m an operative for Mastiff Security, and I’ve been hired to protect you.”

  Abigail almost laughed. She wasn’t sure what she found funnier: the idea that there would be any reason for a man like him to be required to protect her, a nobody farm girl, or that her great protector was in more need of her protection than she of his.

  Story of her life. Her guardian angel had a broken wing.

  Chapter 10

  Springfield, Illinois

  Durango left the bar, his head spinning as he tried to figure out what the hell was the matter with him. Maybe he simply wasn’t drunk enough. Maybe he was letting the stuff at work get to him too much. It had to be one or the other because he really didn’t have a life outside of Mastiff. Work had always been his crutch, and now it was his everything.

  Durango left home when he was seventeen, determined to do anything but what his father had planned for him. The great movie producer had wanted his only biological son to follow in his footsteps, to be another great movie producer. When Durango made it clear that wasn’t in the cards, Jackson Chamberlain had encouraged his son to go to college, to be a lawyer or an actor, to be someone he could be proud of. The last thing Durango wanted was to make his father proud. He chose instead to go to a community college in Dallas, Texas. There he discovered an affinity for criminal law. But, of course, becoming a lawyer was the last thing he intended to do. So, he studied criminal justice and went to the police academy. His father was horrified, pretending to be afraid for his son’s safety. But Durango knew the truth. He knew his father was more concerned with how the press would react when they learned that Jackson Chamberlain’s son was a lowly cop. Perhaps it was a blessing that Durango had already adopted his mother’s maiden name and done all he could to separate himself from the great movie producer.

  The law, being a cop and strapping on that gun every morning, was freedom to Durango. He couldn’t imagine wanting anything more in his life. But t
hen Sarah came walking into his world.

  She was a lawyer, ironically enough. She worked for the district attorney’s office, a rising star. But she was just a beautiful woman in a red gown the night he met her.

  Durango had reluctantly attended a fund-raiser that night with his stepbrother, Billy Chamberlain, a television actor with a significant fan base. Billy was charming and handsome and everything their father had wanted Durango to be. Women flocked to him, surrounding him like he was some sort of royalty or something. It was an interesting thing to watch unless you’d been watching it your entire life as Durango had.

  Billy saw Sarah first. He bought her a drink and let her give him her entire spiel about supporting her pet project—an after-school program for disadvantaged children in downtown Chicago—before hitting on her. It was quite amusing to watch her slap him and walk away without a second glance. She was probably the only woman who’d ever stood up to Billy in any capacity.

  Durango followed her outside and tried to apologize for Billy, but she wanted nothing to do with it. But then they were suddenly standing in the middle of a surprise rain storm and laughing. It was almost like a movie—as ridiculous and resentful on Durango’s part as that was. She gave him her number after he drove her home. Three months later, they were moving in together.

  Sarah managed to find a crack in Durango’s walls, to find a way inside his world. And she turned it upside down, making him want more than just a job that humiliated his father. For the first time since his mother died, he wanted a family, wanted to love, wanted to feel like he was a part of something more than just what he could control. That was huge for him. And they were so close to making it a reality.

  Then the Harrison Strangler walked into their lives.

  If he’d known then what he knew now . . .

  Durango walked into another place downtown, sat at a bar with a portrait of Lincoln on the wall, and asked for an entire bottle of tequila. It was time for some serious drinking.

  A pretty, petite woman took a stool beside him, but she wasn’t his type. He was polite, but he turned from her and buried himself in that bottle.

  He needed to get drunk. He needed to bury his thoughts, forget about the past, forget about everything that hurt. He needed to just be for a while.

  Tomorrow was Sunday. Nobody would need him again until Monday. Besides, it could all go to shit if it wanted to. At the moment, he simply didn’t care.

  Today, five years ago, he should have gotten married. This day was the date they’d chosen, the date they’d waited so long for. And it was coming quicker than either of them realized. But she died five months before it arrived. He would never know what it was like to celebrate an anniversary, what it would be like to promise his life to the woman he loved, to hold her in his arms and call her his wife, to watch her belly grow with a life they’d made together, to hold a child that had her eyes and his nose.

  Everything could go to shit, and he didn’t care. His life was already over. What came after Sarah was just the sentence he had to serve for bringing that darkness into her world.

  Chapter 11

  Rain Drop Farms

  “What did you say?” Abigail demanded.

  “I was hired to protect you.”

  She shook her head, tugging his arms away from her so that she could put distance between them. He remained on his ass, but he reached over and scattered the debris she’d worked diligently to prepare for a fire. Like that would stop her from trying again.

  “You don’t seem to be in good enough condition to protect anyone, including yourself.”

  He tilted his head, the hint of a smile touching his lips—such full lips that she could almost imagine what it would be like to kiss them. She blushed, turning away as she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling the cold.

  “I was in much better shape when I arrived, believe me.”

  “What happened to you? Where are your clothes?”

  He grunted a little, his teeth chattering again. “He did this.”

  “He who?”

  “The hitman hired to take you out. He was at the house this morning.”

  Abigail laughed. “No one was at the house. Don’t you think I would have noticed?”

  “You didn’t notice me.”

  She turned to face him again, taking in the slight bluish tinge around his mouth. “You weren’t there.”

  “I was. I drove down from Springfield last night. I parked my car about a mile away and hiked down to your place, taking up a position behind the hedges in your front yard.”

  “Bullshit!”

  If he was surprised by her strong language—which caught her by surprise—he didn’t show it.

  “You got out of bed just a little before dawn, making yourself a cold breakfast before heading out to feed the animals.” That slight smile was back despite the chattering of his teeth. “You should really hang darker curtains. Anyone in the front yard can see your every movement through those sheer things you have there now.”

  Abigail blushed. “I don’t think my mother was thinking of peeping toms and hitmen when she made those curtains.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe she should have.”

  Abigail was pacing, trying to keep warm in the cold. “So, you were sitting outside my house, and I didn’t notice. But that doesn’t explain the lack of clothing.”

  “He was there.”

  “That’s not possible. There were no tracks but mine in the snow.”

  “He was behind the house, hiding behind that narrow shed you have back there.”

  “Mother’s gardening shed.”

  “Whatever. He took a shot at you.”

  Abigail huffed. “I would think if someone had taken a shot at me, I would have noticed.”

  “He had a silencer on his rifle. And he missed, obviously.” He gestured at his neck, brushing his fingers just a hair from the right side of his throat. “The bullet nearly grazed your neck. And you felt it. I saw you stop and turn, looking for what had caused the breeze you must have noticed.”

  That was true. She had stopped, thinking an injured bird or something had flown too close to her. But how would he know that? She stopped pacing and stared at him, afraid to imagine how he could know that if he hadn’t been there. But if he’d been there . . .

  “I pulled him down, and we struggled for a moment. But then I got the better of him and stripped him of his weapon—it’s probably still in the little shed where I stowed it unless he’s gotten back there already.”

  “You stopped him.”

  “Yeah. You were in the barn. I was afraid you’d spot us if we walked out through the front line of your property, so I walked him over the fields, thinking I could get back to my car the long way around without you ever being the wiser. It was what the client wanted.”

  Abigail shook her head again, finding the whole thing impossible to believe. It was like something out of a trashy novel or a B-movie.

  “He must have had a key,” he said, his head dipping down as if he were ashamed. His chattering teeth had calmed, but he was still shivering. “I don’t know where. I searched him. But he got the handcuffs off and clocked me over the head with something heavy. He took my gun and hit me again. The next thing I remember, I woke in the middle of a barren field, buck naked, my things gone. My phone, my guns, my bag. Everything was gone.”

  “He left you to die.”

  “I guess he figured I’d either die, or it would take so long for me to get to shelter and back to you that I would no longer be a hindrance to his assignment.” He shook his head, refusing to look Abigail in the eye. “I thought he’d go straight to the house, take you out. I’m glad to see he didn’t.”

  Abigail began to pace again. It didn’t make sense. “Why would a hitman come after me? I’m nobody! I’m just a farm girl, born and raised on this place!”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who would hire you? I have no family left. My parents are both dead. I don’t have siblings.
My closest family is a couple I pay to help me out on the farm. I mean, we’re friends, they’ve known me my whole life, but they’re still paid employees, you know? They come to the farm early every morning and leave every night. It’s not like they would care much beyond the loss of income if something happened to me.”

  She was babbling and she knew it. But there was too much about his story that rang true, and it was beginning to frighten her.

  “I don’t know anything about your circumstances. All I know is that my boss told me we had an anonymous client who wanted you protected at all costs.”

  She shook her head again. “I’ve never done anything to warrant this sort of attention.”

  “Have you always lived on this farm? Did you ever go to college? Meet someone with a rich dad or something?”

  Abigail started to shake her head again, but she couldn’t deny that. “I went to Harvard for eight years. But that was three years ago.”

  He didn’t say anything. She turned to make sure he was still awake. He was, watching her with open curiosity in his eyes. But he didn’t ask the question she could see in his eyes: how did a girl like you get into a school like that? She turned away again.

  “Have you seen any strangers around lately? Maybe someone hanging out close to the farm, someone trespassing on your property?”

  She didn’t answer. She was still trying to figure out why someone would want her dead. And who would care enough to try to stop it?

  “He was tall, slightly shorter than me. Dark hair. Dark eyes. A sort of Italian look about him wearing jeans and—”

  “Long eyelashes?”

  He tilted his head. “I suppose. I didn’t really look that close.”

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she whispered under her breath. He was describing the guy she’d run into days ago, the one who asked for directions into town. The one she was hoping she’d find out here when she came looking for the source of the light Mrs. Philips saw.

  “You saw him.”

  Tears of frustration filled Abigail’s eyes. “This has got to be a joke, right? No one would care one iota if I lived or died.”