Mastiff Security: The Complete 5 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  He never said a word. He simply held her.

  She’d never felt that safe in all her life.

  Chapter 13

  Springfield, Illinois

  Durango Masters’ Home

  It felt like déjà vu. Only there was nothing funny about this.

  Durango was hung over, his head aching from the bottle of tequila he’d downed last night. Yet, he was showered and dressed by eight that morning, headed out the door to work like he’d done every other weekday morning for all his adult life. But, today, Detective John Fedor was waiting for him.

  The man’s face was pale, dark shadows under his beady eyes. And his suit was as cheap and wrinkled as ever.

  “Durango Masters? You’re under arrest.”

  Durango shook his head. “You can’t do this. This is fucking harassment!”

  Fedor gestured for one of the uniformed cops with him to step up and put the cuffs on Durango’s wrists.

  “You have nothing on me! You know I didn’t kill Kyle!”

  “This isn’t about Kyle,” Fedor said, pulling a laminated card out of his wallet to make sure he read the Miranda Rights properly. “You’re under arrest for the rape and murder of Detective Donna Hyde.”

  Durango’s knees went weak, his stomach turning over with the burning alcohol that was still churning inside.

  “She’s not—”

  “She is. And the crime scene guys found your fucking fingerprints all over everything in the kitchen.” Fedor moved closer to Durango, his sour breath washing over his face. “I would also assume that when the coroner sends off the swabs from her body, they’ll find your DNA there, too.”

  Durango knew he was right. And he knew Fedor was correct in coming here to arrest him now. But he hadn’t done it. Someone was setting him up.

  He was in an interrogation room now, had been for so long that he was no longer sure what time of day it was. Fedor had been in and out, but the interrogation itself was being conducted by his captain, a man named Weller. The atmosphere was not incredibly friendly. Durango wasn’t surprised. Whenever a cop was killed, it was like a member of the family had been taken out. They were after revenge, and they didn’t care who fell in the process.

  “Why are your fingerprints at her house?”

  Durango sighed. He’d answered these questions dozens of times already. “I get a single phone call, don’t I?”

  Weller set a picture down on the table. It was Hyde lying on a bed, her body naked, bruises visible on her thighs. Durango flinched.

  “Did you do that?”

  Durango knew better than to answer too many questions. They could use his own words against him in court documents, in the press, in his trial. He’d learned that the hard way five years ago.

  Weller set another picture on the table. This one showed a t-shirt used as a ligature around her neck. “You get off strangling women? Is it a sexual fetish for you, Mr. Masters?”

  He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I know my rights, asshole. I get a fucking phone call!”

  Another picture was taken from a distance, showing not only the body on the bed, posed as all the Harrison Strangler’s victims had been, but the mirror over a dresser that had been covered by a dark blanket.

  It was definitely the Harrison Strangler, the same man who’d killed Sarah, Kyle, and now Detective Hyde.

  Fuck! Why had he allowed this to happen?

  “You were with her last night?”

  Durango looked up at Weller. “I’ve answered all your questions. I’ve told you that she and I were lovers. Now I want my phone call.”

  Weller leaned toward Durango over the table, getting close enough that his spittle flew onto Durango’s face when he spoke.

  “Lovers don’t do to a woman what you did to her last night, asshole. The coroner just sent up his preliminary report. There was tearing on the vaginal wall, bruising on her thighs and her wrists, all injuries consistent with rape.”

  “It wasn’t rape. It was consensual.”

  “But she’s not here to support that, now is she?”

  Weller smiled a sick little smile, his mouth opening to say something else when the door suddenly opened. The desk sergeant gestured for Weller to step out of the room. A second later, a beat cop came in, grabbing Durango by the arm and tugging him out of his seat. He led him to a holding cell at the back of the building, gesturing to the pay phone on the wall.

  “Make your phone call.”

  Durango crossed to the phone, aware of the man watching him. His head was splitting, his thoughts stunted with the information he’d gotten from those photographs. These people were too blinded to see what was really going on. But Durango could see it. He was being targeted by the strangler. Somehow the strangler knew who he spent time with, who he cared about. And he knew exactly how to make his actions look pretty damning.

  Was someone watching him? Was someone else out there on that street last night, someone who watched him go into Hyde’s house? Did that same person somehow know what had transpired between the two of them while he was inside? How was that even possible?

  This was getting out of control. Durango had to find the killer and end this once and for all.

  He snatched up the receiver on the old-fashioned phone and dialed Axel’s cell phone.

  “I’m in jail,” he said quickly before Axel even had a chance to say more than hello. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but I’m sure it’s safe to say that I’ll be out for a couple of days. I need you to take charge of things at the firm.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “One of the detectives on Kyle’s case was found murdered during the night, and they’ve managed to connect some of the evidence to me.”

  “To you? How the hell—”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll explain when I get out. In the meantime, I need you to keep things running down there.”

  “What about you? What about Kyle’s case?”

  “Let me worry about that. You just keep Mastiff up and running.”

  Durango hung up without waiting for a response from Axel.

  He was on his own with this. He didn’t want to bring anyone else in, bring them too close to this killer. He couldn’t afford to lose any other friends, he had so few of them as it was.

  Chapter 14

  Springfield, Illinois

  Quinn Naylor’s Home

  Quinn sighed softly in her sleep, the sound so sweet and childlike that it made Calder smile. He ran his hand over her hip, the thick yarn smooth and soft against his skin. But he wanted to touch her, wanted to know the curves of her body, the angles of her hips and thighs, with all the intimacy this moment should imply. He didn’t understand why she was so opposed to being touched, but he was beginning to suspect there was more to her story than he ever would have guessed from all the news stories he’d read about her, all the biographies her father’s press team had put out on her.

  Was it this Kaden guy who’d hurt her? Was that why she’d run him down with her car?

  But he didn’t really believe she’d done that. At least, not voluntarily.

  The more he studied that bit of film, the more he suspected there was something going on in that car that they weren’t meant to see. The look on her face appeared to be steel determination, but what if it wasn’t? He’d seen that same look on her face just today, downstairs, when she was arguing with him. It was a facade, a mask to hide the emotions that were really rushing through her mind like a train wreck. It was her way of hiding what was truly going on inside.

  What could have been going on inside of her that night that she would need to hide it?

  No, he didn’t think she’d targeted Kaden Woodriff on her own that night. He believed someone else was in that car, someone was hiding just out of sight. And that person was the one who brought her home, shot her up with some sort of drug, and undressed her, leaving her naked and vulnerable here in her home. That person wanted it to appear that she’d gone on a dr
unken drive and done something impetuous, that she just happened to spot Kaden and ran him over in a drunken rage. The party, the drink, the accident, the nudity. It all made sense.

  Except whoever had done it didn’t know about her hang ups, didn’t know that she didn’t like being naked, either alone in her room or with someone else. That person didn’t know that she was reluctant to be touched, that she needed to be in control. That person didn’t know that she would never do the things that he or she had worked so hard to make it appear she had done.

  And there was something else, too. Calder got the impression that things didn’t go quite the way the setup implied it should have. He was pretty sure the cops were supposed to arrive on Quinn’s doorstep before she woke, before the drug had worn off. He thought that by the way the scene was set here at the house, the mastermind had wanted her to be confused and appear to still be drunk when the cops came to arrest her. The fact that she wasn’t, that she was dressed and already cleaning up her injuries when the cops arrived couldn’t have been part of the plan. And maybe that was why whoever this was had taken shots at her downtown.

  Calder was confident those shots were not meant to hurt her. They were meant to frighten her. They were meant to make her look paranoid. Hell, the cops hadn’t believed she was actually shot at. Who shoots at people downtown in the historic district? Who would be that stupid? And why hadn’t anyone else reported shots fired? It was pretty obvious that someone was trying to make Quinn look like she was missing a few cogs, or that she’d taken up a pretty serious drinking habit.

  Maybe she was right. Maybe her father was trying to discredit her so that she couldn’t go public with whatever it was she thought she had on him. Who else would want to discredit her?

  He’d done his research last night. He knew there were rumors that her father was in the running to be running mate to the leading democratic presidential candidate in three years when the elections came around again. These things began early, with deep vetting and positive press setting the scene for the voters. Roan Naylor wouldn’t want any loose ends lying around.

  Was that what was happening? Was he trying to destroy his daughter before she could destroy him? Or was someone else trying to destroy her to reflect badly on him?

  The press coverage of Quinn’s arrest and Kaden’s death had been surprisingly limited. Someone powerful had pulled strings, that much was clear. Therefore, if the purpose here was to make a fool of the senator, that part of the plan had failed. But, Calder suspected, that wasn’t the goal.

  He only wished he knew what the goal was. Maybe then he would know who was behind it.

  Quinn shifted, rolling onto her back. Calder slid over a little, brushing his hair back from his face as he studied her, the peace that was so beautiful on her face. He’d never seen her quite like this. It was a memory he’d keep for a long time. He ran his fingertip over the curve of her jaw, resting it on the little dip of her top lip for a long second. Then he traced a pattern down her throat and slowly down as far as the top button of her blouse would allow. The sight of her straddling him with this silk blouse brushing against his abs was one he’d also hold for a very long time. She was so beautiful, more beautiful than she would ever realize. And erotic in an unintended way that made him swell now just thinking about it.

  He slid his hand down over one breast, along her ribs, and over her belly. She sighed, turning her head toward him, but didn’t wake. A part of him wished she would, wished he could slide inside of her again and watch the pleasure dance in her eyes as it had before. He wanted to hear the little screams escape from her lips, wanted to feel her muscles clamp down on his length, wanted to know that his touch had brought her that incredible pleasure and to believe that he was the only one who could.

  He wanted things that he knew it wasn’t his right to ask for, but he couldn’t help himself. There was something about this woman that felt so perfect, so right. Even with Ree Ann, it hadn’t felt like this, like this was where he was always meant to be.

  The buttons low on her blouse had come undone, and the edges were falling apart just above the line of the blanket she’d pulled over her hips. He encouraged them to separate more, sliding his fingers around her navel before he pushed upward, another button coming apart. Her skin was pale, smooth, silky as expensive sheets. But it was also marked with a history of violence, some faded, some thick and ropy, most clearly roughly healed without the benefit of medical intervention.

  Calder had seen scars like this before on some of the guys he served with in the Army. Sometimes there was no opportunity for a medic to put in a couple of stitches, and a guy had to do what he had to do. The skin would heal, but it wasn’t always pretty.

  Some of these were not pretty.

  What the hell had happened to her? Who’d done this?

  The farther he pushed her shirt apart, the more scars he revealed. There were small ones everywhere, little lines that were thin and had healed well. But the biggest one, a ropy scar that was an inch thick and roughly eight inches long, wrapped from just above her navel around to her side. It looked almost as if someone had tried to cut her in half. Other scars he recognized, the rounded scars of burns from some sort of object like a cigarette or a cigar. And marks that looked as though they came from a belt or some sort of whip. Those he’d seen before, too, on the tortured bodies of Afghan women, from the bodies of abused children he’d interviewed in his previous career as a cop.

  She’d been abused. For years. Tortured, really.

  No wonder she didn’t want to be touched.

  His heart broke as it finally sank in and his hatred completely evaporated. It was suddenly obvious that he wasn’t the only one in this room whose life had been irrevocably altered by Roan Naylor. They were both victims of that sadistic bastard, she so much more than him.

  Even as his hatred for her was replaced with an overwhelming grief and this rush of affection that was greater than the intimacy they had shared, his hatred for Roan Naylor grew exponentially. If the man had been in the room at that moment, Calder would have strangled him with his bare hands.

  He traced his fingers over the scars, memorizing each and everyone. He knew she’d hate it if she was aware of what he was doing, so he reluctantly closed her shirt and rebuttoned it, hiding her past, her shame, once more. He leaned close to kiss her temple just as his phone shattered the silence, vibrating loudly in the pocket of his jeans where they lay forgotten on the floor.

  Quinn sat up, gasping for breath.

  “It’s okay. It’s just my phone.”

  She glanced at him, clearly confused as to why he was in her bed for a brief second. But then her expression softened and she inclined her head slightly, the smallest of smiles touching her lips.

  He wanted desperately to pull her into his arms in that moment, but the phone continued to vibrate on the floor, the noise louder in his head than it actually was.

  Calder leaned over the side of the bed and dragged the jeans to him, freeing the phone just in time to catch the call before it went to voicemail.

  “Calder Obre,” he barked, his back to Quinn.

  “It’s Axel, Calder. There’s been an incident, and I’ve called a staff meeting at headquarters. Can you be here in the next fifteen minutes or so?”

  “My client is under protective custody, and I’m the only one here.”

  “I sent Doug over. He should be outside within the next minute or two.”

  Calder nodded, a few choice words threatening to slip from his lips. Of course Axel would have thought of that.

  “Then I guess I’ll be there.”

  “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”

  Calder disconnected the call. Axel wasn’t a bad guy, it was just . . . Calder was still convinced he was better qualified for his job. And the extra money would have meant great things for Addie and his mom.

  But that was life, right?

  “You have to go?”

  He turned to Quinn. Her arms were wrapped
around her chest, but the blanket had slipped off her, falling to the floor beside the bed. Her thighs were surprisingly long for such a petite woman, firm and perfectly shaped, drawing a response from him that he couldn’t hide. He leaned close and kissed her, his lips lingering for a long moment against hers.

  “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

  She touched the side of his face. “Promise?”

  There was a familiarity in her voice with that single word, a little bit of a small child’s desperation. She sounded almost like Addie when she was promised dessert or a new toy and she had to make sure it was a promise that would be fulfilled.

  Calder slid his hand over the side of her face and buried his fingers in her short hair. He drew her close enough that all she could focus on was his face.

  “I promise,” he said with all the sincerity in his soul.

  She hesitated a second, but she must have been satisfied because she reached up and kissed him again, sighing softly against his lips.

  Calder reluctantly pulled away, dressing slowly beside the bed, aware of her eyes on his every movement. He kind of liked the appreciation he saw there, liked that she enjoyed watching. It’d been a long time since he’d been with a woman, even longer since a woman truly admired his appearance. Ree Ann had been . . . well, he didn’t want to have bad thoughts about his child’s mother, but her actions said it all, didn’t they?

  Fully dressed, he dragged his fingers through his hair, pulling out the knots that lying on the bed had created and twisted the elastic band around it again. Before putting his holster and gun on, he leaned over to kiss her one more time.

  “Stay just like that. I’ll be back.”

  She smiled softly. “I won’t go anywhere.”

  He turned to go, but she stopped him before he could step through the door.

  “Calder? Can I ask just one thing before you go?”

  He paused in the doorway, facing her as he leaned one shoulder against the jamb, acting as though he had all day to stand there and chat. He almost wished he did.