Mastiff Security: The Complete 5 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  Durango sighed, remembering a time when he had a woman who would come and drag him home from work, too. A woman who warmed his bed even when he was so obsessed with something that he didn’t bother to spend more than an hour or two lying beside her. He remembered how patient she was with him; how good she was to him. Better than he deserved, that was for sure.

  And what did he do for her? He exposed her to the man who took her life.

  He dropped Gracie’s files into a corner of the furniture-less room and gestured for her to go.

  “You can’t have them until you go home and sleep for a few hours.”

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t need sleep. I need to figure this mess out.”

  She glanced at the wall, flinching at the crime scene photographs he had on open display. He felt this urge to walk over and block the photographs from view, but there was something about the way she was looking at them that made him think for a second that she might actually be able to offer him a new perspective, a clear view. But then she turned away, a shudder moving through her slight shoulders.

  “I’m going. But promise me you won’t stay much longer.”

  “I promise.”

  It was a promise he knew he wasn’t going to keep the second the words were out of his mouth, but he made it just the same. He watched her leave, a part of him wishing he had the freedom to spend a little time with her, to get to know her. She wasn’t the type of woman he was attracted to. His brother was convinced he had a type and Gracie definitely wasn’t it. But there was something about her that made him focus when she was around, that made him stop drinking when she pointed out what a fool he was being, that made him want to be a better person. Only one other woman had ever had that effect on him, and that had been his fiancée, Sarah. But Sarah got caught up in this case, was murdered by the Harrison Strangler. Durango wasn’t about to put Gracie in a position to be his next target.

  Until he figured this out, until he uncovered the identity of the killer, he was handcuffed, no longer free to make connections with anyone who might become a victim. He couldn’t lose anyone else he cared about.

  Durango turned back to the corkboard and went back to it, more determined than ever to figure this damn thing out.

  Chapter 7

  Springfield, Illinois

  Springfield Police Department

  Ryder leaned against a wall and watched the room without seeming as though he was paying much attention. It was odd being back in a police station. He found that he missed the activity, the constant buzz of humanity that came and went through the double glass doors. He’d gotten off on it from the time he was eleven, and his boy scout troupe was given a tour of the local police station in his middle-class neighborhood. His mother had thought it was a horrible idea and warned him over and again not to touch anything, not to talk to anyone. But he’d been fascinated with everything he saw.

  He’d wanted to be a cop from the moment he stepped through those doors. And the ache had yet to disappear despite everything.

  Working security was a joke. He knew some cops preferred the private sector because they had the freedom to work in and out of the legal system. But Ryder liked the structure of the law. And he liked the sense of community, the sense of being a part of something bigger than himself.

  If only things had gone differently . . .

  “Mr. Fairfield?”

  Ryder pushed away from the wall and sauntered over to the counter, leaning down so that he could look the desk sergeant in the eye.

  “Detective Hood is out of the building at the moment.”

  “I don’t need to speak to him. I just want to see the file on the Logan murder case.”

  “Like I said, Detective Hood likes to keep his cases close to his chest while he’s working on them. He has all the case files locked up in his office.”

  “No one can get access to them for me?”

  “No, sir.”

  Ryder straightened. “Okay. If you could tell me where he is or give me a contact number . . .”

  “I can give you his card. That’s the best I can do.”

  Ryder took the card and walked out, annoyed at the hour of time lost. He walked out to his car and booted up his laptop. He’d researched the case already, read everything there was to read in the papers. Tracy Logan was a popular public relations executive with a local firm, handling the press for several clients, including a few politicians who were based out of Springfield. She’d recently taken on Senator Roan Naylor’s case, though Ryder couldn’t imagine there’d be much she could do to save his reputation. Naylor’s daughter had released dozens of documents that showed the man had been involved in multiple dubious deals while he was governor of Illinois, as well as proof that he’d physically abused her throughout her childhood. There were even documents proving she’d gone to the authorities for help on many occasions, and her father had used his influence to shut it down.

  He couldn’t imagine that anyone could spin all that well enough to save the man’s career. But he respected Ms. Logan for trying.

  She was single, living alone. She had no family. From what he could determine, she’d grown up with a grandmother who died two years ago. She had a large clique of friends, but no romantic interests. A few exes, but they all seemed fond of her. The funeral, which was slotted for this afternoon, was being paid for by her firm.

  From the outside, it looked like she’d met the wrong guy on Tinder, and he’d been frustrated during their encounter—maybe she changed her mind at the last minute or he couldn’t perform—and he’d lost it, killing her in a burst of frustration and rage. That was until Ryder saw a picture of her and saw what Kelly had seen. The two women could have been twins.

  Was it possible that whoever killed Tracy Logan had really been after Kelly? And, if so, why?

  There had been a lot of death threats against Ryder in the aftermath of the shooting. The boy’s family and friends had been infuriated, lashing out in their grief. There had been protests all over town, especially in East Atlanta where the shooting had taken place. It all happened not long after several cop involved shootings against young African-American men and tensions were already high. The boy wasn’t African-American, nor was Ryder. But the fact that he was from a poor side of town and Ryder had been raised in abject affluence was bad enough for the people in Atlanta. They had to change their phone number three times in the first few weeks after it all went down.

  Could one of those people have decided to make good on their threats? Had someone tracked Kelly and Ryder down to Springfield? Some of the threats had been against Kelly specifically, some suggesting they wanted to take her out to force Ryder to feel what it was like to lose someone he loved. Others had been against her because race always becomes an issue in these situations for reasons that were beyond Ryder’s understanding. The fact that Ryder was Caucasian, that the boy he shot was Caucasian, had nothing to do with it. The fact that Ryder was married to a woman whose mother was African-American seemed to be all that mattered to some people.

  All of that happened more than two years ago. Why would someone come out of the woodwork now? Why would someone want to hurt Kelly now? It didn’t make sense for this to be connected to all of that, but it was also the only thing that made sense. Kelly was a quiet, introverted writer who had never done anything to hurt anyone. Why else would someone want to hurt her?

  Ryder dropped the laptop onto the passenger seat and sat back, running his hands over his head. Frustration couldn’t even begin to describe the feelings that were rushing through him at that moment. He left his wife two years ago because he wanted to protect her. He wanted the death threats to end. He could see the strain they were causing her, could see the fear in her eyes whenever the phone rang, whenever someone knocked on the door. They’d already lost so much . . . He wanted her to have a chance at a normal life.

  This was not what he intended.

  He had to find out what was happening here, and he had to fix
it. Then he was going to send her back to Atlanta, back to the arms of the people who loved her, back to the safety of home. As far from him as possible.

  He started the SUV and drove across town, intending just to take a look, make sure her apartment building was secure before he went back to the office. He could talk to Gracie about getting the police report. Gracie had a way with people that most of the operatives took advantage of. She’d been known to sweet talk even the most secure information out of organizations as secretive as the CIA with just a couple of phone calls. Mastiff wouldn’t be the firm it was without Gracie.

  Ryder slowed and pulled over to the curb outside Kelly’s apartment building a few minutes later, experience urging him to note every car, every sign of humanity on the street out front. He immediately noticed the undercover cop car. Cops thought they were clever, driving cars that were unmarked. But there was always some sign. This one had a digital antenna on the front corner of the roof to run the computer system that was likely hooked up to the GPS unit. An ordinary citizen probably wouldn’t notice the difference between that antenna and a normal radio antenna, but Ryder saw it.

  There was a cop upstairs. And he could easily guess who it was.

  Before he could think it through, Ryder got out of his car and headed inside, not even sure what excuse he would use when he got to Kelly’s door. There was just this drive inside of him that needed to know what was happening between his wife and Detective Hood.

  They were coming out the door when he rounded the corner. Kelly was smiling, a slight blush on her cheeks. She was looking up at Hood like he was a Hollywood hunk, some guy to be admired. And he was looking down at her with a charm Ryder understood. He’d been known to use the same sort of charm when trying to calm a witness.

  “I’ll let you know when we learn more,” Hood said.

  “Thank you for stopping by. I really appreciate it.”

  “Of course. I promised I’d keep you informed.” Hood touched the side of her face in the pretense of brushing a piece of hair from her cheek. “I always keep my promises.”

  Kelly’s smile slipped a little as she looked up at him, something new coming into her eyes that Ryder didn’t like.

  He cleared his throat.

  Hood turned, his eyes narrowing as he focused on him.

  “Ryder? What are you doing here?” Kelly asked.

  “I was looking for Detective Hood.”

  Hood crossed his arms over his chest as he moved in front of Kelly, blocking her from Ryder’s view as though he thought he was protecting her from a threat.

  Like Ryder would threaten his own wife!

  “What do you want, Fairfield?”

  “The case file, to start with.”

  Hood glanced back at Kelly. “You hired Mastiff?”

  “To provide personal security at my public appearances, that’s all.”

  “Then you don’t need to see the case file.” Hood studied Ryder for a moment. “You’re not a cop anymore.”

  “No, but I was hired to do a job.”

  “Protection, I believe she said.”

  “Having as much information as possible makes protection much easier. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Hood turned his back on Ryder to address Kelly. “Are you aware of who this man is? Do you know that he was involved in a shooting a few years back when he was a cop? That he was fired for his actions?”

  Ryder began to speak, to defend himself as tension stiffened every muscle in his body. But Kelly beat him to it.

  “He wasn’t fired. He chose to quit so that he wouldn’t bring trouble down on the people he worked with.” Her voice was strong, clear. “And he was subsequently found innocent of the accusations the media made against him, though they didn’t report quite as loudly on that as they did their judgments in the hours and days after the shooting.”

  “Is that right?” Hood asked skeptically.

  “It is right. That boy had a gun and a paper bag full of illegal drugs in his car. He fired three times at Ryder before he even pulled his gun, one of those shots lodged in the center of the vest he was wearing, a vest that saved his life, I might add.” She paused, perhaps to make a gesture or to touch Hood. Ryder couldn’t see her, so he couldn’t be sure. “It could have happened to anyone. It could have happened to you.”

  Hood was quiet for a moment. “You certainly do your homework.”

  He turned before Kelly could respond to that. To Ryder, he said, “I’ll get a copy of the file to you as soon as I can.”

  He strode away, clearly put in his place by Kelly’s words. That was what she had always been good at, using words that made people think twice. And he’d always loved her for it—except when she used her words against him.

  “Why are you really here?” she asked softly as they stood staring at one another.

  “To find Hood, like I said. It was an educated guess that he’d be here.”

  “Was it? What did you think he was up to?”

  “The man has a reputation, Kel. Do you think you’re the only witness he ever flirted with?”

  Her eyes darkened, her shoulders stiffening as she wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging herself in a sort of comforting way that didn’t look very comforting.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I’m trying to protect you from an unknown assailant. Everything that happens in your life right now is my business.”

  She shook her head. “Not that.”

  She turned to go back into her apartment, but Ryder couldn’t let her go. He wasn’t sure what it was he wanted, but he followed, forcing the door open even as she attempted to close it.

  “It’s not Thursday, Ryder. I don’t need you here now.”

  “You came looking for me. You asked me to take this job.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re making me regret my choices.”

  He ignored her, moving around the small living room of her small apartment, taking in everything all at once as had become his practice. He was always suspicious, always expecting trouble to come out of even the most innocuous places. That was what that shooting had taught him: even the most innocent of people could prove to be the deadliest. And any second could bring a situation that could change his life completely.

  “There’s nothing new in here,” Kelly said. “It’s the same apartment you saw last night.”

  But he had noticed a change. The wedding photograph she kept on her computer desk was no longer there. She’d moved it, or gotten rid of it.

  He wondered what that meant.

  “Why Hobart?”

  She frowned, clearly confused by the question. “What do you mean?”

  “Why did you choose to take the name, Hobart? Why not your father’s name?”

  “You know my dad. How do you think he would feel having these kinds of books written with his name on the cover?” She laughed a little. “He would have had a coronary event!”

  “He’s proud of you, Kelly.”

  “Sure, he’s proud of me, as long as only a select group of people know I’m the one who wrote these books.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I would.”

  “But why Hobart?”

  “Because I couldn’t use my maiden name, and I couldn’t use your name. So, I thought I’d honor the woman who first encouraged me to write, my grandmother.”

  “That’s her maiden name?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “You don’t know everything about me.” She threw herself onto the couch, stretching out like she was ready to take a nap. “If it makes you feel better, Fairfield is still my legal name. It’s on the contract for this apartment and most of my mail.”

  Ryder tilted his head. “Is it the name your friend used on Tinder?”

  She threw her arm over her face, covering her eyes. “I don’t know. She wasn’t specific.”

  “Did she know your story?”

  “Our story, you mean?” S
he peeked at him. “Only that I was married and the marriage ended. I never went into specifics with her.”

  “Did you tell anyone here in Springfield about me? About what happened back in Atlanta?”

  She sat up and stared at him for a second as though she was trying to figure out what he was fishing for. “Tracy was really the only friend I made here. I talk to the clerks at the grocery store and the guy at the gas station from time to time, but nothing serious. And my agent, my editor, the people at the publishing house, but they only know what they need to know to promote my books. They wouldn’t want to know about all that . . . too controversial.”

  “Then Tracy’s the only one you would have confided in?”

  “Yes. But we didn’t get into details. I just told her you left, and I decided to move here to make a new beginning.”

  Ryder leaned against the wall, his eyes shifting from her to the windows. It was hard for him to look at her because she was so familiar. He’d struggled to put her behind him when he first left Atlanta. It was difficult the first few months. He moved around a lot, coming so close to going back to Atlanta multiple times. He’d even bought a ticket home once, went as far as standing in line at the airport to board the plane before he finally remembered why he’d chosen to leave, why he could never go back to her. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, walking away from her. And it took a year before he resigned himself to the idea of making a life alone, here in Springfield, as far from his past as he felt he could get. To have her walk back into his world now . . . it was threatening everything he’d built, all the walls that separated him from the things that had the power to wound him.

  “Why did you come here?”

  She was quiet for a long moment, almost as if she was trying to come up with a lie. But he knew Kelly. Even if she told lies for a living, she wouldn’t lie to him.

  “I hired a private detective when you left. He traced your movements, told me when you settled here.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I wanted to know that you were okay.”