Mastiff Security: The Complete 5 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  “Thanks for dropping by, Durango,” Felicity said with something like a smile. But he could see the stress on her face even as she backed into the living room and let him into her condo. It was a nice place, one like the pictures Sarah had shown him, places she wanted to live with him after their wedding. He kept arguing that they should move out to the suburbs to raise babies, and she’d insisted that the city would be more practical for their careers. He probably would have given in eventually, but they were still arguing the point when she died.

  “We made a bit of a mess of your show tonight, didn’t we?” he asked.

  “You did. But you also finished the job I invited you in to take. I just didn’t realize it would be my partner who’d be escorted out in handcuffs.”

  “I didn’t see that coming, either. But I guess you never know with some people.”

  “Two-faced bastard,” she mumbled under her breath as she crossed to the bar and poured them both a glass of bourbon. “We had a good thing going. If not for all of this, we would have been picked up. I know we would have. But at this point . . .” She sighed. “Once the network hears what happened, we’ll be lucky if they allow the live show to air.”

  “I bet they will. You just have to come up with a good ending.”

  “And what’s that?”

  Durango had been thinking about it on the drive over. He sat on the edge of the couch now and leaned forward, the drink untouched between his hands.

  “You air the standoff between Brian and Zola. Carefully edited, of course. And then you give the prize to Gunner and Jessica.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “It’ll be damn good television. And the network loves good television.”

  “What about the live show?”

  “You do flashback clips on Zola and Brian, trying to pick out the moments when the viewers should have figured out what went down. And then you play up the innocence of the remaining players.”

  She started to nod her head. “That’s almost brilliant!”

  Durango set down the glass and stood. “Glad I could help.”

  “You are so much better at this than your brother, Durango! Why aren’t you in the entertainment business?”

  “Because my father is, and there wasn’t room enough for both of us.”

  He walked out, feeling better about the whole situation. At least they’d be able to salvage some of it. Not everyone would have to walk away empty handed.

  Chapter 19

  Springfield, Illinois

  Mastiff Security Headquarters

  Two Weeks Later

  Zola stepped out into the warm afternoon sun, already sweating even though it wasn’t more than eighty degrees. Spring was trying desperately to grab hold of the temperatures, but winter had come back just three days ago and dumped an inch of snow on the city. The higher temperatures had quickly turned it into piles of mud, turning the pretty city into a child who’d been jumping in rain puddles.

  Durango wanted her on desk duty for the next month, or until her shoulder healed. She hated the idea, hated having to do this job enough without being stuck listening to wire taps of boring executives cheating on their wives. She didn’t even get the privilege of testifying in Brian’s assault trial because the bastard had plead guilty already. Him and his brother.

  Wimps!

  She walked down to the corner where there was a little café, one of those places where secretaries got a salad for lunch before rushing across town to pick up lobster bisque for their bosses. She wanted a hamburger, and this was the best place in the neighborhood for that, not that their regular clientele was aware of the fact.

  He was sitting in the back, in a corner so that he could watch the room. She stumbled a little when she saw him, some older woman grabbing her good shoulder to steady her.

  “Be careful, darlin’,” she said with a soft, southern accent.

  “Thanks.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off him. And, apparently, he couldn’t take his from her. He stood and walked toward her, that crooked grin on his full lips.

  “I thought we could have a cup of coffee or something.”

  “Yeah? How did you know I’d be here?”

  “Turns out the security firm where you work has a large ad in the Chicago phone book. And, after that last episode of the show, everyone knows the name better than their own.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek. “I heard about that. I was kind of unconscious when it aired, though.”

  “I heard. But I also heard you were able to watch the live show.”

  “Yeah. My failings displayed on live television for the whole world to watch.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “It took me nearly a month to figure out it was him, and that was after he sliced my arm open with a box cutter.” She nodded, agreeing with the small voices in her head. “I’d call that a failure.”

  “You stopped him in the end.”

  “I did. But . . . I’m not sure I’m all that good at this private security stuff.”

  “You’re just not cut out for the whole catching the cheating husband thing. You should work for an outfit that actually makes a difference. An outfit that’ll send you into a war zone and put some of those martial arts moves to use.”

  “Like the ones you used to break Brian’s nose?”

  “If that’s all I broke, the guy was lucky.”

  Gunner touched her face, his expression turning serious. “I wanted to go to the hospital, but they wouldn’t let us leave until the live show was done. And, by then, you were gone.”

  “I didn’t see the point in taking a bed someone else could use.”

  “I wanted to be there.”

  “Did you? What about the lies I told you?”

  He groaned. “We all lied in that house. But you, you did it for a good reason. And you saved my damn life! How could I be mad at you for that?”

  “I was afraid of how you’d react. I wanted to tell you, but—”

  “I get it.” He drew her closer to him. “It’s over now.”

  “Is it?”

  “No more lies. No more secrets.”

  She chuckled softly. “Then we need to have a long conversation. They told me things about you—”

  He kissed her, that possessive kiss that always made her knees weak. She fell into him, her whole body desperate to feel him, to get lost in him.

  “Why don’t we talk later?” he whispered. “I’d rather check out the inside of your bedroom.”

  She giggled, more a nervous giggle than a humorous one. “You have a car?”

  It was a good thing her place was less than five minutes from there. They were tearing at each other’s clothing as they drove, stealing kisses at every stop light. There were no cameras to catch them now, but dozens of motorists who were deeply annoyed by their distraction. And neighbors of her apartment building who stole looks out their windows as they climbed the stairs, their hands everywhere all at once. She thought they’d never get the door open, but it finally burst back into the apartment as his shirt came off, her shirt was close to follow. It would have been gone much sooner if not for the sling that kept her arm, and the shirt, in place.

  She stumbled backward into the living room, and he followed, his hands on her waist as he dipped his head low against her breasts. He was nearly doubled over, and something about it was just hilarious to her. Maybe it was just gratitude that he was here. Or maybe it was elation at finally being able to share her life with him without the lies and the manipulation and the worry that he was playing a different game than her. Or maybe it was just the sight of that big man exploring her tiny body.

  He lifted her up and carried her over to the couch, tugging at her bra, pulling at her slacks, all at the same time. She wrapped her arms around his neck, oblivious to the pain in her shoulder. He wanted nothing more than to feel his body against hers, wanting nothing more than to give her pleasure without the smells of the water closet wafting aroun
d them.

  His desperation took a backseat, however, when he realized they were in her apartment, in a place without cameras that had a bed.

  “I’m going to show you what a bed is really made for,” he said as he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. And he did. Over and over again, his hands slipping over her chest, her belly, her thighs, exploring every inch of her as his mouth followed, his lips dropping soft kisses and his tongue creating moist trails.

  Oh, the things he could do with that tongue!

  When it was all over, he curled up beside her and pulled her hard against his chest.

  “Tell me about Gretchen,” she said softly when a little time had passed.

  “What do you know?”

  “More than you probably wanted me to know.”

  He was quiet for a long moment. “That story about your mom? Was it true?”

  “It was.”

  “Then you know all you need to know.”

  She shifted, turned so that she could see his face. “Was she sick?”

  He nodded, his eyes filled with grief. “She was.”

  “Then it was better for you. She did it to spare you. My mom . . . She did it to spare herself.”

  “I’m sorry.” He pressed his lips to her shoulder. “I was angry for a long time. I wanted to pull her out of her grave and tell her that we could fix it, that we could make it better. She could have survived. I was filled with guilt because the last time we saw each other, we had a fight. I thought, if I hadn’t been so angry, maybe she would have told me the truth.” He shook his head. “And then I met you, and you told me about your mother, and the anger began to slide away and the guilt . . . I looked at you and saw this strong, capable woman. If you could go through that and make it to the other side without the darkness following you, maybe I could too.”

  “There’s still darkness,” she said softly. “And anger. But I know that what my mother did was her way of ending the pain. It was selfish and completely unfair to me. But it stopped the cycle, too, you know? I no longer had to take her disease as my burden.” She turned away again, pressing her back against his chest. “Maybe, in that way, she did it for me, too.”

  He kissed her shoulder lightly. “We’re both pretty fucked up, aren’t we?”

  She laughed. “Isn’t everyone?”

  “My parents hate me. My sister committed suicide. And my girlfriend was shot in the shoulder. If that’s not the makings of a bad romance novel, I don’t know what is.”

  “I’m your girlfriend?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know if you want to commit yourself to me so quickly. I have a job I hate, a career that was derailed before it ever started, and my mother’s bipolar has a genetic component, so I could still develop it. Or pass it on to any children I might have.”

  “Sounds like you’re perfect for me.”

  She laughed again. “Maybe you’re insane, too.”

  “Maybe.” He was quiet for a long moment. “Did I ever tell you that I’m worth fifteen million dollars, and I own the private security firm that sends me into war zones to keep the peace?”

  That caught her by surprise. “You’re joking!”

  “Nope.” He kissed her lightly. “I told you it was never about the money.”

  She began to laugh as she turned back onto her side, wondering if now was the time to tell him that her mother was an heiress to a technology corporation that just had a really good day on the stock exchange.

  Maybe it was too soon for too many truths.

  Chapter 20

  Springfield, Illinois

  Mastiff Security Headquarters

  Durango sat behind his desk, a bottle of pain killers in one hand, his revolver in the other. He should go home to do this. He didn’t want to put this memory on Axel and Gracie—especially not Gracie—and the other people who’d been so loyal to him these past three years. But the idea of doing it at home where few people visited, and his body would likely not be found for days was sickening.

  He’d gotten the call from his lawyer that morning. The DNA results had come in. The Springfield police department had asked a judge for an arrest warrant in his name just an hour ago. It was time to shit or get off the pot.

  He’d set the confession on the center of his blotter, along with the paperwork that gave control of the business to Axel and Kyle’s father. His will was there, too, expressing his wishes for the little bit of money he would leave behind after all his debts were paid off. There was nothing more to do than to choose the method of death.

  He’d driven around Chicago after leaving Felicity’s apartment two weeks ago, visiting places he’d thought of as his for such a long time when he lived in Chicago. His first apartment, the police precinct where he was a beat cop, the one where he’d been a homicide detective. The apartment he’d shared with Sarah, the church where they were to have their wedding. The cemetery where her body was interred years before it should have been.

  It felt like his life was over, like everything that had mattered disappeared that morning when he got the call when her life ended. For five years, he lived in a fog, getting out of bed every morning, but not really living. And then Kyle died, and he found Gracie, really began to see her for the amazing woman she was. He regretted not seeing it sooner. Maybe if he had, things would be different. Maybe he wouldn’t be sitting there trying to decide between a bottle of pills and his revolver.

  He didn’t want it to be over. But he couldn’t go to prison, and he couldn’t allow the strangler to continue hurting people he cared about.

  He had to end this. And if he took away the strangler’s motive, maybe he’d stop. Maybe it would all end.

  Or maybe he’d find a new target to torture.

  That thought wouldn’t leave him alone. He was so convinced that the strangler was targeting him because he wanted to ruin him because it was a personal vendetta. He forgot that he was talking about a psychotic personality. Those kinds of people didn’t often give up so easily. If Durango took himself out of the picture, it was a real possibility the strangler would focus on someone else, force someone else to take the blame for his crimes. Then where would he be?

  But the people he loved would be protected, and that was all that mattered.

  Fuck morality! Fuck doing the right thing! The only thing Durango cared about was the safety of Gracie, of his next assistant, of Axel’s girl, of all the other women in his life that the strangler might go after simply because they had crossed paths with Durango.

  He had to end it.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Durango spun around, unaware of Gracie’s presence until he saw her standing over the desk, his confession in her hands.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to drop off some files.” She shook the piece of paper. “What is this?”

  “It’s what’s going to end this insanity.”

  “A confession? You’re going to confess to the strangler’s crimes?”

  “Do I have any other choice.”

  “You’ll go to prison, Durango.”

  He lifted his hands, let her see what he was holding. “No one’s going to put me in jail. A cop in a state prison?” He shook his head. “I’d rather die at my own hand than some gangbanger’s.”

  Her eyes widened, shock and fear so palpable on her face that he could almost feel it rushing out toward him.

  “You can’t do that!”

  “It’s the only way to stop it, Gracie. Hell, the cops are on their way right now to arrest me for Detective Hyde. I can’t—”

  “Then let me get you out of here!”

  “What are you going to do? Take me to your apartment? What then? What do you do when the cops come knocking?”

  “I’m not who you think I am, Durango. I can protect you.”

  “How?”

  She dropped the confession and slipped her glasses off her nose, dragging her fingers through her hair to comb i
t off her forehead. “It’s complicated, but the short story is—”

  “Durango Masters?”

  Durango dropped his revolver and the bottle of pills into a bottom drawer of his desk, his only thought was that he’d waited too long to make a decision. Where did one go to get a cyanide pill? He could surely use one of those right about now.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” Gracie demanded, turning and reaching behind her as carefully as she could, her fingers reaching for the confession. “You can’t just march in here like you own the damn place!”

  “Who are you?” the disembodied voice asked. Durango stood, slipping the confession between her fingers as he did, a sense of dread settling in his chest as he realized he recognized the intruder’s voice.

  “Detective Petrovich?”

  The man smiled almost as though he was pleased that Durango remembered him.

  “I told you we’d meet again.”

  “What the hell are you doing here? Springfield is a little out of your jurisdiction.”

  “That might be, but when a suspect travels out of the area, we’re allowed to track him down. You do remember that little detail from your years as a detective, don’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?” Gracie wanted to know even as she balled up the confession and slipped it into a pocket of her bulky skirt.

  “The body of Felicity Meeks was discovered in her condo less than five hours ago. And the only fingerprints in the place other than hers were yours, Mr. Masters.”

  A wave of dizziness washed over Durango, forcing him to fall back into his office chair. Felicity was dead? When? Why? He would have asked how, but he suspected he knew.

  The strangler had followed him to Chicago.

  “This isn’t possible!”

  “It is possible. And we have a warrant to prove it.”

  “Can I see the warrant?” Gracie asked, that confident, the person in charge voice coming out of her pretty little mouth again. “When was it issued? Was it issued by a sitting judge or some buddy of the department?”