FROST SECURITY: Richard

by Glenna Sinclair

  Still, the question remained. Why would he want my business? Was there treasure hidden in the walls by his Uncle Blake, or something? No, that was ridiculous. Of course, if you'd told me a month ago that all his would be unfolding right in front of me, from the sudden death of my partner, to the calls, to my having to hire private security for protection, I would have told you all that was equally ridiculous. Things like this just didn't happen to a woman like me. Why would they? I wasn't anyone special, was I?

  I chewed my lip, gnawing away at it like a chipmunk, watching the two men as they walked across the street to a big Harley parked across the way. I just really hoped Richard wouldn't do something stupid.

  Boy was I wrong.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Richard

  Wyatt moved like a fighter. From the way his shoulders stayed square at all time and his eyes stayed constantly searching the surroundings, I knew he'd been in more than a few scrapes. And, with a vest like his, I had a feeling he'd been in significantly more than just a few. Guys like him, they prided themselves on their sparring ability, on being able to throw a punch and make sure the opponent didn't get back up. Also, they fought dirty. Which meant that, once you hit the ground, you probably weren't getting to your feet anytime soon.

  “You wanna hold my hand, too, while we cross the street?” he sneered back at me.

  “Just keep moving, asshole, or I'll carry you across by your scruff. How's that sound?”

  He chuckled dryly as we crossed the couple lanes of almost non-existent traffic. The last thing I wanted was an altercation, for more reasons than one. First, Sheriff Peak might get called. Second, the neighboring businesses might see. Third, I might actually lose.

  I wasn't worried about long-term effects of a fight with this guy, not unless he had any silver on him. That was really the only thing that could injure a shifter in the long run. Human form, we could die from trauma, but once we shifted to our wolf, we’d be back to normal. But, I was honestly a little worried about coming out to looking weak in front of Jessica. And I could certainly feel her eyes on my back as we headed for his bike parked across the street.

  “You her bodyguard or something?” he growled as we crossed.

  “Head of customer service.”

  He snorted. “Yeah. Right. With that gun on your hip?”

  “Listen,” I said to his back as we stopped next to his bike, “I don't know what game you think you're playing at, but I won't let this keep going.”

  “Huh,” he said, his back still to me. “Think you got the sack to stop me? That it?”

  “Maybe not stop you,” I admitted. “But more than enough to make your life a living hell. So, I want you to think about whether or not what you're planning is worth it. Because anything happens to a hair on her head, I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making you pay for it in every conceivable way. Get me?”

  “You threatening me, bud?”

  “No, I'm promising you. Get out of Enchanted Rock, and stay away from the Curious Turtle. You have any correspondence with Jessica Long in any way other than mail or email, I'll make you wish you hadn't.”

  “Tough guy, huh? Think just cause you spent some time in the gym, or out hunting in the woods, you can handle a guy like me? Seen some movies, now you think you're Charles Bronson or some shit? John Maclain?”

  I snorted. “This ain't the movies, and we both know it.”

  And then he swung. It was a wild haymaker with his right fist as he came around, his meaty fist bearing right down on my head.

  It was so reckless, I should've known it was a fake out. I blocked the punch anyways, though, my forearm shooting up into the crook of his elbow.

  Before I could counter strike, though, he'd jabbed me twice in the kidneys with his left fist, both punches hitting like a mule's kick right in my side.

  Pain shot through my body and I bent over to less it. I was in close, though, and I brought my knee up into his gut, knocking the wind from him in a big whoosh.

  He bent over, hands to his stomach, gasping for air and staggering on stomping, booted heels.

  I struck him twice, right across the mouth, stinging my fists with his jaw.

  Wyatt's head ricocheted back and forth between my fists, blood spraying from his lips.

  With a handful of greasy hair, I yanked his head down to my knee, felt the satisfying crunch of his nose.

  He stumbled and dropped to his knees, blood spilling over his lips, his nose already swollen and gushing blood down his face, his eyes dazed.

  Just like that, it was over. I bent over at the waist in front of him, hands on my thighs, scrapes across my knuckles. “Wyatt, I think we got off on the wrong foot here, and you don't seem to believe me because of it. So let me repeat myself. You get the fuck out of the Rock, and never come back. I see you here at the Curious Turtle, I'll fucking kill you myself. You got it?”

  He looked up at me with wild, crazed eyes. The eyes of a pissed off madman. There were daggers, guns, chains, broken bottles, and bombs in that glare of his as he struggled to his feet without a word. He just nodded when he was finally upright, nodded as he stood there weaving back and forth, punch drunk. “You know this ain't the end of things.”

  “Counting on it.”

  Eyes still on mine, he noisily sucked blood from his nose, spit a big, crimson wad to the side. He nodded like he was making me a promise he fully intended to keep. Then, he turned around, climbed back on his bike, kicked it alive.

  “Be seeing you, asshole,” he tossed back over his shoulder, before opening up the throttle on his engine and taking off down Main Street.

  “Yeah,” I said to his back as he raced out of town. “Be seeing you too, asshole.”

  As I stood there, watching Wyatt cut off a smoking, honking logging truck and disappear on his bike around the corner, the phone in my pocket began to ring.

  I pulled it out, pressed it to my ear. “Murdoch,” I growled.

  “It's Lacy. Got some more info on that Wyatt guy.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  “Remember how I said he was a member of Skull and Bones? Turns out he's more than just a member. He's the president of their Colorado chapter.”

  I just blinked at this revelation. That wasn't good.

  “Murdoch?” Lacy asked on the phone. “You there?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I'm here.”

  “What's wrong?”

  “I think I just kicked the president of Skull and Bones' ass.”

  “Fuck, Richard! That's not good, dude. That's not good at all.”

  “Yeah,” I said, suddenly realizing just how wonderful the cool Colorado air felt as I dragged it into my lungs. “I get that impression.”

  “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  “I wasn't,” I said, my voice raised, then caught myself, shook my head as I turned and headed back to the Curious Turtle. “Sorry, I didn't mean to get upset like that. I just, sorry, I just reacted, okay? I walked him out to his bike, and I said some shit, and he swung at me. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Let him beat your ass, that's what,” Lacy quipped.

  “Not likely,” I said as I rubbed my side where he'd landed his two punches. A lesser man would have been left pissing blood for a couple days after that kind of run in, but thankfully I wasn't even a man. “What else you got? I heard Wyatt offering Jessica a hefty chunk of change to walk away.”

  “Money laundering?” she asked. “That's what I'm thinking, at least. Lots of criminal rackets like that need to clean up their money, and an art gallery is perfect for it.”

  “Got anymore details on that?”

  “Not yet,” she said, “but soon. Headed back to the office right now to keep looking for that fax number. I can get some more information put together after that.”

  “Scratch it,” I replied as I stopped in front of the door. “Pretty sure we've got our guy here, and I want to know what he wants Jessica's gallery for.”

  “Got it, boss.
Info first, fax second.”

  “Good. Call when you have more details.” I hung up the phone and stuffed it away in my pocket.

  Jessica was waiting for me inside, her face a curious mixture of livid and concerned. “Richard Murdoch,” she said, coming over to me, “what the hell were you thinking.”

  “He swung first,” I said. “You saw it.”

  “A biker, though?” she asked, grabbing my hand and pulling it up so she could inspect the damage to my knuckles. “You know how those guys are.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Worse than Marines. All about honor and shit, I know.”

  “What'd you say to make him take a swing at you? And, wow, this is healing fast. You've already got some scabs.”

  “So it's my fault then?” I asked with a grin, ignoring her remark about my already scabbing knuckles. They'd be healed up by night time. Over in Afghanistan, I'd come back from far, far worse, much to our platoon's medic's surprise. “Because I antagonized him?”

  She dropped my hand. “You know that's not what I mean.” She scowled, then thought about it. “But, yes, it kind of is. I saw the way you were glaring at him when you left. You wanted a fight.”

  I shrugged. “Threatened him. Told him to leave you alone, or else.”

  “Richard,” she groaned. “What if he's not the guy who's been threatening me? We don't have any proof.”

  I shook my head. “What more proof do you need? Guy came in here the morning you receive that turtle in the mail.”

  “Tortoise,” she corrected. “It was a tortoise.”

  “Fine. Tortoise. But, if I remember correctly, this is what you wanted. You wanted us to try to scare the guy off.”

  “Well, I didn't know he was a biker when I said that.”

  “Actually,” I said, “not just a biker. The president.”

  She looked at me, her eyes round as dinner plates. “You just beat up the president of the Skull and Bones? In front of my fucking art gallery?”

  “Look,” I reminded her as she turned away from me and took a few, timid steps, “he's thinking like a businessman on this. If it's too much trouble to get you out of here, he won't deal with it. He wants something easy, not a feisty co-owner like you. Anything out of the ordinary, even Sheriff Peak will get involved in this. Besides, anything comes back on this, it's coming back on me, Jessica. I'm the one who screwed up and pissed them off, not you.”

  She stopped and turned back to me. The look on her face was now one, almost, of admiration. “You beat up their president? For me?”

  I shrugged. “All in a day's work?” I joking asked. “Just don't tell my boss. Okay?”

  She laughed, shook her head. That look in her shining green eyes didn't leave, though.

  And, as I locked my gaze with hers, I realized that I could spend the rest of my life seeing that same expression.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Peter

  “Frost?” asked the voice on the other end of the line. “That you?”

  “Yeah, Portage,” Peter said as he carefully shut his office door so Gen couldn’t eavesdrop on his conversation. “I'm here. What do you have for me?”

  It was late morning, and things had been slow, but looked like they were starting to pick up. Lacy had sent him an update on what had gone down at the Curious Turtle, in all its morbid detail. News that Richard kicked the crap out of Wyatt Axelrod wasn't exactly welcome, but at least they were starting to get a sense of who it was that might actually be threatening their client.

  But now Deacon Portage was calling, one of his old platoon buddies who'd become a supervisor at a sleepy Oklahoma police department a couple years back. Peter had leads out with all sorts of guys like Deacon, considered them to be a sort of stringer network he could use for intelligence gathering. Sometimes he got a heads up on business opportunities, handling things the cops couldn't, or wouldn't, handle. Other times, they were on more personal matters.

  “Found a case like you asked about a few months back. Burned out farm house, all the other details you've been looking for.”

  Richard could almost smell his parents' farm house back in Pennsylvania, as Portage spoke, that same oily thick scent that had stayed in his hypersensitive nose for days and days after.

  “Talk to me,” Peter said. “All the details.”

  Deacon began to spin out of the tale in as much detail as he could. The whole thing had them stumped. Ten minutes later, Peter had as much information as Deacon was willing to divulge over the phone.

  “Any chance you could fax it over to me?” Peter asked. “So I can look over the hard copies?”

  “Sure thing. I can send them over in just a couple minutes.”

  Peter gave him the number.

  “Think this is the kind of thing you're looking for, Frost?”

  “Sounds like it, but I won't know for sure unless I go there in person. Think you can get me into the crime scene?”

  “Sure you need to?” Deacon asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Not something I can figure out just by looking at some crime scene photos or police reports. I need to actually get in there and look around.”

  “Then, yeah, I think we can swing it. Fire inspector's a buddy of mine. Play poker every Wednesday down at the Legion. When can you fly out, so I know you're coming.”

  “Drive, I think,” Peter replied, scratching at his jaw. “Just need to get a few things wrapped up here and I'll head out your way. I'll text you a time when I'll be in town and what hotel I'm staying at.”

  “That soon?”

  “That soon, buddy. Thanks again, Portage. Hopefully this leads to something.”

  “Any chance you'll tell me what this is about?” Portage asked after a minute.

  Peter cracked a smile for the first time that morning. “I'd love to, buddy. But you wouldn't believe me if I did.”

  “Well, I guess I'll see you when I see you, then.”

  “Sure thing.” Peter hung up his cell phone and began to pace his office. Damn Richard for getting into a fist fight with Axelrod. With the two of them here, and Frank due back later today, he hadn't been too worried about any of this. They would have had three of the pack in town to deal with any threats, and the other two returning soon enough.

  But, he reminded himself, this all coming down at the same time as the Jessica Long case just couldn't be helped. Richard had no idea about any of Peter's investigations. And unless there was something for Richard or the rest of the guys to worry about, Peter wanted to keep it that way. If he wasn't careful, he'd have them all jumping at shadows.

  Still, though, damn Richard for picking a fight with the Skull and Bones gang. And the president, no less! Of course, he hadn't exactly known what was going on, and Murdoch always had been a bit of a hothead. But, shit, this couldn't have come at a worse time.

  He paced his office, thinking about the best way to handle the situation.

  Under most circumstances, Richard could be trusted to keep the shop running smoothly. And, soon, they wouldn't have any other active investigations running. There was nothing else he could really do without bringing the rest of the group in on his own case. And, as he'd decided earlier, he wasn't going to do that till there was something more substantive.

  He grabbed his cell phone, pulled up Richard's contact info and dialed his number.

  Richard answered on the second ring. “Murdoch. How much trouble am I in?”

  Peter grinned. “Ass chewing has to wait.” He paused, licked his dry lips. He didn't like to lie to his pack, but sometimes a lie was easier than the truth. “Gotta head over to Oklahoma for a meeting with a potential new client, and they want to see me tomorrow morning.”

  “Shit, Peter, you're skipping out with all this going on?”

  “You can handle it, Richard. I trust you. Besides, Frank'll be back in town late today. Gen said he's already on his way back. Between the two of you, and Sheriff Peak if you need the help, I got complete confidence in you. I mean, sure you screwed the pooc
h and poked a bee hive. But I don't think they'll try anything too over the top.”

  “Any idea where Lacy is on the info I asked about?”

  “Typing it up right now, I believe. She should have something for you soon, including the info on where that fax came from. Do me a favor, though?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Keep her out of trouble. Gen didn't like hearing that she was there when Wyatt showed up at the gallery.”

  “Oh, Gen's just being fussy.”

  “Still, you know how I feel about non field agents being out in the field, and the dangers involved. So be careful with her while I'm out of town.”

  “Yeah, boss. Sure thing. I just don't know how I feel about you flying down there so soon, though.”

  “Driving, actually,” Peter replied. He had way too much gear to drag both ways on a flight. “This way I can come back when I'm finished, and not when a flight is about to take off. It's only twelve hours each way. Should be fine.”

  Richard laughed. “Only twelve hours? Sure you weren't a trucker in a past life?”

  Peter allowed himself a smile for the first time all day. Normally, Richard didn't get one out of him till afternoon at the earliest. “No. Just built for it, that's all. Gotta sign off, now. I'll check in with Gen, and she'll know where to reach me if anything happens and I don't pick up on my cell.”

  “Anything else, boss?”

  “One last thing. I know I already said I'm not concerned about your safety, but I want you to keep a close eye on your m-” He stopped himself mid-word, started over. “I want you keep a close eye on your client. Get her to the safe house, if you can.”

  “I'll try.”

  “Do more than try. These guys are dangerous. I don't think they'll do anything, necessarily, but I want you to play it safe. Got it?”