FROST SECURITY: Richard

by Glenna Sinclair

  Peter shook his head. “Look,” he said, “I think I can help the girl. Maybe. But I’ve gotta know where she is. Did she go into the foster care system? A group home? Anything you can help me with? It’s important I meet her, find out more about her. But I can’t do that by myself, and you know it.”

  “What do you want with her? She can’t help you find who did this, she was out all night with her boyfriend, and she’s barely said a word since. She didn’t see anything, Frost. The firefighters were here when she got home to find all this.”

  Pete rocked back and forth on his heels. “Okay. I’ll tell you what it’s all about, but you gotta promise to find a way for me to see the girl? I need to meet her.”

  He eyed Peter warily, wearily, measuring up whether or not it was worth it. Peter wouldn’t have blamed him if he denied him access. He would have done the same thing in his friend’s shoes. How could he know how Peter was involved, or that he could help the girl. All he knew was, Peter had been asking around about information on a specific kind of crime, and had driven twelve practically straight hours to get here and investigate a morbid mass murder of a family butchered and burned in the night.

  No, if Deacon didn’t want him in touch with the girl, he’d understand. It wouldn’t stop him from finding some other way, like using Lacy or another method, of course. But, he’d still understand.

  “Do I really want to know the answer?” Deacon asked after a long, pregnant moment.

  “Want me to be honest?”

  His old friend nodded.

  “It’ll blow your mind and change your world.”

  Deacon’s eyebrows raised a little.

  “But, no, I wouldn’t want to know if I were you. I’d keep my mind intact, and my world unchanged given the choice. We already saw enough shit to question our worldviews overseas, Deacon, I wouldn’t add anymore to the burden if I were in your shoes right now. And that’s a fact.”

  Deacon Portage nodded.

  Peter crossed his fingers that his old friend wouldn’t ask to know. Peter already knew Deacon’d seen too much shit to count, too much shit to already process. A grown man would probably cry himself to sleep every night from just a half of what was in Deacon’s head. Add the duties of his job, the inhumanity of the civilized world, to the things a soldier had to see and do in a warzone? That was more than twice what a normal man could handle. And Deacon, for all his great points and strengths, was still just a man, plain and simple. A man with a family, a good job, and a home.

  Deacon Portage shook his head. “You’re right, I don’t want to know. This is already creepy enough, I don’t really want to know the why of it. Do I?”

  Frost shook his head. “Believe me, you don’t.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way. You staying in town tonight, I guess?”

  Peter crossed his arms and nodded. “Down at the Motel 6 on the edge of the town.”

  “Coming up in the world, huh?”

  “Better than the Bronco. This thing gets hot at night. And it’s even more uncomfortable than grabbing some sack time in the back of a Humvee, if you’ll believe that.”

  Deacon winced. “Well, come by the house tomorrow. I got the day off, I’ll have the old ball and chain cook us up a feast fit for two old vets.”

  “Before or after you tell me about the girl?” Peter asked.

  “You just don’t let shit go, do you? Like a pitbull once you get your teeth in something, aren’t you?”

  “Something like that. So, what’s the verdict? You gonna find out for me or not?”

  He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Her name’s Mary. Mary Waynescott. And the foster system couldn’t get to her fast enough, so she’s been staying with me and my family.”

  Eyes wide, Peter rocked back on his heels again. “With you? And your family?”

  “Look,” he said, “I know about tragedy, alright? Not many other guys on the force have families like I do, and not many people seen as much shit as me. Or you, for that matter. You’re probably one of the only ones in the county to see more. So, yeah, Mary’s staying with me till the state can figure out where we can put her.”

  “And I can speak to her?”

  “You can try, you mean. Poor kid’s barely said a word since it happened. So, if you want to meet her, be my guest, but I don’t think you’ll get much more out of her than I did.”

  “Alright,” Peter said with a nod. “What time?”

  “Little before noon. Alice’ll be pissed if you get there any later. She’s worse than a Drill Sargent.”

  Frost grinned. “I’ll be there.”

  They shook hands and went back to their separate cars. Peter climbed into the driver seat, breathed a sigh of victory, if that’s what it could be called. He’d found a survivor. He’d found someone left from the family.

  Maybe, just maybe, he could help her?

  Or she could give him a clue as to who he was actually searching for. Or what, rather, he was searching for.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Richard

  I woke up on the bed, still fully clothed, the overhead fan languidly spinning its blades. I fished my phone from my pocket, checked the time. Just after midnight. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, wiggled my toes in my boots. I hadn’t been out for more than thirty minutes.

  I wasn’t groggy, either, even with the brief nap. I’d always been a light sleeper, even as a pup. My mom would make a noise in the kitchen or my stepdad belch too loud in the living room, and I was up like a bomb had exploded. My time in the service had just honed my skill to a fine edge, made it razor sharp. Now, I was liable to wake if a fly buzzed through the room.

  Not that I was complaining or anything. It made me great for details like these, where I was expected to be on light sleep anyways while I watched my client.

  I got up from the bed and wandered out of the bedroom, carefully turning the knob, easing the latch back, and quietly stepping out into the hallway. I shut the door behind me just as silently as I’d opened it and crept toward the kitchen to get myself a glass of water. Something just to wet my throat. I stopped outside Jessica’s door, focused on listening to see if she was still awake. I heard a slow, easy breath from her, I thought. Not like one of deep sleep, but something lighter. I put my hand against the door, fought the urge to turn the knob or ask to enter.

  No. That would be too much, too soon. And, besides, the misison.

  Feeling a little like an actual creeper, and not a hired bodyguard, I continued past her door into the kitchen. I pulled a glass down from the cabinet and filled it from the tap. I leaned back against the cooking island and sipped my drink, my eyes staring out through the darkness into the moonlit world of the forest all around us. I hadn’t bothered to turn on the light because of my night vision being more than enough. Plus, I didn’t want to wake her unless I absolutely had to.

  After all, she was paying for me to keep watch. Not so a bull in a china shop could wake her up every fifteen minutes.

  As I took another sip of water, relishing the taste of the cool well water on my tongue, I stiffened up at a noise. I quickly realized it was just Jessica shifting in her bed, though, and tried to relax.

  I heard her shift on the mattress, pull the covers back and get out of bed, her feet bare. No, wait. Not bare. Fuzzy slippers, maybe?

  She stopped at her door for a moment, then slowly and carefully opened it up, crept out into the hallway. “Richard?” she whispered to the dark cabin.

  I debated standing stock still, waiting for her to come into the room before I said anything, but I quickly decided that wouldn’t be fair to the wildlife outside. Jessica struck me as a screamer when she was surprised, and I knew she’d send the deer running for miles around if I popped out of the shadows like I planned. Besides, I liked her, and as funny as pranks could be, right now wasn’t the time for them.

  “In the kitchen,” I replied in a quiet voice as I turned around to face the opening to the hallway.

  “Th
ank God,” she said more loudly than before, but not at any higher of a volume than I’d used. She came padding into the living room-kitchen combo, her feet barely making a sound on the hardwood as she practically glided across the floor like an angel in her fuzzy little slippers.

  “Can’t sleep?” I asked as she came into the room wearing only a long night shirt that hung down to the middle of her thighs.

  She shook her head. “How can you see anything in here?”

  “I eat my carrots,” I lied. “Supposed to be great for the eyes.”

  “Know that’s a myth, right?”

  “Really? Guess I just have good genes, then. Did I wake you?”

  She shook her head in the darkness as she felt her way through the unfamiliar room in the darkness. “Can’t you turn on a light or something?”

  I smiled. “Hold on,” I said, brushing past her, my hand reaching out to lightly touch her arm. I flicked the switch for the light over the sink, immediately bringing light to the room like a poor-man’s excuse for Genesis. “Let there be light,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes, went to find a glass of water. “Figured I needed to drink some more water after I, you know, drank some more already.”

  I chuckled. “Supposed to do that while you’re drinking, aren’t you?”

  Jessica shrugged as she drew her own glass of tap water. She leaned back against the sink. “Why can’t you sleep?” she asked after two long, deep drinks.

  “Me? Never been able to really. Ever since basic training, I’ve always woken up at a pin drop. What about you? New place?”

  She shrugged again. “Maybe. Just, you know, had a lot on my mind. All this going on.”

  I nodded, glanced down at my empty glass. I walked over to the sink, reached past her to draw some more. This close to her, her smell was almost intoxicating. Just something about her made me crave her touch again, to take her into my arms, press my lips to hers once more, and to never let go.

  “One other thing, too,” she said as I leaned back against the sink beside her. “Something I was wondering about . . . something you said earlier.”

  “About dinner?” I asked, immediately worried. “Because, I don’t know, we don’t-”

  Jessica cut me off with a laugh and a hip bump. “No, not dinner,” she said. “You’re not getting out of our date that easily.”

  I playfully bumped her back, sending her stumbling a little. She just giggled instead of getting mad, though. “What then?” I asked.

  “You mentioned something about investing in the Curious Turtle before we, you know, kissed.”

  “Yeah?” I asked. I remembered. I’d said it half-jokingly, but I had quickly realized I’d been serious as a heart attack about the offer. I didn’t have anything else to spend the money on anyways. “Who wouldn’t want to be a part owner of an art gallery? Hell, even crazy bikers want to.”

  She smiled, took another drink of water before setting it down on the kitchen island across from us. “So you were serious, then? Because, I think I’d say yes to that.”

  “How much money are you talking?”

  “Oh, I don’t really know yet. Sheila’s my finance person,” she admitted as she turned to me, wrapped her arms around my neck. “She knows how much it would take. But, if you’re really interested, I’d be more than open to it.”

  I nearly had to catch my breath as I looked down into her eyes. I set my own glass of water aside, turned my attention back to her. God she was beautiful, especially with the way the moon streamed in through the kitchen window and hit those gorgeous green eyes of hers. “Well,” I whispered, leaning my lips down to meet hers, “you put your people in touch with mine, and we’ll see if we can’t make a deal.”

  “Don’t lie,” she whispered, her eyes half closed, her lips parted. “You don’t have people.”

  My lips stopped just before they reached her, my ears metaphorically perking up. I glanced towards the front window.

  Jessica opened her eyes, those gorgeous greens going suddenly from bedroom invitations to wide-eyed and fearful. “Richard?”

  “Go,” I whispered, shoving her as gently as possible towards the hallway, and the bedroom beyond. “Get dressed, Jessica. Now.”

  “Richard?” she asked, trying to fight me at first. “What’s going on?”

  I looked her dead in the face. “Someone is coming up the road, and I don’t know who it is. You need to get dressed because we might have trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  I nodded. “Don’t freeze up on me now, Jess. Don’t. Go into the bedroom and get dressed. Okay?”

  She nodded. “Okay.” Jessica turned and quickly moved down the hall, throwing open the bedroom door and heading inside.

  Crouching down low to keep myself out of sight, I moved across the living room and up to one of the windows, peered out from behind the blinds. Whoever they were, they had their headlights on, which meant they weren’t trying to be stealthy. I could just barely see the corona of their lights as they came up the slight incline, through the trees.

  I went to the little coat closet pulled up the false bottom, revealing a stash of already filled 9mm clips and various boxes of ammunition. I cursed myself for not having done this earlier, for being too focused on this damned domestic bliss crap, and not the mission. But what was done was done. If I was lucky, I’d have plenty of time to get everything set out. Fortunately, we were as meticulous with storing our weapons and keeping them clean as any soldier alive. I pulled the ammo box from the hiding spot, set it behind me, then stood and brushed aside the coats and other winter gear that hung there. Behind them were the long arms we kept, specifically the shotguns and rifles.

  I pulled down one of each, a combat shotgun and an AR-15, and carried them over to the coffee table, laid them out, then went back for the ammo cache and another handgun. I wouldn’t need the extra sidearm, but Jessica might. Especially if things got really dicey and I had to send her out into the surrounding woods.

  Judging by the sound of their engine, and thanks to the long, winding road we’d graded when Peter and I renovated the place, I still had a few minutes to prepare. I began loading the shotgun, a SPAS-12 semi-automatic with a collapsible stock. They were originally designed for the French military, but they opened them up for sale here back in the 90s. This was more than any hunter would ever need for fowl, and probably more than any homeowner would ever need for defense. Unless, of course, his last name was Koresh.

  The car still on approach, I set the shotgun aside and checked out the rifle. I checked it over before slapping a clip in and checking the sights. Satisfied, I racked a shell into the chamber and leaned it against the wall next to the front door. If I ran out of ammo in the shotgun, I wanted to have a backup ready to go, something with more stopping power than just my 9mm sidearm.

  “Jessica?” I called. “How’re things looking back there?”

  “Almost ready!” she yelled back, her voice not quite reaching the frantic fever point I was listening for.

  Good. The last thing I needed was for her to panic. It was like trying to save a drowning victim from the water. The more they panicked, the harder they were to save and the more likely they were to pull you down with them.

  Out in front of the cabin, cars tired crunched gravel and halogen headlights shone inside as it pulled around to park. This close up, the purr of the engine seemed familiar.

  I realized then where I knew the sound of that car from. It was Lacy’s! I peered out through the blinds again, carefully pulling them to the side so as to not attract more attention than necessary. Even though I was pretty certain it was her car, though, I kept my gun low and at the ready. If it was someone else, like one of the Skull and Bones trying to pull a fast one on me, they were about the get a welcoming party full of buckshot.

  But there Lacy was with her little blue Subaru, scrambling to unbuckle the seat belt and get out of the car as fast as humanly possible. She came sprinting across the front, gravel flying up behind h
er. “Richard!” she screamed as her arms and legs pumped up and down, carrying her up onto the porch, to the front door. “Richard! Open the fuck up!”

  I flung the door open, pulled her inside by one arm. “What the hell are you doing here?” I growled as her eyes traveled over the shotgun slung over my shoulder and hanging at my side.

  “Jesus!” she squalled as she tried to yank her arm out of my grip, a look of pain and hurt coming over her face. “What the fuck, dude?”

  “You’re breaking fucking protocol,” I said, releasing my grip on her arm. “What if someone followed you here?”

  “That’s the problem,” she said, rubbing her upper arm where my hand had just been. “Someone did!”

  “Goddammit, Lacy!” I grunted, cocking my head to the side. There, off in the distance, I could hear it. “What the fuck did you bring up here with you?”

  Down the mountain, towards the highway, I heard three cars rumbled along as they came up the path. Two heavy trucks, from the sound of it, and something else. Maybe a sporty little sedan? I whirled back on Lacy. “What the hell did you bring up here? And to the goddamn safe house of all places? What were you thinking?”

  “Look,” she said, her voice cracking, laden heavy with a panicked whine as she slumped into the couch, “I got the video off the copy shop’s security cameras, and I thought I’d bring it up here. Okay? I wanted Jessica to look at it so we could get Sheriff Peak looking for the person who started this!”

  “Couldn’t wait till fucking morning?” I yelled back. “So one of the guys could bring it here?”

  Farther back in the cabin, I heard Jessica come back out of her bedroom. “Richard? Everything okay?” she asked in a trembling voice. “Is that Lacy?”

  “Hey Jessica,” Lacy called half-heartedly.

  I didn’t need her freaking out, that’d just make things more complicated. “Yeah,” I called. “But we still have company coming up the road. Still need you ready to move.”