LEWIS SECURITY
The Complete 5-Books Series
Glenna Sinclair
Copyright © 2017
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
BOOK 1: SPENCER
Chapter One – Spencer
Chapter Two – Charlotte
Chapter Three – Spencer
Chapter Four – Charlotte
Chapter Five – Spencer
Chapter Six – Charlotte
Chapter Seven – Spencer
Chapter Eight – Charlotte
Chapter Nine – Spencer
Chapter Ten – Spencer
Chapter Eleven – Charlotte
Chapter Twelve – Spencer
Chapter Thirteen – Charlotte
Chapter Fourteen – Charlotte
Chapter Fifteen – Spencer
Chapter Sixteen – Charlotte
Chapter Seventeen – Spencer
Chapter Eighteen – Charlotte
Chapter Nineteen – Spencer
Chapter Twenty – Charlotte
Chapter Twenty-One – Spencer
BOOK 2: BRETT
Prologue – Pax
Chapter One – Brett
Chapter Two – Molly
Chapter Three – Brett
Chapter Four – Molly
Chapter Five – Brett
Chapter Six – Molly
Chapter Seven – Brett
Chapter Eight – Molly
Chapter Nine – Brett
Chapter Ten – Molly
Chapter Eleven – Molly
Chapter Twelve – Brett
Chapter Thirteen– Molly
Chapter Fourteen– Brett
Chapter Fifteen – Molly
Chapter Sixteen– Brett
Chapter Seventeen – Molly
ChapterEighteen – Molly
Chapter Nineteen – Brett
Chapter Twenty – Molly
BOOK 3 DYLAN
Chapter One –Dylan
Chapter Two – Vienna
Chapter Three – Dylan
Chapter Four – Vienna
Chapter Five – Dylan
Chapter Seven – Vienna
Chapter Eight – Dylan
Chapter Nine – Vienna
Chapter Ten – Dylan
Chapter Eleven – Vienna
Chapter Twelve – Dylan
Chapter Thirteen – Vienna
Chapter Fourteen – Dylan
Chapter Fifteen – Vienna
Chapter Sixteen – Dylan
Chapter Seventeen – Vienna
Chapter Eighteen – Dylan
Chapter Nineteen – Vienna
Chapter Twenty – Vienna
Chapter Twenty-One – Dylan
Chapter Twenty-Two – Vienna
BOOK 4: MARCUS
Prologue – Pax
Chapter One – Marcus
Chapter Two – Lauren
Chapter Three – Lauren
Chapter Four – Marcus
Chapter Five – Lauren
Chapter Six – Marcus
Chapter Seven – Lauren
Chapter Eight – Marcus
Chapter Nine – Marcus
Chapter Ten – Lauren
Chapter Eleven – Marcus
Chapter Twelve – Lauren
Chapter Thirteen – Marcus
Chapter Fourteen – Lauren
Chapter Fifteen – Marcus
Chapter Sixteen – Lauren
Chapter Seventeen – Marcus
Chapter Eighteen – Lauren
Chapter Nineteen – Marcus
Chapter Twenty – Lauren
Chapter Twenty-One – Marcus
Chapter Twenty-Two – Lauren
Chapter Twenty-Three – Marcus
Epilogue– Lauren
BOOK 5: PAXTON
Chapter One – Pax
Chapter Two – Christa
Chapter Three – Pax
Chapter Four – Christa
Chapter Five – Pax
Chapter Six – Christa
Chapter Seven– Pax
Chapter Eight – Christa
Chapter Nine – Pax
Chapter Ten – Pax
Chapter Eleven – Christa
Chapter Twelve – Pax
Chapter Thirteen – Christa
Chapter Fourteen – Pax
Chapter Fifteen – Christa
Chapter Sixteen – Pax
Chapter Seventeen – Christa
Chapter Eighteen – Christa
Chapter Nineteen – Pax
Chapter Twenty – Christa
Chapter Twenty-One – Pax
Chapter Twenty-Two – Christa
Chapter Twenty-Three – Pax
Chapter Twenty-Four – Christa
BOOK 1: SPENCER
Chapter One – Spencer
Dust and debris filled the air around me, making it impossible to see and almost impossible to breathe. I fumbled for the scrap of fabric tied around my throat, scrambling to cover my mouth and nose. Like it mattered. The sand was everywhere, in everything. I felt it entering my lungs as I coughed and wheezed.
I heard nothing but a ringing in my ears. Mouths opened in silent screams, the screams of guys in my squad and the people who’d been walking through the crowded marketplace only moments before. They’d come to buy food for the evening meal, spices, fruit. They didn’t know it would be their last trip.
What had been a colorful, vibrant market was reduced to shades of beige as a layer of sand covered everything in sight. And red. Lots of red. Everywhere I looked, there was red.
I had just seen him, hadn’t I? Him and his mother. Walking toward us, with the little guy pulling his mother’s hand. He wanted a treat. I always made it a point to carry one with me in case we ran into him. Sayed. He was six years old. His mother had beautiful green eyes, the color of jade, which always seemed more knowing than they should have been. Of course, they were. They’d seen so much. She was a beautiful woman, strikingly so, and her boy was bright, curious and handsome.
Was.
Where was he?
I stumbled through masses of screaming victims of the blast that had just rocked the very place where hundreds of people at a time gathered to do their shopping, share news and spend time over a cup of chai. I saw legs, arms, just strewn everywhere. Silent screaming, mouths open with no sound coming out. That was just me, of course. I couldn’t hear anything.
I shouted his name. Sayed. I looked for that little dark head, covered in thick, unruly hair. I looked for the white shirt he’d been wearing when I caught a glimpse of him.
And I saw them. I saw the white shirt, or what used to be white. On the ground. Now dark red. Her sky-blue hijab had blown half off. Like her head. Her face was intact, but the back of her head was gone.
They were still holding hands.
I dropped to my knees. Something about that little body, that blood-soaked body lying in what used to be a street but was more like a graveyard, destroyed what was left of my composure. He was like the squad’s pet, almost. We saw him every day. He always had questions, was always trying to learn English from us. Sometimes we would kick a ball around, ruffle his hair, joke with him. He was only six years old.
And her. I’d never learned her name. Her eyes were still open, still that same beautiful shade of green. Wide, unfocused, unblinking.
Until they focused. On me. And her mouth opened as t
hose eyes burned into my soul.
“Why didn’t you help us, Spencer? Why did you let us die like this?”
I woke with a start, gasping for breath. Still sure I would choke on that thick sand and the dust from blasted buildings. When I drew a deep breath and realized I could breathe, I took my time and breathed slowly, in and out. I forced my heartrate into submission.
My sheets were damp with perspiration. No sense in lying back down—besides, it was nearly morning, the sky lightening up just the slightest bit over the buildings across the street from my apartment. I had a pretty decent view of the Brooklyn rooftops from my bedroom window, and of Manhattan beyond that. It was always light in that direction, the skyscrapers making it impossible to see the stars. Too much light pollution. When I first went to Fort Benning and saw what the night sky could look like, I just about shit my pants. It was like the opposite of the country bumpkin going to the city for the first time. I’d grown up in the city, worlds away from the open air.
I got up, my feet touching the cool floor and helping me reconnect to reality. I hadn’t had the dream in weeks, and the first time it came back was always bad. I wished I could be one of those people who knows when they’re dreaming and can tell themselves it’s just a dream while things are falling apart all around them. It would spare me the horror of reliving that day.
Changing the sheets took my mind off it, and by the time I got in the shower the dream was fading away like it always did. I could put Sayed and his mother in the past, where they belonged. Or so I told myself. It was easy to tell myself things like that when dawn approached and I was in a hot shower and it was Monday morning, which always brought with it its own issues. I told myself to think about work while I shaved, instead of focusing on the dark circles under my eyes or the premature bits of white in my otherwise dark brown hair. I had a few white whiskers, too. Only twenty-eight and I was starting to look like an old man.
At least my body didn’t look old. There were certain things a Ranger never forgot, like how to make a bed or shine a pair of shoes, and how to keep their body in good shape. It was all about discipline. What would my teachers have thought about the class clown finally developing a little discipline? I was still in fighting shape, which came in handy at work.
The thought of my job got me moving a little faster, as it was nearly six o’clock and the week started early at the agency. Pax liked getting business out of the way before checking in on our assignments and handing out new ones as applicable. I had just closed out a case the week before, so any new business that came in would come my way.
I liked the feeling of opening a fresh case. I liked being on my toes. I could never have worked in an office—I liked routine, but not to that degree. I needed something fresh, interesting, exciting. New faces. New places. But still a home base to check into and familiar friends to bitch with when things weren’t going well with a challenging client. We understood each other, and not just because we were all in the private security business. Pax had chosen his agents wisely.
My trusty uniform of jeans and a black t-shirt in place, along with black work boots, and I was out the door. It was chillier than I’d expected, but then it was early November, after all. It was so easy to lose track of time when a case consumed my attention. I’d just spent five weeks guarding an eighty-year-old socialite who believed her fifth and most recent husband had reason to have her killed. She was right, of course—the gold-digging ass had hired a hitman, who we’d made short work of before taking enough evidence to the cops to have the husband arrested. I wished they could all be as open-and-shut.
It would be strange not spending the night in a five-bedroom penthouse just off Central Park, since that had been my second home throughout the case. I’d slept on the sofa, though. No sense getting too comfortable in a bedroom. It kept the lines between us clear, too—once an agent moved into a spare bedroom, they became a guest instead of a protector. It was important to keep a client calm, but they could never get lazy. Forgetting the danger they were in was a sure-fire way to do that.
The drive to the office was a short one, and as usual I was the first one to arrive. Well, Pax was there, but his office door was shut tight. Already working hard. Sometimes too hard, I thought, but none of us would have told him so. He was a man possessed since his divorce. He needed something to do to take his mind off his empty apartment.
I busied myself with making coffee and setting out the tray of bagels and muffins Pax had picked up from the bakery down the block. Everything was still slightly warm. I told myself to wait until the rest of the team got in and paid a visit to the surveillance guys in the meantime.
The basement was their lair, which made them sound like trolls when they were really anything but. They were three of the sharpest techies I had ever met, in or out of the Army, and the bank of monitors along one wall was how they kept an eye on the doors and windows of each residence we guarded. Each window was fitted with a motion detector, too, so they could tell even in the dark if anybody tried to break in. Or if a stray cat walked by, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
“Morning, Spence.” Danny swiveled to face me, rubbing his hands over his face. “Jesus, it sucks working in the dark all the time.”
“We’d be in the dark even if we had windows,” Jenna reminded him with a smirk. “We work overnight, remember?”
“This is why I’m glad you’re always around. You remind me of things I don’t need a reminder of.” Jenna swatted him, a move he deftly avoided. I bit my tongue against the urge to tell them to get a room. I could only imagine what Marcus went through every night, listening to their flirty banter. He had his headphones on just then, checking in with the guys stationed in front of the few places we needed a little extra help. Sometimes a client needed that, depending on the level of bad guy they were afraid of. Mafia hitmen were especially crafty.
Why didn’t they go to the police? We took steps the police wouldn’t or couldn’t do. Like the surveillance cameras and detectors. We had the technology they didn’t—for a price, of course.
Marcus nodded when he noticed me standing there, then took off the headphones. “Long night?” I asked.
“Long and boring, but we like it that way. Right?” I grinned, patting him on the shoulder as I examined the monitors. It would drive me nuts, sitting there all night with nothing to do but stare at a bunch of screens. It took all kinds.
I left the fluorescent-lit basement and went back upstairs to get the coffee started. It was a rule: he or she who got there first must make the coffee. Pax was the exception to the rule since he brought his own. His ex had gotten him drinking lattes early on in the marriage and the habit stuck. A shame the marriage hadn’t.
Within a half hour, the place was buzzing with the usual Monday morning noise. There were a dozen active agents, those of us who took lead on a case. Then there were the floaters, the ones who took surveillance detail, the ones who installed the cameras and sensors at a new location and showed up when a problem was detected. There were around two dozen of them, but they didn’t come to Monday meetings. Sometimes I thought they were lucky—cases didn’t sit squarely on their shoulders. If something got messed up, it was the lead agents who took the brunt of the blame. And rightly so. But that hardly ever happened.
Paxton Lewis walked into the conference room holding a stack of file folders. We fell silent out of respect for the team leader, just another throwback from our military days. Sometimes it felt like another life. Other times it felt like I had never left.
He ran a hand over his smooth-shaven dome, the overhead lights reflecting off it just a little. “All right. I have a few pieces of new business. First, Lydia asked me to remind you slackers to get your reports in on time. She said I didn’t have to name names. You know who you are.”
Brett and Dylan shifted in their seats. Nobody wanted the wrath of Lydia coming down on them. That was why I’d spent the weekend finishing up my end-of-case paperwork so I could drop it off with t
he office manager first thing. I wasn’t a fool.
“Next, let’s make sure we keep all phones fully charged and with ringers turned on when we’re in the field.” It was Christa’s turn to shift in her chair, turning pink to the roots of her red hair. She’d spent the last few weeks in a home on Long Island with one very curious toddler and his anxious mother who feared the return of a jealous, violent ex-husband. Little Mason had gotten a hold of Christa’s phone and turned it off without her noticing. Pax had hit the ceiling when he couldn’t get a hold of her.
“Other than that, there’s one piece of new business which I wanna talk over with Spence.” I wondered what it could be, since we’d already done a sort of post mortem on the heiress case. So I hung back as my friends left the room, chatting. I heard Frankie make fun of Brett and Dylan for not having their paperwork in, then heard the newly-arrived Lydia throw a caustic jab his way from the front desk. He was never exactly the best with getting his reports in, either.
Pax was grinning at their banter as he sat across from me. That was a good sign. If he was grinning, he was in a good mood. I hadn’t fucked something up.
“New case,” he said. Always a man of few words. I took the folder he slid my way—thin, almost empty, with only a preliminary report inside. “The girl’s assistant called at five this morning. Luckily, I was here. I guess Ricardo gave her the number while he was asking questions at the hospital.”
“What’s it all about?” I skimmed the information, my eyes landing on the victim’s name and staying there. Didn’t I know her?
“Charlotte Banks,” Pax said. “Just won all those awards last year for that movie she did.”
“Oh, right. I knew the name looked familiar.”
“Ever seen any of her stuff?”
I shook my head. “I don’t get out to the movies much.”
“Yeah, well, she’s in town, filming her new movie. Only somebody attacked her in her trailer yesterday. A location full of assistants, camera crew and other various folks and not one of them saw anybody going in or out of there. Her assistant walked in and found her in a pool of blood.”
“Jesus Christ. How is she?”
“A cut on the back of her head and some bruising around her neck, but nothing worse than that. I called Ricardo after I spoke to the assistant and he hinted at alcohol in the blood.”
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