Frost Security: The Complete 5 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  I went over and rapped on a window lightly until I got her attention. I jerked a thumb back over my shoulder towards the woods and she nodded. Turning on my heels, I headed back into the woods to walk the perimeter again. I wasn’t worried about her down here, though. Anyone coming up the front would have to have a password for the gate, and I’d be able to hear, smell, or see anyone coming up the back.

  Besides, it was broad daylight.

  I headed back up into the woods, following mine and Jake’s tracks up to where we’d spotted the empty bottle of Stolichnikov. I looked around when I got there. With nothing new and nothing else jumping out at me even with my fresh eyes back on the scene, I turned and headed down the track Jake had followed before, the one I hadn’t had a chance to check out because I was out running errands with Ashley.

  As I walked, my thoughts drifted to her. To those eyes of hers, the cool blue of them. Normally, I liked women with a little bit of country to them, someone who really liked the land. Ones that could at least two-step. Which was funny, because I mostly listened to classic rock. Definitely not spoiled little rich chicks like her.

  Maybe it had been the way she’d decided to clean the cabin herself. Or how she hadn’t curled up in a ball the second things didn’t go her way, even if she had been swaddled in thousand dollar bills all her life.

  I almost didn’t recognize the new smell as it came, borne on the winds from the estate’s border, to my hypersensitive nose. I stopped in my tracks and sniffed the air again.

  Cumin? What the hell? And was that…mescal?

  I tilted my head subconsciously and turned my ear in the direction of that side of the property.

  I heard a car door shutting. Then another car door shutting.

  I dropped into a crouch, my hand snapping to attention and coming to rest on the pommel of my sidearm. Two car doors and the new smell meant it wasn’t the Russian, unless he’d brought his brother he’d mentioned along for the ride. And they’d stopped for Mexican on the way. Staying low, I crept forward through the underbrush, the low-hanging needles from the trees scraping back through the air as I moved between the trunks like a ghost.

  The property rose in elevation more gradually this direction, but eventually reached a peak of its swell and dipped back down until it met the side road that skirted the piece of land.

  A gun racked. A rifle, by the sound of it.

  I sucked in a sharp breath and stopped in my tracks. That sounded like high caliber small arms. I had two choices. I could go back right now and try to get Ashley out of the cabin ahead of them. Or I could move forward, find out what was going on, then come back and grab her with more information.

  Either way, I couldn’t shift, not in the clothing I was wearing. Tee shirt and sweat pants were best for that kind of thing, definitely not the get-up I had on. I was stuck handling this in my human form.

  No, I had a duty to protect her.

  But, the best way to protect her was to have all the knowledge I could at my disposal. Intelligence on the battlefield was power. I didn’t like it, but I needed to know the exact number of men I was up against, even if it cost me a huge head start.

  I continued to move forward, pausing only for a moment when they cut a hole in the chain link fence with some clippers. I got to the crest of the hill and dropped down flat as I peered down on them.

  A black, nondescript Tahoe was parked down at the bottom, all its doors and heavily tinted windows shut tight. Four men in varying outfits, from black tee shirts to pearl snaps, slacks to jeans, were ducking and slipping through the chain link of the fence already, automatic rifles in their hands. AK-47s by the looks of them. The smell of cumin and cilantro, much heavier than before, hit me again.

  “Holy shit,” I breathed, crawling backwards, my head reeling from the implications.

  It was a hit squad from a cartel. A fucking Mexican cartel. Either that, or the cast of El Mariachi had decided to drop in and pay Ashley a visit for her birthday.

  I’d heard they’d been up here at one point, doing grow operations in the more remote parts of the national parks like they did in Oregon and Washington, but I’d thought they’d pretty much left when the state legalized pot.

  What the fuck had Martin Maxwell gotten himself wrapped up in, that a drug cartel was after him? Did he lose the wrong person’s investment or something?

  I scrambled back through the underbrush. Once I was behind the hill and wasn’t presenting a silhouette, I ran as quickly as I could through the trees, still low, my legs pumping as I avoided the thick, twisting roots with sure feet.

  Behind me, one of them said something to another. They’d heard me, and now they were coming up the hill faster. They could only move so fast, though, through the unfamiliar terrain.

  Luckily for me, my feet were like a mountain goat’s as I tramped through the trees back down to the patio. At least I had that advantage.

  They scrambled after me, swearing in Spanish. One lifted his rifle to take a shot, but the line of trees broke up the sight line enough that he didn’t risk it.

  The rear of the cabin came into view. The broken window we still hadn’t repaired or boarded up, the patio, the furniture. And Ashley, drink in hand.

  “Frank?” she called as I came out of the trees in a sprint. “What’s going on?”

  God, no. She was a sitting duck on the patio, a perfect target for the men coming up behind me. And I knew what those men were capable of. After my experiences in South America, I kept a close eye on the news and other intelligence reports we subscribed to about what was going on south of the border. And it wasn’t pretty. Beheadings, bodies dissolved in acid, rape, torture.

  I waved at her frantically, trying to signal for her to get back into the cabin, to run for the Audi out front, but she just gave me a confused look and stayed right where she was standing.

  “Ashley!” I yelled, still running at a breakneck pace. “We’ve got company! Get moving!”

  She gave me a weird look at first, but then her eyes shifted a little and she caught sight of them moving through the trees behind me, still far enough back in the woods to not have a clear shot.

  I hit the trimmed and cultivated grass, and picked up my pace as I bounded onto the deck.

  “Frank? What the–”

  I slammed into her, scooping her up into my arms like a feather pillow. “No time!” I barked as she screamed in shock, her empty cocktail glass shattering behind us on the deck as I made for the back door in a flash.

  As fast as I was, though, I wasn’t fast enough to beat the gunmen. Just as my hand touched the doorknob, they opened fire.

  Chapter Fifteen – Ashley

  One second, I was just standing there, thinking about Frank as I sipped my cocktail. Thinking about the way his hand felt as it carefully clasped mine. How rough his palm had been, how it hadn’t been the uncalloused, smooth hand of one of the pampered and spoiled boys I’d always dated. And how strong it had been, too. But not in one of those fake I’m-going-to-squeeze-your-hand-as-hard-as-I possibly-can-to-show-you-how-tough-I-am kind of strong.

  No, Frank’s hand had the kind of strength that could swing an ax or a hammer, or work on the intricate pieces of his car. Idly, I’d bit my lower lip as I thought of him, my eyes peering up into the trees behind the house.

  And, like magic, there he was. My heart leapt as he came running to me, moving like a track and field star athlete as his arms pumped and his legs propelled him forward over the ground like some sort of mythical Greek Olympian.

  He shouted something indistinct at me, words I could barely understand over the sweet abandon of my own thoughts and daydreams.

  Then, my heart had another reason to flutter. I saw them coming. Saw them running through the trees after Frank, guns in their hands. I gasped and stumbled back a step.

  “Frank?” I asked as he flew onto the deck faster than I’d imagined people could travel. For all I could think of, it was like an intense zoom in a film. He was far away and
then, suddenly, he was there. “What the–?”

  Then my glass was tumbling from my hands as he knocked the wind from me with a full-on body slam, lifting me into his arms like I was nothing more than a small child.

  I’d never felt so tiny in my life as he rushed across the wooden patio, his booted feet slamming down like cannons as they pounded on the boards with our combined weight. I’d also never felt so safe as his hand went down to my butt and held me in place against his chest as he went to throw open the door.

  Just as he twisted the knob, though, the men behind us chose their time to strike.

  I’d heard guns before, but always far off in the distance. Hell, since it was hunting season, I’d been hearing them the whole time I was up here. The crack of a gun, the echo of it as the sound returned to your ears. It was always a little jarring to me, even if the sound was barely louder than a firecracker because of how far away they were being shot.

  This, though—this was something else.

  The world seemed to ignite with gunfire with deafening explosions and cracks. I screamed as bullets began to rain down around us like a swarm of angry hornets buzzing over and around our heads as we clamored inside, Frank’s large form engulfing mine behind me to cover me. The cabin’s exterior splintered as the projectiles ate into the woods like a hundred hungry, diminutive beavers. The rear windows shattered, the sheets of glass unable to hold their perfect form with so many holes and imperfections forced on them.

  Inside, Frank dropped me from his arms and crushed me with his heavy body as he forced me to the ground. He elbowed me hard as he went for his pistol. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

  “Yeah,” I nearly shouted back, my ears ringing from the gunfire outside.

  He climbed off me, letting me take a deep breath. “Garage!” he shouted as he drew his gun and spun back to the back door, taking up a crouched, alert position. “Now!”

  Garage? We’d left the Audi out front. I glanced to the right and started to get up to head through the living room when another volley of gunfire burst through the rear windows, forcing me back to the ground with a scream as I saw all our hours of hard work get torn apart by random bullets biting into the furniture, knocking books from shelves, and sending shards of glass across the run and hardwood floor.

  Squatting down with his back to the door, Frank shouted at me. “Move your ass!”

  I scrambled up from my hands and knees, and veered back towards the kitchen.

  Frank threw the door open and began shooting back. “Don’t worry about me! I’ll follow!” There was more gunfire, the cabinets flying open with the force of the blows, glasses and ceramic mugs shattering and falling around my head, making me scream.

  I made it out of the kitchen, rounded the corner to the mudroom, and headed for the garage. I got my shaking hand up, found the doorknob, then remembered something.

  I didn’t have the keys on me. “Frank!”

  I couldn’t hear if he said anything from the gunfire flying around.

  “Frank!” I yelled again.

  “What?” he shouted back, closer now.

  “I don’t have the keys!”

  “We’ll just have to make a run for it, then!”

  “I can’t outrun fucking bullets!”

  “It’s either that–” more gunfire, “–or driving a car without keys. Which one do you want?”

  I got up into a half-crouch as a bullet shot right through the wall over my head, sending sawdust and sheetrock showering down on me.

  My throat feeling like it was about to tear itself apart, I screamed as I pulled the door open and ran through, bent over with my hands over my head like they might actually do something to stop a bullet.

  Behind me, I heard a heavy thud against the wall of the mudroom.

  I didn’t turn, but just slammed my hand into the garage door opener and ran towards the metal door that began to slowly rise from the concrete.

  “Right behind you!” Frank barked as the door to the house slammed shut behind us. “Go, go, go!” Ahead of us, the garage door opened high enough for us to slip through.

  I ran, tucked, and rolled underneath, immediately scrambling up at a run, my sneakered feet slipping a little on the concrete driveway. I landed on my knee as I slipped and a shot of pain exploded through me for a split second, but Frank roughly grabbed my elbow and pushed me up and forward, back onto my feet.

  “Make for the highway!” he yelled. “We can try to get help there!”

  Behind us, the shooting had stopped.

  But still, we sprinted down the driveway. We ran as if bullets were still flying right over our heads.

  My chest heaved, my throat burning as I gulped air in and breathed it out, chugging like the Little Engine That Could, one of those books Father had read to me all those years ago. With the little train in my mind, I ducked my head lower and slapped the pavement harder and faster as we continued our escape.

  “Don’t look back,” Frank yelled beside me. “Don’t even think of looking back!”

  Just as we made the second bend in the driveway, though, I stopped in my tracks.

  A black SUV was coming up from the highway, racing towards us, bearing down on our unlikely pair. “Get down!” Frank shouted, pulling me into the trees alongside him.

  I ran with him as the SUV came to a screeching halt behind us, the smell of burning tires filling the air. A car door opened and slammed shut. “O’Dwyer?” a man’s voice called. “Frank O’Dwyer? That you?”

  Frank came to his own screeching halt, grabbing my arm, dirt flying everywhere as he dug his heels in and skidded to a stop. “Wait,” he hissed.

  Panic, though, still had a hold of me. “What are you doing? We need to run, Frank!”

  He shook his head, shaking little beads of sweat everywhere like a wet dog. “No!” He tugged my arm for me to follow him. “I recognize that voice! It’s okay.”

  “O’Dwyer! Come on, man! You need a motherfucking DNA sample or some shit?”

  I glanced back in the direction of the black truck, eyes wide as I yanked my arm from Frank’s grip. “Are you sure?”

  He took a step towards me and looked down into my eyes. “Do you trust me?” he asked, his breaths still coming as hard and heavy as mine.

  I looked at him in fear, my chest heaving as I tried to control my breathing. He’d saved my life back there. I knew it. But something was going on. I didn’t know what, but there was something serious. I knew Frank didn’t have anything to do with it, though. That was one thing I could be sure of, as sure as I could be of up being up and down being down. I glanced away from him.

  “Ashley? Do you trust me?” he asked again, drawing my attention back to him.

  I heard the crunch of boots as someone came into the woods. “Frank!”

  And, no matter what happened, I knew he’d put his life on the line for mine. He’d throw his body down over me like he did earlier, and take a bullet in the back if it meant it would slow it down. I nodded and took a step towards him. “Yes, Frank. I trust you. I don’t what else to trust, but I trust you.”

  He gave me a brief smile as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Falkowski?” he shouted back the way we’d come. “Falkowski, that you?”

  “Sure is, partner! You coming out?”

  Frank looked back at me questioningly.

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, Simon,” Frank called. “We’re coming out. But we gotta move. There are some bad dudes after us.”

  That, I thought, was putting it mildly.

  Chapter Sixteen - Frank

  Simon Falkowski. What a sight for sore eyes.

  He and I served together, sort of, way back in a different country. A different life, even.

  Ashley and I came bursting out of the woods, running straight to the passenger side of the car.

  “Mind telling me what the fuck’s going on?” Simon asked as I shoved Ashley into the backseat.

  “Bad guys!” I barked as I hopped in. “Move
it!”

  Simon nodded, his dark pompadoured hair bobbing as he climbed behind the wheel and threw the SUV in reverse with a spin of tires. He pulled off a quick tactical turn on the narrow drive, slammed it back into drive, and took off down toward the highway. “Those them?”

  I turned in my seat and glanced back through the window, just in time to see them bringing their automatics up to their shoulders. “Get down!”

  Eyes wide in surprise, Ashley hunkered down in her seat as the guns ratatat-tatted behind us, a stray bullet hitting the SUV’s rear window and shattering it. Moments later, we took another curve in the drive, blocking us from their view, and Simon gunned it, trying to beat them if they tried to break through the trees and flank us.

  With one hand nearly palming the back of Ashley’s head to make sure she stayed put, I kept an eye on the back of the truck as we raced down the drive. Behind us, two of the cartel guys came bursting out of the woods, but Simon hung the turn tight and looped us back around before they could even get their firearms up.

  “Pissed those guys off real good, didn’t you?” Simon growled, his Chicago accent coming through loud and clear as we tore down the road, using the speed limit as just a helpful guideline.

  “Something like that. Ashley, you okay?”

  “Yeah, Frank, I’m okay,” she said, batting my hand away and sitting back up in the seat with a tentative glance towards the back.

  “We gotta get out of here,” I muttered to Simon. “Those guys back there had a truck pulled up around the road on the far side of the estate. I winged two of them when they attacked the cabin, but they might be able to swing around and wait for us.”

  “No sense in being reckless, is there?” Simon asked, grinning mirthlessly as he slammed the gas down harder, the SUV surging forward.

  I glanced over at Simon as he kept both eyes focused on the road ahead in case there were any more surprises. He was an ex-Marine. But, like they say, once a Marine, always a Marine. Falkowski and I, we’d both been private security down in Brazil. We worked for different families at the time, but were still doing the same job, more or less.