Quinn Security

by Dee Bridgnorth

  Luckily, despite Sheriff Abernathy’s extreme arrogance, or perhaps because of it, he had united with Xavier years ago to prevent that kind of unjust eviction. As long as each new governor who was elected office was agreeable, Nikita and Sasha would be able to remain in their home, nestled in the burly wilderness of Yellowstone, undisturbed.

  The air was chilly and crisp, a good ten degrees cooler than it was in the heart of the Fist. Troy pulled on a hooded jacket, closed the driver’s side door of his truck, and met his brothers at the trail entrance that would bring them to the stone house.

  “How’d it go with blondie last night?” Dean asked Kaleb, whose face was already supplying an answer.

  Kaleb quirked his mouth into a satisfied grin, gave his youngest brother a little shove sideways as they walked, and alluded, “That’s one girl who won’t backhand me in the diner, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “Time,” Conor chimed in, “is the only thing that will tell, my friend.”

  “Women have a certain threshold,” Dean decided, “especially mortal ones. She’ll feel good about it, until she doesn’t. And when she doesn’t, she’s going to expect that phone call, round two, another roll in the hay, and when she doesn’t get it…”

  Shane, who had always been a dark horse in all matters of the heart, finished Dean’s point with a long whistle and bouncing eyebrows, and all the brothers laughed.

  “Shane’s right,” said Troy as they neared the stone house that was tucked in the thickening woods twenty yards off the trail they’d been hiking. “Depending on her patience, sooner or later her temper is going to flare, and there’ll be one more rumor floating around the Fist that you’ll have to contend with.”

  “That’s if she doesn’t seek you out to give her a piece of her mind,” said Conor.

  Kaleb scowled at their collective pessimism. “Bring me down, why don’t ya?”

  Troy took hold of the iron knocker that was resting against the front door—a snarling wolf with a thick, iron ring in its mouth. The bottom of the ring had a hefty ball, which he slammed against the siding, knocking loudly three times.

  “At least the full moon has passed,” Troy commented. “Whatever possessed that Younger to attack a Devil’s Fist resident shouldn’t pull on them quite so strongly until next month.”

  “Let’s hope,” Shane agreed, but Shane wasn’t a hopeful guy.

  The heavy wooden door swung inward, Nikita on the other side. Her white hair flowed in shiny waves over her shoulders and down her back. She wore a lavender dress and leather sandals and like the stone house she lived in, she looked like an extension of God’s green earth come to life.

  “Sons,” she greeted them regally. “Please, come inside.”

  Troy stooped to kiss his mother on the cheek before entering, and his brothers followed suit, one at a time, until they had all filled the living room where a fire was crackling in the fireplace, a fresh woodsy scent of warmth and embers filling the air.

  Grandmother Sasha was seated in her rocker in front of the fireplace, a blanket draped across her lap, an amethyst wishing stone in her hand. She massaged the stone as she stared into the gentle flames of the fire, and didn’t so much acknowledge her grandsons as pass the amethyst from one hand to the other.

  “Good morning, Grandmother,” said Troy, leading his brothers in kissing Sasha on her creased cheek.

  “What brings all of my sons here at first light this morning?” Nikita asked as she removed an empty tea mug from the end table beside Sasha.

  As Kaleb, Shane, Conor, and Dean settled onto the couch and adjacent chairs at the back of the living room, Troy remained standing with his mother near Sasha, whose transparent, ice-blue eyes never stopped watching fire flames devour kindling in the fireplace.

  “Curt Wilson’s yard dog wasn’t the only one attacked last night,” Troy explained.

  Sasha stiffened in her rocker and if Troy wasn’t mistaken, he saw her jaw tighten from clenched teeth.

  “A young woman by the name of Holly van Dyke was also attacked. Fatally,” he added.

  Nikita grimaced with grief and lowered into the rocker opposite her mother-in-law.

  “All of our pack’s Youngers were accounted for,” he went on.

  “You think it was a Younger?” Nikita questioned.

  “Had to be,” Troy said. “That kind of loss of control. The full moon. I don’t see what else could’ve done it. All I know is that it couldn’t have been one of ours.”

  Impatient, Shane rose to his booted feet and asserted, “You must have longstanding connections with the surrounding packs. Father would have. Grandmother Sasha might have knowledge of—”

  Shane quieted the second Troy lifted his hand and with a flick of his fingers, Shane returned to the couch where he’d been bursting at the seams to gather information.

  Nikita rose from her rocker and pulled Troy aside so that Sasha wouldn’t overhear. “I would be more than happy to tell you everything I know. But whatever knowledge your grandmother may or may not have will remain secret until she’s broken her vow of silence.”

  Troy straightened his spine and looked down his nose at his mother, his demeanor and posture hardening. He wasn’t a boy anymore. He wasn’t serving in the shadow of his father anymore. He was the leader of the entire pack. He didn’t take orders, he gave. And it was every werewolf’s duty to obey, no matter what their age and no matter what vow they may or may not have taken.

  “She will obey,” he firmly stated and his mother’s eyes widened as her mouth thinned into a livid line. “Shane,” he barked, igniting the inner soldier in his brother who required no further orders.

  Shane took his mother by her upper arm and, leading his brothers out of the living room, escorted Nikita into the warming Wyoming morning so that Troy could have privacy with Sasha.

  If Troy had received the gift of foresight, none of this would be necessary. He would’ve been able to peel back the layers of Sasha’s memory and directly see all that she could. But until he bonded with his one true mate, he would have to go about it the mortal way, asking questions and relying on his gut instinct to trust whether or not he was getting the truth, the whole truth, or nothing but the truth.

  When it came to Grandmother Sasha, he had little faith he would be able to tell a goddamn thing.

  He kneeled in front of her, offering the old woman that much respect, and took hold of her free hand while the other continued to massage the amethyst crystal.

  “Grandmother,” he began in his most respectful tone. “Blood has been shed in the streets.”

  Her ice-blue eyes flickered as though her very soul had blinked.

  “I had to ask myself,” he went on, holding her cold hand, “what my father would have done, and I don’t know the answer. He would have come to you for answers. But he wouldn’t have been met with your silence.”

  She grunted and to Troy’s ears it sounded like agreement.

  “More residents will die, Grandmother, if this Younger isn’t caught. The pack could become exposed, forced out of Devil’s Fist or worse, exterminated. It’s time to break your vow for the greater good. Please.”

  She said nothing and only drew back her hand from his grasp, but Troy persisted.

  He stood and stared down at her.

  “I command you to speak. Tell me, if you have received a vision of this Younger, to what pack does he belong? What is his name?”

  Sasha angled her harrowing, transparent eyes up at him and Troy felt an ice chill slice down his spine.

  When she spoke, her aged lips didn’t move and her voice filled his mind at a deafening volume.

  The girl with red glasses will light your way.

  Thrown, he asked, “Reece?”

  But Sasha resumed her vow, lowered her ancient gaze to the flickering flames of the fire, and, in the stark blink of an eye, transformed into her wolf form.

  The amethyst wishing stone she’d been massaging rolled across the floor and as she stalked out of
the living room into her chambers, he picked up the crystal and began turning it in his hand.

  What did Reece Gladstone have to do with a rogue Younger gone mad in the streets of Devil’s Fist?

  Chapter Eight

  REECE

  It felt bizarre being here. In the library. Back to work when Holly’s body was barely cold.

  Reece would’ve thought that Mrs. Yeats would’ve closed the library’s doors to observe a period of mourning for their deceased employee, but Reece quickly learned that it wasn’t up to Mrs. Yeats. The library was run on taxpayers’ money. It was owned by the county and the state. Life went on no matter what.

  Bizarre, indeed.

  She’d worked behind the front desk all morning. During her lunch break she stayed at the library in the back, solemnly eating a sandwich she’d ordered from Angel’s Food. In the afternoon, she’d rolled the dolly cart through the aisles and returned books to their shelves. Now that dusk was settling over the Fist, and the light beyond the library windows was lowering, she felt a growing sense of excitement.

  Troy would be here soon to pick her up.

  She couldn’t wait.

  The night before had been nerve-wracking and thrilling in his company. She’d never had a man in her cottage before, though she’d come close on more than one occasion. Sure, his reason for being there hadn’t been romantic, but it had been something. And she liked how that something had made her feel.

  Of course, actually getting to sleep had been a challenge. With her bedroom door open as it had been, it wasn’t easy to relax and fall asleep. Knowing that Troy was stretched out on the pull-out couch in the next room had sent her heart into a pounding gallop time and again, but eventually exhaustion had taken hold and she got a good night’s sleep.

  The morning had been just as thrilling, if not more so. When she’d closed the bathroom door and stripped out of her pajamas to take a shower, it had felt like every cell in her body was poised, Troy on the other side of the door drinking coffee and filling her home with his masculine energy.

  They’d swung into Angel’s Food first thing so that Reece could grab a breakfast muffin to go and the next thing she knew, her heart was sinking as she settled in behind the front desk of the library, Troy having driven off to do whatever it was that bodyguards in Wyoming tended to do with their mornings.

  The clock on the bulky desktop computer read 8:15pm, which meant that she only had another ten or fifteen minutes to go before Troy arrived to pick her up and the library officially closed its doors for the day. She’d been watching the clock like a hawk since seven, but it had only made the minutes seem to tick by even slower.

  The front of the library was quiet and Mrs. Yeats was nowhere in sight, so Reece rose from her chair and rounded the front desk, nearing the DVD display with Troy in mind. He’d come over very late last night. Technically, he’d gotten there in the wee hours of the morning, and there hadn’t been time for much else beyond a little light conversation before they’d both turned in. But tonight, they’d have all evening in each other’s company.

  Reece knew every wartime DVD that Troy had checked out throughout the months. There had been quite a few, so brushing past those on the shelf, she came to a documentary about the Trojan War that might interest him. It shouldn’t have too much graphic imagery, so she knew she’d be able to watch it too, although no amount of gore would likely faze a man like Troy Quinn one bit.

  At the front desk, she checked the DVD out using her own library card and slipped it into her tote bag beside her laptop computer that she hadn’t touched all day. It seemed she hadn’t needed to mentally wander off into a daydream about romance and werewolves and suspense, not with Troy running around her head the way he had been all day. For the first time since returning home from college, it felt like her real life was far more exciting than anything she could fictionalize in her imagination. How about that?

  “Ms. Gladstone,” snapped Mrs. Yeats when she rounded into the front of the library and saw that Reece was lingering behind the counter and not doing much else. “The trash isn’t going to take itself out.”

  Reece felt her jaw drop, lips parting in astonishment, but she quickly pressed her mouth into a professional line.

  “But Mrs. Yeats,” she objected. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable taking out the trash. It’s getting dark out.”

  “Lightning never strikes the same spot twice,” the older woman reminded her.

  “Yes, but wolves feed daily, Mrs. Yeats. Holly wasn’t struck by lightning, she was—”

  “There will always be trash and someone will always need to take it out back to the dumpsters. If you aren’t willing to perform that simple duty, you might reconsider whether or not you’d like to continue working here.”

  Frowning, Reece obliged with, “Yes, Ma’am,” and dragged her feet all the way into the ladies’ restroom to gather the trash. Once she’d made slow work of collecting bags of trash from both restrooms, the children’s section, and the bins behind the front desk, she sucked in a deep, fortifying breath, girded her courage, and thrust her hip into the rear door at the back of the library, exiting the building.

  When she expected to hear the slam of the door closing behind her, there was nothing but the tap of a palm catching the door.

  “I don’t want you out here by yourself,” Troy stated as he grabbed the trash bags from her. “It defeats the entire purpose of me protecting you.”

  She felt a huge smile come over her as she watched him effortlessly toss one trash bag then the next into the dumpster.

  “I told you I’d be here before closing,” he reminded her. “Why didn’t you wait?”

  “Because Mrs. Yeats needed me to—”

  “You don’t listen to Mrs. Yeats,” he barked. “You listen to me.”

  “Well, I’m not sure that’s—”

  She was going to say practical, but he was already starting in on her again, having scanned the darkened expanse of bluestem grass beyond the edge of the parking lot for any signs of danger.

  “Are you hungry?”

  He was shepherding her back towards the library door, his large hand cradling the small of her back so he could steer her through the ajar doorway when they reached it. Of course, he opened the door for her and stared out into the darkening night one last time before following her inside.

  “I just need to grab my tote,” she mentioned as she quickly padded ahead of him.

  Mrs. Yeats was scowling at her from behind the front desk, but Reece knew the older librarian would have nothing to say about her taking off. She’d dealt with the trash and it was a minute past closing time anyway.

  “Have a lovely evening, Mrs. Yeats,” she said, pulling her tote bag over her shoulder and joining Troy near the front exit.

  “How does dinner at Angel’s Food sound?” he asked her when they’d climbed into his pickup truck.

  “Like the only option in town,” she teased. “I could go for a burger, for sure.”

  “Good.”

  As they drove through the crisp Wyoming night, Reece had to wonder how Troy had spent his day. She hadn’t realized how loosened up he’d gotten with her that morning. He’d been warm and relaxed, and it was only just now, seeing him tight-lipped and using a curt, barking tone when he did speak, that she was suddenly struck by the noticeable difference.

  And it was contagious.

  By the time he pulled up along the curb, having swung a left off Main Street onto Bison Road in front of the diner, Reece felt as cold and clammed up as Troy’s tone.

  He didn’t hesitate to open her truck door for her and help her climb out. He got the diner door for her as well, using every opportunity to be near her while he glanced cautiously around. He was very much “on duty” and it both intrigued and unnerved her.

  Angel’s Food smelled of juicy burgers and hot, oily french fries, and Reece realized she was starving.

  With her hair pulled up in an elegant pompadour, Angel Mercer breezed right
up to the hostess stand where Reece and Troy had been waiting and greeted them with a bright, beautiful smile. She might have been dressed in the diner-style uniform of a light blue button-front dress, but Angel carried herself with the grace of the Queen of England.

  “Two for dinner?” she confirmed without hesitating to lead them to a fresh booth in front of the storefront windows that faced Bison Road. “How’re you holding up, Reece?” she asked as soon as they were settled into opposite sides of the red, vinyl booth.

  “I’m really not sure it’s hit me yet,” Reece admitted. “Work today was just strange.”

  “You poor thing,” commiserated Angel in all sincerity. “Let’s pray the sheriff and his deputies hunt the darn thing down already. You know they set a curfew on all of Devil’s Fist?”

  “Did they now?” Reece asked. She hadn’t heard.

  “You know that won’t be good for business,” she complained with a little huff. “But I guess it’ll be just me and Jack Quagmire who will feel the sting of it.”

  Angel was right about that. Of all the Fist, it was only her diner and Jack’s bar, Libations, that kept its doors open late into the night. The rest of the shops along Main Street tended to close up at seven or eight pm at the latest, a good half hour before it got truly dark.

  Upon mention of his name, Jack straightened his spine from where he sat, all by his lonesome, in the last booth. Reece caught sight of the man’s dark eyes twinkling at Angel, and it suddenly occurred to her how badly people liked to talk in this town.

  It was no secret that good ol’ Jack Quagmire had been carrying a torch, unrequited, for Angel Mercer for as long as anyone could remember, and all the man had ever done was spend every spare second he had in her diner and serve her free drinks every time she set foot in his bar. They’d never so much as shared a meal together at the same table, and the town had been talking…