Quinn Security

by Dee Bridgnorth

  “Lucy thinks she saw a werewolf?”

  “She claims she saw a half-man, half-wolf-type creature out on the trail. Insists that it was the same creature that killed Holly van Dyke.”

  “And you believe her.”

  “I believe it’s something I’d like to investigate, but hell. Hunting a wolf is tricky enough business, because there’s no way to know if the one you’re coming up upon is the same one that attacked Holly. I don’t know how in the good goddamn I’m gonna find me a werewolf.”

  Rachel looked like she was at just as much of a loss.

  “Then there’s Angel Mercer,” he went on. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t connect the two events, but in this case, when there are two highly bizarre incidences, the smartest thing to ask yourself is, could they be related?”

  “You think Angel was attacked by a wolf, or I mean, sorry, a werewolf out behind her house?”

  “Doesn’t line up quite right, does it? But we’ve got one girl dead. We’ve got another woman who went momentarily missing. And we got a third who got chased by a wolf-man. You know what I’d really like?”

  “What, Sheriff?”

  “I’d like for a man to come to me.”

  He knew what she was thinking. All the women in his male-dominated department thought the same thing, that Rick wasn’t quick to believe the claims of females. Well, screw it. They were right. And if Rachel wanted to be treated like one of his own, if she really wanted in the boys’ club, she’d best get used to it and not be so damn sensitive about it.

  “A man’s account to validate the wolf-man possibility.”

  It hadn’t quite been a question, more like a thinly veiled confrontational comment, but Rick wasn’t put off by it. Rachel had snugged her thinking cap on and it was a start.

  “I don’t know too much about werewolves,” she admitted, “but I know wolves travel in packs. They’re not solitary animals. We’ve got Yellowstone right there. And that’s where you said Lucy encountered the wolf-man.”

  “You’re thinking we ought to go on out hunting through the National Park?”

  “I think a wolf, or a wolf-man, is going to need a place to rest its bones at night.”

  Rick considered her point.

  “But then again,” she went on, “if it really is a werewolf…”

  “What?” he asked when she trailed off, sinking into even deeper thought.

  “Well, a real werewolf would be a wolf by moonlight, but a man in the daytime.”

  “Meaning?”

  She paused as though she wasn’t sure that sharing her theory would score her many points with him, but Rick didn’t have the patience to deal with her hesitation.

  “Oh, just come out with it already, Clancy.”

  “Meaning, it could be living right here in the Fist. As one of us. A resident.”

  He mulled that disturbing notion over as he shot back the rest of his whiskey and chased it with a series of loose gulps of his cold lager. When he returned the glass to the counter, he declared, “If there are wolf-people hiding in my town, I swear to you, Clancy, Ima shoot every last damned one of them.”

  “I’m with you, Sir.”

  “You better be. If it turns into the Salem Witch Trial of western Wyoming, I promise you, I will find and kill every last one of them. Mark my words.”

  Rachel swallowed hard and looked a bit ill.

  Feeling charitable, Rick slid his pint glass in front of her.

  “Drink up. You’re officially one of the boys now.”

  ***

  Rachel struggled to choke down the remainder of the sheriff’s lager and as she did, all the way across town, Troy felt a sudden shuddering chill drill down his spine.

  It gave him pause and he pulled back from kissing Reece.

  They’d migrated into her bedroom and were standing at the foot of the bed.

  “What?” she breathed, opening her eyes when she’d sensed he’d moved away.

  A strange feeling had come over him and he wasn’t sure how to identify it. “All this business with Lucy and Angel,” he began, not fully understanding the point he was about to make, if there was one, or if she’d even get where he was coming from, “don’t talk to anyone about it.”

  “Okay…?”

  “It’s fine to keep your ear to the ground, but don’t offer anyone any information. I’ve told you far more than I should have—”

  “If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t trust you,” she reminded him. “You wouldn’t be standing in my bedroom right now.”

  He believed her, but maintained, “I can’t have anyone, any mortals, finding out about my pack. I can’t have anyone knowing that you know there are werewolves in the Fist.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, looking suddenly scared.

  He pulled her in close again, wrapping his arms around her in a warm, comforting hug.

  The chill that had shot down his spine gradually released and he once again was able to feel Reece’s warmth, and the beat of his own heart pounding through his chest, against hers.

  When he eased back so that he could look down into her eyes, the golden cord of energy that had been twirling its way out of his heart in tendrils towards her, felt like it was thickening, growing brighter and stronger, and he knew that taking her to bed would be more than a lustful release.

  It was time.

  Bonding with Reece Gladstone was now inevitable.

  Chapter Fourteen

  REECE

  Troy had scared her. He’d been scaring her more and more. It wasn’t so much what he’d told her as it was the mysteries that hid within his silences. All that he hadn’t told her. She had so many questions, and though he’d satisfied her with straightforward answers, she still sensed that she hadn’t even scratched the surface of what was really going on in Devil’s Fist.

  And yet, the more unnerved she was by him, the closer she felt to Troy. It was as though every part of her was yearning to merge with him, not only so that she would finally have all the answers that he seemed to be guarding, but also so that she could feel whole, complete, and as though she’d finally found her other half.

  Until she’d met Troy, she’d never realized how incomplete she was. And now that she had, she felt like she was energetically surging towards him. Magnetized. As though she was meant to be with him, belong to him, and never again have to go it alone.

  Why was she fighting this?

  She knew—she’d known—for years that she wanted him. He’d been something of a fantasy, lingering in the back of her mind, ever since he’d come to her rescue on the streets of Devil’s Fist that day after she’d returned home from college. She could have him now, if she wanted. She could let him have her, let him have his way with her. And yet, something inside of her had been timidly holding her back.

  She didn’t want to be held back any longer.

  Stepping in even closer to his massive body, she slid her hands around his muscular waist and fit the length of herself firmly against his hard body.

  They hadn’t broken eye contact. She lifted her chin, inviting him to kiss her.

  He did. Delivering a tender kiss to her lips, he grazed his strong fingers through her brown hair up from the nape of her neck and let out a breathy groan of arousal. The masculine, hungry noise caused a rush of swirling heat to bloom between her legs in response. He helped her to tilt her head, deepening the kiss, and without warning, he scooped her up into his strong arms and began carrying her around the side of the bed.

  Their lips didn’t separate until he lowered her to the bed and angled over her, confidently spreading her legs with his knee.

  As he lowered down, she guided his strong, narrow hips so that their bodies aligned perfectly. He settled just enough of his body weight over her for her to feel safely pinned, but not crushed.

  She took hold of his biceps, feeling their rock-hard density, and began drinking in the sight of his countless tattoos as he delivered a trail of passionate kisses down the side of her sensitive neck. />
  Her grey yoga pants felt especially thin between them and it crossed her mind that she hadn’t bothered to throw on a pair of underwear after she’d stepped out of the shower. Her loose tee shirt had slipped up her stomach and as Troy worked his way back to her mouth with kisses, his large, warm hand caressed across the width of her taut lower abdomen.

  God, he was sexy.

  She couldn’t deny that she wanted him to have his way with her. She’d certainly thought about it a million times over the years. But she was also scared. Scared about how he would handle her physically—she couldn’t assume a werewolf would be gentle with her virgin body once he really got going—and also scared for how she would handle this emotionally.

  Could she really afford to get emotionally attached to a strange man who had admitted, and downright shown her, that he was a different species? Could she really handle falling in love with a man who, based on his very biology, was destined to outlive her by perhaps three or four hundred years? Could she allow herself to go through with this, go all the way with Troy, when she had so many doubts creeping into her otherwise lustful mind?

  His large, warm hand found its way in-between her legs, and he cupped her there, gently at first, but soon his grip became firm and he began sensually squeezing and massaging her.

  As she moaned, he crushed a hungry kiss over her mouth, silencing her.

  It felt like she was completely opening up to him. Not only her body, but her heart. She never wanted this moment to end, feeling his weight over her, his lips against hers. She couldn’t wrap her legs around him tight enough, couldn’t cling her arms around his shoulders close enough. She wanted to be consumed, to give herself fully, and to experience all the sensual things he could do to her.

  They rolled onto their sides, Troy’s strength pulling her over, one of her legs straightening while the other naturally draped over his hip. He brushed his smooth lips over and across her mouth, and though their passionate kissing had cooled off, the sensations he was stirring up with this gentle, playful lip caress caused a sudden swell of moisture to bloom between her legs.

  She had questions. So many questions. She needed them answered before she could decide whether or not she would be comfortable slipping under the covers with him, stripping out of her clothes, and allowing her body to do what her mind had been tripping over for years. But could she ask him? If she did, would she be met with vague answers again?

  Has it ever worked out? That was the main question burning in the forefront of her now apprehensive mind. Did Troy know of an instance when a werewolf and a mortal, as he’d referred to them, had ever truly become a couple? Happy? Married? Has it ever worked out?

  But how could she ask him that? If she did, wouldn’t she reveal the extent of her feelings for him? They’d only been together for a week or so, and asking about happily-ever-afters seemed wildly premature.

  It called to question, however, Reece’s true feelings for him.

  She had to ask herself, first and foremost, was she falling in love?

  Was she?

  She was undoubtedly falling in lust. There was no question about it. And she didn’t have to ask Troy to know that he was certainly free-falling into the same emotion. But lust and love were a world apart—the difference between a one-night-stand and ‘til death do us part, if you really thought about it. Maybe she couldn’t go through with this…

  “Troy,” she breathed in a soft moan, relishing the sensual feel of those smooth lips of his kiss and caress across her upper chest where he’d pulled her loose tee-shirt down as far as the neckline would allow.

  “Hmm?” he growled, as his large hand cupped her nude breast under her shirt.

  His thumb began to graze gently across her hardening nipple and she almost lost her train of thought.

  “What are we doing?” she asked.

  “Making out.”

  She laughed softly at his straightforwardness. “I’m not so sure this is a good idea.”

  He lifted up onto his elbow then rolled with her again so that he was angling over her as they’d started. Looking into her eyes, he asked, “You’re not so sure what is a good idea?”

  “This.”

  “You’re not enjoying it?”

  “I am,” she quickly assured him. “I’m just… having reservations.”

  She must be crazy, she thought, to pump the brakes on something that felt so good and so right, but if she didn’t guard her heart, no one else would.

  She thought he might try to convince her or perhaps initiate the kind of conversation that would help her get over the hurdle and feel more comfortable with going with the flow. Their chemistry was undeniable, and in so many ways going to bed with each other seemed inevitable. But sex didn’t equal love, and she hadn’t held out for so long, guarding her virginity, only to not think things through and give it up to a man—no, a werewolf—who she’d only really known for a few days.

  But he didn’t try to convince her or talk her into it.

  Instead, he searched her eyes, cradling the back of her head with both hands, and asked, “Do you want me to go back out to the living room?”

  Regretfully, she told him, “I think I do.”

  He didn’t want to. Lingering, searching her eyes, and breathing deeply as though he already missed her flowery scent, he said, “Okay. It’s the last thing I want, but okay.”

  When he stood, she breathed, “I’m sorry.”

  “What doesn’t feel right about this?”

  She didn’t have an answer, not one that she thought he would accept, and his tone had had an edge of frustration, but he turned for the open doorway, as the torrential rain beat against the windows.

  Before he reached the door, though, he turned on his heel, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the purple amethyst crystal.

  Without explanation, he set it on the nightstand then left her bedroom, gently closing the door behind him.

  She let out a sigh of frustration of her own, collapsing her head onto the pillow.

  After a moment of beating herself up and wondering if some part of herself just didn’t want to be happy, she reached over and took the amethyst in her hand.

  It wasn’t that being with Troy didn’t feel right. It felt more right than perhaps anything else ever had in her entire life, but that didn’t mean that it would last. She knew feelings could be deceiving.

  She also knew that she probably didn’t need a bodyguard. It was sweet that Troy had offered, but the fact of the matter was that Reece’s life had never been in danger. No one was after her. She had no reason to believe that the werewolf who had attacked Holly van Dyke would kill her next. All that Troy’s protective services had really provided was a huge romantic temptation. Had he been a mortal like herself, just a man, she wouldn’t have asked him to leave her bedroom. But there were just too many questions and not enough answers.

  As Reece clutched the amethyst and drifted off to sleep, she reasoned that the best thing to do would be to thank Troy for his offer, but tell him she would be perfectly fine without a bodyguard.

  Little did she know that outside, beyond the sheets of rain that were pounding against her curtained windows, the man who believed he deserved to inherit the werewolf throne was lurking. Biding his time. And plotting to make Reece Gladstone his.

  He should’ve never raced out of the library.

  Next time, he wouldn’t make the same mistake.

  ***

  In the sober light of day, when the rains had cleared and the skies had cleared with a brilliant shade of cloudless blue, Reece couldn’t bring herself to release Troy of his protective services.

  She also couldn’t look at him or engage in any degree of conversation.

  The weather might be crystal clear, but her thoughts were tangled as badly as they had been the night before.

  Reece had been a loner her entire life. Bookish. Introverted. Independent. She realized that after a week or so with Troy, she’d lost the simple sense of herse
lf.

  She needed to remember who she was.

  It had felt beautiful and amazing to slide into the energy of being with Troy. Part of her had embraced what had been starting to feel like becoming a couple. But it had also scared her.

  She’d woken up with the amethyst crystal still in her hand, strange dreams of werewolves and a menacing man swirling around her head. As soon as she’d sat up in bed, every detail of her dreams had vanished. She’d dressed quickly and soundlessly, skipping her shower, pushed her red-frame glasses up her button nose, grabbed her tote bag that had her laptop inside, and crept through the living room and out the cottage door, never having woken her bodyguard.

  To most everyone living in the Fist, it was impossible to get around without a car, but Reece had never had one. She wasn’t much for exercise, but she’d made a lifelong habit of going for long walks. Before Holly van Dyke had been attacked and killed, and before Troy Quinn had come into her life, Reece had always woken up with the sun and walked three miles to the library. The acreage behind her house thinned out and intersected with Trout Street, though on the north side of the road the street was burly and unpaved. Still, it led directly to the library which sat in the heart of Devil’s Fist on the corner of Trout and Main.

  She arrived at the library on time and without incident, though her chest and back felt a bit dewy with sweat. She’d also foregone breakfast and knew it would soon catch up to her, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

  Mrs. Yeats was in a quiet mood when Reece rounded behind the front desk counter. The older woman was seated and hunting through the computer, probably for an obscure title that one of the patrons had requested over the phone.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Yeats,” she said as she tucked her tote bag under the counter in its usual spot.

  Grumbling something about having just lost her train of thought, Mrs. Yeats cut her scowling eyes up at Reece and complained, “Damn near everyone in town wants to check out our werewolf books. There won’t be enough to go around!”