Quinn Security

by Dee Bridgnorth

  Rick crossed to the living room windows and drew the curtain back just enough to peer out into the darkened backyard.

  “They could be out there right now.”

  Troy took a slow, thoughtful lap around the living room, his fists planted on his hips.

  “You should have come to me first,” he complained. “But this could be good. This can help us.”

  Kaleb objected, “How is this good?”

  “It’s Dante’s first step. He’s probably not going to strike the town, waging a full war against us, until he gets Lucy out of the way.”

  Dean supplied, “Meaning that if he fails to get Lucy out of the way or something goes awry, he won’t be in a position to strike.”

  Kaleb argued, “You’re kidding yourselves. The only thing Dante is waiting for is the full moon. Whether or not he coerces someone like Rick to carry out his order, we can all bet that he’s going to come after us as soon as the moon is full in the sky.”

  “And I would add,” Rick tacked on, “that if I personally fail to subdue Lucy, Dante will just order someone else to do it. And he’ll likely give that order after he’s punished me for failing.”

  “If he wants Lucy,” Dean began thinking out loud, “then can we potentially bait him like we did last time? Can we stage Rick capturing her but really use the staging to bait and trap Dante? We nearly succeeded last time.”

  “That depends,” Troy told him as he cut his eyes to Rick who had lowered the curtain and returned to the circle. “Will Dante be there? Was that part of the plan?”

  “He didn’t say,” Rick answered honestly. “All he told me was to let him know when it was done, so I’ve been under the impression that no, he won’t be there when I supposedly attack Lucy.”

  “Maybe we can get him there,” Troy suggested.

  “Or maybe,” Rick suggested, seeing an opportunity for himself to be freed, “you can free me like you did Angel. That ceremony conjured him, remember? Why can’t we set up a trap like that, using Damned Repair again?”

  Troy thought about it, but the look on his questioning face didn’t look promising from where Rick was standing. “You don’t hold the same significance as Angel. Dante loved her in his own sick way. He might have wanted to mate with her. Sorry, Rick, but I doubt he feels the same towards you.”

  “I can’t go on like this!” Rick blurted out, losing all control of himself. “I’m constantly looking over my shoulder. I’m being followed and watched. He’s threatened my daughter and I know he won’t hesitate to kill me if I go against him. The fact that I’m talking to you all right now—oh, God, the fact that all of your pickup trucks are parked in my driveway could get me killed!”

  “Calm down!” Troy barked. “I told you to hang in there and that’s what you’re going to have to do. But…” he trailed off, considering the option that had just popped into his brain. “We might be able to use Angel again.”

  “She’ll never go for it,” Kaleb pointed out.

  “It’s Lucy or Angel,” Troy reminded him. “Those are the only two who Dante seems at all interested in.”

  “That’s not true,” said Dean, though he couldn’t believe he had opened his mouth. All eyes were on him, however. “There is one more person who highly interests him.”

  “Who?” Troy asked.

  Dean sighed in disbelief that he was about to suggest what could ultimately turn into his greatest nightmare.

  “Elizabeth Halsey.”

  Gaylord asked, “Elizabeth Halsey? Any relation to the owner of the old Halsey land?”

  “Yes, she’s his daughter. Not only did she inherit the land, she just sold it to Dante. He’s interested in her. I’ve been trying to keep her away from him and putting her in harm’s way is that last thing I want to do, but I’m certain he would meet her anywhere.”

  “This could be good,” said Troy.

  “But she isn’t protected at all,” said Kaleb. “She’s mortal. Dante could turn her or kill her easily.”

  “I doubt he can turn her,” Troy informed him. “Elizabeth is destined to become Dean’s one true mate.”

  “But until she is,” Dean reminded him, “she’ll be vulnerable. She could be killed. Hell, she could be impregnated if that’s what Dante wants.”

  Dean cringed, horrified at the possibility.

  “Okay,” said Troy decisively, “here’s what we’re going to do.”

  They were all ears and listened intently, though Dean was sickened by the plan.

  ***

  As Dean pulled his pickup truck into the driveway of his cabin, he noted the time on the dashboard. He’d only been gone for less than an hour, not bad, but as he climbed out of his truck and started for the door, a dark feeling punched him in the gut and grew.

  He slid his key into the lock but couldn’t turn it.

  For a split second, it didn’t compute. Again, he tried to turn the key, but realized that it was already twisted as far left as it would go.

  A chill sliced through him and he pushed the door open.

  The lock on the front door of his cabin hadn’t been in place. But that was impossible. He’d been certain to lock Elizabeth safely inside before he’d driven off to meet his brothers at Quinn Security.

  The house was quiet. Too quiet. He started through, stopping first at the bathroom. It smelled faintly of steam, but the waning humidity told him that Elizabeth had probably finished showering at least fifteen minutes ago. The bathroom held no other signs of her so he rushed into the bedroom where he hoped she had laid down for a nap.

  She wasn’t there.

  “Elizabeth!” he called out then listened as keenly as he could, engaging his werewolf senses.

  There was no response throughout the entire cabin. He couldn’t hear a shred of movement anywhere.

  Had she left? Was that why the cabin door had been unlocked? Where would she go? Her Mercedes was still parked in the heart of the Fist and Elizabeth wasn’t exactly known for handling her own needs. If she had needed something, she would’ve called Dean to nag him into doing it, wouldn’t she have? She also wasn’t known for heading out into the wilderness either. Getting her to Yellowstone had been like pulling teeth, so he couldn’t imagine her getting the urge to go for a stroll in the wooded darkness.

  Thinking to be thorough, he rushed through her bedroom and found her hiking boots lying in the closet. Quickly, he rummaged through her clothes. The outfit he’d bought her at Acorn Fashion and Accessories was in the closet as well, and all of her designer dresses were either hung up or resting in her open-faced suitcase.

  He was suddenly filled with a very dark feeling.

  Not only was she not inside his cabin, but wherever she had wandered off to, she wasn’t wearing any clothes.

  He rushed to the door of his cabin and instantly picked up her scent. She had touched the inner doorknob and when he stepped outside, he faintly picked up her scent as well.

  Following the distinct yet subtle smell of her signature perfume and the feminine odor he’d come to associate with her bare skin, he tracked her scent around the darkened side of his cabin. As he came to the rear, he was hit with another dark, sinking feeling. He stared out into the bleak darkness of the expansive backyard.

  Oh God, where had she gone?

  Engaging his crisp werewolf vision, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the low light. The moon was hardly more than a sliver in the dark dome sky overhead, and the twinkling stars didn’t provide much light either.

  He was able to make out a thin trail of matted grass however. Her footprints over soft earth.

  He followed the trail, sniffing the cool air as he went, which confirmed she had gone this way. He was heading straight back through the grassy yard that soon opened up into a field of tall bluestem grass, but it wasn’t deep. It spanned maybe twenty yards then was met with the tree line that marked a thick forest.

  Knowing that the forest behind his cabin covered hundreds of acres, he felt sick all over again.


  While he had been meeting with his brothers, while he had stood beside Troy and interrogated the sheriff, while he’d devised a plan to use Elizabeth to lure Dante, he had opened his destined one true mate up to being lured outside by the very rogue werewolf he and his brothers had plotted to catch.

  “Elizabeth!” he called out and heard his desperate voice echoing back to him from the distance.

  A flock of crows rustled up from the woods, cawing into the dark sky through the treetops, but she didn’t respond.

  Pushing the rising panic down from his heaving chest he shifted into his wolf form so that his every sense—sight and smell—would be at their utmost peak, and sprinting straight into the thick wilderness.

  Elizabeth!

  He could smell her, the distinct scent of her shampoo, damp hair. It was strong and getting stronger. He veered this way and that, dodging trees and leaping over fallen tree trunks and large rocks, until his eyes locked onto a heap of flesh that could only be her body.

  He rushed to her and nudged his snout against her warm neck. She was lying in a twisted slump on her back, her eyes closed, her bath towel barely covering her nude body that was still slick from her shower.

  Shifting back into his human form, he pressed his fingers to the side of her throat. She had a pulse, but she was unconscious. She had a heartbeat as well, but when he gently slapped her face, she remained unresponsive.

  Angel Mercer came to mind.

  The panic he had been fighting raged up, burning his chest and blurring his racing mind.

  Months ago, Angel had been lured out into the field behind her cottage. She’d been found out in the woods, disoriented and without a shred of memory as to how she’d gotten out there. She, too, had only stepped out of the shower before the event had taken place.

  Dean recalled the grisly result of it all.

  Angel had been turned by Dante Alighieri. She had never been able to regain her memory of that night, but had been left as one of his damned, a fact the Quinns had discovered when Jack Quagmire had invited them to her house to find her in her shimmering, white wolf form in the bathroom.

  If Dante had turned Elizabeth…

  Dean couldn’t bear the thought.

  He scooped her up into his strong arms and she groaned groggily, but didn’t lift out of the fogged spell that had been cast over her.

  “Shh,” he cooed, as he carried her swiftly out of the forest, across the field then the grassy backyard of his house. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

  When he reached the door, he was careful with her as he let himself back inside. It wasn’t until he’d laid her down on the bed that he circled back to close and lock the cabin door.

  As he started back into the bedroom, she groaned again.

  He sat beside her on the bed and stroked her damp hair off of her face, tucking the blonde lock behind her ear.

  “Elizabeth?” he said softly as a knot of regret twisted tightly in his gut.

  He should have told her everything, that he was a werewolf, that she was destined to be his, that turning her would be the only way to keep her safe despite the madness that had become Devil’s Fist. He should have explained to her exactly what Dante was capable of and he should’ve never left her side. It was obvious to him that the only way she could’ve gotten outside of his locked cabin and into the woods was because Dante had seeped into her mind and controlled her into doing exactly what he wanted.

  He would never forgive himself if Dante had turned her out there in the forest. Never. He tried to convince himself that Dante couldn’t have. That there was no way the dark lord could have succeeded in turning her if she was truly meant for Dean, but he was filled with doubt.

  Who knew what Dante was and wasn’t capable of?

  Why would he trust that she would be impossible to harm just because she was marked to become Dean’s one true mate?

  Troy had thought so, but that hadn’t stopped Dante from going after Reece and Whitney. Why had Dante made those attempts if it would have been a futile effort?

  Elizabeth groaned again, this time her eyes blinked. It looked like she either couldn’t place where she was or couldn’t see properly. She was beyond disoriented and he immediately feared that her mind and all of her memories had been wiped clean.

  “Elizabeth, can you hear me?”

  “Mmm, what?” she managed to say.

  “Do you know where you are?” he asked but was too anxious to wait for a reply. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Dean?” she murmured. “I’m in your cabin.”

  Relieved, he laughed and his eyes misted over with tears, but he blinked them away and pushed his emotions down so he wouldn’t scare her.

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  “My head is killing me,” she groaned.

  He took her head in his large hands and looked for any cuts and gashes, but there were none. She didn’t appear to have been hit in the head, there were no goose eggs rising up from her skull. He proceeded to check every inch of her skin, looking for wolf bite marks, but her inner wrists were smooth and clean, the sides of her neck as well. That didn’t mean that Dante hadn’t turned her. Dean knew that skin could heal in the blink of an eye with the transformation.

  “Do you feel hungry?” he asked and held his breath.

  “Why would I feel hungry?”

  Because if she had been turned, she would be ravenous by now for fresh, bloody meat, he thought but held off from saying out loud.

  There was nothing he could do. An aspirin wouldn’t touch her headache and if she didn’t want to eat, then he couldn’t force her.

  As her eyelids grew heavy all over again, he laid down beside her and pulled her into his arms.

  “That feels better,” she moaned softly, curling up into him.

  Dean stroked her hair and caressed the length of her arm. This woman was precious to him and he’d made the cardinal mistake that no bodyguard should ever make. He had left her, and Dean promised himself that he would never make an error like that ever again.

  He held her all through the night. When he began drifting off, he sucked in a deep breath, jolting himself awake. He kept himself alert throughout the long, quiet night until dawn broke the horizon. He couldn’t let himself fall asleep. He needed to stay present in case she turned, and he never stopped praying once that that wouldn’t be the case.

  As the sun crept up the sky, brightening the Fist with the light of a brand-new day, Dean slipped out of the bed and looked down at Elizabeth. She was still sleeping soundlessly, her bath towel still loosely draped over her slender body.

  He quietly eased out of the bedroom and when he reached the kitchen, he kept his ears pricked and alert for any indication she was either turning or waking. He brewed a large pot of coffee, trusting that if he got enough caffeine into his system he would be able to ward off the exhaustion that was overcoming him.

  He returned to the bedroom with two mugs of coffee and sat on the bed as Elizabeth stirred.

  “We slept together?” she breathed as she yawned and stretched.

  She didn’t look pale or ill, but actually well rested.

  “Well, we did literally,” he allowed with an air of humor, “but no, we didn’t do the deed.”

  “How much did I drink last night?”

  He furrowed his brow, confused. “You didn’t drink anything,” he told her.

  “I’m seriously hungover,” she said. “I feel like I drank four martinis.”

  “Here,” he said, offering her one of the mugs, “have some coffee.”

  She sat up, holding the towel to her bare chest, and took the mug. After a few sips, she questioned, “Are you sure I didn’t drink last night?”

  “What do you remember about last night?” he asked.

  “Nothing, that’s how I know I overdid the cocktails.”

  “But you don’t remember drinking, right?” he said, hoping that by guiding her through the logic of it all she would realize that she had not,
in fact, had a single cocktail.

  “No,” she allowed.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Taking a shower, I guess. Oh, and I remember you calling out through the door that you had to step outside for some reason.” She thought further then added, “I sort of remember coming out of the bathroom, but it’s murky.”

  He needed to turn her, to make her his, to safeguard her from whatever horrifying plans Dante might have for her next, but until he knew exactly what Dante had done to her last night, he greatly hesitated to put her through anything else.

  “Any weird dreams?”

  “The fact that I’m in Devil’s Fist has been one long weird dream,” she allowed.

  It didn’t answer his question, but he figured she hadn’t had strange dreams.

  “Where did you go?” she asked as she drew her knees to her chest and drank more coffee.

  “I had to meet my brothers for a bit,” he told her. He drew in a deep, fortifying breath, then said, “Elizabeth, I found you outside in the woods.”

  “You what?”

  He nodded, locking eyes with her. “Are you sure you don’t remember anything?”

  “You found me in the woods? What are you talking about?”

  “When I got home last night, I’d only been gone for forty minutes or so, the front door was unlocked. You weren’t in the cabin. I tracked your scent and found you in the woods behind the house.”

  She stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked for a stunned beat, then, from out of nowhere, she laughed.

  “Are you messing with me?”

  “No,” he said, gravely serious. “I wish I was.”

  “I was in the woods?”

  “You were unconscious, lying in a heap, your towel barely around your body,” he explained.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed, believing him. “I’ve never blacked out in my life.”

  “You didn’t black out,” he insisted. “Remember how I told you there were werewolves in Devil’s Fist?”