Frost Security: Complete Series: Frost Security

By Glenna Sinclair

The FULL SERIES. 5 Books. Full Length. No Cliffhangers. Over 400,000 words of paranormal romantic suspense.

In the mountains of Colorado, a small town named Enchanted Rock seems to always be in need of protection. Luckily, the shifters of Frost Security call this town home. 

RICHARD
For years, Richard Murdoch served in Afghanistan, a lone wolf shifter always on the prowl for his true calling in life. Now that Richard has helped found Frost Security with his pack, he may have finally found his true calling, his true mate: an art gallery owner in need of protection from a psycho stalker who wants her either run out of town, or dead.

FRANK
Frank O'Dwyer, ex-military bodyguard for Frost Security, failed at his job once before. He loved a woman and let his feelings for her cloud his judgment when he was supposed to be protecting her. Because of his screw-up, she ended up dead. Now, as he meets his newest client for the first time, he begins to worry he'll make the same mistake. Even worse, this time, he'd be failing his true mate.

JACOB
Jacob Wayne is ex-Marine Special Forces and a fallen homicide detective. Now, at Frost Security, he thinks he may have found a home. But at what cost? All he does is track down the occasional criminal who skipped their bond. Hell, he's not even a great shifter! He can barely control his instincts when he's in his wolf form. Until that is, he meets the woman who smells of sun and desert flowers. Has he found his true mate? And his purpose? Or is this just another dead-end lead?

MATTHEW
Matthew Jones was a Pararescue in the Air Force, an elite soldier who dropped in behind enemy lines to save the lives of the men and women who were shot down. Now, as an arson investigator and volunteer firefighter, he's Frost Security's go-to shifter on arson investigation. But, when beautiful Rebecca Stokes, a local high school English teacher, comes to him looking for help to find the man who framed her Uncle Zeke for the crime of burning down his own hardware store, Matthew realizes that his feelings for her are hotter than even the fires he's paid to investigate.

PETER
Peter Frost, alpha shifter, ex-Navy SEAL, and leader of Frost Security, has spent his life in search of something. Whether it's the people who murdered his family while he was overseas serving his country, a pack to call his own, or Vanessa Springer, the mate he once thought dead... what he's sought has always seemed just out of reach.

Vanessa Springer is a woman on the run. Ever since the murder of her and Peter's pack fifteen years before, she's stayed one step ahead of the people who killed her friends and family by embracing the outlaw lifestyle. Now, she's found Peter Frost again and realized that everything his father said about him was a lie. He doesn't want to be more human than wolf, and he does embrace his shifter heritage.

Or does he? Because she knows secrets about Peter's heritage that he denies, and if he's unwilling to listen to Vanessa, they may not be able to defend themselves against the threat looming over Enchanted Rock.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glenna Sinclair
• Release date: Aug 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386463023

Glenna Sinclair

Experience the heart-racing novels of Glenna Sinclair, the master of romantic suspense. Sinclair's books feature strong male protagonists, many with a military background, who face real-world challenges that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Books2read.com/GlennaSinclair Facebook.com/AuthorGlennaSinclair GlennaSinclairAuthor at Gmail dot com

Book preview

BOOK ONE: Richard

Chapter One - Richard

My pack and I streaked through the moonlit forest of the Colorado high country, powerful legs sending us bounding over rocks and between the firs, spruce, and pine. Peter Frost, our pack leader, had caught wind of something on the western winds, and we followed his lead as we went loping through the pass, the dim light of the stars and our keen sense of smell more than enough to see by. Five furry shapes, all wolves, but far larger than average, darting through the forest.

We didn't run like this every night. Only on nights we didn't have a job going through the agency, and only nights when the singing in our blood was too strong to ignore. But, still, this was what it was about. Running with your brothers, hunting with them, feeling the air rush through our fur, the fragments of rock and pine needles beneath our paws, howling at the moon.

We were shifters. Were we men who could become wolves? Or wolves that became men? I didn't know, and I didn't care. The old ways of wolf-men didn't hold any sway over me. Why would they? I was my own shifter, and I belonged to my own pack. My name was Richard Murdoch, a man who'd served my country on two legs in the Army, far across the ocean in a land of sand and rocks. At night, I'd hunted the deserts and mountains there, my lonely cry terrifying both the enemy and my allies.

Now, beneath the Colorado moon, I ran with my pack. And, beneath the Colorado sun, I helped to defend people who needed it. Both helped me be true to myself. Both helped me hear the rush of blood in my veins.

Frank O'Dwyer, the dark brown wolf by my side, growled as he looked down into the small valley. If Frost had the best nose of us all, then Frank had the best eyes. He may have been part eagle, for all I knew. He could probably spot a flea moving on a rat from a thousand meters, and he’d just seen a herd of elk moving in the distance like they were right in front of his snout.

Frost took off like a bullet from a gun, a clatter of rocks at his feet and a frothing snarl in his maw. We followed suit, our paws kicking up dirt and dry grass as we raced down out of the mountains, our bloodlust up, the thrill of the hunt all that mattered in our minds. We came from the east, upwind, and raced down into the valley, Matthew Jones and I tumbling over each other in our haste, his reddish fur standing out brightly amongst the green underbrush, even in the darkness.

Peter barked back at me and Matthew as we rolled down part of the way in a ball of yellow and red fur, and we quickly disentangled, our tails slightly wagging as we leapt forward and joined the pack, continuing our run.

There, in front of us, stretched the river as it meandered through the valley, a ribbon of the moon’s light laid out through the grass and rocks.

Moving like one organism, the five of us sprinted down into the valley, barking and howling. This far away from any town or city, we could actually let loose. We could actually be free.

Matthew, Frank, and I raced each other for the river, our paws scraping across the skittering stones of the bank. The three of us plunged into the water, icy even this late in the summer. Peter and Jake followed after us, even Peter barking with enjoyment for once as he tackled me under the water.

Exhausted, the five of us finally came back to shore, panting and shaking the water from our fur. All five of us raised our faces to the moon, turned our snouts to Luna herself, and let loose a howl.

This was freedom. The best life could ever offer a shifter like me.

The only thing that would make it perfect?

Having a mate to go home to.

Soaking wet, we headed back up through the valley, panting in the darkness as we cleaned ourselves of blood. At the top of the pass, Frost stopped, his tail in the air.

He sniffed the air, growling softly as we drew up behind him. We all glanced to each other, and one of us whined low. What is it? Why'd we stop?

But, just as quickly as he'd smelled it, it seemed to be gone.

Maybe a storm was coming? Or he'd caught a bit of smoke floating through the mountain air? Whatever it was, we moved on through the woods, and back down the mountain to home.

To Enchanted Rock.

We had work in the morning, after all.

Chapter Two – Jessica

Get out of Enchanted Rock, Jessica Long, groaned the modulated voice into my ear. Get out before I send you out on my own. Just a matter of time before I lose patience.

Frozen in a moment of fear, I just slammed my work phone back down into its cradle, my breath coming out in wheezes. The sun was bright, but a sudden coldness gripped my soul, a feeling of someone walking back and forth over my grave.

I jumped, letting out a yelp as a hand gripped my shoulder.

My friend Sheila, who was standing right next to my desk chair, retracted her hand quickly in surprise. Whoa there, girl. Was it him again? Your stalker?

I nodded tersely, brushing a long, dark lock of hair from my face. Yeah. Yeah, it was him.

Sheila had been helping me out for the last week or so with the books at Curious Turtle, the little art gallery I co-owned and managed in Enchanted Rock. Blake Axelrod, my silent partner, had lately become my eternally silent partner.

He was dead—a heart attack had gotten him. He was in his early fifties, and he'd just keeled over while out hunting one day. By all accounts, the white-tailed deer were all breathing a sigh of relief. His funeral had been last week, and I still hadn't been able to wrap my head around it.

The last thing I needed was death threats from some loony-tune while I was sorting everything out and trying to forecast where my business was going to be in six months, or if it was even going to be around at all. One more year with slow tourism, and that might be it. Rent was going up, but my profits weren’t.

Axelrod sure had left me a mess with the financials, too—which was where Sheila came into the picture.

Sheila Pearson had been one of my best friends since high school. We'd both been on the cheer squad, which is how we’d gotten closer. She'd gotten her master’s degree in accounting from Colorado State, but had never really moved out of town long term. As soon as she finished grad school, she was right back in Enchanted Rock, or the Rock as the locals called it. Her take on it: why would she leave the mountains? Even Denver was too far away from the Rockies for her, and it was over a mile above sea level. Of course, the wider corporate world's loss was certainly my gain. She actually enjoyed doing this accounting stuff, and I hardly understood it.

Have you talked to the sheriff about it yet?

Yeah, of course, I replied with a shrug and a long, tired sigh as I crossed my arms. But Sheriff Peak says he can't do anything about them. All the calls have been from disposable cell phones and different numbers each time, as far as he can tell. He can't place a restraining order or threaten someone with charges if he can't find them.

Sheila screwed up her face, frowning like she'd just bitten hard into a lemon.

I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair. What about those guys your father hired last year? I asked. For those robberies?

The security guys? Sheila asked, cocking her head to the side. I guess. Maybe. I dunno, really.

Think they'd be able to do anything?

I don't know. Really think you need some extra help with this? Sheila asked as she leaned against my desk. I mean, if the cops can't do anything about it, how could they?

I sighed again in frustration. I didn't think this asshole would really do anything, but having it hang over my head like the sword of Damocles wasn't helping with my sense of wellbeing or my stress levels. I'm just at wit's end here, then? I asked more than said, wrinkling my nose. I don't need a babysitter, Sheila, but I'd like something, anything.

I don’t know, she said after a moment, I mean, it’d probably just be a waste of your time to go in there. They mainly do corporate stuff, I think.

Well, maybe it’d be worth just talking to them?

Yeah, she hesitantly agreed, You need some peace of mind. The calls are getting more frequent. That's the second one today. I just don't understand why the sheriff isn't doing anything.

I laughed. Want him to bug my phone line or something? I don't think they even can. You've seen those old cars they drive around in, girl. They're not exactly Mission Impossible or James Bond over there.

Well, maybe they can watch out for you for a little while? Put a cruiser in front of your house or something? A deputy, maybe?

I grinned at her. Worried about me?

She smiled a little, but it quickly faded. Jess, I'm going to be honest. I kind of am. This has been going on for weeks. Way too long.

I shook my head, a frown forming on my face. Well, I don't think I need around-the-clock protection, I said. What I need is someone who can find this guy and get him to leave me alone. That's what I want.

Well, Sheila said, going around the desk to sit down in the other chair across from me, maybe they can? Maybe if they answer the call or something, they'll be able to scare these guys off? I mean, that's kind of what they do, right? Secure things? Why would it matter if you’re just a person instead of a business?

I shrugged and slumped back in my desk chair, tilting my head back. Yeah, I guess.

And if anyone can do it, Sheila continued, it's these guys. I met two of them while they were working for Daddy, and they gave off this whole ex-military vibe. They had guns and stuff. Like, kind of scary.

Scary?

Sheila grinned and brushed her short hair from her forehead. Well, scary, but I don't know—kinda hot, too.

I laughed, shaking my head. Oh, I see now. Your master plan.

Master plan?

Act all antsy about me going to them, to avoid suspicion—a look of shock came over her face, like I'd just shot her horse or run over her dog—just so I can give these guys some more work, and you can have an excuse to have them hanging around again.

The look immediately faded, and she laughed. Dammit, Jess, that's so not it, and you know it. Shit, maybe I'm worried you'll meet someone and leave my single ass all alone. You thought of that?

I shook my head, grinning. Not likely. You know me, I can't get tied down. But have you thought that maybe he'd have a friend? A nice handsome one that you haven't known since you were in diapers?

At this point, I'd just be happy as long as he walks on two legs and is housebroken.

I laughed a sad little laugh that turned into a sigh. It had been a while since I'd dated anyone. It just seemed that most of the guys I met up here were either wealthy assholes just passing through or total hicks I couldn't stand. But I was like Sheila. As much as I loved the oceans, big cities, and the wider world, I knew I'd never be able to drag myself from these mountains, the snow, the trees, the way the air smelled on a winter morning or a summer night.

Look, Sheila said after a moment, I'm really worried about you. If you don't think Peak can help, maybe you should call.

Yeah, I said, nodding, you're probably right. What were these guys called again?

Frost Detectives? Something like that, I think. I can get something from Daddy about them. I bet he kept their card in case he had any more problems.

Really that good, then? I asked as I leaned forward and propped myself up on my elbows. Seriously?

Absolutely. Best in the state is what Daddy told me.

I waved her off and opened my laptop and began to sign in. I can figure it out. How many Frost security firms could there be in Colorado? And in the Rock, no less?

A few minutes later, Sheila and I were both crowded around my laptop, looking through their website. It was well-designed. No flashy ads or videos, just a straight rundown of the services they provided. And, wow, did they provide some services. Surveillance, counter-surveillance, missing persons, physical security, fire investigations. They were like a mini-police force, all fully licensed and bonded by the state of Colorado.

No bios, huh? Sheila pouted.

I playfully elbowed her in the side. Wanted to see if your hotties were still working? I teased.

No, she said with an exaggerated whine. Well, yeah. Also, I wanted to see what their turnover was like.

Makes sense they wouldn't show pictures of the guys, I replied, especially if they're doing surveillance.

Good point, Sheila agreed. You gonna call?

Well, they look on the up and up. I guess it can't hurt to talk to them, right?

Right, she said. Call them and see if you can set up a meeting.

A few minutes and two rings of the phone later, I had their secretary on the line, a nice grandmotherly-sounding sort. Frost Security, Genevieve speaking. How may I assist you today?

Hello, my name is Jessica Long. I hesitated. I think I have a stalker problem I may need help with.

Well, Ms. Long, Genevieve replied without missing a beat, briefly tell me what you can about the situation, and we'll see what kind of help we're able to provide.

I sighed and smiled, then began to give her a brief sketch of my problem. Five minutes later, I had a meeting scheduled with Peter Frost, the owner of the agency, for later that afternoon.

Chapter Three - Richard

I marched back into the office from my lunch break around one o'clock. It was just me and Peter in the office today, besides Genevieve, our secretary.

The Frost Security office was a little unconventional. Peter had picked the old saloon up for a song a few years earlier when we'd decided to finally make our start as a security agency. The renovations had required a lot of hard work. We’d handled everything from gutting the interior and redoing all the plumbing, to rewiring the whole joint. But it was ours, lock, stock, and barrel, out on the far edge of Enchanted Rock. We'd kept a lot of the wild west motif, liking the unique style of the design. Rather than keep it as an open barroom, though, we'd installed glass offices and a conference room. The clear walls were all equipped with shades we could draw to give us privacy when needed.

The other guys, Jacob, Matthew, and Frank, had come along over the course of the next couple years. Every time our IT girl, Lacy, found a report of a wolf spotting in a place where wolves were never spotted, Peter or I flew out for recruitment. Most of the time they had a pack, or we realized they weren't up to snuff for our team. But sometimes you found guys like us. Ex-military, living their lives as veterans in the best possible ways they knew.

Like Jacob, who had been a cop in L.A. after he mustered out of service. Or Frank, who'd been a private bodyguard in Brazil after serving his country. Or even Matthew, who had been a firefighter after doing his time as a rescue jumper in the Air Force. Sure, they could be rough around the edges at certain times, but they were all good men. I was proud to call them part of my pack. And that was a phrase I'd never imagined myself saying: part of my pack.

Then, of course, there was me. Served two tours in Afghanistan, but came home to nothing. No family, no parents, no girlfriend. My father had cut us from the pack, gotten tired of their gypsy ways, unique to them, and settled down with a human woman. They’d had me. By the time I'd realized what I was, though, he had died from a hit-and-run accident. Mom remarried, but the guy was a real asshole. She pushed me off into the military. I didn't want to leave her unprotected, but she'd forced me to go. Said she wanted a better life for me than she could provide.

Looking back, it was clear she’d known what was coming. My stepfather murdered her six months into my first deployment, confessed to the cops and everything. By the time I'd gotten back, they'd locked him up in the federal pen for life, and I had no chance for revenge. I would've taken it, too, so it was probably better there'd been no delay with a trial. It took me a little while to get over my anger and make peace with what had happened, but I finally did.

I worked as a bouncer for a couple years after I got out, until Peter found me. We spotted each other at first as he came into the little bar in Texas where I was working, like two veterans sometimes do. It's the way we stand, the way we scan the room for possible threats, the way we cross our arms, even. Each of us knew right off the bat that the other guy had been in combat.

Then, of course, we smelled each other. A musky, othery scent that only shifters can smell on one another, like two wolves in the wild. He left and bought a bottle of whiskey and a case of beer, then waited around for me in the parking lot till after close.

He hadn't been my first shifter to meet like this, but he'd been the first one to put up beer and bourbon as a peace offering. We split the booze and stayed up till morning in his shitty motel room, unburdening ourselves of how different we were. How different we were from the rest of the shifters out there, the wild ones who didn't care about people the way we did. He told me about his plan to come up here, to Enchanted Rock, and start his own business. About how he could use a man like me on the payroll. It sounded too damned good to be true.

You wanna pay me to follow people and videotape cheating wives and shit? I don't know how to do that, man. I can shoot and fight, and that's about it. Hell, it's even been a while since I hit the range. Probably take a few clips to get back in the swing of things.

He laughed. You'd be surprised what they teach us in the SEALs, Richard. If they can get me up to snuff, then I can do the same for you.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

I walked through the little office, past Gen's desk, bag of double cheeseburgers from Dixie's in hand. Genevieve was our den mother of sorts, our secretary and first employee. She was a sweet little older woman in her late sixties with a crop of fiery red hair that was just starting to go white in a few spots. Her granddaughter was Lacy, our IT girl.

Back for the meeting, or just bringing the old dog his lunch? she asked as I headed past her and went back to Peter's office. Because he needs to eat more than he needs to work. He'll be skin and bones before too long if he keeps this up.

Yep, she was our den mother, all right. And she was also one of the few humans who knew what we actually were. She loved us all, regardless of how different we were.

Meeting? I asked, confused.

Supposed to be here in ten. Do you not read your text messages, young man?

That was right! I remembered now that my phone had buzzed while I was driving up to Dixie's. I winced. Sorry, Gen, I was driving and forgot to check it after I got out of the Jeep.

She clicked her tongue. Tsk, tsk. Well, the meeting's in a few minutes, so make sure he stuffs at least one of those burgers down his throat. You know how he gets with low blood sugar!

Yes, ma’am, I laughed and headed farther into the small office, my boots clomping on the historic hardwood we'd refinished. It was surreal to think of the boots that had walked across these same floorboards as mine over a hundred and fifty years before—those of actual cowboys, old miners, and settlers. All the men and women who had struck out west and settled in this land.

Figured you could eat, I said as I walked into Peter's office, a little room at the back surrounded by soundproof glass. The greasy takeout bag hung from my hand like the holy grail of the fat Western diet. The boss always skipped lunch, it seemed, always too intent on whatever case he had going.

But that's the way he was. Always intense and focused.

He glanced up at me from beneath his eyebrows and nodded distractedly. Peter was always the serious one; it was as if he was sizing you up each time he met you. For some people it was unnerving, but to me it was just the way he looked. You got used to it after a while.

Thanks, he grumbled as I dropped the takeout bag on the corner of his desk. I took a seat in one of the visitor chairs in front of him, sank down low, and crossed my legs.

Got a meeting in a few minutes for a new case, he said, turning back to the field notebook he always carried, jotting down information. You busy?

I shrugged. What kind of case?

Stalker, death threats. The usual, I guess, but not so much up here.

Stalker, huh? I echoed. Small town like this? I figured that for more of a big city thing. Don't you think Frank would be better suited?

Peter nodded and set his pen aside. Probably. He's got more experience on the bodyguard front, but you're what I got. Sent him, Matt, and Jake down to Denver on that fraud case to bring in the big bucks. You fight your wars with the army you're given.

I cracked a wry smile and shook my head. So, I'm the best you can do, is what you're saying?

He shrugged and smirked, the little expression no more than a flash. That's what I'm saying. He grabbed the bag of Dixie's off the corner of his desk and tore into it.

Sure, then, I guess, I replied as he wolfed down the burger. Put me where you need me, right?

He nodded, mouth full of beef patty and cheese. As shifters, we had to eat a lot. As security personnel who maintained peak physical condition, though, we had to eat even more.

Name's Jessica Long, he said, passing over a sheet of paper torn from a yellow legal pad. Genevieve’s neat, flowing script covered most of the page. Been getting threats to leave town or else, for the last couple weeks.

Sheriff Peak can't do anything?

He shrugged. Not sure, but I'd honestly be surprised if he could. How do you put a restraining order on an unidentified person?

FBI? I asked with a shrug, just throwing ideas out there.

He shook his head, burger still clenched in one hand. No internet threats, which means no crossing state lines. It'd stay local, so they don't have a dog in the fight.

I nodded, reading through the scant bit of information. It wasn't much, but it was enough to start.

He finished off Dixie Burger number one and tore into the next as I finished up the page. Says she owns a little art gallery curio place downtown and keeps getting calls there, I paraphrased. A couple at home, too, but nothing physical yet, no people she's spotted following her. All calls from different numbers. Not much to go on.

He grunted in acknowledgment around a mouthful of cheeseburger as I heard the office's front door open.

Hi, said a woman in a timid voice.

Hello, welcome, Gen said, her chair scraping as she pushed back from her desk. Are you Ms. Long?

Jessica, please.

Shit, Peter grunted as he wiped his mouth clean with a napkin. Thought I had more time. He went to put the half-eaten burger aside and get up from his desk.

Don't worry, I assured him, I'll help get her settled in the conference room. Gen'll have you neutered if she finds out you didn't finish lunch.

Peter nodded his appreciation, his hands already delivering the burger to his chomping mouth.

Jessica, I could hear Gen reply, a smile clearly in her voice. She was the warmest, most wonderful woman I'd ever met, and she could make anyone feel at home—which was great for us, since we were all a bunch of gruff military vets that tended to cause a panic in people the first time they saw us. Have a seat, dear. Would you care for coffee or tea? Misters Frost and Murdoch will be right with you.

I got up and headed from the office, idly folding the yellow legal page and shutting the door behind me. I headed into the main reception area, page in hand, as Jessica was just about to take a seat. Coffee, please, she said.

I stopped in my tracks the second I laid both eyes and nose on her.

Dark brown hair, green eyes, perfectly full lips on a wide, expressive mouth. Jeans, button-up top, modest heels. She couldn't have been much younger than I was, no more than twenty-five or twenty-six.

And, God, the way she filled the room with her fragrance. It was unlike any other woman I'd ever smelled in my life. Light, sweet, and just like eternity. How had I never run into her before in all my years in the Rock?

I'm not sure how long I stood there like that, but it seemed like an hour or more.

Richard? Gen asked, snapping me awake. You all right, honey?

I realized our new client was staring at me in confusion, so I shook my head a little and cleared my thoughts. Sorry, I said with a smile. Just remembered I left my keys in the Jeep outside, that's all. It was a little white lie, of course, but I didn't want to look like a complete starstruck moron.

Mm-hm, Gen said before turning back to our client. Jessica Long, this is Richard Murdoch, one of our security personnel.

Jessica turned back to me, those green eyes glancing me up and down.

Right. I was at work. And this woman needed my help. I crossed the room and extended my hand. Richard, I said. Please.

She took my hand, her soft palm dwarfed by my large, rough hand. She didn't shrink back, though, just kept her eyes fixated on mine, a little smile on her lips. Jessica, she said, shaking my hand, Jessica Long.

I smiled back, my hand still holding hers.

Do you want to show her to the conference room? Gen asked, her voice a mixture of concern and amusement.

I smiled wider and released her hand. Right. This way, Ms. Long. It is Miss, isn't it?

I caught Gen in my peripheral vision rolling her eyes. I shot her a discreet look, but she just ignored me and headed off to get Jessica her coffee.

Yes, but you can call me Jessica. No need for formality.

Jessica it is, then. Together, we headed back to the conference room. The whole way, I had to keep myself from glancing behind me to check and double-check to see if she was even real. Please, sit wherever you'd like, I said as I opened the door to the small conference room and showed her in.

She took a seat in the nearest chair, her legs pressed tightly together in nervousness. And I could tell she was all nerves all right, a whole bundle of them.

I sat near her, leaving a chair in between us, so as not to be too close, but not too intimidating and distant. I was well aware that I could be, under the right circumstances. How'd you hear about us, if you don't mind my asking?

Not at all, she replied as she put her purse down at her feet. My friend Sheila Pearson recommended you. Her father used your services a while back.

Pearson? I asked, trying to recall where I'd heard the name. Then it clicked. Oh, right, Pearson Hardware. That was an interesting one. One of the employees had been breaking into the store overnight and stealing from the safe in the back. They had sensors covering all the areas, and there was never any log of someone entering the cash office after the last sign-out. Instead, they'd been going up into the ceiling tiles and crossing over the walls that way. It took Peter and me sniffing our way through the place and Frank posing as a cleaning crew member for them to discover that it was one of the assistant managers. Frank's knowledge of Spanish and Portugese had really come in handy on that one. One of the crew members who knew about the plan had had no idea a white guy could be fluent in either language.

Well, hopefully this one won't be that interesting, Jessica replied. Gen came into the conference room, coffee in one hand, sugar and cream in a little caddy held in the other. Genevieve set the coffee and caddy down in front of Jessica and excused herself.

Thank you, Jessica said with a grateful smile.

What seems to be the problem? You mentioned on the phone with Genevieve that you think you have a stalker? Someone making death threats, at both your home and your work? I checked the paper again. At the Curious Turtle Art Gallery that you manage?

Own, she added. I own it, partially, not just manage. She folded her hands very carefully in front of her, her medium-length red nails lightly chipped. She worked with her hands, I could tell, but she still cared about them. That much was certain from how soft and smooth they'd felt as we shook. And not exactly death threats. More like warnings to get out of town, or else.

Or else? I asked, shifting in my chair to get more comfortable. I pulled out a small notebook and pen from my pocket and prepared my note-taking. They'll hurt you, they'll come after you or your business?

She shook her head, her lips pursed. I don't know, to tell you the truth. All I know is that it started right around the time my partner Blake Axelrod passed away.

I jotted down the name Blake Axelrod in the notebook. Your partner? He passed away recently?

Yes, about two weeks ago.

And you say it started around the same time? Before or after?

She shrugged. To be honest, I don't know. Blake's death was a real shock to the system, you know? She took a sip of coffee.

No foul play, I take it?

Excuse me? she asked, confused, setting her mug down. He was hunting deer when he died, not ducks.

I smiled. Foul play? As in, unnatural cause of death?

Oh! she replied, shaking her head. No, I'm sorry, no. It was a heart attack.

I nodded, scribbling down more notes. Well, we can check your phone records, I believe, and figure out the exact date this all started.

Peter decided to join us, quietly stepping into the conference room. We both turned to him. Please, don't get up. Ms. Long, I presume? Peter asked, hand extended to our newest client.

She smiled warmly at him and took his hand. Yes. Peter Frost?

Immediately I felt a little pang of jealousy at the way she looked at him before quickly realizing I had no territorial claim on her. I mean, of course I didn't. Why would I? She was a human being, and her own woman, for fuck's sake. Besides, she and I had only met a few minutes before. But, God, even the way she smelled was almost too much for me. My gut reaction was to tear off Pete's arm and feed it to him.

The leader of my pack came in and sat next to me, on the other side of me from Jessica, his own notepad in hand. From the way he was acting, I could tell he wasn't nearly as fazed by her as I was.

Sorry to interrupt, he said gruffly. How much have I missed?

Not much. I passed him the notes and went over what we'd discussed already.

He glanced up from the notes as I finished. And you keep saying it's a he, correct? But it's an electronically masked voice?

She opened her mouth, as if to say something, then quickly shut it with a perplexed look on her face. You know, now that you mention it, I guess we just assumed it was a he—Sheila and I, I mean. So, no, I don't know for sure.

Peter nodded. And you told Gen that Sheriff Peak did track the numbers, but that they go back to several different disposable phones, like the ones you'd buy at the gas station? I assume he told you those are almost completely untraceable, correct?

She nodded. That's what he said. But, well, I wasn't sure if he was just pushing me off.

Peter and I both frowned. No, I replied, unfortunately, that's not the case. They are actually very difficult to track. Notoriously bad to the point where Congress is floating ideas on laws against them.

Any jilted lovers, old friends, business associates, people with bad blood?

She made a face and shook her head. Not a lot of ex-boyfriends, and none of them were ever any kind of bad breakup that I recall. Maybe I sold someone a painting, and they didn't like it? But that wouldn't make any sense. Why would they be upset with me about a painting they picked out?

Peter and I both jotted down notes as she spoke, frowning as we looked at them. 

So what can we do? she asked, sounding both hopeful and anxious. Anything?

Peter glanced at me. Richard, you wanna take this one?

I nodded. I knew he had an idea of how he wanted to go about this, but if there were any changes he wanted to make, he'd tell me after the client left. He was always doing these little tests on me, to see how much of the training he'd drilled into me had really set in.

First, I began, we'd want to put you under surveillance, ideally at one of our safe houses, where we can have total control of the environment—who comes and goes, all that. As you said, the frequency of the calls has increased, and moved from a 'get out of town' to a 'get out of town, or else' motif. Generally, an escalation like that means there's going to be continued escalation, and not the opposite.

A safe house? An escalation? she asked with a groan. I can't do that right now. I've got too much going on at the gallery.

In that case, we can put someone on you, someone to shadow you throughout the day and watch your house at night.

Jessica seemed a little flustered at the idea of having someone tailing her all day. Can't you just, I don't know, pick up the phone and threaten them or something?

Peter and I glanced at each other, unsure of exactly how to respond.

Well, Peter said, we could do that, but then you'd be tipping them off that you have security. Also, unwarranted threats against someone's safety, even if they’re against someone that's threatening you, are generally frowned upon by law enforcement. Besides, if the person threatening you does try something, they'll take security into consideration when they make their plan, whatever it may be.

She groaned again, her voice more worried than before. Do you really think it's that bad?

We both shook our heads, not wanting to alarm her. The general practice was to let the client know how serious the situation could possibly become, but we definitely didn't want them in a panicked state. Frightened, panicked people did crazy things that usually did not end well.

No, we don't think it's necessarily gotten to that level, but the longer we can keep them talking, keep them making their threats, the more we can possibly pick up from their recordings. Clues to their whereabouts, how they might know you, who they might be.

You think it's someone that knows me?

Unfortunately, I said with a nod and a wince, that's likely the case. Angry customer, business rival, someone you may have ignored in the past? Who knows right now?

The look of worry on her face cut right through, gutting me as she tightly gripped her coffee cup in both hands like it would somehow bring her a bit of stability in all this. Her shoulders were tense, her eyes sad. She didn't deserve this, and all three of us knew it. Well, she said, almost mournfully, when do we start?

Right now, Peter said. We'll get a quote typed up for you before you leave today, and then I'll send you out the door. Richard'll meet you at the Curious Turtle, and I'll get with our IT person to get your phone records looked at, see if we can’t try to trace the numbers or follow any other leads that come up.

Wait, she said, setting her coffee back down. She looked at us and slowly blinked. You guys have like an actual IT person who can do that?

Peter and I exchanged a look of confusion. Well, she's not Q, or anything, and we don't have crazy gadgets, he said with a smile. But she can at least record phone calls and maybe figure something out from them.

Jessica laughed and shook her head as we both got up to leave. A couple moments later, we were back in Peter's office, the door closed behind us.

You doing okay? he asked as he settled down behind the computer and began to bring up the invoicing software.

Me? I asked, trying to fake a lack of concern. Why wouldn't I be?

Don't play dumb, Murdoch, he said as he began typing up the invoice. I can tell she's already gotten to you.

I slumped into the chair. Gotten to me? What're you talking about?

You know, I've noticed something over the last few years, he replied as he continued to type. When you're not being completely truthful, you just repeat someone's answers as questions.

Shit. He knew me too well.

She's an attractive woman and seems genuine, Peter continued. You don't need to be ashamed of having a little crush.

I laughed, leaning forward in my chair and resting my elbows on my knees. Fine. Yes, okay, I think she's good-looking. And, no, I don't think it'll affect my performance on the job. We good?

We were good even before you told me that, brother, Peter said, continuing to type up the invoice. Just wanted to hear you say it, that's all. I trust you with my life—why wouldn't I trust you with hers?

Think it's that serious? I asked, my eyebrows raised. Trusting me with her life, and all that.

A peculiar look came over his face, and he took a break from typing to turn his attention to me. Something just seems off about the whole thing. The death threats starting up right around her silent partner's death? That just seems very coincidental, doesn't it?

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, I replied, playing devil's advocate. We did that, bouncing ideas around on cases, trying to chew holes in each other’s theories. You had to if you wanted to get to the truth of the matter and keep from making your evidence fit your narrative.

He grimaced and turned back to the computer screen.

As he finished, I chewed over my thoughts on the subject. Something definitely sounded strange about the whole thing, but it was something I couldn't really put my finger on. A lot of times you just needed to get into these cases and look around at every possible person, every little clue, and let the back of your brain sort them out for you.

He printed two copies of the quote, one for the client and one for Gen so she could keep it on file, and handed Jessica’s to me.

I glanced down at the page. Cutting it a little close to the bone on this one, aren't you? I asked when I saw the pricing he'd offered.

Hometown discount, he replied with a shrug.

I popped my head out to see her car, he added when I gave him a strange look, and I can tell she's not exactly rolling in cash. Plus, she just lost her partner in the business. I figure this might give us some goodwill, help us get a discount on some art for the lobby. And come on, Murdoch, you know I only seriously charge the corporate clients.

I gave a short bark of laughter. Yeah. Right.

Besides, he continued, if I don't put you to work, you’ll just be lounging around anyways. Idle hands, and all that.

I gave him a wolfish grin as I held up the ridiculously cheap quote. Uh-huh. Sure, Frost, sure. Certain you ain't crushing on this lady, too?

Just get out of here and give her the quote, he replied with a sigh of resignation, his eyes shifting back to the screen, so we can get you started on this and figure this out soon. Soon as Lacy comes into the office, I'll tell her to get on the phone with you. And I'll switch off with you tonight on watch. Got it?

I nodded. Got it.

I left Peter in his office, quote in hand, and headed back into the conference room with it. I wasn't sure what game he was playing at, but this quote was way too cheap compared to our normal client rates.

I wasn't sure what it was, but something told me Frost knew something I didn't.

Chapter Four - Jessica

I left Frost Security both a little shaken and, oddly, a little comforted. I wasn't sure how to handle this idea of some random man following me around all day and all night. Of course, don't get me wrong, he was an absolute hunk with blonde hair, gray eyes, and the lean build of a snowboarder or carpenter. And, geez, those hands of his. So sure of themselves. Plus, he seemed smart—not like most of the guys I'd run across who looked like him. Something in those gray eyes of his just screamed intelligence and a keen awareness.

But having Richard Murdoch follow me around? Or anyone, for that matter? I didn't like it. Not even him. It just seemed too intrusive for my tastes.

I'll be a ghost, he'd assured me when I'd voiced my mild concern over it. I wanted to believe him, but I just didn't know how to handle it. I hadn't had a babysitter since I was ten. I reminded myself, though, that I was paying for his protection and expertise. I wasn't going to object to them doing what they needed to do to catch this creep.

I drove my old Volkswagen Jetta back across town to the Curious Turtle and headed back inside with a jingle of the bell as I opened the door. I flipped the sign on the door around to Open out of habit. Not that I expected any customers, of course, but it was still nice to hold out hope for a miracle.

I walked back through the gallery, barely glancing at all the paintings of wildlife and natural landscapes hanging from the walls. My low heels clicked and echoed through the empty space with each step on the tiled floor. The place was quiet, deathly quiet, and I could hear the wind whistling outside over the window panes, trying to find a way to get in.

The Curious Turtle specialized in local and regional artists, catering more to the rich tourists who had their summer homes and winter cabins up here. It wasn’t the hippest, coolest thing in the world, and it'd have no traction in a city like Los Angeles or New York, but I liked it, and so Blake Axelrod had gone with my choice.

Now Blake, there was a character. I hadn't seen him very often, except for when we'd first begun working together. After a few months, the novelty of owning his own art gallery must have worn off, especially when compared to his primary business. He owned a custom motorcycle shop and Harley dealerships across the state. People said he had more money than sense and, based on his investing in this place with just a minor in Art History running the show, I tended to agree with them. But, although Blake had been eccentric, he'd still shared a love for the kind of art I promoted, and had been a big supporter of wildlife conservation in the Rockies. Most hunters were, to be honest. I found they loved nature as much as we more liberal hippie types did, just in different ways.

I couldn't fault him for any of that.

I missed him. Even though we hadn't been great friends or anything, it was hard to lose someone so unexpectedly. Especially when you'd figured you would have years and years ahead of you. I'd never really gotten a chance to thank him for taking a risk on a hometown girl who'd come back from college with no idea of how she'd make a living. I had no family in town anymore, just a few friends like Sheila and my other good friend Karen. Not after Mom and Dad split and moved away, both to warmer climates.

I sighed and headed back into my office. I stopped just two steps in, though, when I heard the bell on the front door clang. I backtracked and stuck my head out, seeing a middle-aged man wearing a dark suit and carrying a briefcase. Be right with you, I called.

He smiled and nodded, giving a little wave. Take your time, miss.

I hurried over to my desk and locked my purse in the bottom drawer, then headed back out to the showroom floor, smoothing the front of my shirt as I approached.

How are you doing today? I asked with a smile in my art dealer voice. Is there anything in particular you were looking for?

The man wore a well-tailored suit. Not as expensive as some cuts I'd seen, but still pretty decent. It struck me as odd, though, because you hardly ever saw those kinds of outfits up here. Most people tended to go pretty casual, jeans and a flannel. It was just more rustic in these parts.

You, actually, the man said, smiling widely.

Me? I asked, cocking my head to the side, an uncertain smile on my face as I stopped a few paces from him.

Yes, he replied as he took a step in my direction. You are Jessica Long, correct?

I nodded, not exactly sure where this was going. I am.

Evan Case, he replied, sticking out his hand. I represent the late Blake Axelrod's estate.

Oh, I said as I took his hand. I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. I was starting to get way too paranoid. His estate?

Yes, he said, nodding. There are a few items in his will that we wanted to sort out with you, a few pieces from his collection that he left to you when he passed.

Items from his collection? Blake hadn't ever mentioned anything like that to me. And why not his piece of the business? If he was going to leave me anything, I would have suspected that. Confused, I ushered the lawyer into my office.

I sat down at my little desk, and he took a seat across from me.

Sorry for the mess, I said with an embarrassed smile. I've never been much for administrative work.

He chuckled as he looked around. It's always surprising to me how much one office seems to look like another. You should see my partner's in the firm. Imagine all this, but legal briefs instead. He flipped his briefcase around and set it on his lap, popped the latches, and opened it up so he could dig around in the papers.

He left me a few pieces from his collection? I asked, looking for clarification more than anything else.

Yes, Evan Case replied as he pulled out some paperwork and passed it over to me.

I took the documents and flipped through them. They were for a few pieces of his I'd adored. One by a local artist of a gray wolf hunting an elk, but in a modernist style, and another two from a Santa Fe painter who'd passed away a few years ago. Individually, they were both worth quite a bit.

I glanced up at the lawyer. Nothing about the gallery, then?

Oh, yes, he said, flipping through the will until he found the spot in the document that he was looking for. Yes, right here. To my nephew Wyatt Axelrod, I leave my fifty-percent partnership in the Curious Turtle. May the art contained within its walls inspire you to the same heights it has inspired me, and aid you in carrying on my cause of nature conservancy and philanthropy.

My face flushed, and my stomach felt queasy. I slumped back in the chair, a sudden wave of nausea sweeping over me at his words.

Evan glanced over the top of the document. He must have been able to tell from the look on my face how disappointed I was, because he frowned. I’m sorry, Ms. Long. Sometimes I'm the bearer of good news, sometimes bad tidings.

I waved him off. No, I replied, I completely understand. You're just executing the estate, right? Not your fault.

Well, if it makes you feel any better, I thought the paintings he left you were quite lovely.

He was right, they were lovely. But they weren't quite as lovely as being the sole owner of my own art gallery. I smiled a little at his sentiment and nodded. Thank you, Mr. Case.

He began to gather up his papers and tuck them back into his briefcase. The family will be going through and cataloging the voluminous possessions of Mr. Axelrod over the next several weeks, so you should be able to get into the estate by just calling ahead to my office. We'll be more than happy to assist you with shipping.

I nodded and went to stand as he did. Thank you for coming by.

Oh, don't mention it, he said. I love making trips up here to the high country. It's lovely this time of year.

I showed him out of the office and walked him back to the front door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Richard Murdoch scoping out the place from across the street in his beat-up old Jeep. I could feel him watching me and the lawyer.

Oh, and Mr. Case, I'm curious, I said, stopping him as he was about to leave. This Wyatt Axelrod? Do you know anything about him, my new partner?

He shrugged and made a face, shaking his head. I just know he was my client's nephew, to be honest. I'm honestly a little surprised he hasn't been in touch with you already. I would think he’d be aware that his uncle was leaving him his piece of the business, considering how detailed the will was.

I nodded and forced another smile. Thank you again. And drive safely, Mr. Case.

He grinned and thanked me, then he was back out the door and headed to his rental.

I stayed there, looking out the front windows of the shop, at the sunlight as it hit the storefronts across Main Street from the Curious Turtle. Just another day in the Rock. Another dollar, another disappointment.

I smiled through the heartache, though. Sure, the outcome of Blake's will hadn't been exactly what I was hoping for—complete ownership of my business—but on the bright side, I at least knew someone in Blake's family owned his portion. Maybe that was a good thing? Maybe it just meant I was one step closer to knowing how all this was going to pan out.

I frowned again, the smile suddenly too hard to hold in place.

Glancing over, Richard Murdoch caught my green eyes with his gray ones. We kept our gazes for the briefest of moments, and that same feeling from Frost Security's office returned. Suddenly, I realized that I was going to figure this out. I had a security guy watching out for me through all this.

He gave me a little smile I could just barely see, and looked away before I could respond.

I turned around and went back into my office. I still had a few bits of paperwork to get through before calling it a night.

Chapter Five - Richard

I kept an eye on the place while she was inside with the suit. When they disappeared to the back, I moved up closer to the glass so I could hear better with my keener-than-human senses. I returned to my Jeep when they emerged from the office.

She was safe, and I knew it. But why did I get out of the Jeep and cross the street towards the gallery? Probably because of that tortured look on her face, like the world was coming to an end and there was nothing she, or anyone else, could do about it.

I crossed Main Street as she disappeared into the back again. As I pulled open the front door, I called out to her. Jessica? It's me, Richard.

Back here, she called, her voice sullen and heavy.

I looked around the art gallery as I passed through it, at all the pictures of wildlife and landscapes. There were a few great ones of some wolves, nice oil paintings with some heavy brushwork. There were a couple pieces I wouldn't mind hanging on the walls of my little place on the edge of town. I glanced at the price tags, surprised at how many of them I could afford. I wasn't incredibly wealthy, not by any means, but I'd socked quite a bit away when I was on deployment. Most guys blew their whole earnings when they got back, but I'd managed to pick up a cash job right off the bat as a bouncer. And the security work paid pretty well, too. I definitely wasn't hurting, and could probably look at an early retirement if I really wanted.

I adjusted the gun on my hip, making sure it was out of view, and leaned my head around the door. Everything okay? I asked.

She was sitting there in one of the chairs pulled up in front of her desk, her head thrown back, her hair cascading like silky waves. With her head upside down like that, she locked eyes with me. That was the lawyer for my dead partner's estate, she groaned.

Not good news, I take it?

Jessica raised her head and looked back over her shoulder at me with a sigh. No. Well, I guess not. He didn't leave me his shares of the business so I could own it completely. Not that he had to or anything; I wasn't exactly his adopted daughter or anything like that. But he did leave me a few paintings. That's good, right?

I chuckled. Guess it depends on if they're any good.

She smiled. No, they're good.

Who'd he leave his part of the business to? His widow?

She shook her head. Blake wasn't married. Had a string of ex-wives, but hadn't been with any of them in a few years. Nope, he left it to his nephew.

His nephew, huh? I asked, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe. Think he could be the one calling with the threats? You said they started right around the time your partner died, right?

She shrugged. I guess, but what would he want with a business like this? An art gallery?

You have a name for the guy?

Waylan, Wayne? Something with a W. I remember it was the same as one of those famous gunfighters.

Wyatt? Like Earp?

She snapped her fingers, grinning. Wyatt Axelrod. That's it.

I took out my little pad and scribbled down the name.

Really think he might have something to do with it?

Considering you don't know anyone who has it out for you? I asked, then nodded. Yeah, I give it even money. At the very least, I can have Lacy look into him when she gets into the office, or Peter even. Anything else happening?

She shook her head, gestured to a vacant seat next to her. Why don't you take a load off, Richard? I can get us a cup of coffee.

My heart leapt at the invitation. Between the smell of her and the knowledge we were alone and could maybe discuss something other than business, I was tempted to accept her invite. But, there was a mission here—I had to protect her. I sighed and shook my head. Sorry, Jessica, you know we're not getting paid to sit around and drink coffee with the client. I should really get back up front and keep an eye on the place.

Sorry, she said, smiling like it was no big deal. I forget sometimes what it's like to have people around while working. Most of the time I'm here alone. Sheila, my friend who told me about you guys, has been helping me figure out the books for the gallery, so I've been spoiled with having her around. But working here all alone can get, well, lonely.

Believe me, I said with a grin, I understand your pain. I've had to work quite a few stakeouts all by my lonesome. It can be tough.

She glanced away. Well, you should probably get back at it, then. Hate to have your boss come along and get upset or something.

I laughed. "I think Peter would be fine with me coming in. But I'll let him know