Donovan: Gray Wolf Security Volume One, #1

By Glenna Sinclair

This is a stand-alone novel containing over 50,000 words of romantic suspense. If you enjoy the characters, you can continue reading more in the Gray Wolf Security series. This is the first book of the first series...

 

Kate: He killed my brother. He didn't wield the rock that destroyed a promising life, the life of a future doctor, but he killed him just the same. He should have been there that night and protected Joshua from the wrath of bullies he'd pulled down on us all. But he wasn't. And Joshua died.

My dad expects me to sit back and let this man protect me. Was he insane? I don't care how excellent Gray Wolf Security is. I wasn't about to give up my freedom and privacy and allow Donovan Pritchard to follow me around for the unforeseeable future. I don't care how determined the criminal who is after me is. I can't even remember what happened the night Joe died.

Besides, I'd rather take my chances than spend even a minute with Donovan...

Donovan: When I was assigned to protect a new client, I never imagined I'd be protecting the one person who told me to get out of her life and stay out...Kate Thompson. Seeing her took my breath away. She was even more beautiful than I remembered. Unfortunately, she was less than thrilled to learn that I'd be the one protecting her and that we'd be together twenty-four-seven.

I've worked hard to move beyond the past...but sometimes, the past catches up with you...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glenna Sinclair
• Release date: Apr 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9798223881841

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

Prologue

Kate

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The bank was locked up for the night. I curled up in my office chair, my shoes kicked off, and went over the last few applications of the day. It never failed to fascinate me, the millions of reasons why people wanted a loan. Some of the applications told a better story than the bestselling novels piled up on my bedside table waiting to be read. Like this one from an older man whose wife died six months ago. I guess he was feeling a new sense of freedom because now he wanted a small business loan to start a little social club for the Social-Security-aged youths of his community. It made me chuckle, some of the colorful ways in which he made his case.

Finally done, I shut down my computer and straightened the surface of my desk. Mrs. Talbot, my manager, was a hard-ass about the way our desks looked.

A bank is not the place to leave your panties hanging off the back of a chair.

That was her favorite mantra. It made me wonder what her house looked like. Probably so sterile she could eat off the floor. Either that, or she was a hoarder like on those television shows. Boxes, papers, paintings, and clothing stacked all over the place.

I slid my shoes on and grabbed my bag, tugging it over my shoulder. Joe, the security guard—they were all named Joe, weren’t they?—pushed open the door.

Have a good night, Miss Thompson.

You too, Joe.

I stepped out onto the front steps of the bank and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath of the cool, salty air. Santa Monica in January. There was a slight chill to the air tonight. Nothing that would have my teeth chattering before I could get to my car though.

I made my way to the sidewalk, my thoughts still on that old man who wanted funding to open what would essentially be a brothel for older gentlemen; again chuckling under my breath. Then I turned the corner and the chuckles died.

What was going on? Something wasn’t right.

I hesitated before stepping into the dark alley where the employee parking lot sat. Something was not right here. I thought about going back, asking Joe to walk me to my car. He’d offered often enough that I knew he’d be more than happy to walk me. And then there was movement, deep in the back of the lot, near where my car was, and . . .

I ran.

Chapter 1

At the Compound

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The office for Gray Wolf Security was actually at the home compound of Ashford Grayson. He bought the property with the company in mind after spending nearly a year wandering the country aimlessly, trying to figure out what to do with himself after he left the military—the Green Berets to be exact. He loved being a soldier. Adjusting to civilian life again was . . . difficult.

The security firm was born not only out of a need to find a purpose for himself, but to find a purpose for fellow soldiers—like him—who also needed a direction. A purpose. Therefore, it was his business plan to hire men and women like himself, retired soldiers looking for something stateside that would have some of the adrenaline of the military without so many of the risks. There were still a few risks. Sometimes more than even he could anticipate. But nowhere near what they’d risked in their day-to-day lives in Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, and wherever else they served.

The main house, a rambling cabin-like structure, served as the office space for the company—with Ash’s living space upstairs. The living room, kitchen, and dining room were advertised as open-concept living. Now they held a half dozen desks where Ash’s main operatives were expected to keep up with the paperwork that came along with a job of this kind. That included David, his brother, who spent most of his time working on the bank of computers arrayed in one corner of the room as their tech guy. The dining room housed a large conference table where clients were often given the dog and pony show over why they should hire Gray Wolf, or the explanation of what was done for them and why they should pay their bill which was often in the thousands.

Twenty-four hour security was not cheap.

The kitchen was still just a kitchen. Ash had been known to make four-course meals there for his people after a particularly tough case was completed. Kirkland Parish, one of Gray Wolf’s operatives, also liked to cook, but you couldn’t always call what he made edible.

Ash had good people working for him. Each was handpicked for reasons that went beyond their ability to do the job asked of them.

Donovan Pritchard was a member of Ash’s own Green Beret unit. They worked closely together during Ash’s last deployment to Afghanistan. They saw things together that other people couldn’t even imagine, let alone see in their nightmares. Donovan was an explosives expert. He could work with any material, blow up anything, and predict accurately how a structure would fall. He could take out a dozen insurgents, but avoid the civilians right next door.

Kirkland Parish was also a Green Beret. Although he was with a different unit during Ash’s days with the Army, Ash had heard stories about him. He was something of a character, outgoing and known as a ladies’ man. If there was a woman within a fifty-mile radius, Kirkland could find her and get her in his bed in a matter of minutes. Charm didn’t even begin to describe Kirkland. There was just something about him that instantly set people at ease. It was a skill that often came in handy with the kind of frightened, wired clients Gray Wolf served.

Joselyn Grant Hernandez, aka Joss, was a tiny but fierce soldier who stood up to and conquered every obstacle thrown at her during basic training. And then she served two tours of duty, leaving the Army only because she fell in love and wanted to experience a normal life. She was on Ash’s radar when he began building his company, but she was happy living with her schoolteacher husband and being a stay-at-home mom to her child. But when her husband and child were killed in a car accident, Ash and his Gray Wolf team stepped in, making sure the driver of the other car received his just punishment, and gave her a place to turn to when she was ready to get back to work. She took it, and she was good at her job. The fact that she wouldn’t speak didn’t seem to bother anyone.

And then there was David.

Ash and David grew up in Austin, Texas where their father was a longtime member of the Texas legislature. They were a close-knit family, one of those that politicians often parade out in public with big smiles on their faces. The difference was, it was true in their case. When Ash graduated college with a degree in political science and decided to join the Army, his parents couldn’t have been more thrilled. The dream was that he would one day follow in his father’s footsteps. David, too, was serving his country. After college, he joined the FBI.

And then things changed.

Their father was elected to Congress. There was a celebration that ran late into the night on Election Day. Ash couldn’t be there because he’d been deployed, but he managed to speak to his parents for a few minutes via satellite phone. If he had known it would be the last time . . .

David was driving the car. Dad was too tired, and he’d had a few too many drinks. And Mom, well, she just didn’t drive. The car hit a patch of black ice. It was Austin. In November. Not a common occurrence, but it was known to happen. The car flipped over. Mom was declared dead on the scene. Dad lingered a few days, the press thick outside the hospital, waiting with bated breath. The accident had crushed David’s lower spine. Bone fragments were removed and his preliminary prognosis was optimistic. However, they missed a few fragments, and the inflammation caused paralysis from his upper thighs down. The doctors thought they could restore movement, maybe allow him ninety percent mobility, but he refused to undergo the procedure. He said the risk wasn’t worth it.

Ash thought it was guilt. And guilt he understood.

Listen up! Ash called, as he made his way through the room, a handful of file folders in his hand. Assignments.

Like good soldiers, his people immediately gathered around the conference table. Donovan in jeans and a T-shirt, dark circles under his eyes. Kirkland looking dapper in slacks and a silk button-down shirt. Joss stood off to one side, still in the wetsuit she wore each morning to conquer the waves on her surfboard. David was always last to join them, moving efficiently in his fiberglass wheelchair.

Kirkland, you’ll be working with Detective Warren today, tying up loose ends on your stalker case. He’ll meet you downtown at noon.

Hope he plans to buy me lunch.

There were a few titters around the table, but they disappeared when Ash looked up again.

Joss, there’s a doctor at Cedars-Sinai who’s having some trouble with an ex-husband. I’d like you to go over there, keep an eye on her for a day or two.

She nodded, as she stepped forward to take the file he held out to her. She stepped back again, glancing through the file as Ash continued the meeting.

David, you should keep working on those background checks. We need those by tonight.

Yes, sir, David said, snapping a weak salute that made Donovan reach over and smack his shoulder.

And Donovan . . . you’re behind on your paperwork. You need to spend the day getting caught up.

Donovan groaned. Really, can’t David or Rose do that for me?

The paperwork has to be done by the operative himself. You know that.

What’s the matter, Donovan? Intimidated by a simple little computer? David asked.

Shut up, Donovan said, feinting a punch at David, laughing when he flinched. You may be in a wheelchair, but I’m not afraid of kicking your ass.

Boys, Rose said from across the room.

Sorry, Miss Rose, both David and Donovan muttered, their hands properly tucked into their laps.

Ash hid a chuckle behind a cough. Some days he didn’t know what he’d do without Rose. He’d hired her to be the office manager, to take care of the administrative crap he didn’t have the patience to deal with, but she’d become something more than that, almost like a mother figure to this ragtag band of misfits.

Okay, people. You have your assignments. Go do your jobs and don’t get dead.

Ash watched them leave, then he went to his own desk, his thoughts going to the same place they always seemed to go to on quiet mornings. Or busy mornings. Or lazy afternoons. It really didn’t seem to be any particular time. She was always on his mind.

He pulled a file folder out of his desk drawer, one that was thick and so worn at the edges that it was obvious it was opened often. The top sheet was a picture that he shouldn’t have, one that wasn’t supposed to exist. Her name was Alexandra, but she liked to be called Alexi. She thought it sounded exotic. And exotic went a long way toward describing her. Despite a mundane Midwestern upbringing, she’d reinvented herself in the military. She was a lot like Joss: tough but feminine, strong but gentle. Tall, with dark hair and haunting, golden-brown eyes, she was beyond words. Ash tried to describe her, but he always failed. There was just something about her that wormed its way under his walls, and made him feel things he never thought he would.

She was his fiancée. Only no one knew it but the two of them.

Alexi was CIA. They worked multiple missions together in Afghanistan. The last was a recon on a corrupt politician that went wrong. They got separated. He made it to the extraction point. She didn’t.

It was two years now that she’d been missing. He’d gone over their plan, over all the things that could have happened to her, but every lead died out. As far as the United States government was concerned, Alexi was dead. However, Ash couldn’t believe that. He knew how talented she was. He knew what she was capable of. For her to have been killed on that mission—her body never found—someone had to have gotten her unaware and then taken advantage of her distraction. And that just didn’t happen with Alexi. She was not distractible.

He knew in his gut that she was still alive.

He was going to find her. He didn’t know how or when, but he was going to find her.

Ash, phone, Rose called.

He sighed, closed the file, and placed it carefully back in the drawer of his desk.

Time to get to work.

Chapter 2

Donovan

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It’s your lucky day, Ash said when he came to my desk and told me he had a case for me. However, he wouldn’t say a damn thing about it on the long ride from the office to the UCLA Medical Center.

Are you going to tell me what this is about? I finally asked, as we boarded an elevator.

A new case.

I got that. What’s the case?

Ash handed me a piece of paper that was a computer printout of a news story that was on the Daily News website that morning. I’d glanced at it but hadn’t really read it.

Bank Security Guard Gunned Down, the headline read.

This isn’t really our thing, is it? I mean, there wasn’t some executive involved was there?

No. But there was a witness, and her father has hired us to stay with her until the police get everything figured out.

A witness?

A young loan officer who works at the bank. Apparently, she was on her way out when the attack occurred.

That caught my interest. I actually knew—or once knew—a woman who currently worked at a bank downtown. I’d caught sight of her a few times—Kate Thompson. We had history that was complicated. But again, life is often complicated, especially when you leave your hometown for eight years in the military and then come home again with no intention of rekindling old friendships. Needless to say, I kept to myself when I wasn’t on the job.

I scanned the article, but it didn’t say anything about a witness. Just that the security guard appeared to have been blindsided while doing a walk around outside the bank, and was shot in the chest during a possible attempt to get inside the bank. However, a passerby reported the shots and police arrived within minutes. No one, as far as they could tell, made it inside the bank.

"This seems pretty open