Calder: Mastiff Security, #2

By Glenna Sinclair

This is the second book of Mastiff Security Volume One, with over 50,000 words of romantic suspense. 

 

She woke, her face bruised, her wrist sprained, with no memory of what had happened the night before. Not fifteen minutes later, a knock on the door announced the police were looking for the person caught in a hit-and-run on a traffic cam. When they told her the victim's name, she almost believed she was responsible. But why did she have no memory of the events? She didn't drink, she didn't party. She didn't usually attend parties, but someone had talked her into it, and she only stayed a few minutes. And she didn't drink nearly enough to get blackout drunk. Yet they had a video...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glenna Sinclair
• Release date: Sep 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9798224078868

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

Chapter 1

––––––––

Springfield, Illinois

––––––––

Mastiff Security Headquarters

––––––––

That fucking bitch!

Durango stared at the computer screen, unable to believe what he was seeing. For nearly twenty years, he’d been able to hide the truth about his past, the fact that his father just happened to be one of the most conceited, most selfish, most narcissistic movie producers in Hollywood. But with one conversation, that damn detective spilled the fucking beans to the entire world! The proof was right there in front of him, an article on MSN.

Durango Masters Son of Famed Producer, Jackson Chamberlain, the headline read. And when he clicked on it, the whole fucking story was right there, how he blamed his father for his mother’s death, the fight his parents had engaged in on that final night. Everything he told Hyde last night for reasons he still couldn’t figure out.

Why the hell would she go to the press?

He knew her partner believed he was a killer. Did she, too? Was this her way of pissing him off and forcing him to make a mistake? Hell, that was a trick Durango might have used during his days as a homicide detective, too. But . . . it didn’t feel so good being on this end of things, especially since Durango was innocent. He hadn’t killed his partner just like he didn’t kill his fiancée five years ago.

Durango Masters?

Durango’s head snapped up. He thought for a second that a reporter had just waltzed into his office, but this woman did not look like a reporter. She was a pretty thing, petite and slight, the kind of woman who looked as though a good wind could push her over. She had short hair that was as red as it was brown and intelligent hazel eyes that were too big for her face, making her appear much more innocent than she probably was. At the moment, she had some greening bruises to her face that took some of that innocence away. But she was still beautiful by anyone’s standards.

I’m Quinn Naylor. We had an appointment?

Was it a question or a statement?

We did? Durango walked around his desk and snuck a look out into the alcove outside his office, wondering where the hell this assistant had gone off to.

Your assistant seems to be gone, but I did call this morning and was told to come in at this time, Ms. Naylor said as he closed the door.

Oh, I’m sure you did. But I’m having issues with my personal assistants.

I can see that.

He came back around and gestured for her to take a seat in one of the chairs set before his desk. He sat, too, the moment she was settled, tugging the other chair closer to hers. What can I help you with, Ms. Naylor?

Dr. Naylor, actually.

He inclined his head slightly. Dr. Naylor.

I’m a pediatric surgeon over at Lincoln Medical Center. She smiled slightly, but her hand shook as she reached up to shove a piece of hair out of her face. But that’s not why I’m here.

I would assume not.

She smiled again, her eyes darting around the room. When they finally settled on Durango, he could see the hurt and fear in those pretty eyes. She pushed her hair back from her face again even though the hair was still tucked behind one ear. She sighed heavily as he waited for her to get her thoughts together.

I . . . I was arrested a week ago and charged with vehicular manslaughter.

Durango leaned forward slightly, his thoughts rushing over the criteria for that sort of arrest. There was an accident?

They tell me there was. They say they have video.

They tell you? They say?

A deep blush burned her cheeks. The thing is, I don’t remember any of it. I woke in my bed, in my house, with these bruises . . . She waved a hand toward her face. But I don’t remember any of it.

Fascinating.

Can you tell me what you do remember?

She clasped her hands in her lap. I was at the hospital. I’d just finished up a case, and I was hanging around, doing some dictation, waiting to make sure the patient didn’t have any immediate complications. She sighed softly. A little after midnight, I was finally headed out, exhausted, but okay. This nurse I’ve known since I started my residency came up to me and told me about a party at another coworker’s house. I hadn’t heard about it—but I’m not often invited to these things because I rarely go.

Durango reached over and touched her leg to offer some comfort. She turned a little, pulling her knee from his reach.

All right then!

She ran the fingers of both hands through her short hair, causing some of it to stand up a little oddly. When her eyes met his, they were filled with sorrow.

Sorry, I just—

Tell me the rest of what you remember.

She nodded. I decided to go to the party even though it was so late because the nurse was incredibly insistent, and I was pretty wired from the surgery. Besides, I didn’t have anything early the following morning, just a consultation with a new patient. My residents were capable of caring for my current patients.

Dr. Naylor grew quiet for a long moment, her eyes on her clasped hands that were once again resting in her lap. The party was a little wild: there was a lot of booze, a lot of loud music, a lot of dirty dancing. Not my kind of thing. She blushed, making Durango want to smile.

If only she knew who she was talking to. Sounds like just my kind of thing!

I started for the door not ten minutes after I arrived, but a colleague, Dr. Petrov, cornered me to ask about a patient. We talked about five minutes, someone put a drink in my hand, then I was gone. And that’s about the last thing I remember. I got into my car and . . . blank. I can’t remember anything after that.

Did you drink from the cup they put in your hands.

She nodded, her expression announcing that she knew exactly where Durango was going with that question.

I thought of that, too. Tested my own blood both in the hospital lab and sent it to an independent lab. Neither test showed anything.

Nothing that hadn’t already washed out of your system.

She smiled mirthlessly. I thought of that, too. It could only be a handful of things.

Durango sat back, crossing his arms over his chest as his thoughts danced over the details.

You said they told you there was a video.

Yes. The assistant district attorney said that they have traffic camera footage that shows me behind the wheel seconds before the accident.

Have you seen the footage?

Not yet. They haven’t been very forthcoming.

Durango nodded. They wouldn’t be. They don’t want to show their hand before they’ve got a good case built up.

She ran her fingers through her short hair again, pulling more of it up on end. They’re saying that I did it intentionally, that they can prove that I sped up in the seconds before the crash. They say I targeted him.

Him? The victim?

Yes.

He wasn’t just a random driver?

He wasn’t driving. He was jogging along the side of the road.

After midnight?

She shrugged a single shoulder. It was his habit. One I knew about, which is why the DA is saying I knew where to find him.

You knew the victim?

She bit her bottom lip for a second, a sexy move that made something deep in Durango’s body come alive. It was a habit Sarah had had, too.

I guess I should have led with that information. She sighed, leaning forward. His name was Kaden Woodriff. He was an aide to my father a few years ago.

An aide? As in a medical assistant?

No. As in a political aide. As in an intern who tells lies and bullies the press.

It hit Durango in that moment that he’d recognized her last name the second she walked through the door, that he recognized her somehow, too. But he hadn’t been able to put his finger on it until just now.

Naylor. You’re Roan Naylor’s daughter.

Her eyes darkened at the sound of her father’s name, but she nodded her head just enough to give him a positive answer.

Our former governor? One of the current senators that represent our fine state?

Yes. That’s my father.

Durango tilted his head slightly, finding it amusing to meet someone else who was less than proud of their parental units. He wondered what had caused her dark feelings. He didn’t ask.

What, exactly, do you want Mastiff Security to do for you?

She sat up a little straighter and took a deep breath. My lawyer moves on his own time. He hasn’t even hired a private detective yet to prove the traffic camera footage is incorrect. He thinks—my lawyer—that we’d have a better chance if we just let this thing play out. He says that by the time we go to court in a year or two, the DA will have lost interest and be willing to drop charges or allow me to plead to a lesser charge. A slap on the wrist.

You don’t believe that?

Dr. Naylor looked at Durango like he had just admitted to being completely insane.

My career relies as much on reputation as it does on skill. I’ve already lost several patients, and the hospital board is threatening to remove my privileges if I don’t resolve this quickly. I need this over.

You want us to investigate?

I do. I want you to prove I couldn’t have been behind that wheel.

Durango’s eyes moved slowly over the green bruises on her face, the bandage wrapped around her wrist. She made an impatient gesture, waving his concern away.

These injuries could have been made from anything.

You don’t remember getting them?

No. And I can tell you from experience that the bruises on my face are not consistent with an airbag deployment.

Durango had to agree with that. He’d seen bruises and scrapes caused by an airbag that had deployed. Those were not them.

What about your car? What condition is it in?

Just like you’d think a car involved in a hit and run would look. There are dents, a broken windshield, deployed airbags . . . there’s even blood on the hood and windshield. She paled a little. I can believe that my car was used in the accident. But I wasn’t driving.

Okay. Durango got up and went to his desk, pulling open a drawer and pulling out their standard contract. I have the perfect operative to put on this. He was a police detective in Decatur before coming to work for us.

Sounds good.

I need you to go over this contract and sign it if you wouldn’t mind. And he’ll want to meet with you, have you go over your story again.

No problem.

Great. Durango handed her the contract and settled back in his chair, crossing his ankle over his knee as he looked her over. Can I ask one thing?

Sure.

Did you have a beef with the victim? Is there probable motive?

She hesitated, the pen he’d given her held just above the signature line on the contract. When she looked at him, her eyes were once again dark with emotion.

We were engaged. He cheated on me.

Chapter 2

––––––––

Springfield, Illinois

––––––––

McHale Irish Pub

––––––––

That’s some watch you have on there.

Thanks.

Did your boyfriend buy that for you? Or husband?

No, I bought it for myself. I like to treat myself from time to time. Don’t need a man for that.

Oh, you’re one of those, huh? The kind of woman who doesn’t need a man?

I need a man, just not to spoil me. I can take care of myself.

Then what you need a man for?

The woman smiled, a blush burning her cheeks. What do you think I need a man for?

Calder smiled, brushing a hand over the top of his head to smooth down his long hair. He glanced at her quite aware of the interest in her eyes. It was exactly what he’d been going for. He leaned toward her and ran his fingers over the back of her hand. He liked that she didn’t pull away.

While you know, I have a place just down the street.

Calder’s eyebrows rose. Just like that?

She smiled brightly, her eyes moving slowly over the length of him. The interest in her eyes rose 50 percent. She seemed to like what she saw underneath his tight jeans and loose sports coat. Most women did.

You live in this neighborhood? You must make good money.

The watch didn’t give it away?

I suppose it should have. He turned toward her and again ran his fingers over the back of her arm, his finger brushing the diamonds on her watch. You must have a heck of a job.

Her eyes dipped a little, brushing over the top of the bar. Was that shame he was seeing in her eyes? Or was it just her attempt at being humble?

I work hard for what I have.

Don’t we all?

She turned to him then, resting her hand on his knee before letting it slide slowly up his thigh. She leaned in close enough that he could feel her lips just an inch from his jaw. He turned toward her, a smile on his lips. He could almost taste her kiss already. He wondered if she could taste his.

I have to admit to some curiosity, however.

She groaned. Are you always this curious about the women you take home?

I’m just naturally curious, I suppose.

She moved even closer to him, her lips brushing the edge of his jaw. Her lips were heavily glossed. He could almost feel the thickness of it against his skin.

There were certain perks to this job.

He turned his head toward her, enough to tease her into thinking he was about to kiss her. He could feel her breath against his lips; her hand sliding further up his thigh. There was a certain ache in his lower belly, one he hadn’t satisfied in a long time. But it wasn’t happening tonight either.

Are you a lawyer or something?

She groaned again, a definite amount of frustration in her voice. Does it really matter?

I just want to know who I’m going home with.

She giggled a little, another blush burning her cheeks. To tell you the truth, I’m not much more than a glorified secretary. But there are certain ways to get what you want if you know what I mean.

Now we were getting somewhere.

"Wish I knew that trick. I could sure use a little extra