Convincing Laci: Gray Wolf Security Shifters New Mexico, #2

By Glenna Sinclair

This is the second book of the second series of Gray Wolf Security Shifters and contains over 50,000 words of paranormal romantic suspense. For the best reading experience, it is highly recommended to start from the beginning with Pack of Misfits, Gray Wolf Security Shifters.

 

Carlos Martinez has a reputation for being something of a womanizer. When he walked into his boss' office that day, he knew she was the prettiest woman in that room and that he'd ever seen. How is he supposed to pretend to be her husband and not notice those beautiful eyes or that delicate nose?

 

But Laci Zane has lived her whole life in a testosterone-driven society, she's grown weary of the sexist attitudes she's had to overcome to be an FBI agent. Convincing Laci he isn't what he appears to be is going to be a Herculean task for Carlos.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glenna Sinclair
• Release date: Feb 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224000128

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: Dibe

I saw him the moment I walked in. He was sitting at the bar, hunched over a beer with several shot glasses scattered around, attesting to the number of boilermakers he’d had since he’d arrived. Too many from the look of it. But he wasn’t anywhere near ready to pass out. If he was like other shifters I’d known in my lifetime, it took an awful lot of liquor to knock a man like him off his feet. But he was trying.

It wasn’t the first time this week he’d been here. Just two nights ago he’d gotten so drunk that the cops were called, and Joshua had had to convince the local cops not to make a clearly warranted arrest. It was ugly, and Joshua was none too happy about it. If he knew I was here now, he wouldn’t like that either.

I sidled up next to this man I’d only known a few weeks and gestured to the bartender. It was a quiet night, a Tuesday in what had been a generally quiet week. The bar was only moderately busy, slow enough that the bartender could keep up with the football game playing on the television behind him. I almost felt bad for disturbing him.

Rum and coke, I said when he came over.

That’s a girl’s drink, Creed commented.

Yeah? What’s a man’s drink?

He lifted the beer and swallowed nearly the entire mug in one gulp. When he was done, he slammed it down on the top of the bar with a deep burp that was both impressive and disgusting.

The bartender returned with my drink, quickly returning to the football game as a series of groans rose on the other side of the room. I guess their team had had an interception or something.

You don’t have to come down here and babysit me.

I glanced at Creed. What makes you think my being here has anything to do with you?

Because you’ve never set foot in here in the two weeks I’ve been coming here until tonight.

You come here every night? I asked, feigning ignorance.

He shrugged, gesturing to the bartender. He wanted another even though he’d drunk enough to put a horse in his grave. When you’re nursing a broken heart, there’s no better place to go.

Somehow I imagined a man like you didn’t have enough of a heart to get it broken.

"Surprised me, too," he said, lifting his fresh shot of whiskey in a little toast before downing it in one great swallow.

She must be something special.

He shrugged, glancing at me with his beer halfway to his mouth. "What about you? I hear you’ve been playing a bit of a dangerous game with your ex, too."

Is that right? Who’s been spreading rumors?

Probably the same little bird who told you I was here tonight.

I shook my head. I don’t think Regan knows much about my private life.

His eyes narrowed a little at the mention of his friend and the office manager back in Minnesota, the place he’d called home before coming here. She’d called me less than an hour ago and said she was concerned about Creed. Apparently the woman he’d had something of an affair with over the few months before he left Minnesota had married their mutual boss, Tunstall Grayson, last week in a private ceremony in Canada. Regan was concerned because she’d accidentally let the cat out of the bag during a brief conversation with him a few days ago and hadn’t been able to get him to respond to calls or texts since. This Regan person was certainly a naïve young woman... but I was glad to have had the heads-up.

Though I’d already kind of known. Creed had told Joshua about it in his drunken stupor a couple of days ago.

I’m sorry, Creed, I said, sipping at my own drink. I know it’s not easy to see someone you care about get on with their lives.

"It’s not that she’s getting on with her life. I’m actually happy for her—at least I think I am. I just... He sighed, drinking from his beer again. She didn’t have to be in such a damn hurry about it, did she?"

I thought about Denton, the man I’d believed was my soul mate, of all the quiet nights we’d spent together and the promises he’d whispered to me in intimate moments. I’d imagined us running my business together, living a long and fulfilling life together, the kind my mother never got the chance to have. But all that time, he was planning on starting his own business and running mine into the ground. Instead of another woman, he’d cheated on me with a business that he’d managed to get off the ground faster and more successfully than he had the right to do.

I think love is overrated. I don’t think I’m going to date again anytime soon.

You don’t do Tinder or Bumble or some of those other dating apps?

I guess I’m not that hip.

He laughed. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone use that word in a while.

Point proven.

He laughed again before lifting the mug of beer to his lips. I watched him, watched the way his hands moved over the smooth glass, the way his long fingers tapered into blunt nails that were so well manicured I’d almost swear he’d gone to a salon. Strong hands. Masculine hands. I bit my lip, forcing my eyes away. I always looked at a man’s hands first. There was something about them, something that always either jumpstarted attraction, or ended it before it began.

Creed had really good hands.

I drank deep of my rum and coke, the burn of the alcohol almost a pleasure. My grandfather used to tell me that a person should only drink when they were celebrating something. Drinking in moments of despair was what led to alcoholism and more despair. I knew, logically, he had a point. But it sure felt good to drink when life was heading down a road that seemed too difficult to navigate.

I heard that the tribal police handed Kyle Lapahie over to the Albuquerque police today.

I nodded. We’d just wrapped a case in which a man from Connecticut had used a couple of hotheads from the Navajo Reservation to trap a couple of business owners into a deal that had led to two men’s deaths and the kidnapping of a young woman. We’d managed to save the girl, but only after her father was murdered in his hospital room. The police believed that his death was the result of a malfunctioning oxygen system, but we knew better. Dragons could be quite vicious when they wanted to be.

Creed had proven to be a huge help in that case. It had helped to alter my opinion of this man who’d barged into my office and began openly spying on my managerial skills for the man who’d bought us out a few months back.

I heard rumors he’s going to plead guilty, but I guess we’ll have to wait and see.

How’s Joshua since Miss Carmichael left town?

I rolled my shoulders, thinking that I was surprised Joshua wasn’t sitting there beside us. Joshua was one of the most by-the-book sort of people I’d ever met. He was the last person I’d ever have suspected would fall for a client—or in this case a client’s daughter—but he had. Unfortunately, she lived in Connecticut and had returned to help settle her father’s accounts.

Maybe we should all give up on love.

Creed held up his beer. I’ll toast on that.

We touched glasses and both took another sip. I was thinking I should probably head back to the warehouse, finish up some paperwork I’d left on my desk when I’d got Regan’s call. But then Creed called for another round and I found myself enjoying that burn of alcohol until it was Creed who had to help me out the door and into an Uber.

We should do this again sometime, I said, only partially aware of the slur of my words.

Anytime, sweetheart, Creed said with that charming smile of his.

You better put that thing away. I touched the side of his face lightly, brushing my fingertip against a small dimple. It’s lethal.

His smile only widened. I’ll take that as a compliment. He carefully pushed me down into the backseat of the car and backed away. Have a good night, Dibe Haskie.

You’re not coming with?

I think it would be better for us both if I get my own car. He dropped a wink before slamming the car door, causing the Uber driver to curse under his breath. And then we were gone, and Creed was just a dot in the rear window. I twisted around to watch him until he disappeared, my mind going to places I would regret later.

He was an impossibly handsome man. I didn’t normally like guys with long hair, but on Creed it was just... perfect. It fit who he was as a man, fit his personality to a tee. And those strong hands that led up to strong, broad shoulders, that chest with impossibly well-defined pecs, and the washboard stomach I knew he hid under his snug shirts. Don’t get me started on the tight jeans he preferred, those low-riders that accentuated places that probably didn’t need that much accentuation. He was masculine in ways that made my bones turn to liquid.

But Denton had been that kind of masculine. He still was.

I couldn’t afford to let myself get lost in a man I couldn’t trust. And if there was any man I couldn’t trust right now, it was Creed Jones.

***

I had the worst headache when I woke late the following morning. Pain burned through my entire body with every footstep, with every noise. I moved slowly, taking a cold shower in hopes of curing the hangover, but the pain of the freezing needles of water hitting my body only made it worse.

I walked slowly down the stairs, wincing when Joshua met me at the bottom, a handful of messages in one hand.

We had a busy night, he said as way of greeting.

I touched my head, groaning softly. Could you speak quieter? And slower?

Joshua frowned. Denton stop by last night?

I shot him a dirty look. My drinking habits don’t always involve visits from Denton Isaacs.

Joshua didn’t respond to that, but there was a slight expression of amusement in his eyes. I brushed past him only to be ambushed as I walked into my office by a young couple, the woman charging toward me the moment she saw me, talking so quickly that I couldn’t quite keep up with what she was saying. Something about a lawyer and a baby and lies and... I don’t know. My head was pounding too hard for me to listen.

Who are you? I asked, aware that it was a rude way to start things but needing to get to the raw facts as quickly as possible.

I’m Nanabah—Nana—and this is my husband, Notah Begay. We’re from the res. We heard that you sometimes take cases for people who can’t pay.

I frowned. That was a bone of contention between me and Creed. He agreed that taking the occasional pro bono case was okay, but the number of pro bono cases I’d taken over the three years of our existence were far too many, according to him. He insisted that we needed to focus right now on paying cases. And, while I saw his point, I wasn’t sure he fully understood the kind of people who lived in this area, the people I’d opened my doors to help.

What’s your problem? I asked as politely and noncommittally as I could even though I could see from the look on Joshua’s face that this simple question was probably already crossing some line Creed wouldn’t like.

I walked around my desk and took a seat while Joshua stood beside the door with his arms crossed over his chest, a look of disapproval written all over his handsome face. How was it I’d come to be surrounded by all these great-looking men?

That was a question for another day, I supposed.

We live on the res, Nana began, her words slower than they’d been before but still too loud and too quick for my taste, and we’ve had some financial troubles. It’s hard to make a living these days, you know? I mean, I work and so does Notah, but it never seems to be enough. And then last year we discovered we were pregnant. She paled a little as she said the words, her hand going automatically to her belly. We were desperate because we knew we couldn’t afford a child. Not right now. We just... we needed more time to get our lives together, you know?

Notah put his arm around his young wife—was she his wife? Girlfriend? Sometimes it was hard to tell—and pulled her closer to his side in a move to comfort her. Nana took a deep breath, glancing up at him as she did. There was clearly love there.

Was it bad that I envied them?

I sat back and ran my fingers through my loosely falling hair, my head still pounding in places it had no right to. Creed slipped through the door at that moment, clearly unaffected by our mutual drinking binge the night before. He smiled that charming smile—setting off a memory that brought color to my cheeks—settling back beside Joshua to listen to the Begays tell their story.

We heard there was this lawyer in Albuquerque who could help us, Notah continued his wife’s story. They said he could help us put the child into foster care until we could take her back and care for her ourselves. They said he’d even allow us to choose the family who would care for her. It was supposed to be temporary, but when we went to get our baby girl back, we were told we’d signed adoption papers.

We never did that! Nana cried. We didn’t want to give our baby up! We just wanted some time, to make a better life for her!

She began to cry, great sobs escaping her lips as she buried her head against her husband’s shoulder.

We went to another lawyer and he said that we should have read the papers a little closer.

I leaned forward a little. I’m sorry this happened to you, I said softly. It wasn’t an uncommon story. There was a rich history of white people going to the reservations and tricking, or outright forcing, the removal of children from their biological parents’ custody and placing them up for adoption. But I’d thought that practice had ended years ago.

Was I wrong?

What can I do to help you?

Notah continued to hold his crying