Sam: Full Moon Security, #1

By Glenna Sinclair

This is a stand-alone novel containing over 80,000 words of paranormal romantic suspense. If you enjoy the characters, you can continue with more books in the Full Moon Security series. This is the first book of the Full Moon Security series.

 

Follow the shifters of Full Moon Security as they fight hard for family, friendship, and love. 

Like all the other agents of FMS, Samuel Fitzgerald left the US Government's secretive Paranormal Research Board to focus entirely on protecting the homeland. But when Col. Harrington disappeared six months before with no word, their supernatural-focused missions seemed to have disappeared with him, and now they're stuck working plain old, boring security cases. That is, until Sam and his dragonkin boss get a call on a phone they didn't know Harrington possessed. A demon-worshiping cult has surfaced in East Texas, and it's up to him to save the small town of Potterswell, and the most beautiful coroner's assistant he's ever met: Faith Riley. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glenna Sinclair
• Release date: Mar 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9798224795031

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 One – Faith

Lemme tell ya, Faith757, read the instant message from RoughNeck90 on my screen, I’ve been in oil and gas a few years, and one of the things it’s taught me is how to lay some pipe. And, baby, that picture of yours has got me wanting to get my tools out. What do you say? You wanna find out how good I am at it?

I fought back the urge to both burst out laughing and burst into tears. I just shook my head silently and mouthed the word no as I tried to dispel the image of me morphing into an oil derrick, which RoughNeck90’s message had inadvertently inspired.

And, geez, that picture he’d seen on my dating profile wasn’t even all that evocative. It was just one from a sorority party I’d gone to a couple years before, some formal wear thing. It barely showed any skin, just a nice blouse and a pencil skirt, and this guy was acting like I was strip-teasing for him.

I slapped a hand to my forehead and clicked off the web browser on my computer’s desktop.

Oh my God. This is what I was dealing with in the middle of nowhere. This, this right here, is what my dating life had been reduced to. I never should have listened to Veronica about moving out into the middle of nowhere to work on her friend’s damn farm. Never. But what had I done right after graduation? I’d packed up my stuff and joined Veronica for a chance to buy into an organic farm. Sweat equity, they’d called it. Work for six months, get a portion of the business, and go from there. Live a life of good, honest work. Get your exercise in, never have to commute to your job. It had sounded like the perfect way to get my bearings in the world, to really take some time to think about what I wanted, all while having a chance to build up an investment in the long run that I could sell off.

But what was I doing, instead? Sitting here, in the county morgue of Potterswell, Texas, on a perfectly good Tuesday morning, looking through my dating profiles on my work computer because cell service was almost virtually nonexistent this far out in the eastward boonies. All while I made just above minimum wage to pretty much just stay in one place and let the smell of formaldehyde, disinfectants, and rot soak into my hair and clothes.

And why was I here?

Because Tad, Veronica’s friend, had taken all the money from the first harvest and skipped town to go travel through Thailand or something on his trust fund. He’d left us high and dry, with the rent on the farm behind, our names on the lease, and no money to buy seed or anything.

I’d gone to school! I’d done what I was supposed to!

I had a bachelor’s degree in English, and could have gone on to at least get my teaching certificate or something. Or I could have sold real estate, or written articles, or done literally anything other than be out in the middle of nowhere helping the medical examiner at the county morgue cut up dead bodies.

And what was I to do about dating? Go to Mac’s Blue Note Marina down at the lake and just let guys buy me drinks? I mean, these damn dating websites were really all I had! It was either them, or just be a spinster. Or go out drinking all the time with Veronica and bring home God only knew who—or what.

Five farm cats, two lap dogs, and no makeup. That was the life I was looking at, otherwise. I just knew it.

And what’s around me here, besides corpses? I groaned. Nothing but a bunch of cavemen.

What was that, Faith? Dr. Lawrence, my boss, called from his office, his thin, elderly voice warbling as it came through the doorway right next to my little desk at the front of the building. Were you saying something to me?

I winced a little as I leaned back in the chair, craning my head so I could see Dr. Lawrence. No, Doc, I called back, my voice filled with as genuine a chipperness as I could muster under these awful circumstances, a smile plastered on my face like fresh spackle.

Guess my hearing isn’t what it used to be, he said, smiling a little as he adjusted his wire-framed glasses and went back to looking over the documents spread out in front of him on his desk. Could have sworn you were saying something to me. Sounded like you were upset.

Nope, I replied, shaking my head a little.

Oh, okay, Faith. Never you mind, then.

A little pang of guilt stabbed at me. I didn’t like lying to my boss, even about something this small and simple and white. He was a sweet little old man, and he’d never once raised his voice at me or given me any kind of lecturing or talking to. Also, he was always all business, and very serious. Which, after some of the waiting tables jobs I’d had to take to put myself through school, was certainly a welcome change of pace. I’d never once had to tell him to move his eyes up to mine, or slap a wandering hand away.

No, lying to him was bad. Even for something small like this. He didn’t deserve that. I leaned back again in the chair, cleared my throat. Dr. Lawrence? I called.

The head medical examiner looked up from his desk, eyebrow raised. Yes, Faith?

I opened my mouth and was just about to tell him the truth of what had upset me when the chime on the county morgue’s front door went off, drawing his attention away from me.

We didn’t have any scheduled intakes today, did we? Dr. Lawrence asked as he rose slowly from his desk.

I shook my head. Not that I recall, no.

Doc Lawrence, you old hound dog, called a deep, drawling voice from the front entrance as the examiner came around from behind his desk. Something about the sound of the words made me think of old leather, like a well-worn saddle or pair of cowboy boots. You in here still, or you packed up for the night like the lazy layabout I know you to be?

I looked to the source of the voice. It was a tall, angular man wearing a work coat over a button-up western shirt, heavy work jeans, and a big, functional cowboy hat, with a face that was almost as leathery as his voice had sounded. His hat was the kind that was straw, not fancy, and meant to be worn out on the farm instead of out dancing. In fact, I had one just like it hanging from the back of my bedroom door at the unproductive farm I was still paying rent on with Veronica.

The man caught sight of me behind my desk, and a look came over his face like I’d caught him in the nude as he abruptly took off his hat and held it against his chest. Pardon me, ma’am, thought it was just the Doc in here. Didn’t mean no disrespect by my informality.

I blushed a little. It had been a while since anyone had been so polite to me, and I couldn’t help my reaction. Something about his thick, strangely articulate drawl just made it even more blush-inducing, even if he was a much older gentleman.

Yes, I’m here, Dr. Lawrence called back with a touch of irritation as he reached his office door. One look at our visitor, though, and he just laughed a quiet, but genuine, little laugh. Old Ebenezer, should’ve known that was you from the sound of your voice.

Been awhile, Ebenezer said, closing the distance between the two of them, one hand extended like an olive branch as he continued to clutch the hat to his chest with the other. Ain’t surprised you didn’t recognize me at first. Wasn’t even sure if you were still riding herd up here, or not.

The doctor took his hand. No, no, they haven’t put me out to pasture yet. Still have a few years in me, that’s for sure. Faith, meet Ebenezer Shook, one of the local ranchers. His family’s been in these parts for the last, I don’t know, three generations. Eb, meet my new assistant, Faith Riley.

I went to stand, but Eb held out a hand to stop me. Don’t trouble yourself, ma’am. You don’t wanna touch this hand, anyhow.

And I would? Dr. Lawrence asked with a little, rasping laugh.

Didn’t ask you the last time you washed your hands, now did I? Eb asked with a smile so slight you’d have missed if it you were across the room.

Fair enough, the old medical examiner replied, cracking a grandfatherly grin. Abruptly, though, that grin began to fade. Now, what’s going on, Eb? What brings you down here like this? Could’ve called if you just wanted to catch up.

Not sure if I should mention the details with a lady present. Kinda gruesome.

Faith here can handle herself, I’m sure. She’s assisted me on her share of examinations and autopsies in the past few months. Haven’t you, Faith?

Yeah, I said, of course I can.

See? Coyote get to one of your calves again, Eb?

Immediately, the old rancher’s face changed, and even the smallest of small smiles he still had on his face melted away, replaced by just a stony, flat pressing of his already thin lips. Hoping so. But not a calf, this time, but one of my hogs. He glanced towards me for a moment, maybe to gauge my reaction. I wasn’t sure. Remember back in ’75, Doc?

Dr. Lawrence glanced towards me, his eyes shifting and uncertain. He didn’t reply, only nodded at the old rancher.

Suddenly, I felt like a five-year-old in the presence of her parents talking about S-E-X. Like they knew if they stopped and moved to another room to continue their discussion, they’d just encourage more questioning from me.

Got another one.

Something about the way he said it sent a tingle down my spine and made the sparse, blonde hair on my arms stand on end as goosebumps rippled up my skin.

My boss made a face, then turned away. You sure? But you said it was a pig this time, though.

Looks the same to me. But what do I know? I’m just a rancher, Doc.

But you’re sure? Dr. Lawrence repeated, his complexion paler than at the beginning of the conversation.

That’s what I brought it here to you for, ain’t it?

You brought it here?

Out in the back of my truck.

I looked from Eb to Dr. Lawrence, and back again. Brought what? I asked.

Go ahead, Eb. Tell her.

Mutie.

Mutie? I asked, my eyebrows scrunched down.

Livestock mutilation, Dr. Lawrence clarified. Had a big spate of them in the 70s through here, same as most of the places with cattle around that time. Ours, though, was all kinds. What few goats we had, hogs and sows.

I wrinkled up my nose, cringed back in my seat a little without even realizing what I was doing. The last thing I wanted to see was some sort of mutilated pig.

The doctor turned back around to face his old friend. Well, I suppose you should bring it around to the back. We’ll use the loading bay where we bring the bodies in.

Right, Eb drawled as he turned on one cowboy boot heel and headed back out to the front door.

Oh, and Eb, Dr. Lawrence called, causing the old rancher to stop and turn back to him, be discreet, will you? I know you will be, but I don’t want to upset any folks who might be wandering by. You remember the hysteria.

Eb nodded as he put his cowboy hat on and exited through the front door and into the daylight.

Cattle mutilation? I asked as the door closed behind the old cowboy, the chime mingling with my words. You’re serious, right?

Yes, Dr. Lawrence replied, the tone of his voice completely no-nonsense.

Shouldn’t that be like, I don’t know, a vet thing? Or maybe the X-Files?

Normally, I’d agree with you. But Eb Shook’s a friend. Besides, that vet Brinks across town likely hasn’t dealt with anything like this. They were all before his time. He stopped, turning back to me. Faith, could you set out my equipment? We’ll be needing it.

Slightly shaken by this change in Dr. Lawrence’s demeanor, I just nodded along. I mean, who was I to question the county’s chief medical examiner, or the reincarnation of the Marlboro Man who was about to drag a mutilated hog carcass into the morgue? I was just some young woman with an English degree under her belt. They were the ones who’d dealt with this before. Right?

I shuffled back out to my little desk, and past it, down the short hall and into the green-tiled examination room where we did all our autopsies. Entering the room was like walking into a refrigerator, the temperature much cooler than we normally kept it in the office, and the harsh smell of antiseptic cleaners and a hundred other chemicals touched my nose as I stepped through the door. Even after six months on the job, I still wasn’t used to the smell.

The examination room wasn’t much to look at. A single table, overhead lights. Along the side wall were coolers where we kept most of the intake corpses we were working on. Across from them, on the opposite side of the room, was a sterile and meticulously kept work table where the doctor or I could fill out our needed paperwork. Against the rest of the walls were various pieces of furniture for storage: file cabinets, supply closets, shelves. And, of course, a deep metal basin set against one section of the wall where we could wash up before any procedure began.

Immediately, I went over to the sink and began to scrub down my hands and forearms, all the way up to the elbows. Toweled off and done, I went over to the large examination table we had on the far side, one of three total, and began to prepare everything. My body was practically on autopilot as my mind reeled from what was going on.

I’d heard of cattle mutilations before today. TV shows about urban legends and UFOs always seemed to have something on them. Basically, somehow animals had their blood drained and parts of their bodies cut off of them while they lay out in the field. No one, or no single thing, had ever been caught or singled out as a perpetrator.

Honestly, I’d always just giggled my way through those kinds of things while Veronica and I watched them. I mean, they just sounded so far fetched. Like, of course these all just happened from wild animals or diseases or something. That was the only logical explanation.

Right?

No one really thought UFOs were coming down and dropping off little gray men to cut up our cows and other livestock, or crazy devil-worshiping cultists were slicing and dicing Elsie.

Well, no one credible really thought that.

I glanced back over my shoulder as Dr. Lawrence came into the room and went over to one of the counters to begin filling out some paperwork. A severe mask of concentration covered his face as he turned away from me, his focus clearly on work.

But, wasn’t Dr. Lawrence credible?

Dr. Lawrence? I asked his back as I set out his scalpel and a bone saw on the little surgical tray in front of me.

Yes, Faith?

Those... I paused, trying to collect my words and thoughts before continuing. This...these muties?

Yes?

What causes them? Do you have any idea what’s doing this to the animals?

He looked back over his shoulder, a little smile playing on his lips despite just how damn heavy this whole situation felt. UFOs, I imagine. Whatever else could it be?

Not liking that he was clearly having a little fun at my expense, I turned back to my work. A few moments later, a knock came at the back door, the suddenness of it jolting me out of my concentration.

Faith, grab the table, will you? And don’t forget the masks. This one’s certain to have a certain perfume to it.

Yeah, I said. On it. I wheeled the table I’d been working on over to the back entrance, examination masks resting on top. Most of the time, the table never moved, since the EMTs always brought the bodies in on their own gurneys, and I noticed a little squeak as I began to move the table through the florescent-lit, green-tinged room. Before we stepped outside, I handed one of the examination masks over to Dr. Lawrence, and we both tugged them down into place.

Eb and his son had backed their big dually work truck up to the loading area, and now stood side-by-side in front of the laid-down tailgate, bandanas pulled over the lower halves of their faces. A tarp, deformed in the middle by a large lump, lay in the back.

And, God, that smell seeping through the protection of the mask. The sweet rot of decomposing flesh. Like someone had poured molasses or honey in a trash bin and let it all marinate in the Texas sun for three days. Luckily it was still cold outside, or it would have been even more putrid.

I knew I’d never get used to it, the way it seemed to climb into your nose and crawl down your throat till you were almost out of breath and choking on it. Like I said, right now it wasn’t as bad since we were still in the latter part of January, but any warmer and it would have been positively suffocating.

Ready, Ike? Eb asked his son, a weathered-looking rancher that was dressed similarly to his father. I couldn’t tell how old he was, really, because of the bandana helping to mask his nose and mouth from the smell.

Yep, he replied with a nod, and the two men began to haul the covered-up form out onto the tailgate as I brought up the table. When I had it in place, they slid the remains onto the metal table, causing it to jerk and shake in my hands as it took the load.

I got it, I said as Dr. Lawrence tried to take over on my side of the table. Get the other end.

He just nodded, and, together, we guided our newest intake into the morgue. As we put it into place under the overhead lights, I began to expect the worst.

Sure you’re ready for this? Eb asked.

Before I gave him a testy reply, though, I realized he was asking both me and my boss.

Yes, Dr. Lawrence replied, I think so. Are you, Faith?

I took a steadying breath that, seeing as how I was trying to avoid the smell, was as small as I could manage. Yeah, I mumbled, I think so.

Together Dr. Lawrence and I took the tarp off the dead pig.

It wasn’t just a pig, or just a rotting corpse. Instead, the skin had been peeled away from its body. All the outer layers, and all the fat beneath, leaving behind nothing but bloodless muscle and tendon and bleached white bone. The smell hit me full force, nearly knocking me off my feet, as my eyes took in all the remains of the carnage.

Looks about as I would have expected, Dr. Lawrence said at the sight unveiled.

For my part, I ran across the examination room for the sink, desperately tearing away the mask from across my nose and mouth as the bile rose in my throat. The last thing I wanted was to lose it into the mask. Heaving and gasping, my stomach muscles clenching like the worst period of my life, I purged myself into the sink, my breakfast, lunch, and coffee coming up in a fit.

Behind me, none of the three men said a word as I noisily cleared everything out of my system.

All I could think, though, as Dr. Lawrence excused himself to make a quick phone call, was about what could have done this.

What could have stripped the skin from an animal while it was out in the field overnight? Not left a single piece attached to any other bit of tissue? Gasping for air, I turned the sink on and cupped cool water into my hand, drank from it, and began to rinse out my mouth.

Maybe the doctor was right, earlier. Maybe it was UFOs? Or maybe, it was something worse.

Chapter Two – Sam

Kris, I said, leaning onto the edge of my nominal boss’s desk, my fists firmly planted on the old, heavy wood, this is bull, and you know it. This isn’t what the old man wants us doing.

My name’s Sam Fitzgerald. Ex-military, ex-government, and all heart.

Oh yeah? Kris Cole asked as she leaned back in her desk chair, crossing one long leg over the other as she folded her arms in front of her chest. She looked at me with smoldering hazel eyes that slowly began to glow a subtle, neon green like they were backlit from within her cranium. You think you know what the colonel wants more than me, huh? I’ve known that man more than a decade, Sam. A fucking decade. We’ve seen shit together that you can’t even imagine, and you’re trying to tell me what he wants us to be doing while he’s away?

She was a red-haired beauty, and wouldn’t have looked out of place up on a movie screen or a billboard advertising some fancy French perfume. Looked, though, was the operative word. Because, with a fiery line of dragon blood going through her family tree, she sure as hell would have been. In most circumstances, I’d have given her more than a wide berth. After all, dragon-blooded shifters weren’t exactly known in the stories for suffering fools lightly, and their patience certainly wasn’t limitless.

But, I was a wolf shifter. And wolves weren’t exactly known for backing down and giving up territory, either. Dragon or no dragon; glowing green eyes or no glowing green eyes.

Away? I asked, straightening up and pushing my shoulders back. Really, Kris? Come on. You know as well as I do that—

Enough, she said, leaping from her chair, her eyes flashing even brighter for a moment. That’s enough. You don’t know. None of us do. Her words never rose above a normal conversational volume, but the amount of sheer force and determination behind them was enough to make me almost take a step back.

Almost. Listen, I growled, this has nothing to do with you. This has everything to do with us not doing the job we’re supposed to be doing. I’m not going to just keep babysitting these rich bastards or these corporate clients while we’re supposed to be hunting the bad guys! There are people out there who actually need us, people who just want to live normal lives. That’s what we’re here for! Not playing bodyguard to some fucking pop singer that’s in town for the weekend!

Her eyes flashed brighter. You want a case, then?

Yes, I nearly roared back. Yes, I want a damn case!

Well, I don’t have one to give you!

I just stood there for a moment, shocked, my mouth open but not working. There it was, plain as day. The truth. I wasn’t getting any cases because there weren’t any to have.

We’d been hunters once. As members of the Paranormal Research Board, we’d been men and women who put our lives on the line to stop supernatural creatures and powers. All we’d done was stop threats to the United States government. Some bad guy found a magical artifact buried in a tomb somewhere and thought he could threaten our citizens? We’d relieve him of that little