CONTROLLING BROOKS (Gray Wolf Security Book 4)

by Glenna Sinclair

  It was a little after two when we stopped for lunch. I played with my club sandwich, staring out the window at the people walking by on the street as if they didn’t have a care in the world. I wanted to run out there and join them, to be a part of what they were a part of. I wanted—as difficult as it had been—to go back to the life I had before Juan.

  I watched a couple pass us, holding hands as they watched their toddler run in front of them. It seemed like such a simple existence. Boy meets girl and falls in love. Then comes baby. Or multiple babies. I always wanted to have a big family. Four, maybe even five kids. My mom used to talk about how she wanted a dozen kids, but then the cancer came and that became impossible. But she always swore she had no regrets in the family we did have.

  I didn’t want regrets. But, so far, I’d racked up quite a few.

  “How much more?” the bodyguard asked.

  I focused on him, noting the boredom written in the fine lines around his eyes.

  “Not much more. There’s a drug store across town I heard had this really cool lip gloss. I’d like to go there.”

  “Lip gloss?” He studied my face a second. “I got the impression you weren’t a makeup kind of girl.”

  “Did you now? Or maybe Juan just doesn’t like a lot of makeup on his wife.”

  He arched an eyebrow, as he continued to study me. Then he shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  I picked up a French fry and studied it, thinking how much better I could cook every bit of food on this plate. I pushed it aside, not really as hungry as I’d imagined I was. The bodyguard, on the other hand, had devoured every bit of his like I was making him work out harder than he ever had before. But I’d seen a peek at his SEALs tattoo last night when he slipped out of his jacket before he settled back in that chair he slept in. I knew he was used to a lot of physical work. His muscles kind of gave it away, too.

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I studied him, unobserved. He was picking the meat out of my sandwich, clearly not one to let anything go to waste. He was wearing that dark sports coat again, the telltale bulge under his arm still there. I wondered if he would use the gun if my life were in danger. How flattering that would be to have this man step between me and any flying bullets. But, again, he was only doing it because someone was paying him to do it. Not nearly as romantic.

  And then my eyes moved to his jaw, to the angles of his face, the curves of his shoulder. He had the slightest hint of an Adam’s apple that bobbed up and down whenever he swallowed. And his bottom lip was a little puffy, sticking out like it was begging to be nibbled.

  Such thoughts! I’d never had thoughts like this about anyone, not even Juan.

  I sat back a little, forcing my eyes to the window, crossing my arms to cover the fact that my body was responding to the crazy thoughts jumping through my mind. When I first went to work for Juan, there were these fantasies that filled my thoughts. But they were naive fantasies, the innocent kind that came from a girl who never experienced life outside the protective four walls of her father’s home. All I knew about romance and love and sex back then was what I saw in the PG movies my father allowed us to watch and what I saw between my parents before my mom died when I was thirteen. But those fantasies…they kept me awake more often than not when I first met Juan. He never noticed me the first three years I worked in his restaurant. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t noticed him.

  I imagined kisses. Soft, gentle kisses. And I imagined his hands on my face. It was always my face, never anywhere else. And I loved to imagine what he would taste like, what he would smell like. I knew he wore this expensive cologne that had undertones of cedar and lavender, but I knew there was more to his scent than just the artificial stuff he applied every morning. I heard the other girls in the kitchen talk about it, heard them say words like musk and pheromones and heat, and that just fueled my fantasies through the filter of my naivety.

  I knew better now. I knew things that I wish I could unlearn.

  And then my eyes wandered back to my bodyguard—to Elliott. His hair was trimmed, cut close to his scalp with the exception of a few loose curls that waved back from his forehead. He was clean-shaven with the exception of that fuzzy goatee my fingers wanted to dance in. His skin was a warm bronze, suggesting he spent as much time outside as he did in. But it was smooth, devoid of the characteristic wrinkles that came with an overabundance of sunlight. And those gold-rimmed, green eyes that seemed to see right through everything I did or said…and his slightly reddened lips…I was having some thoughts now that I knew I never would have thought of five years ago when Juan Alvarez walked into my life. Too bad I wasn’t smart enough to wait for an Elliott instead of jumping at the first Juan that came along.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked, his deep voice rushing over me like hollandaise sauce over a perfectly poached egg.

  “Whenever you are.”

  He stood, dropping a few bills on the table. Then he held out his hand to me, politely offering to help me out of my chair. But I was suddenly frightened that if he touched me, he would know everything that’d been going through my mind and he would laugh at my stupid fantasies. I managed to get to my feet without touching him.

  I was leaning forward a little in my seat as we approached the drugstore a good twenty minutes later. I was chewing the inside of my cheek again, as I scanned the parking lot for the van I was hoping to see. It wasn’t there, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be. We were a little early.

  Bodyguard Elliott came around and opened my door for me, once again offering his hand. Once again, I ignored it. I stepped around him and led the way inside, my heart pounding as I prayed that I hadn’t gotten the day wrong.

  I led the way up and down the aisles, aware of Elliott right beside me. I knew I’d have to shake him if this was going to work out, but shaking him was proving easier said than done. I made a beeline for the makeup aisle, picking through the lip glosses as if I really cared what color I put on my lips. It was artificial crap, and I was never a girly girl. I preferred to read cookbooks and put together original recipes than to play with dolls or design new hairstyles to wear to school. I was a cook. A sous chef. That was my passion. There was no need for makeup in the kitchen.

  I was halfway through the little bin when I heard the bell announcing someone’s entrance into the drugstore. I looked up into the little mirror in the corner and saw a familiar face. My heart jumped into my throat.

  This was it.

  I glanced at Elliott. He was standing a few feet away, looking at a display of small, stuffed teddy bears. I found myself temporarily distracted as I wondered whom he was thinking of when he looked at those. Did he have a child at home? Was he married or somehow involved? What didn’t I know about his life?

  But then I shook myself, reminding myself that he was suitably distracted and that was exactly what I’d wanted.

  I moved to the end of the aisle, pretending to look at the eye shadows, but actually watching the mirror, watching as he moved up and down the aisles. He spotted me, relief filling his features when our eyes met. I lifted a finger to my lips, smiling slightly as understanding came into his dark eyes.

  This was it. I’d waited so long for this!

  I glanced back at Elliott. He was still staring at the teddy bears, holding a dark brown one and a blue one in each of his hands. He was clearly torn as to which one to choose.

  Let him work it out on his own.

  I slipped around the end of the aisle and walked quickly to where he was standing at the back of the store. He welcomed me into his arms, hugging me tight for a long moment.

  “I didn’t think you’d make it. It’s been months!”

  “I know. He’s been keeping close tabs on me.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m good,” I said, touched by his concern. “How’s it been going?”

  “Well, like I told you the last time we talked, these things take time. And there was such a delay in starting the process…”
/>   I nodded, turning as the one I’d been waiting for slowly came lumbering toward us.

  “Jimmy…”

  Chapter 6

  Elliott

  Miranda had liked drugstore makeup. Once, when I was on leave, she spent an entire afternoon dragging me around to every Walgreens in town, looking for some shade of lipstick she swore she couldn’t find anywhere else. We finally found it at a Walmart several days later. The same color of lipstick I saw on the collar of one of our neighbors a few weeks later.

  I watched Brooks look over the lip glosses for a few minutes, but it made this anger I couldn’t explain build in my chest, so I turned my attention to these little teddy bears on display at the end of the aisle. I found myself wondering if Chase and Adam would like something like that. Chase was David’s kid and Adam my fellow operative, Ingram’s, kid. They lived upstairs in the main house at the moment, always running around, getting under foot. You’d think it would be annoying, but it really wasn’t. They were good boys.

  I had just about decided on two of the bears when I looked up and found Brooks gone.

  Hell! I should have known better!

  I dropped the teddy bears and rushed to the end of the aisle. There were security mirrors high in the corners that revealed just about every blind spot in the place. I saw her, in the very back, talking to two men. I rushed back there, my first thought to protect her from any possible threats. My second was a little bit of glee—and a stab of disappointment—to see that my instincts were right.

  She was a cheater.

  But then I approached at a quick walk and realized there was something wrong with the one man’s face. She was standing close to him, whispering words I couldn’t quite make out. The man had his hands on her shoulders, tears wet on his cheeks. But his expression was bland, his mouth slack. One of his eyes was drooping like he’d had a stroke or something, and the other was devoid of emotion. He just didn’t look right.

  The other man, standing back a few feet as though he was trying to give them space, was a good-looking guy in his late twenties. He was wearing jeans and a dark t-shirt, his hands buried in his pockets as he was trying not to intrude but was also clearly trying to hear everything Brooks was saying.

  What the hell was going on here?

  The first man made a sort of grunting sound. That spurred the second man to move over closer to the two of them.

  “Brooks,” he said softly, “moderation. Remember?”

  She glanced at him, tears shining in her eyes. Then she spotted me, and it was as if someone had pulled a plug. Her shoulders slumped and her expression went from elation to disappointment to despair.

  She turned to the first man, stroking his cheek with her fingers.

  “I love you, Jimmy,” she whispered softly before turning away. She touched the other man’s arm, squeezing it even as he touched the back of her hand, a soft smile on his lips.

  “I’ll call you.”

  She nodded. Then she walked off, not even acknowledging me.

  We drove back to the house in silence. She stared out the window the whole way, occasionally reaching up to brush her cheek like she was wiping away tears. I didn’t know what to say to her. I had no freaking idea what the hell was going on here.

  When we got to the house, she barged in like a woman on a mission. Instead of going upstairs to her rooms, she marched down the corridor that eventually ended in the massive, restaurant-style kitchen. She was banging pots when I walked in, tossing them onto the massive gas stove, her expression set into one of determination.

  “Put yourself to use,” she called to me when she saw me watching. “Come chop some vegetables.”

  “Brooks, maybe you shouldn’t—”

  But she’d already moved on, tugging fresh ingredients out of the refrigerator and the cupboards, piling so much on the counter that she had to move some of it to the long butcher block island in the center of the room. She glared at me, her expression saying more than any words could. I obediently moved up alongside her and took the knife she offered.

  We worked side by side for a while, the only words breaking the silence were instructions she barked at me as she sautéed this and grilled that. I watched her in awe, moving effortlessly around the room, chopping vegetables in ways I’d never imagined could be physically done, manipulating pans around the flame with intense skill, doing things that I thought only professional cooks could do. It was quite an impressive display. And when it was all done, we had this beautiful, four-course meal set out in front of us.

  “My God!” I mumbled, as I took the first bite of the French Onion soup with this wonderful cheese melted over the top. I hadn’t thought that it would be good, but…OMG!! Then there was this beautiful salad with a lovely but light vinaigrette on it. It was sweet but had the bite of vinegar, too. Then there was a prime rib that was cooked better than the steak house downtown I loved to go to with mashed potatoes that were warm and creamy and had just the right hint of garlic in them. She’d sautéed fresh green beans, too, in butter and garlic and something else that I couldn’t quite name. And then she topped it all off with a light pudding and chocolate covered grapes. I’d never seen anything like it before, but it was all so delicious that I couldn’t stop eating.

  Brooks, on the other hand, sat back and just watched me, barely touching her food.

  “You’re an amazing cook! Where did you learn this?”

  “I was sous chef at Romero’s.”

  I paused, a grape halfway to my mouth. “Romero’s? Isn’t that one of your husband’s restaurants?”

  “That’s how we met, Einstein.”

  I sat back, popping the grape in my mouth. “Where did you go to school?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t. I started working at Romero’s as a line cook and the chef promoted me until I made it to sous chef.”

  “You learned on the job?”

  “If you pay close enough attention, you can learn just about anything by observation.”

  “It’s still…that’s impressive. You have some serious skills.”

  “Yeah, well, the plan was to work at Romero’s a few years and then move on to my own restaurant. But I’ve been sort of sidelined.”

  “I’d eat at your restaurant.”

  She smiled. It wasn’t a full, happy smile like she’d flashed a few times during the day, but a small, pleased smile. But it was enough.

  I leaned forward a little and studied her face. “Can I ask you a question?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you finally going to ask what was happening in the drugstore?”

  I shook my head. “I’m more interested in why your husband left you behind when he went out of the country.”

  “He never takes me on business trips with him.”

  “Why not? I’d think you’d be an asset on such trips.”

  She shook her head as she pushed her food around her plate with her fork. “The reason Juan married me has nothing to do with that part of his work. In Mexico, I’m just a novelty that distracts his business associates from what he’s there to discuss.”

  “The reason he married you? There’s more to it than the usual stuff?”

  “What’s the usual stuff?”

  I shrugged, thinking about Miranda. “Love. Romance. Sex.”

  She blushed brightly, her cheeks almost glowing. “You have personal experience in that?”

  “I do.”

  She glanced at me, her eyes made larger by surprise. I saw her eyes flicker over my left hand, as though she was searching for a wedding ring. I glanced at my hand, too, remembering the look of the simple silver ring on that finger. I was so proud to put that ring on. So proud to wear it. But it was like an amputation to take it off.

  “Where’s your wife now? How does she feel about you spending so much time with people like me?”

  “I’m not married anymore.”

  She bit her lip, her head tilting down toward the table. “Did you have kids?”

/>   “No.”

  She nodded, glancing at me. “I saw you looking at the teddy bears. I thought, maybe…”

  “No. I was thinking about a couple of little kids who live at the compound where our security firm is based.”

  Our eyes met then. She smiled, a much more genuine smile than before.

  “That’s sweet.”

  I shrugged. “It was just a passing thought.”

  She put down her fork and leaned back, adjusting so that she could tuck her legs under her bottom. She kind of sighed, her eyes moving slowly over my face.

  “He’s my brother.”

  My opinion of her had already shifted a little, but that little nugget made it shift hugely.

  “Your brother?”

  “The boy at the drugstore. He was in an accident three years ago. The doctors said he needed a specific treatment that was only available at one place here in Austin. And—of course—it was a private institute that I couldn’t afford.” She picked up a sliver of lettuce and played with it. “All I could do was get him to the free clinic downtown, and all they would do was give him all these drugs he didn’t need and send him home. They didn’t work with him, didn’t refer him to a physical therapist or a speech therapist or any of the specialists he needed. It was bad. He was in a wheelchair, and he just sat there all day, drooling on himself.”

  I could see the grief on her face. It was as if it had all happened yesterday, the way the emotion danced across her face.

  “What about your parents? Where are they?”

  She sighed. “My mom died when I was thirteen. Ovarian cancer. And my dad had a heart attack a year before Jimmy’s accident.”

  “That’s rough.”

  She nodded. “He was seventeen, a senior in high school. He was so smart…he had a full ride to Stanford. Now some other kid is due to graduate next spring on his scholarship.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She pressed her fingers under her braid, tugging at her hair like she was trying to pull it out. She straightened up again, her eyes moving shyly over my face.