Mastiff Security: The Complete 5 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

Durango stood and pushed Felicity toward the back of the room where they would less likely be overheard. “Our girl safe?”

  “She’s safe.”

  “Good.”

  They walked out into the studio as Susan was getting her hair and makeup refreshed. The call had already gone out to the contestants, and he could see on the monitor that they were congregating in the living room. Zola sat on the couch beside Michelle, the two putting their heads together and whispering as they waited for the others to gather. Gunner came into the room, too, stealing a look at her. But he didn’t make any other attempt to go near her or speak to her.

  Playing the game.

  Durango found himself watching the houseguests closely, not Zola, but the others. He could see a few sideways glances shooting her direction and some going out toward other players. It made him a little nervous the way Lesley looked at Zola. They’d come close to blows—Billy had been sure to show him the footage of that little incident, too—and he was convinced it might happen again. If Zola lost her temper and used her training to stop that jealous young woman, things could get bad really quick.

  “Houseguests,” Susan said, turning to address the monitor that revealed the houseguests just beyond the wall in front of which Susan stood. “We have the results for Voting Day!”

  There was a lot of strain on the faces inside the house. And some of those faces were turned in Zola’s direction. It hadn’t occurred to Durango the trouble they might cause for Zola by manipulating the vote. They hadn’t done it this time, but if they did do it later in the game, would that make Zola a target to some of the other houseguests, too? And, if so, what might that mean for the investigation.

  Suddenly, Durango was wondering if they’d done the wrong thing putting an operative directly into the game.

  “The producers, viewers, and your fellow houseguests have all voted. Michelle and Kirk, you are on the block.”

  Michelle, sitting beside Zola, squeezed her hand as she leaned over and whispered something near Zola’s ear. Kirk came over and took her other hand, pulling her off the couch and moving to the loveseat under the main monitor to face the camera.

  “Michelle and Kirk, you will be joined on the block by . . .”

  Susan hesitated, allowing the director to add a little suspenseful music at this point in the show.

  “. . . Jessica and Josh.”

  It was a surprise, even to Durango. He had assumed Gunner and Lesley would go up because of the confrontation between their girl and Lesley. But, he supposed, America had liked the conflict. It added more drama to the show.

  Jessica whimpered a little as Josh pulled her up off the couch and led her to the little love seat. The hot seat. Brian moved over to sit beside Zola and Lesley moved to be closer to Gunner as directed by the production staff who had prepped them for the shot. The director wanted their reactions, but he wanted their reaction side by side, the partners contemplating the fact that they were saved and moving on to the final two weeks of the game.

  Brian took Zola’s hand, and she let him for the first time since she stepped foot in the house. But when Lesley reached for Gunner’s hand, he got up and walked out of the living room.

  What the hell was that? Was our main suspect falling for Zola?

  * * *

  Billy gave Durango a ride back to the hotel, having showed up at the studio just in time to watch the voting reveal. He reached over and clapped Durango on the leg and laughed.

  “Fucking dramatic, brother!”

  “I don’t think she planned it.”

  “She didn’t have to. You look at that girl?” Then he laughed again. “Sorry. I forgot. Not really your type, is she?”

  “I told you, I don’t have a type.”

  “Tell that to all the blond women you’ve dated since high school.”

  Durango shook his head, thinking of Gracie. She wasn’t blond. She was more of a light brunette, the kind with gold highlights, but hair too golden to be considered a true blond. But he didn’t say any of that out loud to his brother. He didn’t see the point.

  “I appreciate you taking on this case personally, bro,” Billy said, growing serious. “I really want this thing to work out. And the ratings—we’re over the top on the last two episodes, mostly because of your gorgeous girl. If that keeps up, there’s no way the network won’t pick us up as a regular show.”

  “I hope it works out for you.”

  “I knew if anyone understood how I felt about this, it would be you. I can’t rely on my show to last forever, you know? You can only investigate so many murders before the story lines grow repetitive, right?”

  “Right.”

  “But, again, Law and Order has been on for a couple of decades.”

  “Hate to break it to you, Billy, but your show is no Law and Order.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right there. You never see Detective Briscoe pick up some hot babe at a bar and take her home for a steamy night between the sheets.”

  Durango shook his head, not sure if Billy was serious or not.

  They pulled up outside the hotel, and Billy drove up under the canopy. “I’ll let you out here. I’m flying back to Los Angeles in the morning, so I ought to get some sleep.”

  “You’re going home?”

  “Yeah. We finished up the outside shoots. Time to get down to the real business.”

  “When will you be back up this way?”

  “In a month or two, I suppose. I’ll see if I can’t be on hand for the final live show of Stranger’s Retreat. I’m as anxious to see who wins as everyone else.”

  “Be careful, brother,” Durango said, slapping him on the thigh. “We’ll keep in touch.”

  He nodded. “Always.”

  Durango climbed out of the car and watched Billy drive away, a part of him relieved to see how responsible his little stepbrother had become, a part shocked. Billy had never been the kind of guy to buckle down to studies when there was a party going on somewhere in town. Durango had saved him from more than one run in with the cops when they were teens. But that wasn’t the guy he was watching drive away tonight. And he was glad for it.

  Between his party loving brother and his woman hopping father, Durango had his hands full when he was younger. It was a relief to walk away from it all, but it was also a relief to have his brother back in his life, grown up and capable of caring for himself.

  Durango turned and went into the hotel, thinking about the game and Zola’s role in it. She was doing a fantastic job. He just hoped she didn’t do such a good job that she became a target and even the producers manipulating the vote couldn’t do anything to save her.

  Gracie was once again spread out on the couch, going through the documents that seemed to multiply like rabbits in his absence. She didn’t even look up when he came through the door, just pointed to the mini fridge to inform him of the food waiting there. They’d spent the last few nights in companionable silence, keeping their conversations to the game and Zola. And it was nice, he supposed, though not nearly as passionate as some of their other conversations had been.

  He grabbed the plate of cold chicken from the fridge and settled in a chair near her side of the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

  “Don’t do that! This isn’t your house.”

  “It’s a hotel. I’m sure people have done worse on that table. And that couch. And the bar over there. And the big tub—”

  “Okay! I get it!”

  She was blushing, which made him smile.

  Gracie lifted her glasses off her face and studied him a moment. He noticed she rarely squinted when she took the glasses off. He assumed that meant her vision wasn’t as bad as it could be. Maybe a little Lasik surgery and she wouldn’t need them anymore. He thought that would be preferable to almost anyone, but, he supposed, not Gracie. She seemed to hide behind her glasses and her perpetually frumpy clothing.

  “Long day?” she asked.

  Durango shrugged as he popped a piece
of chicken into his mouth. “Zola’s a natural at this. Any worries I had when we first started are all gone now.”

  “She seemed pretty good on the live show.”

  “She’s even better now.”

  Gracie began to gather her papers. Durango watched, a little disappointed to see her go. He finished his dinner and got up to help, shuffling papers together, noticing that some of them weren’t related to Stranger’s Retreat, but were administrative paperwork from Mastiff.

  “They have you doing office work while you’re here?”

  “I offered to help out.”

  “Like you’re not already doing enough.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I do. We left an entire staff back in Springfield. If they can’t handle running the office in our absence for a week, then they shouldn’t be in charge.”

  “It’s fine.” She stepped into him and pressed her hand to his chest almost as if she was stopping him from engaging in some sort of conflict. She still had her glasses off, and her golden-brown eyes were unmasked, revealing all the emotion she was always so careful to hide. “You have to stop worrying about things that don’t matter.”

  “You matter to me.” Her lips softly parted as a little gasp slipped from between them. He touched her face, lifting her jaw so that those perfect lips were less than a breath from his. “You matter so much more than I ever wanted you to.”

  “Durango . . .”

  “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  Color appeared high on her cheeks. “We can’t . . . You can’t . . .”

  “I know. I’ve been fighting so hard, but I’m so tired of pretending I don’t want you, that I don’t want what happened before to happen again.”

  She lowered her head and pressed her forehead to his chest. He drew her close, his hands sliding slowly down the length of her back. She fit perfectly against him, just tall enough that he didn’t have to bend too low to touch her, but petite enough to make him feel strong and protective whenever she was near. He kissed the top of her head, sighing as her scent floated all around him, that feminine smell that was more of an aphrodisiac than anything experts could imagine.

  She sighed, the heat of her breath pushing through the fabric of his shirt and burning against his skin. She pushed her head back and looked up at him. He couldn’t resist stealing a little kiss, his lips brushing softly against hers. Another sigh, this one more contentment than frustration. It was exciting and filled him with hope. But then she untangled herself from him and turned away.

  “Good night, Durango.”

  The sound of her door closing in the silence of the hotel suite was like a gunshot. He stumbled a little and fell back into the chair he’d so recently vacated.

  What the hell was he thinking? Now was not the time to strike up a romance. But the idea of her laying her head on pillows that resided so close to him; he wasn’t sure he could survive another day in this suite, so close to her, and not break.

  But what other choice did he have?

  Chapter 11

  Chicago, Illinois

  The Set of Stranger’s Retreat

  The atmosphere in the house changed instantly after the nominations for elimination were made. Michelle no longer wanted to hang out and do Zola’s hair. Kirk no longer looked at her with the same admiration in his eyes. Instead, he watched her with suspicion and a weariness that came from a place of fear. The same with Jessica and Josh. Neither of them wanted to hang out with the other members of the household to the point where they wouldn’t even sit down to a meal with anyone but each other and Michelle and Kirk.

  Zola sat by the pool in a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, the cool Chicago winter having decided to make one more pass before spring finally took hold. Her feet were dipping in and out of the water, ice cold, but refreshing in a freezing sort of way.

  “The comp this afternoon is really important,” Brian said from where he was perched on the side of the diving board. “You have to work hard to win this one.”

  “Why? We’re not up for elimination.”

  “But we could be next week, and the viewers have a long memory.”

  Zola brushed her hair over her shoulder. “Are you worried?”

  “I’m always worried.”

  She nodded, her eyes dropping again to the surface of the water.

  “We have a real chance of winning this whole thing,” Brian said, coming to sit beside her. “Don’t you think?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s hard to read an anonymous judge we have absolutely no contact with.”

  “They like you. That much was obvious at the last live show.”

  “Not necessarily. They were just curious about the girl the producers dropped into the house midseason.”

  “They like you. And that’s got to work in our favor.”

  He took her hand and pulled it onto his lap. Zola let him, as she’d been letting him since Voting Day because she knew she had to play this game to stay in long enough to find the saboteur. And that meant playing nice with her partner.

  The thing was, though, she couldn’t stop thinking about Gunner. Her instincts told her that he wasn’t the saboteur and, therefore, she didn’t need to continue to worm her way into his small circle of sociability. But there was that kiss and the taste of him that lingered on her lips for so long afterward. And the way he looked at her when he thought no one, not even she, would notice. It made her ache all over, that look. And she hated that he had such control over her.

  Brian leaned close to her and brushed his lips against her jaw. She jerked back.

  “What are you doing?”

  He jerked her arm, pulling her hard against his side so that he could whisper in her ear.

  “They want romance, Zola. They want to believe the winning couple will get married and make a dozen babies when they leave the house. We have to give them some hope of that!”

  She shook her head, trying to pull away from him. He held on to her, one hand still intertwined with her fingers, the other holding her wrist hard enough that she could feel her bones rubbing together.

  “Let me go!” she hissed.

  “I won’t lose this competition because of you!”

  She jerked again, holding back the instinct to shove a couple of fingers into his eyes or twist around to land a knee in his crotch. He let go as suddenly as he’d grabbed her. She crawled away, jumping to her feet and walking into the house, rubbing her wrist with her other hand. She could already see the bruises beginning to form, wondering what the viewers would think of that little detail.

  “You okay?”

  Gunner was in the kitchen when she walked in, smearing peanut butter on yet another slice of bread. The man ate more peanut butter than anyone she’d ever met.

  “Fine.”

  She brushed past him and went to the fridge, snagging a cold, water bottle. Instead of drinking it, she pressed it against the sorest part of her bruised wrist, hoping the cold would stop the worst of the injury. Gunner saw what she was doing and came over, lifting her arm with determination, but gentleness.

  “What happened?”

  She shook her head, her eyes jerking toward the cameras. Gunner didn’t take the hint.

  “What happened?” he demanded again.

  “Brian.”

  He let her go and spun on his heel, storming out of the house. Zola chased after him, aware that any confrontation between the two of them would not end well. Brian was still sitting at the pool’s edge, his back to the house. Gunner rushed across the lawn toward him; his strides were long and full of purpose.

  “What the fuck, man?”

  Brian turned and, when he saw the look on Gunner’s face and Zola rushing out after him, stood and began moving around the pool, trying to put some distance between them.

  “You can’t keep your fucking hands to yourself?” Gunner asked.

  “Hey, man, whatever she told you, it’s just her side of the story.”

  “She did
n’t have to tell me anything. I can see the bruises on her arm! What kind of animal does that to a woman? You think because you’re bigger and stronger than her that you can act like a fucking caveman?”

  “Gunner!”

  He didn’t seem to hear the warning in Zola’s voice. And, by now, he’d attracted not only every camera on the outside of the house, but all the houseguests, as well. Everyone was pouring out the back door, along with three or four production members who were always lurking just out of sight. Zola could see one of them whispering into a headset, probably alerting the staff in the control room and the director who loved this sort of thing. It made for good television.

  “We were just talking,” Brian said lamely.

  “That’s not just talking! She’s got bruises in the shape of fingertips all over her wrist!”

  “I was just trying to play the game.”

  “Bullshit!” Gunner approached Brian, getting up into his face even though he towered over him by a good three or four inches. “You ever touch her like that again, you’ll have to deal with me. Got that?”

  “Yeah,” Brian said softly.

  “You don’t treat a woman like that.”

  “Okay.”

  “Stay the fuck away from her!”

  “Okay.”

  Brian was clearly frightened, cowering back against the fence that defined the end of the property. His eyes were a little wild as he stared up at Gunner. And when Gunner backed off, Brian’s eyes jumped from the contestants at the back of the house, the cameras in every nook and cranny, to the production staff.

  “This is bullshit, man!”

  But no one was paying attention to him now. They were watching Gunner make his way back across the lawn. He paused as he passed Zola, his eyes dropping to her bruised wrist that she held cradled against her chest. He reached out to her, touched her cheek lightly. And then he continued into the house, snatching up his sandwich and then disappearing into the room he shared with Lesley.

  “What the fuck was that?” Lesley muttered as Zola moved to return to the house, too.

  “Smart play is what that was,” Michelle told her. “We’ve all been outmatched, friends.”