FROST SECURITY: Richard

by Glenna Sinclair

  FROST SECURITY

  Book One: Richard

  Glenna Sinclair

  Copyright © 2017

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter One

  Jessica

  “Get out of Enchanted Rock, Jessica Long,” groaned the modulated voice into my ear. “Get out before I send you out on my own. Just a matter of time before I lose patience.”

  Frozen in a moment of fear, I just slammed my work phone back down into its cradle, my breath wheezing out. The sun was bright, but a sudden coldness had gripped my soul, a feeling of someone walking back and forth over my grave.

  I jumped and gave a little yelp as a hand gripped my shoulder.

  My friend Sheila, who was standing right next to my desk chair, retracted her hand carefully. “Woah, there girl. Was it him again? Your stalker?”

  I nodded tersely, brushed a long, dark lock of hair from my face. “Yeah. Yeah, it was him.”

  Sheila had been helping me out for the last week or so with the books at Curious Turtle, the little art gallery I co-owned and managed in Enchanted Rock. Blake Axelrod, my silent partner, had lately become my eternally silent partner.

  He was dead, a heart attack got him. Early-fifties, and he'd just keeled over while out hunting one day. By all accounts, the white tail deer were all breathing a sigh of relief. His funeral had been last week, and I still hadn't been able to wrap my head around it.

  The last thing I needed was death threats from some looney-tune while I was sorting everything out and trying to figure where my business was going to be in six months, or if it was even going to be around. One more year with slow tourism, and that might be it. Rent was going up, but my number of customers weren't.

  Seriously. Last thing.

  Axelrod sure had left me a mess with the financials, too. Which was where my friend Sheila came in to the picture.

  Sheila Pearson had been one of my best friends since high school, we'd both been on the cheer squad. She'd gotten her masters in accounting from State, but had never really moved out of town long term. As soon as she finished with grad school, she was right back in Enchanted Rock, or the Rock as the locals called it. Her take on it: why would she leave the mountains? Even Denver was too far away from the Rockies for her, and it was over a mile above sea level. Of course, the wider corporate world's loss was certainly my gain. She actually enjoyed doing this accounting stuff, and I hardly understood it.

  “Have you talked to the sheriff about it yet?”

  “Yeah, of course,” I replied with a shrug and a long, tired sigh as I crossed my arms. “But, Sheriff Peak says he can't do anything about them. All the calls have been from disposable cell phones and different numbers each time, as far as he can tell. He can't place a restraining order or threaten someone with charges if he can't find them.”

  Sheila screwed up her face, frowning like she'd just bit hard into a lemon.

  I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair. “What about those guys your father hired last year?” I asked. “For those robberies?”

  “The security guys?” Sheila asked, cocking her head to the side. “I guess, maybe.”

  “Think they'd be able to do anything?”

  “I don't know. Think you need some extra help with this?” Sheila asked as she sat forward and leaned against my desk. “I mean, the cops can't do anything about it, why could they?”

  I was scared, and frustrated, that was why. I didn't think this asshole would really do anything, but having it hang over my head like the sword of Damocles wasn't helping with my sense of well-being, or my levels of stress. “I'm just at wit's end, here?” I asked more than said, wrinkling my nose. “I don't need a babysitter, Sheila, but I'd like something.”

  “No,” she hesitantly agreed, “you need some peace of mind. The calls are getting more frequent. That's the second one today. I just don't understand why the sheriff isn't doing anything.”

  I laughed. “Want him to bug my phone line or something? I don't think they even can. You've seen those old cars they drive around in, girl. They're not exactly Mission Impossible or James Bond over there.”

  “Well, maybe they can watch out for you for a little while? Put a cruiser in front of your house or something? A deputy maybe?”

  I grinned at her. “Worried about me?”

  She smiled a little, but it quickly faded. “Jess, I'm going to be honest. I kind of am. This has been going on for weeks. Way too long.”

  I shook my head, a frown forming on my face. “Well, I don't think I need around the clock protection,” I said. “What I need is someone who can find this guy and get him to leave me alone. That's what I want.”

  “Well,” Sheila said, going around the desk to sit down in the other chair across from me, “maybe they can? Maybe, if they answer the call or something, they'll be able to scare these guys? I mean, that's what they do right? Secure things?”

  I shrugged and slumped back in my desk chair, laid my head back. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “And if anyone can do it,” Sheila continued, “it's these guys. I met two of them while they working for Daddy, and they gave off this whole ex-military vibe. They had guns and stuff. Like, kind of scary.”

  “Scary?”

  Sheila grinned, brushed her short hair from her forehead. “Well, scary but, I don't know kinda hot, too.”

  I laughed, shook my head. “Oh, I see now. Your master plan.”

  “Master plan?”

  “Act all antsy about me going to them, to avoid suspicion . . .”

  A look of shock came over her face, like I'd just shot her horse or run over her dog.

  “. . . just so I can give these guys some more work and you can have an excuse to have them hang
ing around again.”

  The look immediately faded and she laughed. “Dammit, Jess, that's so not it, and you know it. Shit, maybe I'm worried you'll meet someone and leave me all single. You thought of that?”

  I shook my head, grinning. “Not likely. You know me, I can't get tied down. But, have you thought that maybe he'd have a friend? A nice handsome one, that you haven't known since you were in diapers?”

  “At this point, I'd just be happy as long as he walks on two legs and is housebroken.”

  I laughed a sad little laugh that turned into a sigh. It had been a while since I'd dated anyone. It just seemed that most of the guys I met up here were either wealthy assholes just passing through, or total hicks I couldn't stand. But, I was like Sheila. As much as I loved the oceans, loved cities and the wider world, I knew I'd never be able to drag myself from these mountains, from the snow, the trees, the way the air smelled on a winter morning or a summer night.

  “Look,” Sheila said after a moment, “I'm really worried about you. If you don't think Peak can help, maybe you should call.”

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding, “you're probably right. What were these guys called again?”

  “Frost Detectives? Something like that, I think. I can get something from Daddy about them. I bet he kept their card in case he had any more problems.”

  “Really that good, then?” I asked as I leaned forward in my chair, propped myself up on my elbows. “Seriously?”

  “Absolutely. Best in the state is what Daddy told me.”

  I waved her off and opened the little laptop on my desk and began to sign in. “I can figure it out. How many Frost security firms could there be in Colorado? And in the Rock, no less?”

  A few minutes later and Sheila and I were both crowded around my laptop, looking through their website. It was well-designed. No flashy ads or videos, just a straight rundown of the services they provided. And, wow, did they provide some services. Surveillance, counter-surveillance, missing persons, physical security, fire investigations. They were like a mini-police force, all fully licensed and bonded by the state of Colorado.

  “No bios, huh?” Sheila pouted.

  I playfully elbowed her in the side. “Wanting to see if your hotties were still working?” I teased.

  “No,” she said with an exaggerated whine. “Well, yeah. Also, I wanted to see what their turnover was like.”

  “Makes sense they wouldn't show pictures of the guys,” I replied, “especially if they're doing surveillance.”

  “Good point,” Sheila agreed. “You gonna call?”

  “Well, they look on the up and up. I guess it can't hurt to talk to them, right?”

  “Right,” she said. “Call them, see if you can set up a meeting.”

  A few minutes and two rings of the phone later I had their secretary on the line, a nice grandmotherly-sounding sort. “Frost Security, Genevieve speaking. How may I assist you today?”

  “Hello, my name is Jessica Long.” I hesitated. “And I think I have a stalker problem.”

  “Well, Ms. Jessica Long,” Genevieve replied without missing a beat, “briefly tell me what you can, and we'll see what kind of help we're able to provide.”

  I sighed and smiled, then began to give her a brief sketch of my problem. Five minutes later, I had a meeting scheduled with Peter Frost, the owner of the agency, for later that afternoon.

  Chapter Two

  Richard

  I marched back into the office from my lunch break around one o'clock. It was just me and Peter in the office today, besides Genevieve, our secretary.

  The Frost Security office was a little unconventional. Peter had picked the old saloon up for a song a few years earlier when we'd decided to finally make our start as a security agency. The renovations required a lot of hard work. We handled everything, from gutting the interior, to redoing all the plumbing, to rewiring the whole joint. But it was ours, lock, stock, and barrel, out on the far edge of Enchanted Rock. We'd kept a lot of the wild west motif, liking the unique style of the design. Rather than keep it as an open barroom, though, we'd installed glass offices and a conference room. The clear walls were all equipped with shades we could draw down to give us privacy when needed.

  The other guys, Jacob, Matthew, and Frank had come along over the course of the next couple years. Every time our IT girl, Lacy, found a report of a wolf spotting in a place where wolves were never spotted, Peter or I flew out for recruitment. Most of the time they had a pack, or we realized they weren't up to snuff for our team. But sometimes, you found guys like us. Ex-military, living their lives as veterans in the best possible ways they knew.

  Like Jacob, who had been a cop in LA after he mustered out of service. Or Frank, who'd been a private bodyguard in Brazil after serving his country. Or even Matthew, who had been a firefighter after doing his time as a rescue jumper in the Air force. Sure, they could be rough around the edges at certain times, but they were all good men. I was proud to call them part of my pack. And that was a phrase I'd never imagined myself my saying: part of my pack.

  Then, of course, there was me. Served two tours in Afghanistan, but came home to nothing. No family, no parents, no girlfriend. My father had cut us from the pack, got tired of their gypsy ways, unique to them, and settled down with a human woman. They had me. By the time I'd realized what I was, though, he was dead from a hit and run accident. Mom remarried, but the guy was a real asshole. She pushed me off into the military. I didn't want to leave her unprotected, but she'd forced me to go. Said she wanted a better life for me than she could provide.

  Looking back, it was clear she knew what was coming. My stepfather murdered her six months into my first deployment, confessed to the cops and everything. By the time I'd gotten back, they'd locked him up in the federal pen for life, and I had no chance for revenge. I would've taken it, too, so it was probably better there'd been no delay with a trial. It took me a little while to get over my anger, but I finally did.

  I worked as a bouncer for a couple years after I got out, until Peter found me. We spotted each other, at first, as he came into the little bar in Texas where I was working, like two veterans sometimes do. It's the way we stand, the way we scan the room for possible threats, the way we cross our arms even. We knew right off the bat that the other guy had seen combat.

  Then, of course, we smelled each other. A musky, othery scent that only shifters can smell on one another, like two wolves in the wild. He left and bought a bottle of whiskey and a case of beer, then waited around for me in the parking lot till after close.

  He hadn't been my first shifter to meet like this, but he'd been the first one to put up beer and bourbon as a peace offering. We split the booze and stayed up till morning in his shitty motel room, unburdening ourselves of how different we were. How unlike the rest of the shifters out there, the wild ones who didn't care about people the way we did. He told me about his plan to come up here, to Enchanted Rock, and start his own business. About how he could use a man like me on the payroll. It sounded too damned good to be true.

  “You wanna pay me to follow people and video tape cheating wives and shit? I don't know how to do that, man. I can shoot and fight, and that's about it. Hell, it's even been a while since I hit the range. Probably take a few clips to get back in the swing of things.”

  He'd laughed. “You'd be surprised what they teach us in the SEALs, Richard. If they can get me up to snuff, then I can do the same for you.”

  And the rest is, as they say, history.

  I walked through the little office, past Gen's desk, bag of double-meat cheeseburgers from Dixie's in hand. Genevieve was our den mother, of sorts, our secretary and first employee. A sweet little older woman, late sixties, with a crop of fiery red hair that was just starting to go white in a few spots. Her granddaughter was Lacy, our IT girl. “Back for the meeting, or just bringing the old dog his lunch?” she asked as I headed past her and went back to Peter's office. “Because he needs to eat more than he needs to work. He
'll be skin and bones before too long if he keeps this up.”

  Yep, she was our den mother, alright. And she was also one of the few humans who knew what we actually were. She loved us all, regardless of how different we were.

  “Meeting?” I asked, confused.

  “Supposed to be here in ten. Do you not read your text messages, young man?”

  That was right! I remembered now that my phone had buzzed while I was driving up to Dixie's. I winced. “Sorry, Gen, I was driving and forgot to check it after I got out of the Jeep.”

  She made a face, seemed disappointed in me.

  “Well, do you want me careening through the mountains with one eye on my phone?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, meeting's in a few minutes, so make sure he stuffs at least one of those burgers down his throat. You know how he gets with low blood sugar!”

  I laughed and headed further into the small office, my boots clomping on the historic hardwood we'd refinished. It was surreal to think of the boots that had walked across these same floorboards as me over a hundred and fifty years before. Actual cowboys, old miners, and settlers. All the men and women who had struck out west and settled this land.

  “Figured you could eat,” I said as I walked back into Peter's office, a little room at the back surrounded in soundproof glass. The greasy takeout bag hung from my hand like the holy grail of the fat Western diet. The boss always skipped lunch, it seemed, always too intent on whatever case he had going.

  But that's the way he was. An intense guy.

  He glanced up at me from beneath his eyebrows, nodding, cool blue eyes taking my measure. Peter was always the serious one. Like he was sizing you up each time he met you. For some people it was unnerving, but to me it was just the way he looked. You got used to it after a while. “Thanks,” he grumbled as I put the takeout bag on the corner of his desk. I took a seat in one of the visitor chairs in front of him, sunk down low and crossed my legs.

  “Got a meeting in a few minutes for a new case,” he said, turning back to the field notebook he always carried, jotting down information. “You busy?”