FROST SECURITY: Richard

by Glenna Sinclair

  As I shut the back door on them, I heard a knock on the front door. A loud one, insistent. “Jessica!” called Richard.

  Shit. Busted. I winced as I practically ran across my small living room to let him in. “Coming! I'm alive, don't worry!”

  I flipped back the deadbolt and threw the door open.

  There he was, standing over me, glowering. “Thought I told you to wait in the car?”

  I sighed as I stood aside, gesturing for him to come in. “Sorry, I know I wasn't supposed to. But my dogs got all excited when they heard me pull up, so I decided to let them out. I figured, you know, if there was anyone inside, they wouldn't have been howling like that.”

  He just sighed as he stopped in the living room, looking around. “Wow,” he said, the anger seeming to fade from his voice in some sort of weird moment of surprise. “Just. Wow.”

  “Wow what?”

  “You have got a shit ton of turtles, don't you?”

  Know how you can look at the same thing over and over again, whether it's a person or a piece of furniture or a piece of art, and you never seem to notice the changes because they happen incrementally? Sometimes over the course of years? I felt that exact same way as I blinked and looked around my little cabin, at the little turtle figurines on the side table, the sea turtle paintings on the living room walls, the turtle coffee cups hanging by the coffee pot, the small statue of a mock turtle from Alice in Wonderland in the corner, the turtle blanket tossed over the back of one of my two couches. And, believe me, the list of turtle memorabilia went on.

  It hadn't been intentional or anything. I mean, my three loves have always been art, the mountains, and the oceans. I'd gone to school for my major on the first, lived in the second, and did my minor on the third. So, I'd picked up some art pieces along the way, ones that really spoke to me, that really made me think of my third love since I was so surrounded by the first two. And, to me, nothing said the ocean like sea turtles.

  I'm weird. I know.

  “Guess I do,” I said, suddenly a little embarrassed by the sheer volume of the art. “But, it's not all my fault.”

  He laughed. “No?”

  “Well, okay, it is. But, not for the reasons you think. After I started up the art gallery-”

  “The Curious Turtle.”

  “-the Curious Turtle, right, everyone just started giving me turtle gifts, okay? And, besides, these aren't all turtles. A lot of them are tortoises.”

  “So you don't discriminate?”

  I laughed. “No, it's not me. It's people. They see things with shells and they think turtle, and then they think Jessica.”

  He nodded, smiling. “Got it. I’ll keep that in mind come Christmas. Meantime, I should really check out the place. Have you been in the other rooms yet?”

  “No, I replied, shaking my head, “just got home a couple minutes before you. Only had a chance to let the boys out. Feel free.”

  “Thanks,” he said, his hand down at the gun at his side. He didn't draw it, just rested it there for reassurance.

  I didn't bat an eye at his gun. It was his job, after all. Here in the High Rockies, you can find some really liberal people, and you can find some really conservative people. Generally, though, you don't find a lot of gun control people. When you have bears outside your back doors, or giant cats that could run off with your dogs each night, you tend to learn how to use a rifle or a shotgun. Even I knew how to shoot and kept my grandpa's old shotgun in the house.

  Of course, I didn't keep it loaded or anything. I was cautious, but not paranoid.

  He went through my small house, as I stayed behind in the living room. I even chewed my nail a little bit when he looked in at my messy closet, and saw all the makeup all over my sink in the bathroom.

  “House is clear,” he said as he rejoined me. “One thing, though, something you may consider if you haven't already.”

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “Some organizational supplies?” he replied, deadpan. “They have people, I hear, who'll come in and do it for you.”

  I rolled my eyes at his grin. I was going to respond, but I heard my boys scratching at the backdoor, and instead turned to go let them in. Eli and Wallach came tumbling into the house in a ball of slobbery, dusty fur, both falling over each other to get past me and to Richard.

  Eli bayed first, louder than normal, but Richard immediately dropped to his knees, bringing himself down to the dogs' levels. Wallach hung back for a moment, his little tail twitching in confusion, like he wasn't sure how to take this stranger, who was now looking him in the eye.

  “Eli's a little timid,” I said, “but he won't bite or anything.”

  “Oh, no,” Richard said, palm-up hand outstretched, “of course he won't. Will you, boy?”

  Eli edged forward more quickly than I'd ever seen him move, adjusting well. He sniffed at Richard's offered hand, and his tale began to wag even faster.

  My security blanket grinned widely, put out his other hand. “Eli, huh? You like me, don't you?”

  The big hound mix wagged its tail harder, walked closer, licked his hand.

  “Yeah, you do,” he said as Wallach came running up to him, jumping on his knee in an effort to not be left out of the pets. He scratched and pet both of them, faster at ease with the dogs than any of the previous men or friends I'd ever brought home. For Pete's sake, both of them were still timid even with Sheila and my friend Karen Ray when either of them stopped by. And they'd known my boys for a couple years at least.

  “What's this one's name?” Richard asked, nodding to my little Corgi.

  “Wallach.”

  “Eli and Wallach?” he replied, laughing. “Really?”

  I smiled and brushed my hair behind my ear. “Don't tell me you actually know who Eli Wallach is.”

  “My dad raised me on old westerns, before he passed away. How couldn't I?”

  I laughed, clapping my hands. “You and Grandpa are probably the only two people I know who'd appreciate it.”

  He grinned up at me, rising to his feet, towering back over me again.

  I gestured back to the fridge. “You want a beer or something? I know it's still early.”

  “Can't,” he said. “On the clock. Tea or coffee, or a soda if you got it.”

  “Water while I put some coffee on? After I feed my boys, of course.”

  “Sure, that sounds fine.”

  I retreated into the kitchen, a stupid little smirk on my lips as I went about the task of feeding my dogs. They each got half a can of wet, mixed with some dry food, and a little pumpkin puree to go with it, to keep their stomachs settled and regular. “How long have you lived in Colorado?” I called back into the living room.

  “A couple years. Moved out here when Peter and I met.”

  When they met? Were they? Crap, I hadn't gotten that vibe from them at all! I stopped in my tracks. “When you two met, huh?”

  He cleared his throat in the other room. “Yeah, he had the idea for the security agency, so we came up here to open it together.”

  I bit my lip, sighed. Oh well, I thought. Win some. Lose some. And some are just gay.

  Dammit.

  Chapter Seven

  Richard

  I realized what I'd said, and the implication of it, as soon as the words left my mouth. I swore quietly, hoping she wouldn't hear me, and made a face. I scratched behind my ear nervously, worried I'd given her the wrong impression. “Yeah, he and I met at a bar in Texas.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said from the kitchen, her voice a little confused sounding.

  Dammit. I was digging the hole deeper. “But, I mean, Peter's a great boss. And a friend. And, uh, you know, that's it.”

  “Oh,” she said, a little surprised sounding as she plopped the dog's food down in their bowls. “Okay. I was um, a little confused. That's all.”

  I laughed uncertainly. “Yeah, we're just like family, that's all. Like brothers, more than . . .”

  She laughed. “It's okay. I get it,
Richard. You can stop backtracking.” She moved around in the kitchen, prepping coffee and getting it brewing.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, ran a hand back through my hair.

  Then, I shook my head. I was here, being nervous around this woman, and losing focus of what I should be doing. I suddenly was more concerned about whether or not she thought Peter and I had a thing going with each other than I was about her safety.

  This was about me doing my job, not getting a date, I reminded myself. I needed to stay with my head in the game.

  I went into the kitchen, glanced around. “While that's brewing,” I said, “I'm going to go take a walk around the area. You gonna be fine in here alone?”

  “Yeah,” she said, glancing back at me, brushing a strand of dark hair back behind her ear, “of course. Coffee should take a minute anyways.”

  I nodded and went out the back, the dogs too focused on their supper to even think about me.

  Dogs and shifters had a special arrangement, it seemed. For whatever reason, probably one that Peter could explain in greater detail over a couple beers, we had a certain affinity with domesticated animals. They didn't treat us like humans, or like wildlife. Instead, they were even more friendly than normal. Maybe it had to do with our knowing how to treat them? The way we smelled? I wasn't sure one way or another, I just knew I'd never had a problem with dogs, or even cats, before.

  I stepped out onto the back deck and whistled low. It was quite the view from back here. The mountains rose up just a short distance away on the other side of the valley, majestically poked their heads through the piney trees. A swath of green and yellow grass lay between the cabin and the mountains.

  I won't lie, I missed Texas' big open sky, where the azure heavens seemed to stretch endlessly above you. But, there was still something to be said of the awe-inspiring Rockies, and their peaks that dwarfed every living creature on the planet.

  I stepped down off the deck and began to walk the area. The marks of a hundred wild animals, and their nightly passing, filled my nose. Had I been in my wolf form, it'd be a sensory overload, like staring into a Pollack painting you could somehow discern the madness from. But, now, in my human one, it was just curious and intriguing. Over it all, of course, I could smell her scent. Jessica's.

  I shook my head again, trying to get my attraction out of my head. “On a job, Richard,” I muttered as I walked down to the little creek at the back of her property, out into the yellow and green grass. “On a job.”

  The sun would be down, soon. Not official sunset, of course, but behind the mountains entirely. I still needed to discuss with her where I should park the Jeep for my watch. Did she know of a place I could park it up the road, or on the property where I could put it with drawing attention? I'd seen a spot when I came up the driveway, but I wanted to know if it was stable before I parked the Wrangler there.

  With my head a little more clear, I turned back from the creek and began to head back up to Jessica's little cabin, with her two dogs and all her turtle paintings and statues. “Of all the things to have in the middle of the mountains,” I muttered, laughing a little. “Turtles.”

  She had a cup of coffee waiting for me when I got back inside the house. “Wasn't sure how you took it,” she replied, pressing the mug into my hand.

  “Black's fine,” I replied, taking a sip. It was good coffee. Not over the top, or anything, but definitely not Folger's.

  “How's this going to work?” she asked as she headed into the living room and took a seat on one of the couches, the one with the turtle blanket on the back. She curled up around her own mug of hot coffee. “Tonight, I mean.”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing. I saw a spot out next to the driveway, sort of shielded by a pine tree. Is it stable enough to park my Jeep there?”

  She nodded. “We used it for extra parking during my housewarming a few years back, so it should be fine. But, you can, you know, sleep on the couch if you'd like. It'd be more comfortable”

  I chewed my lip, considered it, shook my head as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “I'll be honest, Peter might not like it. He'd probably prefer I stuck to protocol.”

  “Well,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee, “you can just tell your boss screw protocol.”

  I blinked in surprise.

  “Look,” Jessica continued, “you and Peter both warned me this might escalate. I don't want you parked out front if that escalation happens tonight. Where would that leave me? What if they decide to just come in the back?”

  “I'd still be able to get inside,” I assured her.

  “But I would still sleep more soundly if I knew you were out here.”

  I leaned forward, set my mug on the coffee table. “Let me call him and see if he's fine with it. If he is, I have no issue with sleeping on the couch.”

  She nodded. “Good.”

  I headed out back, Eli, Wallach, and Jessica's eyes all following me as I left the room. I stepped out onto the deck and pulled my phone from my pocket, pulled up Peter's contact info.

  It rang a couple times before he picked up. “Frost here.”

  “Richard,” I replied. “She wants me to stay in the house tonight. I know it's against protocol, but I think-”

  “Do it,” Frost said, cutting me off. “Just don't get too comfortable. You have any problems, you know where to reach me.” Then, just like that, he hung up. I barely even had a chance to react, the conversation happened so quick.

  “Well,” I said, pocketing my phone again, “okay then.” I went back into the house and Eli and Wallach jumped to meet me, tails wagging. “Boss says it's fine by him if I sleep in here instead of out front.”

  “There you go, then,” she said, grinning. “Told you I'd get my way.”

  I chuckled. I was pretty sure she was used to that happening.

  “Now, onto dinner,” she continued. “Are you hungry? You fine with spaghetti? Because it's what I have ingredients for.”

  I shrugged. I wasn't used to a home cooked meal. Most of the time I just ate at Dixie's or at one of the other places around town. “Sure, I guess.”

  She laughed and got up from the couch. “Great!” she said. “Because I'm getting tired of not having anyone to cook for.”

  I smiled a little, enjoying the moment. I was getting a home cooked meal from a beautiful woman. Why shouldn't I smile?

  But, just then, I heard tires slowing as a car pulled off the highway and onto the drive outside.

  She shot me a startled look.

  “Were you expecting someone?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No. Were you?”

  “No.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jessica

  I peered out through the living room blinds that looked over the front yard and sighed. “It's just Karen,” I said, waving him back from the front door. “She's a friend, it's okay. Probably was driving by and saw me home, so she's just stopping for a chat.”

  He nodded and backed away.

  I walked over to the front entrance, then realized something. I turned back to him. “Hey, Richard.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you disarm while she's here? There's a drawer in the kitchen by the oven that you can stick it in.”

  “I don't-”

  I raised a finger, silencing him. “Richard. I don't want her to know I had to hire armed security because of these threats, okay? I don't want to worry her.”

  He groaned and nodded, got up to head into the kitchen. “Fine,” he said, “but just don't tell my boss.”

  “He let us get away with a pajama party,” I reminded him as the driver side door to Karen's BMW opened and shut outside on the driveway, “why not this?”

  I heard him laugh as he pulled the drawer open. A moment later, I heard the drawer shutting just as Karen knocked on my front door.

  “Hey, Jess!” she shouted. “You home?”

  I cringed a little in front of Richard. Karen Ray was, how do we say . . . un
ique? We reconnected after high school when she moved back into the area a year before to take care of her ailing mother. Both of us had run in the same circle, though she'd never been a cheerleader like me or Sheila (go Bears!). But we'd all hung out. In fact, she and Sheila had been besties before I’d returned home, reconnecting on their own after high school and college. Now we saw each other a lot. Sheila and I would go get drinks pretty frequently, and drive into the next town to see a movie every so often. But, while Sheila was down to earth despite her parent's wealth, Karen never really seemed to understand why I couldn't just take off for Vegas or New York for the weekend.

  I counted to ten before opening the door with a loud, “Hey Karen!” on my lips. “What are you doing here, girl?”

  “Just driving by,” she said, as she stepped into my entryway and gave me a big hug, “and saw you were home already.”

  Karen was, to put it loosely, a bombshell of a blonde. I thought so, at least. Long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, with perfectly sculpted eyebrows I could never quite match, and beautifully full lips that always seemed to have the perfect amount of gloss. And, of course, none of it ever, ever, ever got on her perfectly white, straight teeth. She was the girl who, despite never being on the cheerleading squad, always seemed to date the quarterback and get elected Prom Queen.

  How we were friends, I had no idea. But, we were, and I hugged her back as she tried to strangle the life from me with her love. Maybe we were friends because of Sheila? I didn’t know.

  Richard chose that moment to step out of the kitchen, and Karen looked over at him, breaking our embrace. “Well, who do we have here?” Karen asked, her voice brightening up as she glanced from my security blanket to me. I tracked her eyes as they looked down at his left hand. “Company, I take it?”

  He smiled, scratched the back of his head a little, as if he were uneasy. I realized then that the only thing he knew to do was to avoid having Karen think he was a one man security detail for me. “I'm, uh, Richard Murdoch, I'm, uh-”