FROST SECURITY: Richard

by Glenna Sinclair

  “Got it, boss. Safe driving.”

  “Yeah. Keep your head down out there. And don't go trying to piss off the Hell's Angels or Banditos too while I'm away, okay?”

  His pack mate laughed on the other end of the line. “Try not to, boss. You'll hear about it first if I do, though.”

  Peter grinned again, shook his head. Both men hung up, and he stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

  When he opened the door, Gen was right outside his office waiting for him, her glasses perched on the end of her nose. “You're leaving, aren't you?” she asked in a harsh whisper.

  He nodded. “I am.”

  She frowned. “To go look into one of those cases?”

  “How'd you know?” he asked with a wry smile.

  “Guess I'm just the wolf whisperer, I guess.”

  “Well, it's a meeting if anyone asks. Nothing more.”

  Her frown deepened. “I don't like you keeping this from them, Pete. It doesn't feel right, you running all over investigating these things.”

  Peter looked down into her eyes and gently grabbed her upper arms. “Gen, this is just the way it has to be. If this new one isn't anything, then I don't want them worked up over it, especially not with a case right here in town. Okay?” He squeezed her arms lightly before releasing her. “The best thing for all of us is for me to go figure out what's going on. If it really is something bigger, I'll let all of you know. I promise.”

  She lifted her chin a little, stuck her nose in the air. “They're not going to like being lied to. You know that.”

  Peter nodded. “I know. Who would? But they're all soldiers, or ex-soldiers at least, and they know that sometimes giving out information in small bits is more harmful than releasing it all at once. They'll understand.”

  She went to turn around, but stopped herself. “I hope you're right, Pete. I really hope you're right.”

  “Trust me,” he said with a smile, and more confidence than he felt, “I know my pack better than anyone.”

  She held his eyes for a moment longer, in a way that reminded him of the looks his mother used to give him back when he was a kid. “Okay,” she said. “But don't come crying to me when this blows up in your face.”

  He nodded once more. “Don't worry,” he drawled. “I won't.”

  Gen went back to her desk, her shoulders sagging a little under the weight of what he was asking her to do.

  He locked up his office and left through the back door. Next stop was home, so he could throw his bag and the rest of his gear in the backseat, then he'd head south on 550 and catch 160 going east.

  If everything went according to plan, he'd be in Edmond before midnight.

  Hopefully, the rest of the pack would be fine without him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jessica

  I went through the rest of the morning in a daze, only serving one customer, a rich Texas oilman type who'd made all his money in fracking in the Midland-Odessa area. He had a house he and his trophy wife had built halfway up the mountain, and were one of my established clientele. Admittedly, they did buy one of my largest pieces. But, still, he was the only one all morning.

  The whole time I was helping him choose the painting he wanted, Wyatt Axelrod kept trying to elbow his way into my thoughts. The look in his eyes was what I remembered the most. The look like I was just a piece of meat to him that barely mattered.

  Battling with that was the direct opposite look that he had when he went toe-to-toe with Richard. That one made me smile, especially after what the bastard had done to the poor tortoise just to drive a point home.

  I still didn't know how to feel about the violence, though. I wasn't a violent person, and none of the men I'd ever dated had exactly been that way, either. But, something about the way Richard just took him down, so effortlessly, was kind of . . . I don't know . . . hot! Not that I approved of violence, or anything. But, Richard hadn't thrown the first punch, so I figured I could forgive it. He'd only been defending himself, and me in a way.

  Now, he'd probably really stepped in it by fighting Wyatt. Especially with the man's motorcycle gang, and all. But, Richard had assured me there wouldn't be any consequences for me. And, for whatever reason, I believed him. Not just because he was a professional, but for some deeper reason I couldn't explain even to myself. Still, I didn’t like that there might be consequences for him, even if he was a professional.

  It was like we were connected somehow. I felt it in my bones when I looked at him. Sure, we came from two completely different worlds, had a lifetime of differing experiences. But there was something electric, magnetic between us. I knew it.

  I sat in my office, lost in thought about Richard and Wyatt, about the fight for probably the umpteenth time, when the front door banged open again. The world snapped back into focus.

  “Don't bother getting up, girlfriend!” Sheila called from the gallery. “Just me!”

  I pushed my keyboard away from me and kicked the chair back as my friend came down the hallway, her heels clicking on the tile with each step. “Back here!” I called.

  “Of course you are,” Sheila said as she whipped around the corner and came into my office, “you busy little bee. How're you-” She stopped mid-sentence. “Woah!” she exclaimed, waving a hand under nose. “What in the hell is that? Smells like death itself camped out in one of your file cabinets.”

  I'd been swimming in the smell of spiced rotting tortoise for so long I hardly noticed it anymore by that point. Instead of reacting, I just blew a long strand of hair from my face. “A gift from my stalker.”

  “Holy shit! They trying to fumigate you out of town now? What fucking died?”

  “A tortoise, actually,” I said. “I think they thought it was a turtle.”

  She made a face. “There's a difference?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes there's a difference. That's why they have different names.”

  Sheila came over, plopped down in one of my visitor chairs. “Did they throw it through a window or something?”

  I sighed and went through the story about the package, about Lacy and Richard helping me to get rid of it. She stopped me at that point.

  “Wait, slow down. So you got the guys working for you? Frost Detectives-”

  “Security,” I corrected. “Frost Security.”

  She leaned forward, suddenly very keen to know about them. “They're protecting you now?” she asked, looking around. “Where are they, huh?”

  I laughed. “You just want to see if you can get a date!”

  She grinned, then let her smile drop and faked injury by my words. “Me? Why would I want that?”

  I crumbled a piece of scratch paper and lobbed it at her. “Oh, shut up, Sheila. This is serious. Richard's outside keeping an eye on the place.”

  “Like a stakeout?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows. “How clandestine!”

  I rolled my eyes again. “He's just out there watching, is all. Especially after the rest of my morning.” I proceeded to tell her about Wyatt Axelrod and our little unexpected business meeting.

  She made a face when I got to the end of my story. “You really think the Skull and Bones had something to do with it?”

  I shrugged. “It makes sense. Richard seems to think it's them, too.”

  She shook her head. “I used to run around with some guys that rode with them. Remember Teddy?”

  “The guy you dated last year?”

  She shrugged. “I wouldn't really call it dating,” she replied, making air quotes around the word dating. “But, yeah, him. He was in a club that rode with some of those S and B guys, and they all seemed pretty decent. I just can't picture them doing something like this.”

  “You?” I asked, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my desk. “You ran around with these guys?”

  She set back in her chair, crossed her legs in the most ladylike way I'd ever seen her do so. “I like men on bikes. And I really like bikes, even without men. Why does it seem so out of th
e ordinary for me to go riding with some guys in an MC?”

  I scoffed. “You just like the way the bikes vibrate.”

  She looked to the ceiling and shrugged, a little smile on her face. “It didn't hurt that the guys were a little trashy, too.”

  “I'm sure it didn't. I've seen the men you drag home during ski season.”

  She bit her lip and grinned. “Oh, come on, they’re not all bad.”

  I rolled my eyes one more time, just for good measure. “Sure, Sheila. Sure. Now, if we’re done with our little trip down memory lane-”

  “Slutty Avenue,” Sheila corrected with a self-deprecating laugh.

  “Whatever,” I replied with a chuckle and a shake of my head. Sheila. No matter what, she’d never change. “I still have all those financials for you to finish up.”

  She clapped her hands with genuine enthusiasm, like a kid in a candy store that’s opening its doors for all the town’s children. Her obsession with numbers was always something that confused me, but I just figured it was some sort of weird weakness for her. “When can I start?”

  “Right now,” I said, pushing back from my desk. “Because I, my sweet, slutty friend, am going out to Dixie’s for lunch.”

  She pulled a mock frown. “You’re not going to keep me company?”

  “I haven’t eaten, girl, and the two cups of coffee I drank for breakfast came back up after that tortoise smell hit the office.”

  She made a grossed out face. “About that . . .” she said, sniffing the air, letting the words hang as fully as the stench did.

  “You’ll get used to it,” I replied, standing up from my chair and grabbing my purse from the desk’s bottom drawer. “I’d spray some air freshener, but I honestly think you’d just end up with floral decay.”

  She made a face.

  I stopped at the door. “Want me to bring you anything back?”

  “Just a burger,” she said. “With bacon.”

  I headed out of the office, through the gallery.

  “And a milk shake,” she yelled from the office. “A strawberry milk shake!”

  “Strawberry? Gross!” I laughed.

  “You’re gross!”

  “Anything else?” I called.

  “Fries!”

  “Of course, who wants a burger without fries?”

  “That’d just be blasphemy,” she yelled. “Blasphemy, I say.”

  I got to the door, flipped over a sign that begged forgiveness for my lunch break so it would be visible through the glass, then slipped out the door and locked up behind me. Dixie’s was down the road a little ways, an easy walk of a couple blocks. No need for the car, even in bad weather.

  I headed down the walkway, my eyes set on Richard’s Jeep. I wasn’t exactly planning on asking him to lunch or anything, but I did want to know if he needed anything.

  I watched as he picked his phone up from the passenger seat and put it to his ear.

  I stopped as, a moment later, my own phone began to ring in my purse. I stopped and pulled it out, saw it was him calling. I sighed. “Yes, Richard?” I asked as I put the phone to my ear.

  “And where might you be headed?”

  “Dixie’s. Did you want anything?”

  “I can get it myself,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  I jolted a little. “Well, okay then.”

  “Sorry,” he said, as if he'd realized how he had spoken. “I mean, I probably shouldn’t be constantly seen with you. We don’t know who is watching. But, I do need to follow after you.”

  What he said made sense, even if I did want to spend a little quality time with him, as silly as that sounded. He made for good table conversation, and I’d loved having dinner with him the night before. I nodded a little bit, though, and walked off down the corner, phone still pressed to the side of my head. “Anything else?”

  “The big boss wants you to reconsider moving to the safe house. I said I’d strongly recommend it to you.”

  “You sound doubtful.”

  “Just doubtful you’ll take our advice, that’s all,” he said with a laugh as he opened the door to his Jeep and climbed out onto the street. “Also, don’t look back. I’m behind you on the street.”

  “It’s like I hired one stalker to keep away another,” I mused.

  “More or less,” he admitted. “But, about this safe house thing. I really do think you need to consider it. Especially after everything that’s happened today.”

  I chewed my lip. “So, let me get this straight. You and me, a cabin in the woods, maybe a fire going in the hearth, a bearskin rug, all night long with maybe some R&B tunes on the record player?” At least, that’s what I wanted to say. But, deep down, I knew guys like Richard would always end up with girls like Sheila or Karen. Sure, I was pretty, but I wasn’t the type to get a guy like my bodyguard.

  Instead, what came out of my mouth was. “Ugh, I’ll consider it, okay? Just let me think it over.”

  “Alright,” he said. “We just can’t guarantee your safety any other way.”

  “Believe me, I know. You’ve told me fifty times already.”

  “Just hoping it’ll sink in,” he replied without any malice, “that’s all. You hanging in there, besides everything else that’s going on?”

  “Trying to. I feel like that kitten in that motivational poster, just dangling and waiting for someone to clip the line.”

  He laughed, a good heart laugh that I could hear behind me and on the phone simultaneously. “Well, it’ll be over soon. Promise.”

  “You keep making these promises,” I said. “I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”

  He laughed again. “Princess Bride fan, huh?”

  “What girl isn’t?” I asked as I came to an intersection and looked both ways. “Guess you’re one, too?”

  “Taught me that I should never bet with a Sicilian when death was on the line.”

  I smiled and crossed the street when the last car passed. “Well, so I don’t risk looking awkward while ordering lunch, I’m going to hang up on you now.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be behind you the whole way.”

  And, actually, that helped a little, knowing he was there watching over me. Like my own guardian angel, bought and paid for, hovering just over my shoulder.

  “Before you go, Jess,” he said. “Please give the safe house some thought.”

  I sighed. “Don’t worry, I will.”

  We hung up as I stopped in front of Dixie’s, and I reluctantly dropped my phone back in my purse. I really wanted to stay on the phone with him. Something about the whole conversation, about having to hide it by speaking only on the phone even though he wasn’t more than twenty or thirty feet behind me, made me feel like a giddy teenage girl again.

  I went inside the little rundown diner, put in my to go order, and took a seat at the counter to wait. The dining area was busy, with probably ten or fifteen of the town regulars, all wearing flannel and denim and boots and trucker caps, eating badly cooked steaks and pork chops, and beautifully cooked burgers.

  Richard came in a few moments after me and ordered his food to go.

  I was careful to not glance at him anymore than once, but God it was hard to control myself.

  He, for his part, didn’t even look my way once. Just pulled out his phone as soon as sat down at the other end of the counter and began to scroll down the screen.

  I frowned and pulled out my own phone, began to read the news.

  I couldn’t stay focus on the words on my screen, though. Worries, upon worries, upon worries, began to pile up as I tried to read. I knew I needed to go to the safe house, but that still somehow felt like I was giving in. Of course, with Wyatt Axelrod in the picture now, maybe Richard was right? Maybe it really was the best course of action? I could just close the gallery down for a couple days, and hope this all sorted itself out.

  Little did I know, though, by the end of the day my feelings on the subject weren’t going to matter.

&nb
sp; My decision was about to be made for me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Richard

  It took every ounce of self control I had to stop from just staring like a buffoon at Jessica while we both waited for our orders at Dixie’s. Thank God I’d managed to keep my impulses under control, too, otherwise I would have felt like an absolute moron. She never even glanced my way once while she waited.

  Now, as I was sitting in my Jeep keeping an eye on her and the Curious Turtle, I had to fight back the urge to call her again, just to check in on her. But, who was I kidding? I knew exactly why I wanted to call her. I just needed to hear the sound of her voice again.

  I almost wanted to punch my steering wheel in frustration. Why was I feeling this way?

  That frustration, though, must have been more than I could handle, because I almost jumped out of my skin when Lacy knocked on the passenger side window.

  She cackled as, after regaining a small piece of my composure, I leaned over and unlocked the passenger side door so she could climb in, manila file in hand. “Shut it,” I said.

  “Off in la la land?” she teased as she put the empty takeout bag from Dixie’s on the floorboards and climbed into the passenger seat. “Thought you wolfies were supposed to be finely tuned predators, aware of the slightest changes in your surroundings?”

  “I said to shut it, didn’t I?” I growled, glancing over at her, and at the file in her lap. “What’s that?”

  She grinned as she thrust the folder at me. “More detailed information on Skull and Bones. Looks like they’ve been moving heavy through Colorado, have some ties to the marijuana grow ops here, and are investing some of the clean cash they have that way.”

  “So, ferrying legal marijuana over the border to other states?”

  She shook her head and laughed. “God no, why would they do that? Over state lines they’re competing with drugs out of Mexico and other places where the competition doesn’t pay taxes.”

  I gave her a perplexed look as I flipped through the report, with its tightly spaced lines and tiny fonts. “What then?”

  “They’re taking money from other sources, their primary sources like meth, heroin, selling women, guns, all that. Then, they launder it through looser, cash-based businesses like dive bars, car washes, even laser tag places. They take that money, and they turn around and invest it here, in grow operations, then take the proceeds and invest them in other businesses.”