DRAGON SECURITY: The Complete 6 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  “No. I threatened to tell his wife that he was sleeping with half of the women who acted in his movies. That shut him up.” I took a bite of carrot, chewing it thoughtfully. “Then I paid them a significant amount of money under a deal that got me out of any more obligations I might owe them outside of my contract and forced them to promise not to bad mouth my new production company within the industry.”

  “Seems a little unethical on their part.”

  “Everything about this industry is a little unethical.”

  He was quiet for a minute, playing with a piece of meat on his plate.

  “Does it ever bother you?” he finally asked, those eyes coming up to my face. “Have you ever considered getting out of this industry?”

  That was something I’d been thinking about since the first movie I did. I wanted out. I wanted a respectable life for my daughter. I wanted to do something I could talk to her about, maybe even show her one day. But there was a thin line between want and need. We needed money. We needed health insurance and a roof over our heads. This industry paid for that.

  “I’m trying to retire from the acting part of it. And the rest…I’d like to transition into mainstream movies, but it’s a difficult market to break into when I can’t tell anyone what my past experience is, you know?”

  He nodded as though he agreed with my assessment of my situation. But then he looked me in the eye and asked, “What does Olivia’s father think of all this?”

  I snorted. “Olivia’s biological father was an alcoholic who didn’t know how to control himself. His biggest problem in life was deciding whose bed to go to when he was horny: his new wife’s—who wouldn’t kick him out now that she’d finally got that ring on her finger because she was tired of working for a living—or his sixteen-year-old stepdaughter’s room down the hall.”

  “I’m sorry,” Vincent said, a spark of something—anger, maybe—flashing in his eyes.

  I shrugged. “It’s a familiar story in this industry, you know. We’re all damaged in some way.”

  “Is that why?”

  “My mother kicked me out when she realized I was pregnant, and he just stood there and watched. I ended up in a homeless shelter for a couple months until I could get a job and a room. But it was never enough. I didn’t have a high school diploma; I didn’t have the life experience to survive. If I hadn’t been approached by a producer to do one of these movies, we probably would have ended up a statistic, another dead teen mom and her baby, a headline to make some middle-aged housewife sad for a minute before she went back to her latté and her aerobics class.”

  He was watching me, and I waited to see pity on his face, in those expressive eyes, but I didn’t. Curiosity. Anger. Surprise. But no pity. I liked that.

  “So, that’s my story. What’s yours?”

  His eyes fell to his plate, his fingers picking at the corner of a piece of ham. “There’s not much to it, really,” he said after a minute. “Grew up in San Diego. My parents still live there. They still live in the house I grew up in with my brother and three sisters.”

  “The Marines?”

  He shrugged. “I got myself into a little trouble after high school. The judge said it was either jail or the Marines, so I went into the Marines, served my time, and got out about a year ago. I bummed around for a while, then got a call from a friend telling me his sister’s security firm was hiring and I should come check it out.”

  “Sounds like a good friend.”

  “We saved each other’s lives a few time over there,” he said so casual, like he was commenting on the weather.

  “You served in Afghanistan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Must have been tough.”

  He shrugged, shoving a piece of meat into his mouth as though he were trying to end the conversation without really saying it. Then he sat up and dumped the entire plate, most of his meat and cheese, into the trash.

  “I should go walk the perimeter. Stay in here, please.”

  “Okay.”

  I watched him go, wondering why he was so distant. Had something bad happened to him? Or was it something like gangs, drugs, that sort of street life? I remembered what it was like trying to avoid that sort of thing in the neighborhoods I was forced to live in before the money for the movies began pouring in. There were prostitutes and gang bangers on every corner, making it impossible to come and go after dark most nights. Was that the kind of life he escaped when he went into the Marines? Or was it something simpler?

  My mind went to dark places just because…I don’t know. He didn’t give off that vibe of a middle-class kid who got caught drunk driving. But maybe it was something that simple. I knew absolutely nothing about him—except that the security firm he worked for had a stellar reputation. Surely they vetted him. And if he was a friend of the owner’s brother, he couldn’t be that bad, right?

  I’d let this man into my house. Close to my child. I wanted to know about him.

  At least…that’s what I told myself.

  ***

  We managed to finish just about everything we’d needed to do today. It was a little rushed and some of the scenes could have been done a little better, but it was okay. I gave Coleman the green light to send the dailies over to the editor to see what they could do with them. Another movie wrapped up—and another set to begin first thing Monday morning.

  I stared out the window of the SUV as we drove to Olivia’s school, thinking about the long weekend that stretched out in front of us.

  “I don’t suppose we could take Olivia to the science museum tomorrow, could we?”

  “It’s a little too public.”

  I’d figured that, but I’d promised her weeks ago that we would go. And this was the first weekend in months I didn’t need to do some sort of work.

  “What about the movies or something like that?”

  Vincent shook his head. “Sorry. We should stick around the house this weekend.”

  We pulled up to the school just as the bell rang and the line of cars waiting to pick up kids began to move. I opened my door while we were still moving, waving to Olivia where she was standing at the front of the school with the rest of her class.

  “Don’t do that!”

  Vincent leaned over and snatched the door handle, yanking it closed almost before I could fall back against my seat.

  “I was just—”

  “We don’t know where your stalker might be. He could show up just about anywhere, especially a place he already knows you visit at a specific time every day.”

  “This is my child’s school!”

  “Yeah. What a perfect place to set a sniper on the roof and take you out before anyone even notices.”

  That thought sent a cold chill down my spine. I kind of sank down into myself, staring down at my hands. Vincent reached over and touched my arm lightly to get my attention.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a little softer. “I just…don’t do that again.”

  He pulled to the curb and got out of the car, walking around to escort Olivia to the back door. She jumped inside, innocent excitement bursting from her entire, slight body.

  “Mommy! We’re going to have a concert for choir! Isn’t that the coolest thing?”

  “When?”

  “Next month. And Miss Franks said that I might be able to sing a solo! That means I get to sing all by myself in front of everybody.”

  “That’s pretty cool, baby,” I said, twisting around so that I could see her face. “What song are you going to sing?”

  “Candle on the Water. It’s from this movie we saw last week, Pete’s Dragon.”

  “I know. That used to be one of my most favorite songs.”

  “Really? It’s really a good song, Mommy.”

  She started to sing, but then she stopped mid-sentence.

  “Can you come, too?”

  For a second, I didn’t understand what she was talking about, but then she leaned forward and tapped Vincent’s shoulder.
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  He glanced at her in the mirror. “Is your seatbelt on?”

  She sat back and patted the seatbelt where it fit across her chest. “Can you come to my concert? Some of my friends, they bring their grandparents and their aunts and uncles. I bet cousins can come, too.”

  Vincent glanced at me before catching Olivia’s eye in the mirror again.

  “Of course. If you want me to.”

  Olivia clapped her hands, then began to sing again, hitting all the high notes, but flubbing most of the words. I stared out the window, wondering what I’d done. It was going to break Olivia’s heart when Vincent walked out of our lives and never came back. How could he make such a promise when he knew this thing was going to be over in a month? The last thing I needed was more questions about why we had no extended family, why there were no grandparents or aunts and uncles. Or why she didn’t have a dad like all her little friends, or even a stepdad. This was why I didn’t date, why I didn’t introduce the people in my life to my daughter. Ninety percent of the time they were temporary. And when they weren’t, it was hard to explain how we met. It was easier to just keep my life compartmentalized and not allow one part to spill into another.

  Only Susie knew Olivia. And Beth. There was no one else who was welcome in the Olivia compartment of my life.

  I should have kept it that way.

  “I think we need to talk,” I said to Vincent, as he pulled the SUV into my driveway.

  He didn’t answer. Something at the front of the house had caught his attention.

  “What is—?”

  “Stay here,” he said, sliding out of the SUV, locking the doors as he did. I watched him cross behind the car in the side mirror, saw him slide a gun I hadn’t even realized he was wearing under his light jacket—but I should have known because it was much too hot still for a jacket—and head up to the front of the house. He didn’t go inside. But as I watched, my brain struggled to wrap itself around what I saw sitting there on my front stoop.

  It was a dead cat. Someone had slit the throat of the stray cat I’d gotten into the habit of feeding.

  Oh, hell!

  Chapter 6

  Vincent

  I’ve seen some really depraved things, but slitting a cat’s throat took a special sort of person, you know? I stared down at the cat, noting the lack of blood here on the porch. It was pretty clear that the killing had happened somewhere else and the cat was left to frighten Quinn and Olivia.

  I couldn’t help but glance back at the car to make sure they’d stayed inside like I told them. I couldn’t quite see Olivia, but Quinn was looking at me with such a look of shock and disgust that I almost went back to the car to…I don’t know. Cover her eyes?

  But my training kicked in. The front door was still locked. Whoever had done this, they hadn’t come and gone from this door. Remembering the flimsy lock on the French doors in the kitchen, I walked around the side of the house, my sidearm in my right hand against my thigh. The side gate was open and swinging a little on well-oiled hinges. It had been locked when I did my rounds last night. I slipped through, raising the gun as I checked out the yard here. There was no one around, but there were small drops of blood on the white, decorative rocks.

  Just as I’d been afraid of, someone had jimmied the lock on the French doors. The doors stood wide open as though inviting the neighborhood inside. The kitchen looked undisturbed, though there was a knife missing from the magnetic strips that held them snug against the backsplash. I cleared each of the rooms on the first floor before making my way upstairs. Again, there were little drops of blood here and there, mostly on the kitchen floor and the stairs.

  I had a sick feeling in my stomach as I made my way upstairs. If this sick person had defiled Olivia’s room…

  But it was Quinn’s bedroom. There was blood smeared on her open bedroom door, the bright red drying against the white door like something out of a bad horror movie. I cleared the other three rooms first—Olivia’s bedroom, the office where I’d spent the night, and the small room where Quinn had set up a treadmill and small weight set.

  I stood outside Quinn’s bedroom, remembering the sight I’d accidentally enjoyed the night before. I felt as though I were invading her privacy somehow, taking advantage, by stepping through the threshold into her private domain. I held my gun in both hands now. If the perpetrator were still here, this would be the place he would be hiding.

  The smell hit me first. The smell of blood was intense in here, reminding me of the kitchen of my parents’ house after my father and brother went hunting. And then I saw it, the blood pooled in the center of Quinn’s bed. It was pretty clear that the perpetrator had killed the cat here. And then he used its blood to leave Quinn a message.

  “I know who you are.”

  It was written across the wall over the bed, drying to a dark, crimson in the cool afternoon air.

  This anger roiled up inside of me and I seriously considered putting a fist through the wall. I couldn’t believe that someone would do something so awful to someone they knew almost nothing about. Just because of what she did for a living…it was inexcusable in my opinion. But it wasn’t my job to do anything about this. My job was to protect the two young women waiting for me down in the SUV.

  I made my way quickly back downstairs, dialing as I walked.

  “Vulture,” I muttered, giving my code name so that the call could quickly be routed to the right person.

  “Vincent? What’s up?” Megan asked, surprising me by picking up the call herself.

  I described the scene, including the message on the wall upstairs.

  “The security team is on its way right now to put in the new system. They got delayed by a case across town.”

  “The blood is drying. I think this was done early. Probably soon after we left the house.”

  “Well, I’ll send Hayden over to assess the situation and call in the police, if we deem it necessary. For the moment, it’d be best to get the target as far from there as possible.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You have them with you? They’re secure?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “There’s a motel out on the Forty-five just outside Hitchcock. Take them there, rent a double. I’ll contact you when we have more information.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Please don’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel old.”

  I hesitated, not sure what to say. But then she laughed.

  “Loosen up, Vincent. We’re in a very serious business, so we need to learn to laugh whenever we can, okay?”

  I started to say, yes, ma’am, again, but caught myself. Instead, I offered a lame, “Okay.”

  I walked quickly around the side of the house, my eyes on the ground, searching for anything—a gum wrapper, a shoe print—that might suggest who’d done this. That wasn’t my job, either, but I hated the idea that someone had done this on my watch. But there was nothing.

  I climbed back into the SUV. Olivia was still singing in the backseat, but Quinn’s eyes were on me from the moment I returned from the back of the house. I threw the car into reverse and sped out of the driveway, turning the car in the proper direction and heading toward the interstate.

  “What?” Quinn asked.

  I shot a glance in her direction and then looked in the mirror.

  “So, do you like to go on trips, Miss Olivia?”

  Olivia’s eyes instantly widened. “A road trip?”

  “Exactly.”

  She clapped her hands together. “Cool. Where are we going?”

  “Well, I thought we’d just get out of town and go find a motel. Then tomorrow we’ll decide what to do.”

  “Okay. Can we stop for hamburgers, Mommy?”

  Quinn’s eyes were a little frantic. But her voice was calm as she said, “Sure, baby. What’s a road trip without hamburgers?”

  We drove for about forty minutes, listening to Olivia chatter about all the options we had. Quinn stared out the window, o
nly speaking when Olivia addressed a question directly to her. Much to her credit, her voice remained calm, and she even managed to dilute the panic in her eyes. But when we pulled off the interstate to grab dinner, she let Olivia go check out the jukebox the moment we sat down and began to interrogate me in a low, harsh whisper.

  “What was that on the porch? Was that a cat?”

  “Someone broke into your house.”

  “But you said they were putting in a new security system.”

  “They were supposed to, but they got delayed.”

  “So someone just walked into my house?”

  “The locks on the kitchen doors. They were so flimsy, it didn’t take much for someone to jimmy them open.”

  She shook her head, her eyes moving from my face to Olivia by the jukebox to the busy waitresses bustling around the crowded dining room.

  “What else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She focused on me again, her big green eyes wide with more than just fear. Determination seemed to seep from them like tears. I couldn’t help but look away.

  “There was a message on your bedroom wall.”

  “My bedroom?”

  I nodded. I could see what a violation that was to her; I could see it on her face like I could read the pages of a book. She reached up and buried her fingers in her hair, just under the heavy elastic that held her ponytail in place.

  “What did it say?”

  “‘I know who you are.’”

  She turned a little green around the gills, but she simply nodded. “That’s what this is all about, right? Someone’s figured out who I am, and they’re determined to punish me for it.”

  “Quinn…”

  I reached across the table to touch her hand, but she pulled away. She wasn’t interested in comfort.

  Olivia chose that moment to come running back over, talking a mile a minute. She’d found a couple of her favorite songs on the jukebox and she wanted money to play them. Quinn got up and walked over with her, digging a couple of dollar bills out of the front pocket to her jeans. I watched, finding it harder and harder not to admire the way she moved, the way her slender hips filled out those ordinary, high-cut jeans. She didn’t wear low riders like everyone else. She didn’t seem to feel the need to show off her tight curves and her delicate navel. But there was something about the way her body filled out those jeans that made them even more erotic than low riders could ever be.