DRAGON SECURITY: The Complete 6 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  “I understand that. But she was your friend, too.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you, Paul.”

  I disconnected the call and pressed the accelerator to the floor. But then I caught sight of a trooper parked on the side of the road. I quickly slowed. The last thing I needed was to get arrested before I arrived in Dallas. I couldn’t help Amy from a jail cell.

  Chapter 2

  Amy

  I stepped out onto the street, pausing with my back against the cool bricks of the building, trying to take a few deep breaths. The problem was, my lungs felt as though an elephant were sitting on my chest. I couldn’t catch my breath to save my life.

  I couldn’t believe she was gone. My sister, my twin. We had a connection that no one else on earth could possibly share. Yet, I hadn’t known she was dead. I should have known, shouldn’t I have? She lay bleeding out on the front seat of her car and I was answering emails.

  I felt like I’d killed her. Like I’d betrayed something between the two of us, some unspoken thing that had always existed, even after she broke my heart.

  I pushed away from the building and headed down the street, determined to not fail her now. Mom and Dad were making arrangements for the funeral. I’d agreed to arrange for flowers from the floral shop down the street.

  She liked carnations. Were carnations appropriate for a funeral?

  I was about to pull open the glass door of the shop when I saw a dark sedan reflected in the glass. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’d last seen it.

  “Miss Greene?”

  One of my students, a young woman in my advanced lit class, came up behind me just as I was about to step through the door.

  “Angela.”

  She smiled widely, the other woman beside her watching with something of a bemused look on her face.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She gestured to the other woman. “Shopping with my mom. She’s having a dinner party tonight and wanted to get flowers.”

  “Mrs. Wallace. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Angela is a lovely student.”

  “Thank you.”

  They were both looking at me as if I had a glob of chocolate on my face or something. I stepped back slightly, wondering if I smelled bad. I hadn’t had much of a chance to shower this morning. I’d barely had time to put on jeans and a blouse before the police dragged me up to Arlington to identify my sister’s body. Then I’d had to go to my childhood home and inform my parents that one of their only two children had died.

  And the way she died. There wasn’t much the morgue attendant had done to hide the puncture wounds on her chest. And the blood…there was blood on her clothes, on the sheet covering her. Even on the metal gurney she was lying on.

  I shuttered at the memory.

  “You okay, Miss Greene?”

  It was a bit of a struggle to focus on Angela again. “Fine,” I said softly.

  “Amy…”

  My dad moved up behind me and slipped a hand over my back. Just the feel of his hand on me helped stiffen my spine a little.

  “Daddy, this is one of my students, Angela, and her mother.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, his voice a little raw, but polite as it always was. He was holding up better than the rest of us, taking charge of all the little details. That was his thing. When something happened, he didn’t process until after everything was done, after everyone else fell apart. He was our rock.

  Emily had been like him.

  It was obvious that Mrs. Wallace was uncomfortable. Maybe she saw the red rings around my eyes from crying with my mom earlier, or she just sensed that something wasn’t quite right. But she politely extracted herself from the situation and led Angela inside the florist’s shop.

  “The coroner won’t release the body until Wednesday.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged, his eyes falling to the sidewalk. “The cops want a detailed autopsy, and I guess it’ll take that long to move her to the Dallas County Coroner’s office, perform the autopsy, and then send her back. And then the mortuary will have to transport her here, so that’ll take another day. We’re not going to be able to have the funeral until Saturday.”

  “That’s a full week.”

  “I know.” He lifted his eyes slowly. “I’m sorry, kid.”

  People were moving around us on the sidewalk, moms and dads and kids going about their normal Saturday morning activities. Some part of me thought it was odd that they would do that. Hadn’t the world stopped for them, too?

  I touched my dad’s arm.

  “We’ll do our best by her, Daddy.”

  “What was she doing in Arlington?”

  It was a question that had been just beyond my reach. I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to wonder why my sister was so close to home but hadn’t bothered to let anyone know. I knew it was partially my fault. I told her I never wanted to see her again. I told her that she was dead to me.

  I regretted using that term.

  “I don’t know, Daddy.”

  “Why would she come home and not come see us? We thought she was still in Paris. She still called every couple of weeks, but she never mentioned that she’d come home.”

  I hadn’t known that either, but I should have assumed.

  My parents didn’t know about my falling out with Emily. It’d been humiliating enough to find her with my fiancé. I didn’t want to add to that by seeing the sympathy in my parents’ eyes.

  Maybe if I had, they would have encouraged us to make amends. Then, maybe, my sister would have told us she was home.

  I started to touch my dad’s arm, reaching to offer comfort, when a familiar face suddenly burst through a group of teenagers riding their skateboards up and down the sidewalk.

  Dominic.

  Shock rendered me paralyzed for a long moment. I hadn’t seen him since that week in Paris. He looked…oh, my God! Was he always that handsome? I remembered his broad shoulders, his heavy arms. I remembered the way his slender hips looked in a pair of jeans. But he was fuller, stronger. His dark hair was longer than it’d been when I last saw him, but still neat and trimmed. He had hazel eyes that were as much gold as they were green, depending on his mood. Right now they were a deep green, slightly narrowed. He was focused on something behind me. And his hand was slipping behind his back.

  “Gun!” someone yelled.

  Chaos suddenly erupted. My dad grabbed my arm and pulled me back against the florist’s front display window, trying to shield me from whatever was about to happen. I caught sight of a guy in a dark jacket pausing in the middle of the sidewalk—even though everyone else was rushing for cover. He faced Dominic, a weird sort of smile on his face. But then he backed off and got into a dark sedan that was parked near the funeral home.

  “You have to come with me,” Dominic said, as he approached my father and me.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t have time to explain. You have to trust me.”

  “Trust you?”

  My father moved between Dominic and me before I could finish what I was about to say.

  “The police informed me not an hour ago that you were the main suspect in Emily’s murder.”

  Dark emotion slipped across Dominic’s face. But he didn’t respond.

  “Get away from my remaining daughter.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Greene,” Dominic said softly. Then he shoved him aside and grabbed my arm, yanking me against his chest. “We don’t have time for this.”

  Sirens sounded somewhere down the street. People were still cowering, a few peeking their heads out to see what was happening, but not coming out from cover. No one but my father seemed interested in interfering between Dominic and me.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

  “You have no choice.”

  I tried to pull back as he headed toward the street. I pushed against his chest, twisting my arm to try to break fr
ee from his grip. He just held tighter.

  “Stop!” my dad yelled, unfolding himself from the heap he’d fallen into when Dominic pushed him.

  A muscle jumped in Dominic’s cheek. But he kept walking.

  “What are you doing?”

  I was sort of running beside him. I planted my feet and tried to force him to stay in one spot. He glanced at me, sort of shook his head, and grabbed me under my arms. The next thing I know, he’s throwing me over his shoulder as if I’m a sack of potatoes or something.

  “Amy!”

  Dominic tossed me into the front seat of a large, black truck, snapping handcuffs on my wrist before I even saw it coming. Then he snapped the other end of the cuffs onto a handrail that was bolted into the dashboard above the glove box.

  I turned, watching as my dad finally gained his feet and ran toward the truck. He slammed his hand against the truck’s door, but Dominic was already behind the wheel, tearing away from the curb.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  I slid across the truck’s long bench seat and slammed my fist—the one not hampered by the handcuffs—against his shoulder. It felt so good that I did it again and again, slamming my fist against his shoulder and his chest. He reached over and grabbed my wrist, twisting it just enough to send a jolt of pain up my arm.

  “Stop.”

  “What are you doing? Why are you doing this?”

  “I will explain when we have time. But right now, we need to get rid of this truck.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He didn’t answer. But when I twisted in my seat, I could see several police cars rushing in the direction of the funeral home. They’d be after us soon enough.

  I jerked at the handcuffs.

  “Don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “What do you care?”

  He didn’t answer.

  I threw myself back against the seat, wrenching my wrist free of his grip. He let go without a fight, returning his hand to the steering wheel as he eased the truck toward Interstate 35.

  “Where are we going?” I asked after a few minutes.

  “Airport.”

  I pulled at the handcuffs again, trying to at least adjust the way they hung from the handrail, but there was no adjusting them.

  “You know, some passerby might see this and think to call the police.”

  “Or they’ll mind their own business because they’ll think we’re doing something kinky.”

  I shook my head, pulling hard at the handcuffs. But he was right, all I was doing was bruising my wrist.

  His phone, sitting on a holder jutting out from the dashboard that I hadn’t notice until now, began to ring. An attractive woman’s face filled the screen and the name, Sam, scrolled beneath. He glanced at me.

  “Be quiet.”

  I shrugged.

  “Hey, Sam,” he said after connecting the call with a button on his steering wheel.

  “It’s Megan. We just got a visit from Houston’s finest. Is there something you need our help with, Dominic?”

  There was concern dripping from the woman’s voice. I stared out the window, wondering if he was having an affair with her. He seemed…smitten. Was that even the right word? I remembered he talked to one of our professor’s with that same tone of voice. I teased him about being in love with her, but he insisted it was just respect. Was that what he felt for this woman? Did I know him well enough to recognize that in his voice?

  I wasn’t sure I knew anything about him anymore. I thought…but then…

  “What did they say?”

  “That they wanted to talk to you about a murder in Arlington last night. I told them you were here last night, but they wanted proof we couldn’t offer.”

  Dominic nodded, that muscle popping in his jaw again.

  “Anything else?”

  “Not really. They said they searched your place and you appeared to have left town. I told them you were on assignment.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’re here for you, Dominic. All you have to do is tell us what you need.”

  “Thank you,” he said again, something in his voice making me look sharply at him. His hands moved over the steering wheel, flexing as tension strummed through him like vibrations through a speaker. “I’ll let you know when I know more.”

  He disconnected, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of us. A police car passed us on the other side of the interstate, but it showed no interest in us or anyone else. We were coming close to the Dallas city limits and traffic was increasing, forcing him to slow down a little. He merged to the right, watching for the exit to the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport.

  “What’s your plan, Dominic? Do you plan on keeping me handcuffed until you figure out your next step?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “And after that?”

  He shook his head.

  “You didn’t plan this out?”

  “I wasn’t really expecting to be accused of murder when I got up this morning. Sorry if my lack of planning is a problem for you.”

  “You kidnapped me.”

  “You accused me of murder.”

  I jerked at the handcuffs again, really wanting to get away from him right now. I’d been so wrapped in the shock of seeing him again after all this time—two years was a long time—that I hadn’t stop to think about the consequences of this. Of why he was here and why I should be frightened of him.

  “Break your wrist and it’ll just swell around the cuffs.”

  “Wouldn’t that make you happy? Fulfill that sadistic part of you.”

  “I’m sadistic? Who was the one who got a kick out of being tied to the bed?”

  “That was a long time ago,” I said, a blush working its way up my face. “Things change.”

  “You don’t like a little kinky sex anymore? That’s too bad.”

  My face was burning now. “Did Emily? Were we alike in that way?”

  He glanced at me, but he didn’t say anything.

  Score one for me.

  He turned the truck off the interstate, and within a few minutes, we were stopped at the tollbooth arms. He reached over and grabbed a ticket, barely waiting for the arm to get out of the way. He parked at the back of a long-term lot, pausing to put up a sun shield before he turned to me.

  “We’re going to have to go inside the airport. Will you behave, or do I need to subdue you?”

  “What does that mean?”

  He cocked an eyebrow like it was obvious and I was just too slow to understand.

  “Why don’t you just let me go? Why do you need me?”

  “Because I’d rather not have your murder blamed on me, too.”

  My blood ran cold. “What are you talking about?”

  “When was the last time you saw Emily?”

  I shook my head. “I haven’t seen her since Paris.”

  His brow knitted together. “Amy, this is really important. I need to know what you know so that I can figure out what everyone else knows.”

  “You’re talking in riddles.”

  “Let me take it a little slower then. When is the last time you saw your sister?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “But she’s been back for eighteen months.”

  I started to shake my head and ask him how he knew that. But that was pretty obvious, wasn’t it?

  “You were still seeing her?”

  “Amy—”

  “Of course you were! The two of you must have had a blast laughing behind my back! Were you together when we were in college? When you were living with me?”

  “We don’t have time for this right now.”

  “Then when will we have time?”

  Instead of answering me, he reached into the back seat of his massive truck and grabbed a rather large duffle. He reached inside and pulled out a t-shirt, then came around to open my door. He unlocked the handcuff attached to the handrail, getting my hopes up that he was going to free me. But then he snappe
d it on his own wrist and then wrapped the t-shirt over the whole contraption, making it look like we were simply holding hands under some sort of oddly shaped scarf.

  “You’re seriously going to do this?”

  “I can’t allow you to get away from me.”

  “Why? You had no interest in being close to me two years ago.”

  “Amy…”

  He rolled his eyes even as he reached over me to grab his bag. As he did, his chest pressed hard against me, his scent enveloping me. He smelled different. When we were in college, he used cheap cologne. This was clearly not a cheap brand. And his shirt…no more throwing everything into a single load in the basement laundry room for him, I guessed. It smelled like professional cleaning. Like he had a nice house and a maid and all the luxury a single man could desire.

  I really didn’t know him anymore.

  How could so much change in such a short amount of time?

  “Who’s Megan?”

  He moved back, tossing his bag over his shoulder. “My boss.”

  “Are you in love with her?”

  He chuckled under his breath. “First I’m still sleeping with your sister, and now I’m also sleeping with my boss.”

  “You don’t have to sleep with someone to be in love with them.”

  He jerked his arm, the one with the handcuff around the wrist, and pulled me out of the truck.

  “You don’t speak unless spoken to, understand? Don’t go screaming for help in the middle of the airport. Don’t try to make eye contact with strangers. You do what I say when I say it. Got it?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  He walked quickly, forcing me to nearly run in order to keep up with him. Every time he swung his arm away from me, the cuffs rubbed against my bones. I gritted my teeth, snatching his hand in order to keep the rubbing from happening. Our hands moved together naturally, my fingers sliding between his like they were meant to be there. He didn’t fight it. In fact, I thought I felt him squeeze my hand lightly.

  I know I didn’t imagine him tugging me closer to his side.

  We walked into the massive airport at the American Airlines terminal and made our way through the crowd at the security checkpoint, moving away from the cops and TSA people searching for potential terrorists. He seemed to know exactly where he wanted to go, dragging me to the other side of the building where the arrivals were meant to stream out onto the sidewalk. I thought he might go to the car rental counters, but he didn’t. Instead, he dragged me outside to where the shuttles came and went at regular intervals.