GRAY WOLF SECURITY, Texas: The Complete 6-Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  “That’s an appropriate place for him.”

  “I always thought so. There, or riding down someone’s toilet.”

  Ricki laughed. Then she touched my face, drawing me closer to her.

  “You grew up okay, kid. I’m really glad you came and found me.”

  “Me, too.”

  Chapter 27

  Nolan

  Pepper reached over and took my hand. I squeezed hers, smiling down at her as we walked—side-by-side—down the sidewalk. It’d been so long since I’d last been here that things no longer looked as they had. The trees were taller, more mature. The old house on the corner had been torn down, and the one across the street had been painted a garish green color. But the house we were walking toward, the one where I’d spent three years at the end of my childhood, was still the same. A little, two-bedroom place that was painted a sickly yellow, the front porch slanted to one side, the front window shattered in the lower corner and patched with a piece of cardboard. I found myself wondering why he’d never had it fixed. I’d sent him more than enough money while I was in the Marines.

  “You grew up here?”

  “For a few years.” I gestured toward the battered Airstream parked against the side of the house. “That’s really my childhood home. That’s where we lived while my dad was active on the rodeo circuit.”

  She nodded. “Kind of what I pictured.”

  “Did you? Can you imagine me doing homework on the chipped dining room table?”

  “I can, actually.”

  I stopped right in front of the porch and pulled her in front of me, wrapping my arms around her. She stood still, let me lean on her for a moment. She knew how hard this was going to be for me. That’s why she had insisted on coming, and I was grateful despite my initial resistance. I was glad she was here; I was glad she cared enough to help me through this moment.

  And then the door opened and a tall man, his hair finally going gray, stepped out onto that tilted porch.

  “Nolan?”

  I nodded. “It’s me, Pop.”

  He moved like a young man, not like a middle-aged man who’d broken nearly every bone in his body at least once. He jumped down onto the ground in front of us and stared at me for a long moment. Then he pulled me into his arms, tugging Pepper along. He laughed, looking down at her as he clung to me.

  “I’m Johnathon.”

  “Pepper.”

  He grinned widely, that grin I’d always associated with a good win in the arena.

  “Nice to meet ya.” He stepped back and looked me over. “You’re too thin, boy. You need to eat more.”

  “Just like you, Pop.”

  He laughed, touching his ribs where they were visible through the thin undershirt he was wearing.

  “Come inside. You’re early. I was going to wear a suit, but I was waiting to the last minute so I wouldn’t get gravy all over it.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Pop. We didn’t expect you to dress up.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s been quite a few years since my son showed up for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  The house was filled with people, old rodeo folk I remembered all too well from my childhood. I introduced Pepper over and over again, feeling torn between the sense of coming home and the embarrassment that Pepper might not like the world I’d come from. But she was quickly lost in the stories they told, a beer in one hand and someone’s shoulder or hand in the other. She fit right in here. She fit in just about everywhere.

  She was…perfect.

  My father never asked why I hadn’t been around since I got out, and he never asked why I stopped writing. He never asked anything. He just stood proudly by my side and basked in my presence.

  I’d never understood the word “unconditional” until that moment. And when I looked at Pepper, I knew they were cut from the same cloth.

  I was one lucky man.

  Chapter 28

  At the Compound

  Kipling couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like celebrating anything. But tonight he was so grateful to have found the Graysons and Gray Wolf Security 2 that he couldn’t find the words to express it.

  “To family,” was all he could say when it was his turn to offer a toast at the Thanksgiving table.

  Everyone, with the exception of Nolan and Pepper, was there. Ingram and his wife, Bailey, were at one end of the table, her swollen belly growing bigger and bigger by the day. Elliot and his girl, Brooks, were at the other end, staring into each other’s eyes like no one else existed. Alex and Tierney were a little less starry eyed, but just as affectionate, stealing looks and kisses when his sister, Vanessa, wasn’t watching. Knox was chasing her boyfriend’s kids around the room, laughing each time one of them did something that would drive another mother to distraction, her man, Dunlap, watching with a look of utter amazement on his face. And then, of course, David and Ricki were there, Ricki laid out on a lounger that was brought into the dining room especially for her so that she wouldn’t have to sit up, but wouldn’t miss the festivities.

  And Chase, curled up in Kipling’s lap, was sound asleep. The effects of the tryptophan in turkey always seemed to have a more powerful effect on children.

  This night was so different from the traditions that Jesse had insisted that Kipling follow during their marriage that there was no comparison, but it still reminded him of those wonderful dinners. He missed his wife with an intensity that hurt. And his little girl whom he hadn’t gotten to know quite as well as he’d wanted.

  He shouldn’t have gone on that last tour of duty; he never should have left them alone. But he did. And they were gone, and the man who did it was gone. Those were things he was going to have to learn to live with. And he was doing his best. Meeting David and his family and accepting a position with Gray Wolf 2, had gone a long way to help him heal, to help him see that there was still life left for him to live, purpose for him to fulfill. But he didn’t think he would ever stop missing his family.

  He slipped out of the dining room and carried Chase up to his bed. He was just coming back down when the buzzer rang at the front gate.

  Who the hell could have business with them today of all days?

  One look at the monitor on Annie’s desk and the good feelings melted into something darker.

  He chose to walk down there rather than have this discussion over an intercom that might be overheard by someone else.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “He was innocent.”

  I shook my head, staring at her, at her familiar features that were almost as ingrained on my mind as my wife’s.

  “He confessed.”

  Harley Connors held up a piece of paper and shoved it through the slates of the wrought iron gate.

  “The DNA came back yesterday. He was innocent. It wasn’t his DNA in that house.”

  I picked up the paper and briefly thought of tearing it up. But I looked. She was right.

  Mickey Connors was innocent of killing my wife and child.

  But if that was true, why did he confess?

  ~~~

  FREEING KIPLING

  Prologue

  Kipling

  “Oh, God! I can’t believe how big she’s gotten!”

  Jesse laughed as she looked over at our daughter. Grace was playing at the corner of the desk where Jesse had set up the computer. Skype was a fucking amazing thing! I couldn’t believe I could actually see them. I felt as if I could reach through the computer and touch them both. I don’t know if it was harder than phone calls and email, but it was incredible. I wanted to stare at them for hours.

  “Three in a month,” Jesse said. “She can’t wait. She’s been talking about her birthday nonstop.”

  “Have you decided on the kind of cake you want?”

  “She wants chocolate. I’ve already ordered it from Dancy’s Bakery.”

  “Good. That’s my favorite.”

  “We know that.”

  I sat back and scratched my beard. Jesse ey
ed it with that look she always got when she saw my bearded face. She hated beards.

  “It’s temporary, babe.”

  “Do you have to grow one of those every time you go overseas?”

  “I like it.”

  “No, you just like looking like one of the guys.”

  “There’s that, too.”

  She laughed. “I can’t wait for you to get home, so we can have these arguments face-to-face.”

  “There are other things we’ll be doing when we’re face-to-face. Things that are much more exciting.”

  Jesse blushed so brightly that I could see it clearly over the thousands of miles between us. I laughed because I loved embarrassing her. For a woman who’d been married for five years and had a child, she was still amazingly bashful. And I loved it.

  “Oh, I meant to tell you. I ran into some guy at the market the other day who knows you.”

  “What guy?”

  “He didn’t say his name, but he knew you. Asked when you were coming home this time around.”

  I frowned, a little weary of anyone who would want that kind of information. Jesse saw my frown and smiled, leaning close to the camera.

  “Don’t worry, darling. I didn’t tell him anything. I just said you were doing well and thanked him for asking.”

  “What did he look like?”

  She shrugged. “Medium height. Dark hair. He had that wild look, as if he was fresh from over there. Sort of like he hadn’t yet acclimated to being home.”

  Jesse would know that look. She’d spent enough time on Army bases these last few years. It was only shortly before my last deployment that she finally decided she wanted to go home to Houston and buy a nice little house not far from the neighborhood where she grew up. Her parents were three miles down the road, close enough to be there when she needed help, but far enough away to not be intrusive. It was a nice situation, really. I liked it. And it would be nice to settle down there when I left the service in another few years.

  “I love you, sweetheart,” I said, as I spotted Ash Grayson coming into the communications tent. He was a sergeant with my unit, fresh out of college and full of bright ideas that I’d have to break him of, but he was a good soldier. And he looked like he had something heavy on his mind. “I have to go. Business calls.”

  “Will you be able to Skype again tomorrow?”

  “I’ll try. Give the little one a kiss for me.”

  ***

  I was finally asleep after spending most of the evening chasing down intel on a new hot spot of Taliban activity. My unit was headed over there tomorrow, likely our last major mission before we were to go stateside in a few weeks. I couldn’t wait to go home and hold my girls in my arms again. The desire was so strong; I could almost feel Grace’s slight body against my breastbone, her mother’s equally delicate body against my side.

  I was dreaming of the homecoming, of setting down my duffle and holding out my arms to the girls, when someone shoved my shoulder hard enough to pull me instantly out of the dream.

  “What the hell?” I muttered, sitting up and staring into the face of my intruder.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Grayson said, as he studied my face with something like pity.

  “What’s going on? The intel change?”

  “No, sir. This is…personal.”

  “Get a ‘Dear John’ email, son?”

  “No, sir.” His eyes fell from mine, an uncertainty I’d never seen in his eyes sending a chill of dread down my spine. “It’s your family, sir.”

  “What do you mean, my family?”

  “The commander, he—”

  “Tell me, soldier!”

  Grayson looked up at me, his eyes moving slowly over my face. “There’s been an incident at your house. They…your family…”

  “What?” I demanded, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “What are you telling me?”

  “They’ve been killed, sir. I’m sorry.”

  The world went gray. I got up and dressed mechanically, moving slowly, deliberately. I walked calmly to the communications tent. I found my commander there, talking to someone over a satellite phone. He stopped speaking when he saw me.

  “Kipling,” he said, his tone kind. But all I heard was the use of my first name, a curtsey he’d never extended to me before. And that’s when I knew.

  I promptly turned and vomited on my shoes.

  Chapter 1

  Kipling

  Ten years later…Thanksgiving Night

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like celebrating anything. But tonight I was so grateful to have found the Graysons and Gray Wolf Security 2 that I couldn’t find the words to express it.

  “To family,” was all I could say when it was my turn to offer a toast at the Thanksgiving table.

  Everyone, with the exception of Nolan and Pepper, was there. Ingram and his wife, Bailey, were at one end of the table, her swollen belly growing bigger and bigger by the day. Elliot and his girl, Brooks—the architect of this excellent meal—were at the other end, staring into each other’s eyes like no one else existed. Alex and Tierney were a little less starry eyed, but just as affectionate, stealing looks and kisses when his sister, Vanessa, wasn’t watching. Knox was chasing her boyfriend’s kids around the room, laughing each time one of them did something that would drive another mother to distraction, her man, Dunlap, watching with a look of utter amazement on his face. And then, of course, David and Ricki were there, Ricki laid out on a lounge that was brought into the dining room especially for her so that she wouldn’t have to sit up and risk driving her blood pressure too high, but so she also wouldn’t miss the festivities.

  And Chase, curled up in my lap, sound asleep. The effects of the tryptophan in turkey always seemed to have a more powerful effect on children.

  This night was so different from the traditions that Jesse had insisted we follow during our marriage that there was no comparison, but it still reminded me of those wonderful dinners. I missed my wife with an intensity that hurt, and I missed my little girl, whom I was still getting to know when a monster took her away from me.

  I shouldn’t have gone on that last tour of duty; I never should have left them alone. But I did. And they were gone, and the man who did it was gone. There was no longer the potential of revenge. I’d dreamed since the moment I learned how they’d died of killing that bastard, of stringing him up and doing worse things to him than he’d done to my girls. But he’d been murdered in prison just a few weeks ago and I’d missed my chance. That was something I would have to learn to live with. And I was doing my best. Meeting David and his family and accepting a position with Gray Wolf 2 had gone a long way to help me heal, to help me see that there was still life left for me to live, purpose for me to fulfill. I would never stop missing my family, never stop feeling that driving need for revenge. But now I had other things to distract me, to make me whole again.

  I slipped out of the dining room and carried Chase up to his bed. I stood and watched him for a moment, admiring the peaceful sleep only small children seemed capable of achieving. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept without nightmares. I hoped that Chase would never experience something in his life that would disturb his peaceful sleep.

  I was just coming back down when the buzzer rang at the front gate.

  Who the hell could have business with us today of all days?

  One look at the monitor on Annie’s desk and the good feelings melted into something darker.

  I chose to walk down there rather than have this discussion over an intercom that might be overheard by someone else.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “He was innocent.”

  I shook my head, staring at her, at her familiar features that were almost as ingrained on my mind as my wife’s.

  “He confessed.”

  Harley Connors held up a piece of paper, shoved it through the slates of the wrought iron gate. “The DNA came back yesterday. He was innocent. It wasn’
t his DNA in that house.”

  I picked up the paper and briefly thought of tearing it up. What did it matter now? The man confessed to the murders of my wife and child and had known things that only the police and the killer could have known. And he argued with his sister over the many attempts she’d made in the past ten years to get him a new trial and get him out of prison. He was clearly aware of what he’d done and happy to pay for it.

  So what if she had a few bits of blood left behind by killer tested? So what if she wasted her time on more testing and wasted the courts’ time on things that would not change their decision.

  But she was right. The tests ruled Mickey Connors out as the source of the DNA.

  Did that matter? Maybe he had an accomplice. The prosecutor had contended that from the very beginning.

  “This doesn’t mean anything,” I said, shoving the paper back through the gate to her.

  “It proves Mickey didn’t rape your wife.”

  The words fell between us like a stone in a river. And, for me, they brought back a series of memories I had packed away, memories I wasn’t about to unpack and review like I had done so many times in the aftermath of my wife and daughter’s murders. I wasn’t going back down that dark road after I had just pulled myself off of it.

  I turned to walk back up to the house.

  “Mr. McKay! Kipling!”

  I couldn’t look at her without seeing Mickey. They looked very little alike, but the knowledge that she was his sister, the knowledge that she came from the same bloodline as that monster, was enough to make me despise her. How could she fight for him? How could she fight for a monster who would do the things he’d done to my family? How could someone as beautiful and as intelligent as her indulge in his lies?

  “Please, Kipling. I know this is hard for you, but you’re the only one I have left to turn to.”