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

by Glenna Sinclair

  Joss picked up some photographs and began circulating them around the table. “Bazarov was killed on the attack at my client’s Oregon home. However, his son, Dimitri, took over the cartel and continued business as usual. The cartel moved guns and drugs not only from their home base in Russia, but from other countries as well. And they moved their merchandise all over the states, from New York to California, including a large market right here in Texas. Our intel at the time showed that they had quite a few dealers in Houston, Austin, and Fort Worth, mostly run by local captains.” She picked up a new photograph. “As of four years ago, this was the captain in Houston. His name is George Gregory.”

  Joss made a sort of waving motion at Ash who stood and took her place at the head of the table.

  “As you can imagine,” he said, his commanding presence and voice drawing the undivided attention of everyone in the room, “Dimitri Bazarov was not pleased when his father was killed. He put a target on our backs at Gray Wolf, specifically me as the head of the organization. However, his organization was weak after his father’s death and it took all he had just to keep things running smoothly. But when he learned that his son was living inside the compound, he made it his soul purpose to get inside, kill everyone he could find, and take his child back.”

  The others stole glances at each other, wondering about the little boy who’d been so pleased to see David when he jumped out of the car. He didn’t look like Ash; he didn’t have his dark hair or his burly build, but he did have his mannerisms and his smile. It took more than genetics to make a man a father. Ash knew that more than anyone else did.

  “We knew we had to take them out in order to protect not only ourselves, but an innocent child.” Ash gestured toward his brother. “David devised a program that allowed him to place a single, small device on Mina and use it to not only locate the place where Dimitri and his lieutenants were holed up, but also to keep track of who was there and where they were located. We simply had to follow the information provided and take down the bad guys, like a well-planned military operation. And, thankfully,” Ash said, his eyes moving slowly over his wife’s face, “it went off without a hitch. Dimitri was killed, and we’d once again cut off the head of the snake.”

  David got up again, picking through the files on an iPad that Ricki had arranged for him. Projecting them onto the wall, he gestured at the first set of pictures to show.

  “The Bazarov cartel was badly damaged by Gray Wolf’s multiple strikes against them. As far as the FBI is concerned, the organization no longer exists in any significant capacity within the borders of the United States. However, Ricki found some information last night that implies that a few fringe groups spawned from the cartel still exist here in the United States. This man, Ivan Petrov, is thought to be a lieutenant of Dimitri Bazarov. Petrov somehow managed to survive and is still moving drugs via the Gulf Coast.”

  “And this has to do with Kipling how?” Ingram asked.

  “Harley Connors believes that Jaime Hernandez worked for Ivan Petrov ten years ago when the McKay’s family died,” Tierney announced. “And Ricki uncovered evidence last night that suggests that is still the case.”

  “Where did Ricki get her information?” Elliott wanted to know.

  David shrugged. “We don’t ask too many questions when it comes to Ricki’s research skills.”

  A little titter went up around the room, everyone recalling that Ricki had quite the reputation for being a hacker back in the day.

  “Then we’re to assume that Kipling will uncover proof that Jaime Hernandez killed the McKays and paid off this Connors fellow to take the fall and that somehow the Russian cartel is involved?” Elliott asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “And the fact that Gray Wolf Security had run-ins with the cartel in the past is related to this how?”

  David and Ash exchanged looks.

  “We don’t think there is a relation.” Ash sat up a little straighter and looked down the table at Elliott. “We simply felt you should know what you’re up against. Just because the cartel is no longer functioning as it once was, there is no doubt in my mind that Ivan Petrov is the mastermind behind all of this. Jaime Hernandez does not seem like the type of guy who could pull something like this off without a little help. And Ivan…when he puts two and two together and realizes that Kipling is coming after him and he has ties to the people who took out not one, but two of his bosses four years ago…he’s not going to make things easy for our brother. Kipling’s going to need for us to be as knowledgeable and as prepared as possible when this thing goes down.”

  Elliott sat back, seemingly satisfied with that answer.

  “I looked at the evidence Harley Connors has,” Tierney announced to the room, Alexander reaching over to touch her knee. “I can tell you that in my experience working as a criminal defense attorney, she has a strong case for innocence. Just glancing through her evidence, not really looking at all of it, I believe he could have walked on the DNA alone. And the fact that someone murdered him in his prison cell just a short time before those DNA results came back seems not only suspicious, but it speaks of someone with a long arm. A street thug like Jaime Hernandez would not be able to arrange something like that all on his own. He had some sort of power behind him, if he’s the one who put Connors up to this in the first place.”

  “What do we know about Mickey Connors?” Ash asked.

  David projected a new file onto the wall, a copy of Mickey Connors’ arrest record that dated back to his juvenile records. Ingram whistled under his breath as he read through the long list of offenses.

  “These are all petty crimes,” Knox commented.

  “This is the record of someone who started using drugs at an early age,” Tierney agreed. “Someone who would do just about anything to get his next fix. But this…don’t get me wrong, there have been many drug addicts who have escalated to murder. But those murders are usually murders of opportunity. The murders of Kipling’s family…” Tierney shuttered a little. “Connors’ confession suggests they were murders of opportunity, but the time line doesn’t quite add up. And the fact that Mrs. McKay was sexually assaulted, yet Connors claims he doesn’t remember doing it, seems sort of strange to me. A drug addict in withdrawal wouldn’t likely stop to rape a woman in the middle of a burglary.”

  “But we don’t know for sure that Connors didn’t do this?” Ingram asked.

  “We don’t. The prosecutor accepted Connors’ confession, but always insisted that there had to be a second actor. That’s why he fought for Connors receiving a life sentence. He felt that Connors was lying when he said he did it alone, and since he wouldn’t turn over his accomplice, he should serve the longest sentence possible.”

  Silence settled around the room, as those present took in everything they were hearing. To David, it seemed like there were only two conclusions they could come to in hearing all this information. First, that Connors didn’t do it, that he took the fall for the Russian cartel, and that meant that Kipling was currently walking into a rat’s nest of trouble. Or second, Connors did do it, but he had partner, who is now in a position that it was possible for him to have an inmate in a maximum prison murdered. And that—all on its own—was a shit storm that couldn’t be any better for Kipling if he was really determined to uncover the partner’s identity.

  “Tells us more, boss,” Alexander said, his eyes on David. The others nodded, their eyes also fixed on David. And when David glanced at Ash, his brother inclined his head just slightly, just enough to acknowledge that this was his little brother’s show.

  David stood a little taller as he cleared his throat and nodded. “Okay, this is everything we have on the four main players…”

  Chapter 5

  Harley

  I stared out the window, biting back the stupid tears that were burning in my throat, threatening to overwhelm me. I knew if I gave in to them, I would start bawling like a damn baby…and I really didn’t want to do that.

 
I could smell him on my fingers, on my skin. I could still feel him inside of me. I hadn’t meant for that to happen. I knew…I could see it whenever he looked at me that all he saw in me was the face of the man he thought killed his wife and daughter. I knew that I was just a constant reminder to him, and I hated that. I hated that I was tied to the worst moments of this man’s life, the biggest tragedy to ever touch him. I hated it because I’d been in love with him from almost the first moment I met him.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  What a fool I was! When I first learned that Mickey had been arrested, I was angry. Frustrated. He’d been arrested so many times in the years between my twelfth and eighteenth birthdays that I’d lost count. And the arguments that always followed, the red-hot anger that blew from my mother’s lips, the halfhearted attempts at mediation that came from Daddy, and the shame mixed with this strange sense of entitlement that came from Mickey. It was the background music to my life.

  But then he said things that he’d never said before. Don’t bail me out. Don’t come to the courthouse. It’s different this time, Harley. Don’t get involved.

  He’d always begged me to bail him out before then. I was on a first name basis with the court clerks. For him to say those things…my curiosity was burning hotter than my mom’s anger.

  I went to his arraignment and watched as they brought him into the courtroom. He was bruised, his nose broken again. There were sores on his knuckles, the creases on the inside of his elbows. My first thought was that he was using again. My second was that Mom would never forgive him this time.

  And then they read the charges. Murder. Rape. False imprisonment. Burglary of a home. Theft. I couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t my brother. These were not things he would do.

  I don’t remember if I cried. Don’t remember if I called out to him, if I tried to speak to him. I did remember turning and finding myself staring into the most intense blue eyes. It was a soldier standing at the back of the room, dressed in civilian clothing, but there was something about his stance that told me he was a soldier. His hair was cut short then, the curls barely visible. But those eyes…

  He reminded me a little of that actor. Hugh Laurie. But younger, taller, and more muscular. Yet, he had the same blue eyes and the brown hair that had a tendency to curl. And the long, sad face that made you want to walk up to him and give him a hug just to make that scowl go away.

  I didn’t know until a week or two later that he was the husband and father of the victims of Mickey’s crime. When I saw his picture in the paper…how could I forget those eyes? And then when he stood up in court at Mickey’s sentencing hearing and talked about his family, about the things he lost as a result of this crime, it broke my heart. As much as I believed—deep in my soul—that Mickey was innocent, I hated the person who could take so much from this broken man.

  I’ve told myself all these years that I fought to find the truth because I wanted to free my brother. But a little part of me has always known that I’d also done it to free this man of the uncertainty of not knowing the truth of what happened to his family. I wanted to take the grief from his shoulders, the pain from his eyes. I wanted to show him that there was still some good in the world by being a representation of that good. I wanted to be his guardian angel.

  It was stupid. I knew that. Late at night when I was struggling to keep up with my college courses and, later, my medical school courses, I knew my obsession with Kipling McKay was illogical. But I couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement when the court clerk called to tell me that there would be a new hearing, a new chance to be close to Kipling. I couldn’t stop my heart from skipping a beat whenever he walked into a courthouse.

  But then Mickey was killed and, as the saying goes, shit got real.

  This wasn’t some schoolgirl crush anymore, some game of cat and mouse that I was playing from the safety of my low-rent, walk-up apartment. This was a real crime that could lead to more bloodshed. I might have gotten in so much deeper than I ever expected.

  Mickey warned me.

  You don’t know whom you’re fucking around with here, Harley. These people who paid me to do this, they won’t just sit back and let you prove me innocent. They’ll take me out, they’ll take you out. Hell, they might take out everyone who has anything to do with this shit.

  He told me that more than once, and I blew it off. I told him that if they hadn’t tried to stop us in the ten years I’d been working on his case, they wouldn’t try now.

  Was I wrong? Was it more than a prison fight that ended my brother’s life?

  Kipling stopped the SUV in a parking lot. I looked up to find myself staring at the façade of one of those chain supermarkets with high-priced produce and value cards.

  “What are we doing here?”

  Kipling sat there with his hands gripping the steering wheel for a long moment, not looking at me or even acknowledging that I was there. He was staring up at the building, a lost look to his eyes. I had an idea what was happening. I’d seen this look on his face again and again when we were walking through the house he lived in with his family. This must have been the supermarket where his wife shopped. He was lost in memories.

  I waited. Eventually he cleared his throat and focused on me.

  “The day before…I was talking to Jesse over Skype, and she told me that some man had approached her here and asked her about me. I was thinking that maybe someone had seen it or caught it on tape?”

  “But that was ten years ago.”

  “It’s a long shot,” he admitted. “But sometimes long shots pay off.”

  I followed him into the store, walking far enough behind him that there was no chance we might accidentally touch, but close enough that it was clear to everyone around us that we were together. I saw the looks the bored housewives and nannies shot in his direction, the interest in their eyes. He was a good-looking man, but, more than that, he had a sort of commanding presence that people respected. I often found myself thinking how proud Jesse must have been to be able to call him her man.

  “Can I speak to your manager?” Kipling politely asked of one of the cashiers.

  She gestured toward the back of the store. “Her office is just inside the storeroom in the back.”

  “Thanks.”

  He didn’t wink, didn’t touch her, didn’t do any of the things a man might do to charm a woman. Yet, she stared at him long after he walked away, a small smile lighting her tired eyes. That was the effect Kipling had on people.

  I followed silently as Kipling pushed his way through the swinging doors and strode up to the manager’s office as if he belonged there. The woman sat up straight, as she looked at him, as if she was the guest in her own office.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I certainly hope so.” Kipling leaned forward to offer the woman his hand. “I’m Kipling McKay. My wife used to frequent this store years ago, and I was wondering if you might have some security footage from a particular visit she made here.”

  The woman looked almost crushed as she thought over his question. “We don’t normally keep security footage longer than twenty-four hours unless there’s been an incident.”

  Kipling nodded slowly. “This would have been ten years ago.”

  She shook her head sadly. “I’m not even sure we had a sufficient security system then.”

  “What about employees who might have been around then?”

  She lifted a hand to her face, pressing one well-manicured finger against her full bottom lip. “Well, the only employee we have who’s been here that long is Daniel in the meat department. But he works in the back, packaging the steaks and things.”

  “Would it be possible to talk to him?”

  “Of course.”

  The woman jumped to her feet and moved around the desk, smiling up at Kipling. “I’ll go get him.” When her eyes met mine, though, the smile faltered.

  “What are the chances this guy will even remember your wife?” I asked aloud, not r
eally expecting an answer.

  “Pretty slim,” he said, leaning over the desk to take a look at the computer monitor. “I didn’t really expect anything. I just thought…we shouldn’t leave any stones unturned.”

  The woman returned a moment later with a tall, elderly gentleman with a little bit of a slant to his shoulders. His eyes were a milky blue, his hair long gone white where it hadn’t fallen out. The manager made the introductions, completely ignoring me.

  “McKay?” the man asked, a slight cock to his head. “Your wife was Jesse McKay.”

  Kipling inclined his own head. “She was.”

  “I remember the stories in the paper after all that mess. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  There was surprise in the manager’s eyes, but Kipling was clearly touched by the man’s words.

  “My wife shopped here quite frequently. Did you ever meet her?”

  “Yes. She often came to my department and asked for special cuts of meat.” The man got something of a dreamy look on his face. “She was a lovely woman. Always kind. And that little girl was a doll.”

  Pain flashed in Kipling’s eyes, but I don’t think it was there long enough for the others to notice. But I’d seen it often enough that I couldn’t miss it.

  “In the days before she died, she told me that a man approached her here. You didn’t happen to see her talking to anyone during that time, did you?”

  The man touched his chin, clearly trying to remember. “She was very friendly, always talking to everyone. But I do remember that a week before all that…” He waved his hand to indicate the unpleasantness of their deaths. “She spoke to that drug dealer, that pariah.”