DRAGON SECURITY: Volume 2: The Complete 6 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  Heather was in a somber mood when we arrived back at her place several hours later. She needed to eat, but I knew without trying that she wouldn’t be able to stomach food right now. Instead, I took her hand and led the way into the bathroom. I drew her a hot bath, filling it with the sweet-scented bubble bath she had sitting on a shelf, dusty like she rarely ever used it. Then I turned to her, loving the soft, knowing smile that touched her lips as I drew her close and began to unbutton her blouse.

  “I can undress myself.”

  “That’s not as much fun.”

  She groaned, but she didn’t even try to pull away. I took my time, prolonging my own pleasure as I unbuttoned her blouse one delicate button at a time. Then the skirt, unzipping it and watching it fall around her ankles. Then the bra, biting back a groan as her breasts fell free, her nipples already hard little pebbles. I kissed the tip of her nose before dropping to my knee, slipping her panties over her hips, brushing my hand over her pubic mound before I stood again.

  I helped her into the bath, taking a knee again as I wet and soaped a washrag, using it to wipe the clinging residue of the day from her skin. I loved her body. Her hips were just wide enough, her breasts just big enough. There were goosebumps on her arms from my touch, turning her porcelain skin a lovely pink. She watched me with curious—maybe even a little wary—eyes, watching my face as my hand slipped down over her thighs. I couldn’t quite tell if she was hoping for a sexual advance, or if she was dreading it.

  I slid my fingers between her legs, brushing them against her lower lips, watching her eyes slowly slip closed. If that wasn’t an answer to my question, I didn’t know what would be. But this was about her, about making her feel good again.

  I bathed her, washed every inch of her flesh before massaging shampoo into her scalp. She sighed when I laid her back to rinse, pleasure finally slipping over her face for the first time all day. When the water began to grow tepid, I helped her to her feet and wrapped her in a warm towel, lifting her easily to carry her into the bedroom.

  She had a collection of lotions, only one of which showed any evidence of use. I grabbed it, rubbing the silky salve into her shoulders, her back, her legs, before rolling her over and taking my time over her breasts, her hips, her inner thighs.

  She reached for me when I finished, tugging me down onto the mattress beside her. Still fully dressed in a newly purchased black suit—I hadn’t planned on attending a funeral when I packed for the trip—I stretched out beside her naked body and laid my head on the pillows under her.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “For what?”

  “For being here for me.”

  “Anytime.”

  I kissed her temple and settled back again, wanting to give her space. But she rolled into me, her hand sliding over my chest. She kissed me, her lips warm and soft, gentle.

  “I want to forget,” she said. “For just a little while.”

  What man would have a problem with that?

  I pushed her back against the mattress and stole her lips with more passion than I’d intended, bathing her having pushed me closer to that edge than I’d imagined it would. Despite my good intentions, my cock was standing at the ready, pressed against the front of my slacks with almost painful tension.

  But still, I tried to be patient, letting my hands wander as her equally passionate kisses ate away at my patience. I wanted her; I wanted to be as close to her as humanly possible. And from the desperately rough pull of her hand wrapped in my shirt, she wanted me, too.

  I pulled away from her long enough to undress. I didn’t normally like to undress in front of women. Not anymore. When I was held captive, he didn’t trust me. He would make me do everything in view of him or his network of cameras. Everything. Privacy was the first thing that I had to relearn when I was freed. And once I had it back, it was something that I held close, that I treasured.

  This felt different. I wasn’t giving up my privacy. I was building intimacy. I liked the way Heather looked at me as I undressed. I liked the way her eyes moved hungrily over my body. It made me feel normal. Like I was the man I used to be.

  I crawled back onto the bed, and she welcomed me to her, moving her hips against me until I was buried deep, right where I was supposed to be. We moved slowly, taking our time despite the need that was so frantically building inside of me. The slow pace was just as satisfying, just as exciting, as the frantic tempo we’d taken several times before. And it gave me a chance to watch her face, her expressive eyes, the way pleasure transformed her beautiful features into something almost ethereal.

  When it was done, passion satisfied, she rolled into me, refusing to break the connection between our bodies. I held her close, running my hands down the length of her spine and over her ass. She shivered against me, a movement that dissolved into a sob as the events of the day finally caught up to her, and she cried out her grief against my bare chest. All I could do was hold her and let it run its course.

  “I was supposed to be with her,” she finally said. “We had plans to go to dinner, but Mr. Malcolm asked me to stay late to help him with some paperwork. I told her to go on ahead, to get us a good table because that place doesn’t take reservations...” She shook her head against me. “If I hadn’t been so determined not to sit by the kitchen, she could have waited and we would have taken my car.”

  “And then she would have had the accident some other time. Maybe in the morning with her daughters in the car.”

  She groaned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  I ran my hand over the top of her head. “What happened to Kitty isn’t your fault.”

  “I know, I just … she was the closest thing to a friend I had. Which is pretty pathetic, I suppose. I’ve lived in this town for twelve years, ever since I was a child, and she’s the closest thing I had to a friend. But she was, and now she’s gone, and I feel like it’s all my fault somehow. And her little girls …”

  “It’s not your fault, babe. You didn’t do anything to cause this.”

  “I’ve never lost anyone close to me.” She snorted a little. “I know that sounds stupid because my dad was murdered and my mom is in prison. But I don’t consider those losses. That was just … life, I guess. But this … it hurts like I never imagined anything would hurt.”

  I thought about Sam again, of coming home and visiting her gravesite. Of imagining the funeral.

  “I know.”

  She sighed. “I’m glad you were here. I don’t know that I could have gotten through today alone.”

  “I’m glad I was, too.”

  And I was. I’d been determined to keep people at arm’s length from the moment I got home, even my parents and my sister. But Heather was worming her way in, and I found I liked it. I wasn’t sure how long it would last … but I liked it.

  Chapter 12

  Heather

  I woke the morning after the funeral and found Peter gone. He’d left a note on the side table saying he’d gone for a jog. I didn’t know he liked to jog.

  There was still so much I didn’t know about him, but I found myself worrying about it less and less. I knew he was there for me when I needed him, and that was really all that mattered right now.

  I decided to be adventurous and make pancakes for breakfast, but I wasn’t much of a cook. The mix was too thin, and it ran everywhere over the edge of the skillet, including the stovetop. And then it burned and smoked and forced me to climb a chair in an attempt to silence the smoke alarm.

  “Here …”

  Peter reached past me and jerked the lid off the smoke detector, pulling the battery free without breaking a sweat. Which was ironic, since his hair was soaked with sweat from his run.

  “Thanks.”

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “Making breakfast.”

  He laughed. “It looks more like you’re torturing a few eggs and some flour.” He reached in for a kiss, but I turned away, pretending annoyance. He laughed again. “Wh
y don’t we just go out to breakfast? Let me take a quick shower, and we’ll go to that place down the road, the one everyone was always talking about at the office.”

  “Jonathon’s?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Excitement rushed down my spine at the thought. It was a new place, fairly exclusive. I’d wanted to go since they opened their doors, but rumor had it that it was a very pricey place, too.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Just give me a few minutes.”

  He walked off, moving through my apartment like it was his own. I watched, a smile on my lips. I liked watching him move around like that; I liked the confidence that rolled from his shoulders. He was a man who knew where he belonged, and he believed he belonged here. And maybe he did.

  I followed, thinking about jumping into the shower with him, when my phone vibrated against the side table. I’d purposely left it in there, not really interested in the outside world today. But curiosity forced me to pick it up and notice that the same person had called me more than ten times in the last hour, making me listen to my messages. I was in the middle of the first—Heather, call me!—when it rang again.

  Tish’s voice filled my ear.

  “Have you heard? I’ve been trying to call you forever! And Melanie in human resources said she called you half a dozen times this morning!”

  “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Mr. Malcolm, Heather. He’s killed himself.”

  It was as if ice water doused over my head. It had to be some sort of bad joke.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. His neighbor found him this morning in his garage. He died of carbon monoxide poisoning.”

  “No,” I whispered. I couldn’t believe this was happening. First Kitty and now Mr. Malcolm? What the hell was going on?

  “The cops are making the rounds. I heard they were going to want to speak to you.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’re his secretary. You probably knew him better than all the rest of us.”

  She was right about that. But I had no clue that he might be on the verge of doing something like this! He was upset about Kitty. We all were. But he didn’t seem any more upset than any boss would be over the tragic loss of his young employee. He didn’t seem suicidal when he left the Summers’ home yesterday.

  I couldn’t believe this was happening. I felt sick to my stomach, the weight on my shoulders pushing me down into the floor. I wanted to cry, but I felt as though all my tears had dried up yesterday.

  Peter found me like that, sitting on the side of the bed, my phone in my hands. I was staring at the floor, not sure how long it had been since Tish hung up. He spoke to me, but I couldn’t make sense of his words. I was … I was lost.

  “Heather?” Peter knelt in front of me, his hands on my thighs. “What’s happened?”

  The concern in his eyes pulled me out of my own head. It was overwhelming, the idea that he could feel that much for me. And to see it in his eyes … it made me think about what it would be like to have a man like him with me every day, watching out for me, caring about me that way. I had never thought it was in the cards for me. Was I wrong?

  And then he was tugging the phone out of my hands and the memory of the phone call I’d just gotten hit me again. I gasped, the pain was so intense.

  “Mr. Malcolm killed himself.”

  “What?”

  “They found him in his garage this morning.”

  Peter stood, tugging off the towel he’d been wearing around his waist. He quickly began to dress, moving around the room with new purpose. I watched, confused by his activity.

  “What are you doing?”

  “When did this happen?”

  “I don’t know. A couple of hours ago.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Tisha.”

  He tugged a shirt over his head, his hands moving quickly as he snapped his jeans into place. He stood in the center of the room and looked at me, concern in his eyes again. But this was a new kind of concern. He was worried about something that went beyond my feelings.

  “What’s going on?”

  He dragged his fingers through his wet hair. “It’s a little suspicious that two people from the same department would die so close together, isn’t it?”

  “Kitty was an accident.”

  “Are we sure?”

  I tilted my head slightly, as though it would help me understand his words better. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean …” He stopped. “I have to make a phone call.”

  He left the room, walking so quickly down the corridor that I couldn’t keep up with him, so I was still standing in the center of the living room when he opened the door. And standing in the doorway were two men in cheap suits.

  “Fuck!” Peter stepped back, clearly startled. “Sorry,” he muttered right away, regarding both men with caution. “You startled me.”

  “Sorry,” one of the men said, as he pulled out a wallet and flashed a police badge. “We’re looking for Ms. Heather Bryant. Is she here?”

  Peter nodded, glancing back at me as he gestured for the two men to come inside. As soon as the door was closed, Peter came to me, sliding his arm around me as he encouraged me into the room.

  “I’m Detective Collins, and this is Detective Paulsen,” the first cop said to Peter.

  I watched as Peter shook their hands, very respectful in his movements. Collins seemed a little wary of him, watching his every movement. But Peter seemed more interested in the contents of my apartment. He looked around, his eyes roving over every piece of furniture, every book and piece of paper sitting out in plain sight. I suddenly wished I’d cleaned up the pancake mess before going into the bedroom.

  “Miss Bryant,” Detective Collins said, “if we could just ask you a few questions about your boss, Mr. Jeffrey Malcolm?”

  Peter pulled me closer, his embrace as comforting as anything could be in this situation. But it didn’t take away the picture my imagination conjured up of Mr. Malcolm sitting dead behind the wheel of his car.

  “She was informed a short time ago about the death of her boss,” Peter let them know.

  “Okay.” Collins flashed a look at Paulsen. “Can you tell me who informed you?’

  “A coworker,” I said before Peter could answer for me. “Tisha Sanchez.”

  “At Reynold?”

  I nodded.

  “You work there, too?” Collins asked Peter.

  “I was a temp there for a few days.”

  “And your name?” Paulsen asked.

  I felt Peter stiffen, and I wasn’t quite sure why. He looked down at me, something new in his eyes. I wanted to pull him aside and ask him what the hell was going on. But then he pulled away and began to talk and I found myself wondering who the hell I’d been with all this time.

  “My name is Peter Bradford,” he said, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket and removing something that he handed to the cops. “I work for a security agency in Houston called Dragon Security. Have you heard of it?”

  Collins nodded. “They were the ones who brought down that bad CIA agent a few years ago.”

  Peter stiffened again, his shoulders so tight they looked like a couple of two-by-fours stacked together.

  “I was working at Reynolds Robotics under the name of Peter Clark. I was assigned to the sales floor in order to evaluate three employees for a possible promotion.”

  “What?”

  The word fell from between my lips as I tried to put together everything he’d just said. Bradford? Dragon Security? What the hell was he talking about?

  He glanced at me, but then turned back to the detectives.

  “I’m concerned that something is going on at Reynold connected to that promotion. Kitty Summers was the employee I recommended for the raise. And Malcolm was her immediate supervisor.”

  “Who were the other two employees under evaluation?” Paulsen asked.

  “John Ng
and Emmanuel Waters.”

  Collins and Paulsen exchanged glances. But they didn’t really say anything more to Peter. Instead, they focused on me.

  “We’ll be coming by the office first thing in the morning. The company has given us permission to look through Mr. Malcolm’s office, but they want you present in order to keep sensitive material safe.”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you have a sense that your boss was struggling with depression?” Collins asked me.

  I shook my head. “He was upset about Kitty, but not uncharacteristically so.”

  “Were they close?”

  “Not particularly. We were all on good terms, of course. And it was a shock. But I don’t think he and Kitty had a relationship that was any different from his relationships with everyone else.”

  Again, the cops exchanged glances. Then Collins handed both Peter and me a business card.

  “Please contact us if you think of anything else.”

  They showed themselves out without any more questions or even curious glances. I pressed the card between my hands, my thoughts whirling in my head like a carnival ride.

  “That was interesting,” Peter said when they were gone.

  “Bradford. Not Clark?”

  He turned to look at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but we sign confidentiality contracts with our clients.”

  “You just broke it.”

  “It’s allowed when there’s a criminal investigation that could benefit from any information we have.”

  “So you work for a security firm.”

  “It belongs to my sister.”

  I nodded. “Is there anything you’ve told me that’s true?”

  His expression changed, becoming weary instead of concerned. “Heather,” he said, speaking my name like it was a sacred word.

  I shook my head, turning away from him. I couldn’t be that angry and look him in the eye.

  “I want you to leave.”

  “It wasn’t all lies.”

  “Just your name, your occupation. Your income level, I suppose. Now I understand how you can afford that suit and the expensive meals.”