DRAGON SECURITY: Volume 2: The Complete 6 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  What the hell?

  I bypassed the next group and headed over to the small hotel where Rosalie was staying right before she disappeared. I hesitated as I approached the front desk, a little wary after the silent treatment I’d gotten on the street.

  “Can I help you?” the attractive, middle-aged woman behind the desk asked.

  “I was wondering if it would be possible for me to see Ms. Rosalie Matthias’ room.”

  The woman’s eyes widened slightly. “Are you a cop?”

  “No. I’m a friend of the family.”

  She studied me closely. “You know she disappeared about a month ago, right? But we’ve kept her room just the way it is because the family asked us to, yet no one has paid the rent since she left.”

  “I understand.” I pulled out my wallet and set a credit card provided by Dragon on the desk in front of her. She reached for the card, but I put my finger on it to keep her from taking it. “Could I see the room?”

  “Of course.”

  She turned and grabbed an old fashioned key on a plastic ring that had the numbers 115 on it. I let go of the credit card and took the key. She quickly ran the card and handed it back, receipt and all.

  “Thank you.”

  The hotel was dark and gloomy, the kind of hotel the hero stays at in a horror film. There was no elevator even though it was a three story building, five rooms on each floor. Rosalie’s room was at the back of the first floor, tucked between the laundry room and the dining room. I slipped inside, immediately hit by the smells of dust and disuse.

  Rosalie’s suitcase was open on the metal valet set up in the corner of the room, the bathroom counter still covered with her toiletries—toothpaste and toothbrush, comb, perfume, and lipstick—the shower still holding a bottle of shampoo and one of body wash. There were prescription pill bottles on the counter, too, but none of them were for her bipolar disorder. One was an antibiotic that was nearly empty, one a headache medication for migraine sufferers, and one was a prescription decongestion. The last wasn’t in Rosalie’s name, but had been prescribed to someone named Karma Myers.

  Karma? Who named their child Karma?

  I slipped all three bottles into a baggy I’d brought with me and moved into the room itself. There were books on the night table, mostly about the paranormal. A nightgown was tossed across the unmade bed like Rosalie had dressed in a hurry the last time she’d been here. A quick search of her suitcase proved nothing beyond the fact that she liked to dress casually, usually in jeans and T-shirts with amusing prints. She especially liked kitties on her shirts.

  I found very little else. A receipt from a local diner. A calling card with five minutes left on it. A discarded bottle of Pepsi and one of a generic beer. But that was about it.

  I stepped out of the room, pausing to relock it with the antiquated key.

  “What are you doing in there?”

  I glanced over my shoulder. Standing a few feet to my left was a petite woman with shockingly blonde hair that had been dyed a pale pink from the tips to about mid-skull. The pink matched the dress she was wearing, a bright pink frock that was more suited to a woman twice her age. It hung like a burlap sack, hiding her curves—if she had any. She wore striped socks that were pulled all the way up to her knees and heavy, dark shoes that, again, looked more suited to an older woman with bursitis or a nurse.

  But she had these blue eyes that were impossible to not notice and a heart-shaped face that could have graced the cover of Victoria’s Secret catalog if she had had better taste in fashion.

  “And you are?”

  “I’m a friend of the woman who rented this room.”

  I finished with the lock and turned to face her, letting my eyes move leisurely over the length of her. She blushed, but there was defiance in the fact that she didn’t break eye contact with me.

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “I’m a friend, too.”

  “Yeah? Seems to me if she was friends with a guy who looked like you, she would have mentioned it.”

  “You were that close?”

  The woman tilted her head slightly. “We were close enough that the manager called me when you came snooping around.”

  “Do you know who she might have spent time with while she was here in town?”

  She crossed her arms over her ample breasts, creating a slight sensation of disappointment for me as she covered her slowly hardening nipples. The dress was loose fitting, but those lovely breasts were large enough that nothing would have hidden their wealth of beauty.

  “I’m not answering any questions until you tell me who the hell you are.”

  “I did. I’m a friend.”

  “You are not.”

  “Then who am I?”

  “I’d guess you’re some sort of investigator. You work for her sister?”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  “Because you look like a cop.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. I was pretty sure a cop was the last thing I looked like. Despite my pride in having been a Navy SEAL, I didn’t look like a soldier. I still had the physical strength that came with years of torturing my body with extreme workouts, but my hair was no longer buzzed to within an inch of its life and my face wasn’t as clean shaven as it should have been. And the tattoos that covered my arms and chest weren’t exactly fitting to the life of a soldier.

  “I can assure you that I am not a cop.”

  “You carry yourself like a cop.”

  “How would you know? You’ve only seen me standing here.”

  “You have confidence. Self-assurance. And your aura is clear red—meaning you are passionate. But you have a gray overlay that suggests you’re trying to hide the truth.”

  “My aura?”

  She tilted her head again, studying me like she could see right through me. “You have a girlfriend back home, Mr. Policeman?”

  I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going.

  “How is that your business?”

  “Oh, it isn’t. I was just wondering if she knew how lucky she is. A guy with an aura like yours ...”

  She smiled this knowing smile that made me even more uncomfortable. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, wondering where I’d lost control in this conversation.

  “Rosalie had a lovely yellow aura. And it fit her so well ... no one could have been more enlightened than our Rosie.”

  “How well did you know her?”

  The woman smiled. “I told you, we were good friends.”

  “Then you’d be willing to help me find her.”

  Her expression suddenly darkened, her blue eyes becoming more of a steel blue than the sapphire they had been a second ago. She shook her head, her gaze falling to the floor.

  “If Rosalie’s gone, it’s because she’s chosen to be gone.”

  “How do you know that? She didn’t take her things or tell anyone where she was going—”

  “She didn’t tell her sister, you mean.”

  “Did she tell you?”

  The woman didn’t respond right away. Instead she continued to stare at the floor for a long moment, until a sigh escaped her lips and she finally looked at me again.

  “Rosalie is a woman with a mind of her own. She had every right to disappear if that was what she wanted to do. She also had the right to not tell anyone.”

  “Then she didn’t say anything to you.”

  An expression washed over this stranger’s face that was very familiar to me. It was the expression my grandmother made whenever I told her I couldn’t just jump whenever she called me. I did jump. I had always jumped. I would always jump because of that expression. It was a combination of disappointment and hurt all wrapped together with derision. It was an expression I couldn’t stand to see pointed in my direction.

  I reached up and ran my fingers through my dark hair, pushing the thick strands away from my face. For a brief instant, I caught
her watching, something erotic in those beautiful blue eyes of hers. But then she looked away, her eyes moving over the door I’d just closed. She must have seen something because she crossed to it, touching her fingertips to a fresh scratch I’d also noticed near the dead bolt.

  “Do you know how that happened?”

  “No,” she said. “But I’ve seen it on other doors recently.”

  “What doors?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned back to me, her hands on her hips.

  “Why don’t we get out of here? Go somewhere where we can sit.”

  It was my turn to look a little confused. “You’d be willing to be seen with someone who resembles a cop?”

  “You took offense at that. I apologize.” She stepped forward and held out her tiny hand. “I’m Karma Myers. I’m a supernatural investigator with the Society for Paranormal Assistance and Research.”

  “Kasey Thomasson.”

  Her eyebrows rose. Clearly she’d expected more information, but I wasn’t quite ready to show my entire hand just yet. When I didn’t say anything else, she sighed and stepped back.

  “There’s a diner across the street. You can buy me dinner.”

  She walked off without waiting to see if I’d follow. Of course I did. She was the closest thing I had to a lead at the moment.

  Karma Myers.

  It was her name on the pill bottle in Rosalie’s bathroom.

  Chapter 3

  Karma

  I could feel his presence behind me even though I never once paused to make sure he was following me. I charged ahead, not taking a second look at him until I was safely seated at a booth by the window in clear view of anyone who might have a reason to be watching us.

  I wasn’t quite sure I could trust him. It was also quite possible I couldn’t trust myself alone with him.

  A clear, red aura. I didn’t think I’d ever met a man with such an aura. A few women, maybe. Lots of men with cloudy red auras. But never a clear one.

  A clear one meant more than just passion. It meant power. Confidence. And it meant he would be quite impressive in bed. Sexual passion that existed on levels most people never knew existed, let alone experienced. Yet I was face to face with a man who possessed just that.

  Was I a lucky girl, or about to be taken on the most dangerous adventure of my life?

  Oh, Goddess, please stand with me as I walk this path ...

  He slipped almost gracefully into the bench across from me, leaning forward slightly as he slid his ass over the sticky vinyl. When he did, his button-down shirt fell open enough to reveal the dark lines of tattoos that covered the better part of his chest. I couldn’t quite tell what the tattoos were, but my physical body instantly went to a place where the desire to see them in their entirety caused an almost painful tightening in my lower regions. I bit my lip, hoping the pain would remind my body that my spiritual existence had given up that messy, complicated aspect of dealing with human reality over two years ago.

  My physical side was having a very hard time remembering these things.

  Once he was settled, he smiled at me, a smile that not only revealed a lovely dimple high on his left cheek, but a spark in his eyes that made his emerald green eyes seem to glow in his handsome face. I wanted to touch his jaw, to feel the rough stubble of his new beard, to trace the angles of his wide chin and the narrow bridge of his nose, to the high arch of his forehead. I wanted to brush his long hair from his face, to see if it was as silky soft as it looked, to know what it smelled like.

  Oh, Goddess, why did you have to throw this obstacle into my path? Am I meant to fight it, to prove my loyalty to my spiritual struggle? Or am I meant to embrace the physical side of my being once again?

  “What’s good here?”

  I shook my head, trying to force myself to focus on the moment.

  “Everything,” I said, shocked and embarrassed by the high squeak of my voice. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Everything. They’ve won countless state fair cook-offs with most of the items on their menu. Including the cherry pie.”

  He picked up the thin menu that was always behind the napkin dispenser and began to study it, giving me another moment to observe him. That hair, brown but shot through with so much gold that it almost looked bronze. It curled a little on the ends, making me wonder how curly it would be if he kept it short. He kept reaching up to brush it away from his face, making me wonder if he was used to keeping it pulled back. Or if he’d worn it short until recently. He just didn’t seem like the kind of guy who was comfortable with hair worn down to his shoulders, but I had to admit that the hair looked good on him.

  Again, my fingers itched to reach over and touch it, to see if it really was as soft as it looked.

  What is wrong with me?

  “I think I’ll try the chicken fried steak. Just don’t tell my grandmother,” he said with a wink.

  “I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

  Becky, one of the waitresses, came over with a big smile, her eyes clearly appreciating what I’d been trying not to notice. She cracked her gum as she pulled her pad out of her apron pocket.

  “What can I get for you, gorgeous?”

  To his credit, Kasey didn’t seem to notice her flirt. He spoke clearly and carefully, telling her exactly what he wanted, including the fact that he’d rather have green beans and please no cream gravy on the potatoes, just the steak. He was a man who knew what he wanted.

  I liked that.

  Becky glanced at me. “And you, Karma?”

  “The chicken sandwich, please, Becky.”

  She nodded, barely scribbling down my order before her eyes moved back to him.

  “You new in town?”

  “Just arrived today.”

  “Tell me you’re not part of this insanity.” Becky gestured toward the windows and the banner hanging across the main street just outside.

  “He’s with us, actually. A technician. He runs the video footage for us.”

  Becky seemed a little disappointed, but Kasey played along, not even looking the slightest bit annoyed when I said it. He just glanced at me, then nodded.

  “Too bad,” Becky said. “You’re cute.”

  She walked away, moving those hips as erotically as she could to make sure he knew what he was missing out on.

  “I assume there’s a reason why you just did that.”

  “You want people to give you information about Rosalie, right?” I shrugged. “You’ll need to convince them you’re one of us if you want them to even look twice at you.”

  “Is that the problem?” he asked. “I’m an outsider?”

  “The paranormal research business consists of a pretty tightknit group of people. And most of us have been hurt by someone from the outside who was using us for information or playing along just to humiliate us in some way. So many people think what we do is ridiculous, crazy, or whatever adjective you want to use, that we’ve had to close our ranks to skeptics.”

  “That’s why I couldn’t get anyone to answer my questions.”

  “And why the hotel called me to let me know you were snooping around Rosalie’s room.”

  He sat back and studied my face for a moment. “You do realize that Rosalie had a properly diagnosed disorder, right? That her family has a right to be concerned about her?”

  I stiffened. “I’m not interested in the label society chose to place on my friend.”

  “It’s not just a label. Would you call diabetes a label?”

  “No. But someone wouldn’t put a diabetic in the hospital against their will.”

  “Sure they would. If a diabetic made the choice not to take their insulin, they’d have to be hospitalized to save them from death.”

  “Then maybe diabetes is the wrong hypothetical.” I leaned over the table and watched him closely. “Would you force someone with arthritis into the hospital for choosing to treat their ailment with acupuncture instead of anti-inflammatory pills?”

  “I
would if the pain caused them to do harm to themselves.”

  “Then you’re of the opinion that no one should have the right to make their own medical decisions?”

  “I’m of the opinion that someone with a mental or physical ailment who refuses to do what is best for themselves is placing themselves in harm’s way and their family has the right to prevent them from an unnecessary consequence of their actions.”

  I tilted my head slightly. “Who in your family is mentally ill?”

  His eyebrows rose and he made this funny sound in his throat. “What makes you think—?”

  “Only someone with experience would make such a statement.”

  “Only someone who’s never experienced the pain of watching a loved one struggle and suffer would argue against it.”

  “Touché.”

  He smiled softly. “Her sister is concerned about her. If you could tell me where Rosalie is, I’ll pack my things and get out of town tonight.”

  “You wouldn’t bother her? Wouldn’t try to talk her into going home again?”

  “No. We’ve only been hired to locate her. Anything beyond that falls to her sister.”

  “And what does locate her mean?”

  “I need to set eyes on her.”

  I nodded slowly, the wheels in my mind whirling. It would go against our code for me to help an outsider. But, to be honest, I was worried about Rosalie, too. If I could help this man find her, maybe it would kill two birds with one stone—quite metaphorically, of course. And it would mean spending more time with him, which wasn’t an unpleasant thought. But I’d have to proceed carefully.

  “People trust me. I could ask around, if you’d like.”

  “I need to talk to people. I need to be the one to find her.”

  “Is that a control thing, or a job thing?”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. Our fingers brushed when he handed it to me, sending a spark of electricity through my nerve endings. It took a second before I concentrate enough on the lettering on the card to comprehend it.

  Kasey Thomasson, Operative, Dragon Security.