Frost Security: The Complete 5 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  “Looks like someplace Cobra Commander would set up shop,” Frank breathed in my ear.

  He was right. It was almost classically evil to the point of near ridiculousness.

  I pulled out the thermal imaging scope and put it to my eye. Like magic, the world shifted from the blues and grays of the moonlit night to the sterile, flat oranges, yellows, reds, and greens of heat detection. Below, near-shapeless blobs of heat patterns shuffled back and forth across the compound, tracing out the routes Vanessa had described when she took over my arm and began to draw our map. I counted about two dozen combatants on the high end of things.

  It was uncanny how accurate she was. Turns out years of practice at breaking into places had made her a special force’s dream come true when it came to intel gathering.

  I checked out the top of the tower Vanessa had described, where this Mr. Finney had been keeping her and Jessica caged up like princesses in a bad Grimm faerie tale. I only saw one blob of heat, though, and my gut told me that signature didn’t belong to my mate.

  My spirit sinking a little at not immediately spotting her, I dropped the scope from my eye and passed it over to Richard. “What do you think?”

  He pressed the scope to his eye and swept it over the compound just like I had. He blended in with the darkness perfectly, his black and green camouflage makeup making him practically disappear against the backdrop of pines and rocks.

  “I think that tower’s missing a person.”

  “Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard. “That’s what I think, too.”

  “Yours or mine up there?”

  As soon as he asked the question, I somehow knew the answer. It was Jessica at the top lying on that bed, not my Vanessa. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. And something told me he knew the answer, too.

  “Yours,” I said, licking my lips. The taste of oil and pigment filled my mouth as the camouflage covering my own lips came off on my tongue. “Definitely yours.”

  “Just gonna take a little longer to find her, then.”

  Behind us, the other three guys were crouched down, their rifles propped on a knee as they scanned the compound with naked eyes.

  “Alright,” I said, turning back to my men. I huddled low as I looked around the circle at each of them and spoke quietly. “We know the plan. Jones, Wayne, you know the drill on the front. You make some noise, punch through the wall. Light that place up like Chinese New Years and draw them off the back of the house.”

  Jake patted the heavy machine gun that was lying across his body. Ammunition draped over his chest like a 1980s action star off to start a small war—which I guess we all were at this point.

  “Murdoch, O’Dwyer, you’re with me. We give them ten minutes to get into position. We hop the wall, head inside once they move into action. Once we’re in there, we only have a few minutes to find our targets and get them out. Any more than that, and we leave Wayne and Murdoch open to being overrun.”

  Both men nodded in unison. We’d done this kind of mission before. Sure, we hadn’t been going up against people with silver bullets in their guns, but none of them had been milk runs, either.

  “Alright,” I said, glancing down at my watch. “Ten minutes. Go.”

  Without a word, Wayne and Murdoch disappeared into the underbrush. Even moving on two feet, they were like ghosts as they fluidly sped through the forest surrounding us. After just thirty feet, they disappeared even to my trained eyes, blending with the greens and blacks of the Colorado nighttime. Moments after that, I could hardly hear them.

  Minutes passed as we waited, giving them time to get into position and set up their little surprises for the Jaeger-Tech people. Our plan was to move down to the wall two minutes after they left.

  We hardly breathed, the tension building in us like steam inside a pressure cooker. Our eyes darted over the landscape.

  “T-minus two minutes,” Richard whispered.

  I swallowed hard, sweat trickling down my back despite the cool air and slight breeze. My body was already priming itself, my heart racing, my blood pressure rising. This was going to be intense. This was going to be the most important mission I’d ever run, and my subconscious knew it. It was getting me ready for what lay ahead.

  “T-minus one minute.”

  Right now, they should be nearing the waypoint. Matthew Jones would be unloading his gear and beginning to ready it. Between the two men, he had the most experience with explosives, since he’d had to use them for demolition of downed aircrafts as a Pararescue jumper. If the territory they were in was defacto controlled by enemy forces, there was no way they could just leave crashed vehicles in one piece for break down and study. And nothing says “no peeking” like a block of C4 the size of a brick.

  “Thirty seconds.”

  There’d be ignition pins in the C4 now, and Jacob Wayne would have his heavy machine gun propped up over a fallen log, or poking out from behind the thick trunk of a tree. A former heavy gunner, he could set up and break down one of those in less than a minute flat, and he was almost surgical with one at the range he’d be shooting from. Any of the Jaeger-Tech men stupid enough to step through the gap Jones was about to put in the wall wasn’t going to last very long.

  “Go,” Richard whispered.

  We moved with me on point. We kept our bodies low and silhouettes minimized. We threaded our way through the trees in a line, no more than three feet separating each man from the one behind him. Our rifles were lowered, but gripped loosely in such a way that we could instantly bring the stock up against our shoulder.

  I held up a tightly closed fist as we neared the tree line, signaling Richard and Frank to halt behind me. This close to the perimeter, we had to maintain strict noise control and light control. No reflections, no broken branches, no whispering.

  I dropped to a knee and surveyed the area. Up ahead, through the needles that were so low they brushed the ground, the stonework wall loomed ahead of us. I flipped my wrist and brought up my watch. Six minutes. Six minutes were all we had. Each second that ticked by seemed to last an hour, and the moments in between each of them seemed like an infinite chasm as time stretched and stretched until it was so tight that it might all just snap if you looked at it wrong.

  Lowering my rifle, I brought up the thermal imaging scope again and scanned the area. No sense in not checking. We’d come this far, why ruin things by getting sloppy?

  At first glance, the patrols seemed normal. The giant was out in the carriage house, where I preferred him to be. Men were moving in their regular rotation, clearly on high alert, but orderly and predictable.

  Then I saw it. I swore so quietly to myself I might as well have just been mouthing the words.

  An SUV was coming up the drive, its heat signature localized around the front hood and throughout the exhaust system. Inside the cab, though, were five people. Two in front—one driving and one shotgun. Three in the rear. One of them large and bulky, the other two smaller and petite. Years of experience viewing areas with this kind of system had taught me a few things. One of those things was that the two slighter forms in the rear were likely bound with their hands behind their backs.

  Captives.

  Two more fucking captives.

  My heart stopped. Who could they be? Mary? Rebecca? Had they struck at the Elk while we gone? If so, how did we not hear her howls?

  The SUV drew up in the courtyard area just inside the gates. The doors opened and I heard a high-pitched cry that struck my heart. I knew exactly who it was.

  “You fucking assholes! Wait till I tell my boss about this shit!”

  Oh no.

  Had they not made it out of town in time before Jaeger-Tech shut off the roads? Or had they been caught some other way?

  I returned the scope to my eye and got a bead on them.

  “Lacy!” Gen screamed, her orange and red form trying to tackle one of the men who’d grabbed hold of her granddaughter. “You bastard, you hurt her and I’ll have your balls!”

 
Two other men came up behind the grandmother and grabbed hold of her.

  I took the scope from my eye and handed it back over my shoulder to Murdoch. He took it wordlessly, jerking it out of my hand. With just the abruptness of his movement, I knew he, too, had heard them. The soft sound of his breathing intensified as he took in the scene.

  There was a soft rustle of fabric as he passed the scope back to Frank.

  I heard nothing from him as he lifted it, just a soft grunt of displeasure. The scope went back to Richard and he passed it back into my hand. I put it back to my face.

  The huddle of forms, with Gen and Lacy at the center, slowly made their way from the central courtyard to the little freestanding garage off on the side, rather than the main building.

  Great. Now we had four hostages, split up, and only three men going inside the walls. What would we do? I couldn’t leave Gen and Lacy behind. No way in hell was that happening. I’d go down in a blaze of glory or offer to exchange myself before that happened.

  It was too late to call off the op. If I tried, Matthew and Jake were going to be left with their asses hanging out and were liable to get them shot off.

  What to do?

  What else could I do?

  We were going in. And we were bringing all four of them out.

  Chapter Thirty-eight – The Hunters

  Mr. Finney crossed paths with Klaus as he headed for the carriage house. They stopped, eyeing each other in the dim light. Klaus could close the gap in two gigantic steps, and Finney knew it. But then Klaus would have to answer the council for a whole slew of infractions. The Brit knew the Prussian would never risk that.

  “I do not appreciate your tossing your vermin in my rooms for interrogation.”

  “And I do not appreciate your tone of voice. What a funny pair we must make.”

  They continued to stare each other down. Finney had no intention of breaking, even as Klaus’s eye began to twitch deeply within his heavy, obscene face.

  There was something there, but Finney still couldn’t put his finger on it. Even his aid, after searching through all the available information for the past two months on Klaus, was unable to come up with any viable motive or sign of deceit. It was like when you walked into a house you knew should be empty, but something just tickled at the back of your brain saying you weren’t alone.

  Whatever it was, though, Finney would figure it out. It was just a matter of time, that was all.

  Finally, Klaus grunted and walked past him, heading for the rear of the house. He walked right through the garden, stomping over the low hedgerows and sputtering rose bushes, heedless of the trail of destruction he was causing with each step of his giant feet.

  The Brit swung his attention back to the carriage house, with its partially cracked door. It was a brick and wood building, the kind with two large doors that swung open at the middle. The doors were only of the only portals Klaus could comfortably pass through, and he’d naturally chosen that as his quarters for the duration of the mission.

  Finney set his face with his customary look of grim determination and headed towards it, going through the side door. Before he could even push his way in, the smell of the Prussian hit him. He smelled a slightly vinegary odor, like from fermented food, and yeast from heavy beer.

  Still, he soldiered on and entered the building. What was a foul odor in pursuit of your duty?

  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light. Outside, it had been almost complete darkness, with just the moon shining overhead and a bit of light from the men’s patrol lights behind him to light the path. The dim yellow light of the lamps Klaus had brought in seemed garish in comparison.

  “Ah, ladies,” Finney said as he stepped in, sweeping his eyes over his two newest captives. “So good of you to join us.”

  Before they’d arrived, the little building had contained mostly gardening implements, no actual carriage, and the men had quickly set to clearing it out and arraying all the contents along the far side of the building. Now there was a large feather bed, a couple lamps, and two particularly irate ginger-headed women occupying it.

  “Fuck you,” said the younger one, the girl who worked as the technical department at the security agency.

  “Lacy!” Genevieve Richter said to her granddaughter. “What are you doing?”

  “And fuck that creepy ass giant!”

  Mr. Finney had to hold back a guffaw of laughter, had to hold it back so hard that he was fit to burst. “She has some spunk, doesn’t she, Gran?”

  If stares were lethal, then Gen would have struck him dead right then and there. But luckily for Finney, they were not. Besides, even if they were, he doubted she’d be able to kill him. Nothing had yet, not even time itself.

  Neither said a word, though, in response. They just stared out at him balefully with those blue eyes of theirs, glowering as they adjusted their cuffed hands.

  “Nothing?” Finney asked. “No comments from the peanut gallery, as they say? Fair enough. My men tell me you were picked up trying to pass through one of our little blockades at the edge of town. That you tried to actually ram it. Pretty ballsy, pardon my French. I imagine it was you, Lacy, that had that grand plan?”

  The older and younger woman exchanged a look, and Gen seemed to hang her head in shame.

  “Oh ho,” Finney said, clapping loudly. “It was you, wasn’t it, Gran, my dear? Quite the surprise, that is. Quite the surprise. So, what happened? No, no, don’t tell me. Your little wolf protectors cut you loose, didn’t they? Tossed you aside? Did they tell you they couldn’t protect you and their mates at the same time? Was that it?”

  Lacy sighed, looked away.

  He’d found a sore spot with that one. Now was the time to twist the knife. “Don’t worry,” he said. “He was right. Neither of you are one of their mates.”

  The younger woman hung her head a little and sniffled.

  “And humans don’t matter to these creatures, not like we matter to each other,” Finney continued in a knowing, sympathetic voice. “We’re a completely different species from them, and they only drift in and out of our world as myths and legends, forgotten by time. They don’t think of you as one of them, and that’s why you were tossed out with the garbage, left to fend for yourselves. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, being taken in by them. I’ve seen it happen plenty of times in my travels.”

  Lacy swallowed, her throat bobbing up and down like a chicken with its head on the block.

  “They use people up and spit them out. Toss them aside once they’re done with them. They flash their magic shifting, pretending to be better than us. But they’re not. They’re ultimately as monstrous as the creatures they turn into, and no more magical than you or I. Just genetic freaks with interesting blood that has strange properties. Freaks, I’m telling you. Nothing more than freaks.”

  Gen gave him a sneering look. “Why are you even bothering to tell us this? Do you get some sort of sick glee out of tormenting us?”

  He suppressed the smile that was desperately trying to spring to his face, and slowly shook his head. “No, Gen. I’m not. I’m telling you all this so you can choose to help us. So you can choose to aid us in tracking down these monstrosities that have discarded you, offered no protection from us. Who have just sent you and your poor, helpless granddaughter on your way to fend for yourself. Because look where they really sent you. Right into our arms, Gen. Right into our protection.”

  Gen frowned as she stared at Mr. Finney, her lips pressed so tightly together they’d gone stark white. They were white even with her pale complexion, like someone had drawn on her mouth with a whiteout pen.

  She was close to breaking, Finney knew it. So close. Just a nudge or two more and she’d be falling right into his hands and then he’d–

  But she just laughed. A loud, raucous sound like Finney hadn’t heard in ages, not from the people he worked with, not from the people he hunted. And certainly not from the people he kept prisoners. It ricocheted inside the
tiny carriage house like a bullet from a shotgun, bouncing around the walls and in the rafters, this mad cackle of hers.

  Cold anger gripped him and his hands tightened into hard fists, his knuckles cracking and popping like dry kindling being snapped before a fire. “What are you laughing at?” he shouted.

  She continued, though, and her granddaughter joined in.

  “What?” he shouted as he looked from the older woman to the younger and back again. “What is it? Why are you laughing?”

  “You think they’re the monsters?” Gen asked between guffaws. “You think those sweet boys are the monsters?”

  “When you have fee-figh-fo-fucking-fum living out here in the garage?” Lacy added.

  Both women burst out laughing again, body-wracking spasms of genuine humor that shook even the chairs they were cuffed to.

  “Enough!” Finney shouted. No one laughed at him, no one. Especially not two women, both his juniors by decades. He demanded respect, and for people to act accordingly. This was too much. “I said enough!”

  “Shrek!” Gen shouted. “He has Shrek out in the clubhouse, and he thinks Peter’s bad!”

  Her granddaughter laughed again, her head tilted back, her voice sounding out over the yard. “I bet he can’t even sing!”

  “I said enough!” Finney shouted again, his voice going up an octave, nearly cracking, as he fought to control himself and hold back his hands from wrapping around the older woman’s neck. “Enough!”

  Both continued to laugh, to make light of his entire life’s work. Of him.

  He lunged at Gen.

  Her laughter choked off finally as his hands closed around her throat, her eyes bulging with terror.

  “Grandma!” Lacy screamed, trying to rise from her chair.

  Finney ignored her and just tightened his grip on the old woman’s throat. “Enough!” he growled, his hands closing over her carotid artery, his palms crushing down on her windpipe.

  The old woman gasped, trying to knee him in the ground over and over.