Mastiff Security: The Complete 5 Books Series Read online

“Just send up the new applicants, will you, Gracie?”

  Durango hung up as Kyle Peters, his partner, walked through the door.

  “Lost another assistant, Durango?”

  He shrugged. “They seem to find the work too difficult.”

  “Or it’s you. I’d bet my money on you.”

  “I’m not that difficult to work for.”

  “You growl, you expect them to read your mind, and you pile more paperwork on them than is humane. You do realize we live in a technological age, right? There’re these things called computers that come in handy for just about anything you could want to do.”

  “I know how to use a computer. I just prefer hard copies of the things that are important.”

  “Like the receipt from your golf game six months ago? Or the slip of paper you wrote some witness’s information on a year ago?”

  Durango sat back in his chair and studied his partner. “Okay, Kyle, I get it.”

  She came around the desk and perched on the edge, looking down at him like a parent might sit looking at a pouting child. “If you would take it easy on these people, especially the first few weeks they’re on the job—”

  “I’m too busy to coddle idiots who don’t know how to do a simple office job.”

  She rolled her eyes, but she let the subject drop.

  “We have a meeting with the tech department. They have a new camera they want to show us.”

  “The wireless thing?”

  “I think so. And that new client that contacted you last night . . . how did that go?”

  “He wants to remain anonymous.”

  “That’s curious.”

  “He wired three times a usual weekly fee this morning. And it’s a simple protection job. I don’t have an issue with it.”

  “Who do you want to put on it?”

  “Axel Kinkaid. He’s just finishing up that stalker case. He should be free by this afternoon.”

  Kyle nodded. “Good. I’ll have Jonnie send him up when he gets in.”

  She stood and walked around the other side of the desk. “I’ll come get you when it’s time for the tech meeting since you don’t have an assistant to remind you.”

  Durango balled up a piece of paper and threw it at her. She caught it easily, winking at him before tossing it in the trash with a single flick of her wrist.

  “Be a good boy.”

  He watched her walk away, pushing the door closed behind her. Kyle was . . . she was Kyle. She was the daughter of a former cop, a man Durango had known and respected during his years on the force. He retired a year or two before Durango left Chicago, moving to a small town to finish raising his family as the constable in a small farming community. Kyle was his oldest, a precocious kid who thought she’d follow in her father’s footsteps. He tried to steer her away from being a cop, finally finding some solace when he heard Durango Masters was in Springfield looking for the capital to start a new security firm.

  He hadn’t wanted a partner. He wanted silent investors. Instead, he got Kyle.

  Durango couldn’t really complain. After the acquittal in his murder trial, he was lucky to get anyone to support his attempt at starting over. Most of his friends had disappeared in the days and weeks after Sarah’s death. The rest abandoned him after his arrest and in the long, dark days leading up to the trial. When it was all said and done, he had no one left. The press had tried him long before the jurors had a chance to, so their verdict meant little to most people. Until Kyle.

  Kyle was a good friend. Durango had worried at first that it might be complicated having a woman as a partner. But she knew her stuff, and she was brighter than most men he knew. The fact that she was a lesbian helped with the whole sexual tension thing. They had more of a brother-sister relationship than anything else.

  Durango never had a sister. It was kind of a nice change.

  The security firm came about because it was the only thing Durango knew. Police work had been his life until Sarah came around and, with her gone, it was all he had to hang on to. When they took that away . . . private security seemed like a good compromise. Hell, it had been Sarah’s idea. He named the firm Mastiff because of her, too. Her father had been in the military, and he trained the dogs for their handlers. She spent a lot of time around them, learning to respect and admire them as her father did. She talked about it a lot in the early months of their relationship. It was a memory that meant a lot to her, especially since her father had died just a year before they met.

  Everything in his life seemed to revolve around, or shoot off from, his relationship with Sarah. He missed her. Sometimes he’d wake in the middle of the night and reach for her, even now, five years later. On those nights, he’d occasionally find a woman’s body soft and pliant beside his. And those nights he would find some sort of comfort in not being alone. But in the stark light of dawn, he was rudely reminded that she was gone, and he would never hold her again. Those mornings were the worst.

  Durango turned to his computer, work his only solace. It was more than an hour later when the first candidate for the assistant job knocked on his door. He sat back and eyed the woman, making a silent bet with himself that she wouldn’t last longer than a week.

  Chapter 3

  East of Virden, Illinois

  Abigail Rains sat astride her horse and surveyed the area; her back was sore, and her thighs ached from a long day working on machinery, preparing it for the spring thaw, and reviewing the books that never seemed to add up the way she needed them to. It was almost a relief to be out in the cool air, enjoying the parts of farm life she’d always loved so much. She only wished the scenery was a little different. She hated this time of the year, hated the way the ground looked with the soybeans and corn torn from its fertile soil, the clumps of earth left to blow in the wind while it waited for the full fury of winter’s coming storms. Her father had called her sentimental when she expressed her sadness for the earth to him. He said she needed to learn how to take pleasure in every section of the cycle of life. She called him an old fool.

  She’d never intended to run this farm. She loved it, had always loved it. But her mother recognized her intelligence when she was very young and pushed her to put academics ahead of all else. School is your ticket out of here, she used to tell young Abigail. And she was right. When Abigail was sixteen, she graduated early from high school and was awarded a full scholarship to Harvard. How could her father refuse that? The first four years were the hardest, but it got easier after that. And then her mother died.

  Abigail wanted to quit school after her mother succumbed to injuries received in a head on collision, but her father wouldn’t hear of it. It was her mother’s dream that Abigail finished school, that she received a good education. Besides, who walks away from Harvard? So, she went back, worked first for her masters, then her doctorate. Her mother would have been proud.

  It was that last part that was her downfall. She went to Harvard, studied biomedical engineering to make a difference in the world. But when her professor took their research and sold it to the highest bidder, telling her it would make them both filthy rich, she couldn’t do it anymore. To her, it was about helping people. To him, it was about making money. And that’s the way it was for most of the industry. She couldn’t be a part of that.

  Abigail came home because it was all she knew. When her father got sick and died less than a year later, it seemed almost like fate. If she hadn’t given up on her own, she would have had to quit anyway. It was better that it happened on her own terms.

  She still thought about it sometimes, though. The quick discussions, the coffee bars and the libraries, the books and lectures, the fast pace of life. It had been such a shock when she first arrived, but she’d adjusted to it, even loved it after a time. It was different and exciting, the kind of life she never thought would be possible for her. She was glad to have experienced it.

  She even missed it sometimes.

  But the farm was her legacy. She was okay with that.<
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  “Come on, Romance,” she said to the horse, urging it into a full gallop as they rushed toward the back of the property.

  The horse was a gift for her mother, an example of her father’s sense of humor. Mom had complained that she needed more romance in her busy life. So, her father gave her mother a horse named Romance. He thought that would suffice. Needless to say, it took a lot of roses over the next few months to prove he didn’t see everything as a joke.

  Abigail smiled every time she thought of that story. It was such a representative of her parents’ relationship that it had become something of an example of what she wanted for herself some day: a guy who was witty, intelligent, and kind; someone who would buy her a gift just to make a point. Someone who would know just how to respond to her darker moods with a little humor.

  She was nearing the back of the property when she realized there was someone walking along the heavy clumps of mud in the back field. Abigail rode up to him, watching him turn and raise a hand to shield his eyes from the late afternoon sun as he waited for her approach.

  “Hello!” she called, friendly enough.

  “Afternoon,” the stranger called back. It was a man in his mid to late thirties, dark hair and those kinds of dark, fringed eyes that made women mad with either desire or envy. He was wearing blue jeans and boots, the kind of clothing that made her think he might be a farm hand looking for work.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m afraid I’m a little lost,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. It was quite charming. “I was following the old train tracks into town, and they disappeared on me.”

  “Yeah, those tracks were torn out nearly fifty years ago, and most of the farmers have leveled the parts that cross their land. My grandfather did that some forty years ago.”

  He nodded, glancing back the way he came. “I guess it was a bad idea to follow something that no longer exists.”

  “It wouldn’t have led you into town, anyway. Those tracks skirted town in favor of the depot down in Carlinville. But if you head east, you’ll hit it in thirty minutes or so.”

  “Thank you.” He held out his hand to Romance and rubbed her nose in that sort of way someone familiar with horses does. “This your farm?”

  “Yes, sir. Rain Drop Farms.”

  He stepped back and smiled up at her, the charm back. Abigail didn’t think he’d have much trouble hitching a ride once he got to the road with a smile like that. She watched as he walked away, confident as he crossed the solid rows of clumped soil. He certainly looked as though he might know his way around a farm. Abigail wondered briefly if he wanted a job. She couldn’t pay him, but she wouldn’t mind having that handsome face around to look at this winter.

  Abigail had to shake herself, drag herself back into reality. She had too much on her plate right now to think about romance. Relationships required a lot more energy than she had at the end of most days.

  But, again, there was energy to be gained in a little sexual release, wasn’t there?

  She sighed, tugging on the reins as she drew Romance back toward the front of the property. Josh and Terri would be headed out soon. Abigail should be there to say good-bye, since they were headed out on their much-deserved vacation tonight. Two weeks in the Caribbean. What an amazing gift for their kids to give them! She almost wished she’d had the opportunity to give something that generous to her parents for their thirtieth anniversary. But her parents didn’t make it quite that far—her mom died just before their twenty-fifth. Besides, her dad never would have gone. He never left the farm, not even when he was young. He always said everything he could ever want was right here on this little piece of heaven his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had cut out for the family.

  But the idea of a Caribbean cruise wasn’t something she would turn her nose up at.

  Chapter 4

  Springfield, Illinois

  Mastiff Security

  “. . . an operative would simply place this camera in an inconspicuous place, such as the center of a tattoo or along the outer edge of a scar, and it would record everything the person hears or sees.”

  Kyle shifted the small box holding the camera in her hands, trying to get a better look at the minuscule thing. “This will get good video?”

  “Perfect.” The tech typed something into his computer and then turned it so that we could see the screen. “I just activated that camera. This is everything it’s seeing.”

  The picture on the computer monitor was impressive, better than some recent films Durango had seen in the theaters. He took the box from Kyle and slipped the camera out on the tip of his finger, moving it around as he watched the images on the computer. It was incredible.

  “How soon can we get this into the field?”

  “We’ve got four working prototypes. We could have more soon.”

  “All ready to be activated like this?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Durango slipped the camera back into the box and set it on the desk. “Impressive. Now I remember why we pay you people the big bucks.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the tech said, smiling widely like a child who’d just received rare praise from his father.

  Durango led the way out of the room, bursting through the double doors at the end of the hallway with more intensity than the moment required.

  “Which of your many conquests are you bringing to the party tonight?” Kyle asked as they headed toward the elevators.

  “Party?”

  “The Lincoln County Historical Societies’ party. You have to go. We RSVP’d like six months ago.”

  Durango groaned, wishing he could pretend he had forgotten. He hadn’t. He rarely forgot anything. He was just hoping he could find an excuse not to go before she brought it up.

  “Are you bringing Leslie?”

  “Leslie and I broke up.”

  Durango stopped and turned, curious eyes moving over his partner even as she tried to avoid his gaze. She started passed him, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  “When did this happen?”

  “Last night.”

  “Hell, Kyle, I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head, tugging her arm out of his grip. “Don’t pretend you care. I know you never liked Leslie.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  Kyle began walking again, dragging her fingers through her short, brown hair, those fingers shaking just slightly. She paused at the elevator, jabbing her finger into the button much like Durango had slammed through the double doors of the tech offices.

  “Your parents know?”

  “No. And I’d rather it stayed that way.”

  “They might find out when you don’t show up at the party with her.”

  “I’ll just tell them she’s staying late to help the district attorney on a case. They’ll believe it.”

  “Kyle—”

  “You really don’t want to push this, Durango. Or do you want me to bring up the multitude of women who walk through the revolving door that is your bedroom?”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Mr. Masters?”

  Durango turned to find Gracie Colson coming around the corner, a stack of files in her arms. He stepped back almost defensively as she came his way, his eyes skirting the mousy gold hair that flowed unkempt from her scalp, the brown eyes, partially hidden by rectangular shaped lenses, with equal gold and green flecks in them that always seemed to be shining with admiration whenever they turned in his direction.

  “She could be so beautiful if she only put a little effort in,” Kyle had said to him more than once when it came to Gracie. And she was right. There was a diamond in the rough there. But he wasn’t interested in being the one to dig it out.

  “How are you, Gracie?” Kyle asked in her polite boss voice.

  “Good, good,” she said, juggling those files in her arms. “I was just wondering if you’d selected a new assistant, Mr. Masters.”


  Durango groaned. “Are we scraping the bottom of the barrel or something? Those candidates you sent up this morning were all very mediocre.”

  “Those were the best we had on file.” Gracie blushed, her eyes skittering over Durango’s face as she pushed her glasses higher on her nose. “I think the word has gotten out.”

  Durango frowned, curiosity tugging him slightly closer to the petite form of the human resources clerk. “What word?”

  Gracie looked him in the eye for a long second, her blush deepening even as amusement filled her eyes.

  “The word about you. How difficult you are to work for.”

  Kyle burst out in loud, deeply entertained laughter.

  Durango shook his head. “I’m not difficult. I simply expect a certain level of professionalism. Is it my fault that most people today do not know how to put in a decent day’s work?”

  “They might if you’d give them more than fifteen minutes to figure out your filing system. Or slow down when you bark orders to them.”

  Again, Kyle laughed. Durango studied Gracie so closely that her eyes fell to the floor. But he swore he could still see amusement dancing there before they did.

  He shook his head, grumbling words he knew were inappropriate to the work space as he turned and slammed his hand against the elevator button. The door—thank goodness—opened just then, offering a satisfying exit.

  Kyle stepped in beside him, still laughing. As the doors slid shut, Gracie looked up, brushing a piece of stringy hair out of her eyes. The amusement was gone from her eyes, replaced with a look of longing that Durango couldn’t miss. He found himself wondering what it was she was longing for: a place on the upper floors? Was she ambitious? Was she longing for something more than her job in the silent basement? Or was there something else there?

  “What do you think of Gracie?” he asked Kyle.

  His partner was still giggling under her breath. “She’s brilliant.”

  “Do you think she’s ambitious? She’s never applied for another job, but maybe . . .”

  “I think human resources wouldn’t be the same without her. Who else would continuously gather applications for assistants for you the way she does? I hear she even screens them herself, letting through only ones she thinks might stand a chance of putting up with you.”