FROST SECURITY: Richard Page 3

  I gave a short bark of laughter. “Yeah. Right.”

  “Besides,” he continued, “if I don't put you to work, you're just lounging around anyways. Idle hands, and all that.”

  I gave him a wolfish grin as I held up the ridiculously cheap quote. “Uh-huh. Sure, Frost. Sure. Certain you ain't crushing crush on this lady?”

  “Just go in and give her the quote,” he replied with a sigh of resignation, his eyes shifting back to the screen, “so we can get you to work on this, and start to get things figured out. Soon as Lacy comes into the office, I'll tell her to get on the phone with you. And, I'll switch off with you tonight on watch. Got it?”

  I nodded. “Got it.”

  I left Pete in his office, quote in hand and headed back into the conference room with it. I wasn't sure what game he was playing at, but this quote was way too cheap compared to our normal client rates.

  I wasn't sure what it was, but something told me Frost knew something I didn't.

  Chapter Three

  Jessica

  I left Frost Security both a little shaken and, oddly, a little comforted. I wasn't sure how to handle this idea of some random man following me around all day and all night. Of course, don't get me wrong, he was an absolute hunk with blonde hair, gray eyes, and the lean build of snowboarder or carpenter. And, geez, those hands of his. So sure of themselves. Plus, he seemed, well, smart. Not like most of the guys I'd run across who looked like him. Something in those gray eyes of his just screamed intelligence, a keen awareness.

  But having Richard Murdoch follow me around? Or anyone for that matter? I didn't like it. Not even him. It just seemed too intrusive for my tastes.

  “I'll be a ghost,” he'd assured me when I'd voiced my mild concern over it. And, I wanted to believe him. But, still. I just didn't know how to handle it. I hadn't had a babysitter since I was ten. I reminded myself, though, that I was paying for his protection and expertise. I wasn't going to object to them doing what they needed to do.

  So, I drove my old Volkswagen Jetta back across town to the Curious Turtle and headed back inside with a jingle of the front bell as I opened the door. I flipped the sign on the door around to open out of habit. Not that I expected any customers, of course, but it was still nice to hold out hope for a miracle.

  I walked back through the gallery, with all its paintings of wildlife and natural landscapes hanging from the walls. My low heels clicked and echoed through the empty story front with each step on the tiled floor. The place was quiet, deathly quiet, and I could hear the wind whistling outside over the window panes, just trying to find a way to get in.

  The Curious Turtle specialized in local and regional artists, catering more to the rich tourists who had their summer homes and winter cabins up here. Not the hippest, coolest thing in the world, and it'd have no traction in a place like LA or New York. But, I liked it, and so Blake Axelrod had gone with my choice.

  Now Blake, there was a character. I hadn't seen him that often, except for when we'd first begun working together. After a few months, the novelty of owning his own art gallery must have worn off. Especially when compared to his primary business. He owned a custom motorcycle shop and Harley dealerships across the state. People said he had more money than sense and, based on him investing in this place with just a minor in Art History running the show, I tended to agree with them. But, though Blake had been eccentric, he'd still shared a love for the kind of art I promoted, and had been a big supporter of wildlife conservation in the Rockies. Most hunters were, to be honest. I found they loved nature as much as us more liberal hippie types, just in different ways.

  I couldn't fault him for any of that.

  I missed him. Even though we hadn't been great friends or anything, it was hard to lose someone so unexpectedly. Especially when you'd figured you would have years and years ahead of you. I'd never really gotten a chance to thank him for this giant chance for a hometown girl, who'd come back from college with no idea of how she'd make a living. I had no family in town anymore, just a few friends like Sheila and my other good friend Karen. Not after mom and dad split and moved away, both to warmer climates.

  I sighed and headed back into my office. I stopped just two steps in, though, when I heard the bell on the front door clang. I backtracked and stuck my head out, scanned the gallery, saw a middle-aged man wearing a dark suit and carrying a briefcase. “Be right with you,” I called.

  He smiled and nodded, gave a little wave. “Take your time, miss.”

  I hurried over to my desk and locked up my purse in the bottom drawer, then headed back out to the showroom floor, smoothing the front of my shirt as I went. “How are you doing today?” I asked as I came out of my office and approached him. “Is there anything in particular you were looking for?”

  The man wore a well-tailored suit. Not as expensive as some cuts I'd seen, but still pretty decent. It struck me as odd, though, because you hardly ever saw those kinds of outfits up here. Most people tended to go pretty casual, jeans and a flannel. It was just more rustic in these parts. “You, actually,” the man said, smiling widely.

  “Me?” I asked, cocking my head to the side, an uncertain smile on my face as I stopped a few paces from him.

  “Yes,” he replied as he took a step in my direction. “You are Jessica Long, correct?”

  I nodded, not exactly sure where this was going. “I am.”

  “Evan Case,” he replied, sticking out his hand. “I represent the late Blake Axelrod's estate.”

  “Oh,” I said as I took his hand. “His estate?”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding. “There are a few items in his will that we wanted to sort out with you, a few pieces from his collection that he left to you when he passed.”

  Items from his collection? Blake hadn't ever mentioned anything like that to me. And why not his piece of the business? If he was going to leave me anything, I would have suspected that. Confused, I ushered the lawyer into my office.

  I sat down at my little desk and he took a seat across from me. “Sorry for the mess,” I said. “I'm never been much for administrative work.”

  He laughed as he looked around. “It's always surprising to me how much one office seems to look like another. You should see my partner's in the firm. Imagine all this, but legal briefs instead.” He flipped his briefcase around and set it on his lap, popped the latches and opened it up so he could dig around in the papers.

  “He left me a few pieces from his collection?” I asked, looking for clarification more than anything else.

  “Yes,” Evan Case replied as he pulled out some paper work and passed it over to me.

  I took the documents, flipped through them. They were for a few pieces of his I'd adored. One by a local artist of gray wolf hunting an elk, but in a modernist style, and another two from a Santa Fe painter who'd passed away a few years ago. Individually, they were both worth quite a bit.

  I glanced up at the lawyer from my paperwork. “Nothing about the gallery, then?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, flipping through the will till he found the spot in the document that he was looking for. “Yes, right here. To my nephew Wyatt Axelrod, I leave my fifty percent partnership in the Curious Turtle. May the art contained within its walls inspire you to the same heights it has inspired me, and aid you in carrying on my cause of nature conservancy and philanthropy.”

  My face flushed, my stomach felt queasy. I slumped back in the chair, a sudden wave of nausea sweeping over me at his words.

  Evan glanced over the top of the document. He must have been able to tell from the look on my face how disappointed I was, because he just winced. “Sorry, Ms. Long. Sometimes I'm the bearer of good news, sometimes bad tidings.”

  I waved him off. “No,” I replied, “I completely understand. You're just executing the estate, right? Not your fault.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I thought the paintings he left you were quite lovely.”

  He was right, they were lovely. Bu
t, they weren't quite as lovely as being the sole owner of my own art gallery. I smiled a little at his sentiment, nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Case.”

  He began to gather up his papers, tuck them away back into his briefcase. “The family will be going through and cataloging the voluminous possessions of Mr. Axelrod over the next several weeks, so you should be able to get into the estate by just calling ahead to my office. We'll be more than happy to assist you in shipping.”

  I nodded and went to stand as he did. “Thank you for coming by.”

  “Oh, don't mention it,” he said. “I love making trips up here to the high country. It's lovely this time of year.”

  I showed him out of the office and walked him back to the front door. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Richard Murdoch scoping out the place from across the street in his beat up old Jeep. I could feel him watching me, feel him watching the lawyer.

  “Oh, and Mr. Case, I'm curious,” I said, stopping him as he was about to leave. “This Wyatt Axelrod? Do you have any idea about him, my new partner?”

  He shrugged and made a face, shaking his head. “I just know he was my client's nephew, to be honest. I'm honestly a little surprised he hasn't been in touch with you already. I would think he was aware that his uncle was leaving him his piece of the business, considering how detailed the will was.”

  I nodded, forced another smile. “Thank you again. And drive safely, Mr. Case.”

  He grinned and thanked me, then he was back out the door and headed to his rental.

  I stayed there, looking out the front windows of the shop, at the sunlight as it hit the store fronts across Main Street from the Curious Turtle. Just another day in the Rock. Another dollar, another disappointment.

  I smiled through the heartache, though. Sure, the outcome of Blake's will hadn't been exactly what I was searching for, complete ownership of my business. But, on the bright side, I at least knew someone in Blake's family owned his portion. Maybe that was a good thing? Maybe it just meant I was one step closer to knowing how all this was going to pan out.

  I frowned again, the smile suddenly too hard to hold in place.

  Glancing over, Richard Murdoch caught my green eyes with his gray ones. We kept our gazes for the briefest of moments, and that same feeling from Frost Security's office returned. Suddenly, I realized, I was going to figure this out. I had a security guy watching out for me through all this.

  He gave me a little smile I could just barely see, and glanced away before I could.

  I turned around and went back into my office. I still had a few bits of paperwork to get through before calling it a night.

  Chapter Four

  Richard

  I kept an eye on the place while she was inside with the suit. When they'd disappeared to the back, I'd moved up closer to the glass so I could hear better with my keener than human senses. I returned to my Jeep when they emerged from the office.

  She was safe, and I knew it. But, why did I get out of the Jeep then and go walking across the street? Probably because of that tortured look on her face, like the world was coming to an end and there was nothing she, or anyone else, could do about it.

  I crossed Main Street as she disappeared into the back again. As I pulled open the front door, I called out to her. “Jessica? It's just me, Richard.”

  “Back here,” she called, her voice sullen and heavy.

  I looked around the art gallery as I passed through it, at all the pictures of wildlife and landscapes. There were a few great ones of some wolves, nice oil paintings with some heavy brushwork. A couple I wouldn't mind hanging on the walls of my little place on the edge of town. I glanced at the price tags, surprised at how many of them I could afford. I wasn't incredibly wealthy, not by any means, but I'd socked quite a bit away when I was on deployment. Most guys blew their whole wad when they got back, but I'd managed to pick up a cash job right off the bat as a bouncer. And the security work paid pretty well, too. I definitely wasn't hurting, and could probably look at an early retirement if I really wanted.

  I adjusted the gun on my hip, making sure it was out of view, and leaned my head in around the door. “Everything okay?” I asked.

  She was sitting there in one of the chairs pulled up in front of her desk, her head thrown back, her hair cascading like a silky cloud. With her head upside down like that, she locked eyes with me. “That was the lawyer for my dead partner's estate,” she groaned.

  “Not good news, I take it?”

  Jessica raised her head, looked back over her shoulder at me with a sigh. “No. Well, I guess not. He didn't leave me the rest of the business. Not that he had to or anything, I wasn't exactly his adopted daughter or something. But, he did leave me a few paintings. That's good, right?”

  I chuckled. “Guess it depends on if they're any good.”

  She smiled. “No, they're good.”

  “Who'd he leave his part of the business to? His widow?”

  She shook her head. “Blake wasn't married. Had a string of ex-wives, but hadn't been with any of them in a few years. Nope, he left it to his nephew.”

  “His nephew, huh?” I asked, crossing my arms and leaning against the frame of the door. “Think he could be the one calling with the threats? You said they started right around the time your partner died, right?”

  She shrugged. “I guess. But what would he want with a business like this? An art gallery?”

  “You have a name for the guy?”

  “Waylan, Wayne. Something with a W. I remember it was the same as one of those famous gunfighters.”

  “Wyatt? Like Earp?”

  She snapped her fingers, grinning. “Wyatt Axelrod. That's it.”

  I took out my little pad and scratched down the name.

  “Really think he might have something to do with it?”

  “Considering you don't know anyone who has it out for you?” I asked, then nodded. “Yeah, I give it even money. At the very least I can have Lacy look into him when she gets into the office, or Peter even. Anything else interesting happening?”

  She shook her head, gestured to a vacant seat next to her. “Why don't you take a load off, Richard? I can get us a cup of coffee.”

  My heart leapt at the invitation, it really did. Between the smell of her, and the knowledge we were alone and could maybe discuss something other than business, I was tempted to accept her invite. But, there was a mission here, one of protecting her. I sighed and shook my head. “Sorry, Jessica, you know we're not getting paid to sit around and drink coffee with the client. I should really get back up front and keep an eye on the place.”

  “Sorry,” she said, smiling like it was no big deal. “I forget sometimes what it's like to have people around while you're working. Most of the time I'm here alone. Sheila, my friend who I heard about you guys through, has been helping me figure out the books for the gallery, so I've been spoiled with having her around. But, working here all alone can get, well, lonely.”

  “Believe me,” I said with a grin, “I understand your pain. I've had to work quite a few stakeouts all by my lonesome. It can be tough.”

  She glanced away, back to her desk. “Well, you should probably get back at it, then. Hate to have your boss come along and get upset or something.”

  I laughed. “I think Peter would be fine with me coming in. But, I'll let him know you're concerned about employee performance.”

  Just as she laughed again, the phone began to ring.

  I tensed up and began to look around for the phone.

  “Don't worry about it,” she said. “It's just the fax. It'll pick up in just a minute.”

  “You still have a fax?” I asked. “Thought those died out while I was over in Afghanistan.”

  She laughed as she got up and went over to see what was printing. “We get a lot of faxes, actually. Shipping orders from some older customers, that kind of thing. Some of our suppliers even send our invoices that way . . .” she said, then trailed off as she stared down at the print out from
the fax machine.

  “Jessica?” I asked. “Everything okay?”

  She picked up the page, groaned as she turned back to me with it in hand, holding it out and away from her like it was contaminated, or might bite. A look of horror twisted her face.

  “What is it?” I asked, crossing the room and taking it from her. I looked from the page to her face, and back again.

  The same phrase covered the sheet over and over again in small, tight, single spaced font. “LEAVE ENCHANTED ROCK OR ELSE. LEAVE ENCHANTED ROCK OR ELSE.” All the way across the page, from left margin to right, a solid block of threatening anger ran from the top of the sheet to the bottom. As I read over the screed, more sheets came streaming out. They must have sent page after page of this stuff! What kind of psycho did this?

  “I don't even . . .” she began, her lower lip trembling, before bursting into tears.

  I went on impulse and pulled her into my chest, her warm, tiny body pressing into mine.

  “Why?” she cried into me, her body wracked with sobs, her arms wrapping themselves around me, pulling herself tighter. “Why me, Richard?”

  “I can't tell you,” I said, unsure of what else I could offer her as I soothed the back of her hair down. “But, I do know we're going to keep you safe, alright? You got me, you got Peter. We'll protect you. Okay? I promise.”

  Slowly, her tears began to dry, and the sobs began to quiet. She pulled back, wiping streaks of eyeliner from her face. “You promise?”

  “Well,” I said, stepping back from our embrace and smiling down at her, “that's what you're paying for, right?”

  She laughed and shook her head, looked away from me. “Yeah, I guess I am, aren't I?” She broke away from our moment of embrace and went over to her desk, reached down into a drawer and pulled out a box of tissues. Not caring if I was there, or not, she blew her nose.

  God, I realized, even her nose blowing was cute. That was it, I had to get back to my Jeep. “You going to be fine in here? Alone?”

  She sniffled. “Yeah, I think so. I'll probably close up shop early, though, head home.”