Zeke: Mastiff Security Volume Two, #4

By Glenna Sinclair

This is the fourth book of Mastiff Security Volume Two, with over 50,000 words of romantic suspense.

 

A recovering addict, Zeke struggles daily to stay sober. His job at Mastiff Security helps, giving him something to do with all the free time he suddenly had on his hands when he was fired from his job as an undercover narcotics officer. But he never anticipated meeting a woman like Finley Calloway, a firecracker determined to force him to fail at his job for the first time in his career.

 

It was a simple task. He was supposed to find her and take her back to the mental hospital from which she'd escaped. And he did find her in record time. But getting her back to the hospital is proving to be a struggle. She won't stay put.

 

When she finally tells him her truth, Zeke has to decide if it's all just a part of her insanity or if Finley is a woman who is truly in trouble. And then he has to save them both…

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glenna Sinclair
• Release date: Jan 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9798224837304

Glenna Sinclair

Experience the heart-racing novels of Glenna Sinclair, the master of romantic suspense. Sinclair's books feature strong male protagonists, many with a military background, who face real-world challenges that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Books2read.com/GlennaSinclair Facebook.com/AuthorGlennaSinclair GlennaSinclairAuthor at Gmail dot com

Book preview

Prologue

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Jackson Chamberlain’s Offices

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Los Angeles, California

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Six Months Ago...

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The room was spinning.

Finley stumbled over her own feet as she tried to make it to one of the chairs in the large conference room. Norman grabbed her arm to keep her from falling on her face. She jerked away, more concerned with avoiding any touch from her soon-to-be ex than making a fool of herself in front of one of their biggest clients.

Don’t be a bitch, he mumbled near her ear.

Finley made it to the chair, setting the script they were to discuss on the table in front of her. She laid her hands flat on the cool paper cover, her confidence in this particular piece of work higher than in any other work she’d ever produced. She knew this one was going to be a massive hit for everyone involved, and it would be the swan song that would finally get Norman out of her company and out of her life.

Just one last meeting, and she was free.

This script fulfilled her contractual agreement with Norman. When they went into partnership together, she had promised to write three scripts and see them through to production. It was Norman’s job to find a producer to make the movies, to deal with all the public relations stuff, and to handle the day-to-day crap that went along with running a business. It had seemed like the perfect deal. Finley was a writer. All she wanted to do was write. Norman was a people person. He liked to put his face out there and charm whomever he had to charm to make things work for him. It seemed like the perfect partnership, especially since they’d just gotten married, and everything was bliss. How better to celebrate their lives together than to allow it to flow into her work, too?

What a big mistake!

Things went sour after just a few months. Norman was not the white knight she’d believed him to be. She’d consulted with a lawyer about getting a divorce, and she just needed to finish this deal, end the contract that made him part of her business, before she could file and have him removed from her home, from her business, from her life.

Just this one last meeting.

Jackson breezed into the room with half a dozen assistants in tow. Finley stood—too quickly—and began to sway. Jackson’s smile wavered a little as he greeted her.

You okay?

She nodded. Fine. Thank you for meeting with us today, Jackson.

Of course! Your last script made me millions, so this was a no-brainer.

She’s brilliant, isn’t she? Norman agreed, the charm oozing. And this script is much better than the last!

Funny he would say that. He always refused to read her writing.

Finley settled back in her chair, nausea churning in her stomach. She swallowed hard, the room still spinning even though she was sitting. And these weird colors began to burst from the edges of her vision. She blinked a few times, forcing herself to focus.

What is this one about? Jackson asked, taking a seat across from Finley.

Well, it’s a mystery, she began, vaguely aware that her words sounded a little off to her. Slightly slurred. A man goes for a hike in a national park, and he runs into a young woman who’s been badly beaten. He takes her—

Something was crawling on her skin. Finley looked down and saw a big, black spider crawl up the length of her arm, from her wrist all the way to the crook of her elbow. She squealed, brushing at the thing until it fell to the table. But then there was another and another, crawling over her fingers, her wrist, her arm. She jerked back, jumping to her feet as she scrubbed at her skin, rubbing them away.

Finley?

She stopped, looking up at Jackson. He was watching her, concern in his eyes. When she looked down, there was no sign of the spiders.

I’m sorry, she said, catching just a glimpse of Norman. She could have sworn he was hiding a smile behind his hand. Too much coffee this morning, I guess.

She resumed her seat, trying to remember what she’d been saying before the spiders. It’s a mystery, she said. This guy, he’s hiking, and he meets this woman—

You’ve already said that, darling.

She glanced at Norman. His face seemed to change as she was looking at him, morphing from the familiar pale features to something sinister, something dark and deformed. She bit her lip, holding back a scream.

If you could just give me a quick synopsis, Jackson said.

She forced herself to focus on him, but the same thing was happening to him, his face morphing into something different. Jackson’s handsomeness became something more homely, but not frightening. Just...strange.

And then the spiders came back. Thousands of them. Crawling on Jackson, on his assistants, on the table. She pushed her chair away from the table, biting her lip so hard that she could taste blood. There was something wrong. The dizziness, the colors at the edge of her vision, the spiders. She knew it wasn’t real. But the spiders looked real!

Not happening, she whispered. This isn’t real. It’s not happening.

Finley?

Jackson’s eyes rounded with concern, and a massive spider crawled right into his mouth.

She screamed, and then she couldn’t stop. She knew it seemed insane, knew this wasn’t right, but she couldn’t stop. She screamed and screamed and screamed, her throat burning. Norman grabbed for her, and she pushed him away, slapping and kicking. She knew this was his fault, somehow. She didn’t know how, but this was because of him. He’d found out she was going to divorce him.

What was happening? What was this?

Hands on her. She pushed, she slapped, she tore with her nails. Her vision was jumbled, her ability to focus on one thing gone. The room was spinning harder than before, those colors blurring everything. It was too much, input overload.

She just wanted it to stop.

What was wrong with her?

Chapter 1

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Wren Ryland’s Home

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Los Angeles, California

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You have to take these pills, Wren said, settling on the edge of her own bed and nudging Cormac’s arm. Rachelle’s aunt said that your biggest concern now is infection.

I’m fine. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve been shot.

Wren could attest to that. While he was bleeding out on her kitchen floor, she couldn’t help but take notice of the array of scars that dotted his abdomen. Knife scars, a bullet wound, and various smaller scars that likely came with a nice variety of stories. She wanted to ask, but it felt invasive, somehow.

You still haven’t told me what happened.

It’s complicated.

That’s all he’d said for three days. He’d shown up here bleeding...

Wren pulled up to her condo after visiting the serial killer, Devin Wilde, in prison, her thoughts a jumble. She was slightly surprised to find Cormac Delaney’s car parked out front. Had he found out about her visit to Wilde? He’d warned her not to go, but she couldn’t stop investigating her mother’s murder just because he didn’t like the direction her investigation was going. Wilde had answers, and she needed those answers.

The sight of her roommate, Brad, pacing on the front porch pulled her out of her thoughts. When he saw her, he frantically began waving her over.

I don’t know what to do! He just showed up, stumbled into the house like he belonged here. He said he’s a friend of yours, and you can help him. But I don’t know—

It’s okay, Brad. I know him.

He’s in the kitchen, bleeding everywhere.

Wren glanced at him. What do you mean he’s bleeding?

Brad just waved his hand, the gesture wildly flamboyant in a way only Brad could do it. She hesitated, wondering what the hell she was getting herself into now.

Cormac was sitting at the kitchen table, his face pale as he looked up, but he managed a smile.

Hey, Wren.

What’s going on, Cormac?

He lifted a hand off his belly, grimacing as he did. There was blood all over it, some of it dried, most of it fresh. And there was fresh blood spreading across his shirt.

What the hell?

She snatched a clean towel out of a drawer and dropped to her knees, pressing the towel to the spot that seemed to be bleeding the most. He grimaced again, but he was still conscious. She knew that was a good sign, but it seemed to be the only good thing about this situation.

We have to call for an ambulance.

No. He touched the top of her head, his blood sticking to her hair. They’ll ask questions.

You could bleed to death!

It’s a through and through. I just need the wound sewn up.

And antibiotics. How do you think I’m going to get that for you?

You’re resourceful.

Does this have something to do with Wilde? Or my mother?

He smiled again. Not everything revolves around you, darlin’.

His eyes rolled back into his head, and he was gone, his body sliding down out of the chair.

Brad!

He came running, and together they managed to lay him on the floor. Blood was pouring from his wound, but he was right about it being a through and through. She’d seen a few gunshot wounds when she was a cop, even something like this. She knew what needed to happen, but wasn’t sure she was capable of doing it.

Did she have a choice? If she called an ambulance, was she placing his life in danger? If she drove him to the hospital, there would be trouble for them both, and the fact that she had no idea what had happened wasn’t going to make that easy. She had a choice to make and only seconds to do it.

Call Rachelle. We’re sewing him up.

...and refused to say what had happened.

Rachelle, Wren’s other roommate, had an aunt who was a retired registered nurse. She sewed him up and got them in touch with a clinic where they could get antibiotics without too many questions. But she warned over and again that infection could still crop up and lead to terrible consequences if they didn’t keep a close eye on him. She was trying, but Cormac wasn’t making it easy.

Why did you come here? Isn’t there someone out there wondering where the hell you are?

No, not really.

You don’t have any family?

His expression tightened with that question. He had nothing to say.

What about work?

He sighed. If you want me to go, Wren, just say so. I can probably take care of myself now.

She shook her head, gesturing to the bandage on his lower abdomen. You’re still healing. If you pop a stitch, you’ll be in trouble.

I can get myself to a clinic.

And explain the stitches how? She shook her head. You can’t leave now, not if you plan on doing something that could get Rachelle’s aunt in trouble. She pushed the pill at him. Take your medicine.

Yes, mother.

Cormac swallowed the pill and opened his mouth, showing her that he hadn’t hidden it under his tongue. She just sighed, wondering if this was what it might be like to be a parent.

Just tell me one thing: is whatever this is going to come to roost on my front step?

Cormac seemed slightly offended by the question. I wouldn’t have come here if that was a possibility.

I just had to make sure.

He lowered himself onto the mattress, the sheet that had been covering him to the waist slipping and exposing not just the completeness of his large bandage, but also the patch of hair that led down his belly and disappeared under the waistband of his tighty whities. The sight made her blush, much to her embarrassment. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had a man in her bed before. Just never one quite this good-looking or this mysterious and frustrating and intensely erotic.

She stood up, nearly dropping the bottle of pills she’d had in her lap. She deposited them on the side table and headed toward the door.

I’m going to work, but Brad should be here most of the day if you need anything.

I was thinking, he said before she could reach the door. She turned and glanced at him, found him studying the pictures and notes she had taped to her wall, the case notes from her mother’s murder investigation. I could do some research if you have a laptop around here I can use.

Research?

Check out Devin and his associates like you suggested the other night.

She hadn’t thought he’d been conscious when she mentioned that. She’d sat up with him all night the night he showed up on her doorstep. She talked mostly just to keep herself sane, attempting to keep worry from overwhelming her. She talked a lot, about a lot of different things. Funny that would be the one thing he heard.

Okay. I’ll see what I can do.

She left the room, pausing just outside the door to catch her breath. Cormac was a complicated guy. He was an FBI agent who was investigating her mother’s case as a side thing, a hobby. It wasn’t official FBI business. They spent hours on the phone every week, texted each other nearly every day, and saw each other at least twice a week. Yet, she barely knew anything about his personal life. He knew everything about her. She knew he didn’t currently have a woman in his life, and that was about it. And now he was convalescing in her bed, and she felt like she knew less than she did before he walked into her life.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She knew he had a tattoo on his shoulder that looked like a date. And she knew he’d been shot before and was covered in scars that seemed a little too violent for someone who spent his days in a suit investigating murders from a distance. And she knew he was very healthy, very well-built. She knew he had a six-pack that was better defined than that of some of the guys who showed off at the gym, better than a desk jockey should be allowed. She knew he had amazing blue eyes and dark hair that she ached to run her fingers through. And she knew that if he lay in her bed much longer, he’d have a beard that would be tough to trim with a simple razor blade.

Wren!

She shook herself, feeling the heat of a blush burning on her face.

What?

Rachelle, her roommate, grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the bedroom door. Did you talk to him? Do we have anything to worry about?

It took Wren a second to comprehend Rochelle’s question. Then she shook her head, almost too enthusiastically.