Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) (19 page)

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“You
better have good news for me,” the man grumbled into the phone.

Barry wished he had something to tell the
bastard, but unfortunately, until he had a chance to talk to William Waters—the
inept dumb ass who had walked right into the Sniper 1 trap and was now sitting
comfortably in a cell at the Lew Sterrett Justice Center—he didn’t have a damn
thing to go on.

Not to mention, his fucking informant at
Sniper 1 had suddenly gone mute, and that was pissing him the fuck off.

Competent help was so hard to find these
days.

“Not yet,” Barry informed the cantankerous
bastard. “I’ve got a plan, though.”

That was a lie. He didn’t have a fucking
plan. Not yet. The little fucker who’d been feeding him information had
suddenly stopped talking. He figured it had to do with the fact the Kogans and
Trexlers were starting to suspect something, but that wasn’t Barry’s problem.
He merely needed to get his hands on the girl, turn her over to the asshole who
was paying him to grab her, and move on with his life after collecting the
other half of his fee.

“Don’t call me back until you have her, understand?”
The man’s tone was threatening, irritated. Clearly the guy wasn’t keeping his
cool the way he wanted Barry to believe.

“Yes, sir,” he answered easily, smiling as
he did.

“Oh, and one more thing. You’ve got three
days. After that, I’m calling in someone else. And after they take care of
you
, they’ll bring me the girl.”

The line went dead and a frisson of fear
swirled in his gut. That was a threat he couldn’t scoff at. Barry might not
think highly of the guy or believe he was the top of the food chain, but he did
know what the man was capable of. And he knew when the man was pushed to his
limits, people tended to die. Maybe his plan to bypass the shithead wasn’t such
a good one.

Looked like Trace Kogan would be next.

That or Barry would. And that damn sure
wasn’t going to happen.

What
was it about a man on a crotch rocket that rendered some women stupid?

Marissa was one of those women; she would
admit it.

She didn’t exactly know the answer to that
question, but she very much tried to stem the excitement that coursed through
her as she watched Trace disappear down the driveway on his motorcycle. The man
was freaking hot as it was, but there was something to be said about those
sport bikes that her brothers and the Kogan boys favored.

It was almost as though they’d achieved
maximum maleness for the mere fact that they owned one and knew how to maneuver
it like a pro. Every single one of her brothers had at least one, as did the
Kogan brothers. Hell, even Courtney had mentioned possibly getting one a time
or two. Not that Marissa thought she’d have the same reaction to her friend on
one as she did to Trace as he shot off down the road like a badass on two
wheels, but hey, to each his own.

“You okay?” Z asked as he put the Escalade
in drive and started down the driveway, following Trace’s path but thankfully
at a much more reasonable speed.

Movement out of the corner of her eye
caught her attention. She glanced in the side mirror and noticed that her
brother Colby and Trace’s brother Hunter were behind them, both on their bikes,
as well.

“I’m fine, why?” she asked, daring to look
over at him.

Zachariah Tavoularis—everyone referred to
him as Z at his request—was an intimidating man. Somewhere close to six and a
half feet tall, the guy packed some serious size. Not to mention, he rivaled
Trace in the looks department. Dark hair, dark eyes, and the sexy stubble along
his large, angular jaw were damn near hard to resist. He was also a playboy of
the worst kind if the rumors held true—and luckily for women everywhere, Z’s
sexual conquests were with men. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a trail of broken
hearts behind him, but women were safe from Z.

Rumors. God.

There were so many rumors when it came to
the men in her life. She wasn’t sure where to even begin.

“No reason.” Z shot her a cocky grin,
pulling her back from her thoughts. She glared over at him as he turned his
attention to the road in front of them. “How’s it feel to be back home?” he
asked, obviously trying to make conversation.

“I’m not exactly home,” she answered, struggling
not to reveal the anxiety permeating her insides ever since she had agreed with
the decision to go to Trace’s.

“Good point. Don’t look forward to stayin’
with Trace?”

“Actually, no, I don’t,” she lied.

She
was
looking forward to it to a degree, but she would’ve preferred much different
circumstances. Like him inviting her over, not because she needed his
protection but because he wanted her there. Instead, she had to come to terms
with the fact that she’d practically forced his hand, and being the gentleman
that he was, Trace had obviously accepted the job.

She
was a job.
God, didn’t that rankle just a little
bit.

Sitting back, Marissa tried to relax her
mind as well as her body while Z drove her to Trace’s. Although she couldn’t
see Trace, she knew he was somewhere close. With the two sport bikes that she
could see weaving in and out in front and behind them, she found it difficult
to do anything more than watch them, which wasn’t necessarily a hardship.

With helmets on, Hunter and Colby were
just two anonymous men owning the road, handling the bikes with painstaking
precision, all while looking like the badasses that they were.

The only downfall… Their presence was a
reminder that someone was after her and no one seemed to be getting closer to
catching them even if they did now have a lead to go on. That was the reason
she had garnered an entourage for a trip such as this one.

“Can I ask you a question?” Marissa
addressed Z, tossing a sideways glance at him.

“Shoot.”

“Has anyone mentioned why they think the
Adorites are behind this? I mean, besides the article.”

Marissa didn’t expect Z to offer her any
top secret information, even if it was about her, but she figured what the
hell, might as well give it a shot. It was conversation, right?

She doubted that she knew more than Trace
or anyone else, for that matter, but if she could somehow understand where the
Sniper 1 Security team was going with this lead, things would be so much
easier. It would give her something to do, something to look into. She was good
at that, but she was merely at a loss for which direction to look.

Z was quiet. So quiet that Marissa figured
he wasn’t going to answer her question, so when he spoke up a minute later, she
was startled.

“We don’t have anything concrete right now,
Marissa. If we did, I’m sure Trace would share the details with you.”

She seriously doubted that, but she wasn’t
going to tell Z as much.

“But…” Z continued, glancing over at her
briefly. “If there’s somethin’ you wanna tell me, I’m all ears.”

“Like what?” Marissa asked nervously.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe there’s somethin’
you’ve learned that we don’t know.”

“Seriously, Z. I really don’t know
anything else. If I do, then it’s not obvious to me.” Being so open with Z felt
odd, but there was a sense of relief that came along with it. She wanted to dig
deeper, to find out what these people were after, but she honestly just didn’t
know how.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll figure it out soon.”

God, she hoped.

“Why is Trace handling this now?” she
asked when the silence lingered on uncomfortably. She hadn’t found the nerve to
ask Trace directly. And it baffled her somewhat that he’d want to involve himself
when there were plenty of others who could handle watching over her. She wasn’t
sure why he would agree to a plan such as this considering he’d done his
absolute best to avoid her for years.

“He requested it,” Z offered easily.
Too
easily.

Marissa jerked her head to look at him
fully. The way his skin stretched taut over his cheeks and the way his jaw
bunched told her he’d said something he hadn’t intended to. Despite the
millions of questions that ran rampant in her brain after that revelation, it was
clear she wasn’t going to get more out of him, so she directed her attention to
the motorcycles in front of her. She’d have plenty of time to contemplate Z’s
statement later, she was sure.

Thankfully, nearly an hour and fifteen
minutes and a couple of painful detours later, Z was pulling the Escalade into
the underground garage. Although she’d never actually been to the warehouse
that Trace and Z called home, Marissa had heard plenty of stories about it. She
couldn’t decipher fact from fiction at this point, but she could tell no one
had been inflating the tales about the actual security measures installed
there.

At the entrance to the garage, there was a
wrought iron gate that went floor to ceiling, wall to wall, and in order for Z
to get the gate to open, he had to enter a code into his phone and then his
fingerprints into a scanner on a control panel mounted near the entrance, much
like the main gate that surrounded the estate her family lived on.

She noticed that Hunter and Colby
continued on rather than joining them. Apparently they trusted her alone with
Trace more than she trusted herself.

Once Z parked, he climbed out and hit the
button that opened the back lift gate of the Escalade. After grabbing her purse
and another small bag she’d brought with her, Marissa joined him to help with
the rest of her things.

Before she could grab anything other than
what she’d had in her lap, Trace sauntered over, easing in front of her and taking
what Z wasn’t able to carry himself. Resisting the urge to huff about it,
Marissa hiked her purse higher on her shoulder and hefted the one bag she was
allowed to carry as she fell into step behind them.

They arrived at what appeared to be a
service elevator. Another code was entered and then the doors opened.

Trace, ever the gentleman, motioned for
her to go in first. The two men then shoved her suitcases in and joined her,
the doors sliding closed with ease behind them. And then they were on their
way. The next thing she knew, the elevator stopped. No ding to signify they
were at their destination, no instrumental music to accompany their trip up,
only a whisper of noise as the doors opened.

“This is my stop unless you need help gettin’
these inside.”

“Nope, I got it from here,” Trace assured
Z.

Marissa watched as Z escaped the small
metal box. She couldn’t see much outside of the elevator, nothing more than a
dimly lit concrete hallway.

“You two live on different floors?” she
asked Trace.

“Yeah. The warehouse is split into two
full-size apartments. Z’s got one floor; I’ve got the other.”

For some reason, that made Marissa feel
marginally better. And worse. So much for having Z there to run interference.

Trace glanced back at her and grinned. Something
wicked gleamed in his glowing gaze. “We come and go from either apartment
whenever we want.”

Marissa assumed that was some sort of
warning, but for the life of her, she didn’t know what Trace was trying to say.
If it was supposed to put her at ease, it didn’t.

Rather than question him further, she
forced a smile on her face. “Good to know.”

A minute later, they were walking out of
the elevator into a hall much like the one she’d seen on Z’s floor. It wasn’t
as long as she had thought it would be. Across from the elevator was a set of
stairs that went both down and up, which meant there was another floor, or
maybe a roof.

Trace turned to the left and led her to
what appeared to be a solid steel door. Once again with the codes and
fingerprints before they were making their way inside the actual living
quarters.

That’s when Marissa stopped short.

Nothing in her wildest imagination
could’ve prepared her for this.

The outer walls were all exposed red brick,
the ceiling was a mishmash of HVAC and various pipes running back and forth.
But that’s where the original warehouse design stopped.

The floors were gleaming dark hardwood,
the furniture was tasteful and new, the stainless steel appliances in the
kitchen on the far side glistened in the numerous overhead lights.

“How big is this place?” she asked
absently.

“Each floor is four thousand square feet.”

Holy
crap. That’s a lot of feet for one man
, Marissa thought
to herself.

“Two bedrooms this way,” he informed her
as he grabbed two of the suitcases. Marissa grabbed another and wheeled it
behind her as she followed him down a wide hallway that intersected with the
main living area.

“You’ve got this one. Mine’s right there.”
Trace nodded his head toward a closed door across from the single door he had
stopped in front of. “You’ll have your own bathroom.”

Another good thing to know.

Marissa was at a loss for words when Trace
opened the bedroom door. Again with the gentlemanly hospitality, he stood back
and allowed her to enter first.

A-
freaking
-mazing.

Absolutely nothing like what she would’ve
expected from a bachelor like Trace Kogan. The room he’d offered her had
interior, Sheetrocked walls decorated in muted yet masculine colors. The
bedspread was chocolate-brown suede. The curtains on the two huge windows that
overlooked the street below matched. The furniture was wood—unstained and
rustic, a beautiful contrast to the dark floors.

Dropping her purse onto the bed, she did a
three-sixty, trying to take it all in. The room was huge and…

“Bathroom’s that way,” Trace said,
motioning toward the far side of the room. “Closet there.”

Marissa jerked her attention to where he
was pointing and then nodded, unable to speak.

“Problem?” Trace finally asked.

“No, not at all. It’s just…”

“Just what?” Trace asked, watching her
closely.

Crap. How did she relay her thoughts
without offending him? No matter what she said, she knew he’d take it
negatively. Hell, he already seemed a little defensive.

Hoping for simple, she said, “It’s nice.”

Trace cocked one sexy eyebrow at her, but
his mouth didn’t tilt into a smile. “Nice, huh? What did you expect?”

See? Offended.

Although his tone was pleasant, she’d
caught the subtle underlying irritation, but she pretended she hadn’t. Marissa
knew better than to answer that question. “I’ll go get my other suitcases,” she
told him.

“Don’t bother. I’ll get them. You just get
unpacked.”

Nodding again, Marissa watched as he
walked away.

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When Ryan walked through the front doors
of Sniper 1 Security’s main office, he suddenly wished he’d stopped to get
coffee on the way up.