Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) (20 page)

Although they had met at his father’s
house, he knew the morning wasn’t going to get any better now that everyone was
falling back into their daily routine. The office was already overflowing with
people. Hunter and Colby had pulled into the lot about the same time he had,
giving him a thumbs up—a signal that Marissa had made it safe and sound to
Trace’s. And that’s where the calm ended and the chaos began.

“Good morning, RT,” Jayden called in
greeting as she reached to answer the phone. Jayden Brooks, who the group had
nicknamed Glue because she was in fact what held the office together, was the
receptionist for Sniper 1. However, that was merely a title. The woman was a
force to be reckoned with, and answering phones, scheduling appointments, and
taking messages were just a miniscule part of the job duties she’d assigned
herself. In truth, Ryan wasn’t sure they’d know what to do without her.

“Mornin’, Jay,” he said in return, not
bothering to stop.

As Ryan passed through the main reception
area, he noticed Decker Bromwell, one of their more tenured agents, talking to his
cousin Kira, and Ryan fought the never-ending urge to tell the man to back the
fuck off.

None
of your business
, he reminded himself. If Kira wasn’t
interested in Deck’s attention, she’d surely tell him off. It wasn’t as though
Ryan hadn’t seen her brush men off before.

“What was that?”

Ryan turned to see his cousin Dominic
looking back at him as though he’d lost his mind.

He had; there was no doubt about that.

Apparently, speaking his thoughts aloud
was one of his newly acquired hobbies. Opting to ignore his cousin’s question,
Ryan decided to ask his own. “How’re things this mornin’? Any news?” Since Dom hadn’t
been at the house that morning, Ryan figured there had been a good reason.

“Depends on what you consider news.” Dom’s
subtle sarcasm wasn’t lost on him.

His youngest cousin—at just twenty-two—was
what they referred to as a computer genius. Between Dom and Austin, Ryan
figured there wasn’t a network that they couldn’t penetrate. They could hack through
the most guarded systems without leaving a digital footprint in their wake, yet
they had opted to use their skills for the greater good. Granted, sometimes
that required them to sneak in the back door of some pretty well-protected
networks, but since it was all for good, not evil, there were plenty of times
the rest of them simply had to look the other direction. Okay, all the time.
They looked the other way
all the time
.

“Spill it,” Ryan instructed, turning
toward the break room, where he hoped like hell someone had had the good sense
to make coffee. It would’ve been easier to stop at Percolation before he’d come
up, but he hadn’t wanted to endure waiting in line. “Who made this?” he asked
skeptically when he reached the freshly brewed pot.

“Either Claire or Lilly,” Dom said. “Not
sure.”

It didn’t matter. As long as it wasn’t one
of his brothers, he was doing all right. It wasn’t a secret that his family had
more skills outside of the kitchen than inside of it, hence the reason his
parents had hired Lilah all those years ago.

“Heard some stuff this mornin’.”

Ryan glanced over his shoulder to let Dom
know he was all ears.

“That idiot last night, he
was
theirs.”

“Son of a bitch,” Ryan exclaimed, planting
his palms on the countertop and dropping his head. “They’re not wastin’ any
time, are they?”

“Seems that way.”

“That guy had the break-in skills of a
kindergartner,” Ryan stated. “Why’d they send him? And where are they now?” he
asked, not bothering to look up.

“Austin’s following up on it now, but it
looks like they’ve got someone in place—who isn’t the guy y’all encountered
last night. Looks like that guy was a test. They wanted to see what they were
up against. From what I can tell, they wanted to see how well the house would
be defended if they attempted to get close.”

Fucking
hell.

Ryan had absolutely no fucking clue why
these bastards were after Marissa. It didn’t seem to matter how many months passed
or how hard they tried to hide her, she was still drawing their attention for
whatever reason. He wasn’t sure whether it pissed him off more that they didn’t
know what they were after or that no one could get a solid lead on who was
behind it. Hell, their track record with protecting her was shitty at best.

Well, Ryan wasn’t so sure their intentions
were to kill her. They were escalating, there was no doubt about that, but he
wasn’t quite sure that had been the intent.

As it turned out, he’d just gotten word that
the Connecticut police had recovered the remains of a person within the rubble
that was once the place Marissa called home for a few months. He hadn’t told
anyone, opting to keep that bit of information to himself for the time being.
Ryan would admit that he was a suspicious bastard, and since Marissa’s
whereabouts continued to be leaked, he had no choice but to think they had a
mole within their ranks.

He was a little surprised that both Casper
and Bryce felt the same way. It didn’t make him feel any better, though.

Ryan fully intended to find out if this
was the action of an insider working with the Adorites, but until he had to, he
wasn’t going to share what he’d learned about the body with anyone except for
his father. Well, no one other than Bryce
and
Trace, but that was because he needed Trace to be well prepared to handle
anything that arose. He just had to figure out when the appropriate time to do
so was.

They still didn’t have an identity on the dead
man yet, but based on what they could logically assume, the remains were
probably those of the man who’d planted the bomb. Trace’s perfect timing had
likely put a wrench in the plan, and the guy had been in search of Marissa when
the bomb had gone off. But it was all speculation at this point, and until Ryan
got word back from his source—or a firsthand account from Trace, which he’d yet
to get—he wasn’t going to jump to conclusions.

“So they’ve narrowed down her location to
the compound?”

“Looks that way. And I’ve notified Tanner.
He’s worried about my mom.”

Rightfully so, Ryan thought to himself. Especially
since they’d recently devised a plan to mislead folks into believing Marissa
was really staying at the compound, although she was no longer there. That
decision alone put all of their parents in danger—the main reason Ryan had
opted to temporarily move back into the main house until this was resolved once
and for all. That way he could keep an eye on his mother and his father. But he
couldn’t be multiple places at the same time, so Hunter and Tanner would need
to step up and make sure that Liz and Steph were protected.

“What about Conner? You let him know yet?”
Dom asked.

Just like Dom, Ryan knew that Conner would
be the first one to insist that Steph, Emily, and Liz be shipped off to a safe
house as well, for their own protection. Not that any of their mothers would go
willingly. It took a strong-willed woman to marry men like TJ, Casper, and Bryce,
and when it came down to it, Steph, Liz, and Emily would fight for what was
important to them—and nothing was more important than family.

“Yeah, I shot him a text. He’s on his way
over there now,” Ryan confirmed. Had Conner stuck around, he would’ve learned that
earlier.

“Good deal. Let me know if you need
anything.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said, reaching for a coffee
mug. “I’ll let TJ, Bryce, and Casper know this new development when I see them,
and we’ll figure out a plan. Until then, I need you to monitor this and let me
know as soon as you learn anything else.”

Dom nodded and turned to walk away, but
Ryan called him back. “Hey. Do me a favor.”

Dominic cocked an eyebrow and met his
stare.

“Don’t share this news with anyone else.
Not until I give you the go-ahead.”

Dom’s eyebrows shot up, but his cousin had
the decency not to argue.

Another brief nod was all Dom offered
before he darted out of the break room, leaving Ryan alone.

Shit. Now came the hard part. Sharing the
most recent news with his father.

But first, he needed to have a
conversation with Decker. The guy clearly needed something to do besides flirt
with Ryan’s cousin. And he’d take care of that, right after he messaged Z,
letting him know where their rendezvous point would be tonight.

Shit.

His body instantly hardened.

Bad choice of words.

It’s
not like that. And never will be.

Trace stood in his kitchen, a bottle of
water in hand as he stared out the massive, floor-to-ceiling, bullet-proof pane
of glass that overlooked downtown Fort Worth.

The view was one of the things he liked most
about the place. The other was the anonymity he had in the area. In his line of
work, being hard to find was critical.

It didn’t seem to matter how discreet or
how far undercover they all had gone at one time or another, there was always
the potential of being identified, which could prove to be a fatal error if and
when someone were to find them. Trace had managed to pretty much stay off the
radar with his nontraditional location, and that was saying something, because
he knew for certain he’d been ID’d on at least one job.

That particular clusterfuck had been an
epic failure if ever there was one. Both he and Z had been made, which had put
their lives in precarious danger for a brief amount of time. Luckily, they’d
been deep undercover, which had meant their true identities were about the only
things that hadn’t been figured out.

That was probably the only reason they
were still alive and breathing.

After all, drug cartels didn’t take kindly
to outsiders invading their territory. Especially when the outsiders were
looking to unearth a missing person—a wealthy businessman who had some unique
ties to the Columbian government—which they’d had in their clutches for going
on sixteen months.

The fact that any of them had gotten out
alive was still surprising, but as was their mantra, never underestimate
anyone. Not yourself and certainly not your enemy.

Trace ran his hands over his hair. What
was left of it
anyway.
Thanks to that op gone awry,
he’d had to resort to the too-short buzz he’d worn when he was in the military,
and somewhere along the way, he’d grown used to it once again.

The sound of footsteps on the hardwood had
Trace turning to see Marissa as she made her way out of the bedroom. She still
seemed to be in awe as she stared around his place, checking it out. He
couldn’t help but wonder what she’d expected, but her expression was clearly
one of wonder. He wasn’t sure whether he should be flattered or offended.

Not that it mattered what she thought either
way because the woman wouldn’t be there long.

Maybe.

“Hungry?” he asked, trying to remember to
be a good host as he fought the idea of Marissa being in his house permanently.
The idea was not a bad one but one he still didn’t care to think about.

“No, but I wouldn’t object to coffee.”

Good, something he could do. Trace moved
across the open kitchen to the coffeepot. He made quick work of getting it
started as he watched her.

“How long do you think I’ll be here?” she
asked.

“Already itchin’ to go home?” he countered
snidely.

Marissa’s lips formed a hard line, but she
didn’t say anything in response to his sarcasm.

He quelled the urge to remind her this had
been her final decision. If he would’ve considered all points before running
off at the mouth, they’d still be at her parents’ house and she’d be holed up
in her bedroom. And he’d be … anywhere but where she was.

Oh, who the fuck was he kidding? When he’d
tossed out the suggestion of sticking close to her parents, he’d been more than
hoping she’d choose to go with the original plan. Which she had. And now, he
was hyperaware of her, and that was the real problem. Keeping her at a distance
had been relatively easy. Until now.

No
one to blame but yourself.

When the coffee maker spit and hissed its
completion, Trace grabbed a mug and filled it. “Cream or sugar?” he asked.

“No, black is fine.”

Sliding the cup toward her on the bar that
separated the living room from the kitchen, Trace then leaned back against the
island and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You don’t mind me being here?” she asked
softly, sounding suddenly very unsure of herself.

Trace’s defenses lowered slightly at the
vulnerability in her eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he assured her, pausing to
study her before adding, “It shouldn’t be long. We’ll find this bastard, and
your life will finally be back to normal.”

At least he hoped that would be the case.
For his own sanity.

“Right,” she replied, still standing as
she took her first sip of coffee. “Like I even know what normal is
anymore.
”

Neither of them said anything for a couple
of minutes, and then he was saved by the ringing of his cell phone. Unclipping
it from his belt, Trace glanced at the number and then hit the talk button.

“Kogan,” he said calmly.

“It’s Deck.”

“I know who it is, bro.” Trace laughed,
watching Marissa as he listened to Decker Bromwell.

“You want me on the Chastin case?”

No, he didn’t want one of his best fucking
agents handling a damn cheating spouse case. “Who the fuck told you to handle
that one?”

“RT,” Deck confirmed.

“Don’t listen to RT. Hand that one off to
Isaac.”

Deck laughed, not an ounce of humor in it.
“You gonna talk to RT?
’
Cause I damn sure don’t plan
to tell him no.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to him. For now, I want
you to take over the skips. Only temporary, though. We’ve got too many right
now and not enough people looking out for them. In the meantime, become Dom’s
shadow and fill in on the monitors when he can’t.”

“Will do,” Deck stated. “Let me know if
you need me.”

Trace didn’t say anything more before
hitting the end button and clipping his phone back to his belt.

“How many people are working for Sniper One
now?” Marissa asked as she climbed up onto one of the barstools.

“Twenty-four last I counted,” he answered
easily. He didn’t bother to tell her that was only in the US. There were a
handful more who worked permanently out of the country, but Sniper 1 kept them
on the down low, choosing not to draw attention to their overseas business.

“Impressive,” she told him, looking quite
bored.

“Why? You lookin’ to come on board?”

“Not a chance.”

“Why not?”

“I think Sniper One has enough hands on
deck. Don’t need me pitching in. I don’t have any interest in chasing down the
bad guys.”

Just being chased
by
them, Trace thought.

Even with the information he now had, he
couldn’t help but wonder how Marissa had become a target. From the beginning,
he’d always assumed there were three possible reasons, although, these days, he
was leaning more heavily toward one specific one.

First option, she was the only member of
her entire family who wasn’t an agent, which meant she exuded vulnerability in
a big way. Even he thought that one didn’t seem feasible. Not enough to define
why she’d be the intended target and not one of the others. Two, Bryce had pissed
off the wrong person and the easiest target was his only daughter. Or three,
Marissa had pissed off the wrong people with that damn blogging shit she did.

If it were a multiple choice question,
Trace was definitely going with number three.

Based on the new evidence they had, he
didn’t think they were heading in the wrong direction, either. Not that it
mattered, because regardless of the reason, Trace was going to protect her with
his life. Even if that meant enduring the constant hard-on that seemed to be an
ever-present thing when she was around.

Forcing his thoughts away from the part of
his anatomy that jumped up and took notice whenever she was around, Trace
focused on her once more. “Before you do anything, I want you to give me your
laptop,” he told her while he was thinking about it.

“I’m not giving up my laptop.” Marissa’s steadfast
argument was exactly what he’d expected.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it back. I just
need to do something. Don’t want anyone tracing it back here.” Trace wouldn’t
bother to tell her that they’d done that every damn time they’d hidden her and
it could very well be pointless, but it was a safety precaution that he was
willing to go the extra mile for. If he could keep her IP address bouncing,
even if they did get a bead on her, it might keep them guessing for a while.

Before Marissa could argue, Z walked
through the front door, making a ruckus as he did. Trace grinned. As though
they’d be doing anything that the man could possibly interrupt.

“What’s up?” Trace asked, downing what was
left of his water as he shifted his attention to the giant walking into his
living room.

“Wanted to give you a heads up that Dom’s
coming over. He wants to man the computers from here.”

“You have computers here?” Marissa asked,
glancing between the two men.

Z laughed. “We’ve been dubbed CCB—Command
Central Backup.”

Ignoring Z’s response, Trace attempted to
remain on topic. “And he can’t do that at his own damn house, why?” Trace
wasn’t stupid. Dom was coming over to keep an eye on Marissa, and he had a
feeling this was all Clay’s idea.

“No idea. I didn’t ask questions.”

Grabbing his phone, Trace scanned through
his contacts until he found Dom’s number. Typing out a quick text, he told Marissa’s
cousin that it was a no go. He didn’t need a fucking babysitter. Once that text
was sent, he scrolled until he got to Clay’s name.

The message he sent Clay said:
Un-fucking-cool
.

“All right then,” Z stated, sounding uncomfortable.
“I’m out.” The big man turned and headed back to the door. Before he made his
exit, he turned to face Trace again. “Oh, and I’ll … uh… I’d planned to go out
tonight, but … but now I’ll be meetin’ RT. When I’m done with that, I’ll be
out. Late. Probably not home till mornin’.”

Trace nodded. “Duly noted.”

“Cool,” Z said, his gaze darting between
him and Marissa before he turned for the door.

“Am I gonna be interrupting something?”
Marissa asked when Z left.

“Nope,” Trace answered, glancing down at
the text he had just received from Clay.

Someone
needs to keep an eye on you.

Bullshit
was Trace’s response to that. He didn’t need a
babysitter and neither did Marissa. Nothing was going to happen.

“I don’t want to be in the way,” Marissa
said, and this time Trace looked up at her.

“What do you think you’ll be
interrupting?”

Marissa glanced down at her coffee cup for
a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I don’t know. Women?”

She sounded nervous.

“No women comin’ here,” he informed her.

“Are you sure?”

Trace laughed without mirth. “What? You
think they just show up at all hours of the day and night, Marissa? I’m
beginnin’ to wonder just what the hell kind of man you take me for.”

Marissa’s face fell and Trace suddenly
felt like a dickhead.

“I don’t bring women here, Marissa,” he went
on to explain, letting the anger drain from his tone.

He didn’t bother to tell her that not
having visitors was part of keeping off the grid, which meant his hookups were
done elsewhere. Z was the same way, sometimes disappearing for several nights
at a time. Z even went so far as to not use his real name with the men he met
as an added precaution—strange as that was.

“And I haven’t been with anyone in a
while.”
What the fuck?
Why the hell had
he tacked that on? He’d been doing just fine, so why the hell did his mouth
have to get away from him?

Shit.

“What’s ‘a while’?” she asked, and Trace
took her question as the fishing expedition he suspected it to be. He knew he
shouldn’t rise to her bait, but he couldn’t help himself. There was something
about the woman that pulled at him. For some unknown reason, he didn’t want her
thinking bad about him.

“A long while.” At least two months, and
his balls were beginning to feel the repercussions of his abstinence.
Especially when Marissa Trexler was sitting in his kitchen staring back at him
with big blue eyes that held a hint of longing in them. Something she’d never
been able to hide from him.

“Okay.”

Trace smirked. He wasn’t sure she’d meant
to say anything at all, but obviously she approved.

And he had no idea why he liked that.

A lot.