Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) (34 page)

“I’ve got Dom—”

“
Rhames’s
gone
off the grid,” Z interrupted. “Probably safe to assume he knows we’re on to
him.”

“Agree,” RT said.

“Correct me if I’m wrong here,” Clay
began, “but Marissa managed to take down the Adorite family, yet we don’t think
they’re part of this?”

“No. Marissa didn’t take them down,” RT
replied. “They were arrested, yes. Nothing was proven. The RICO case Duchein
referred to doesn’t have legs. We believe that’s because Duchein is workin’
that angle as well. He just didn’t intend to get caught in the crossfire. My
assumption is that he’s gonna turn on the Adorites to save his own ass if he
can’t get to Marissa.”

Probably the only reason she was still
breathing. Trace didn’t speak his thoughts aloud.

“The Adorites are too clever to allow that
to happen,” Z informed them. “Maximillian, Samuel’s oldest son, dots every fucking
i
and crosses every t. It’s gonna take a hell of a
lot more than that to pin something on that family.”

Not a family he’d want to cross, but Z was
right, the Adorites weren’t going to get their hands dirty in this mess. But…

That didn’t mean they weren’t involved, if
only by association.

“That sting was what sent authorities looking
into Duchein,” RT added.

“And he’s the one who wants me dead?”
Marissa asked, glancing up at Trace over her shoulder.

“Looks that way,” RT stated.

“Why?” she asked.

“Duchein works for the branch of the
federal government responsible for investigating federal offenses related to
the unlawful use and possession of firearms and explosives. They also regulate
the sale and transportation of firearms in interstate commerce. Looks like our
buddy Duchein has been stealing confiscated guns from his own employer, the
U.S. government. In turn, selling them to the Adorites, and probably others,
who knows?”

“He’s got a lot to lose if that’s the
case,” Trace stated.

“No doubt,” RT confirmed. “He’s profiting
from stolen guns, and my guess is that when Marissa and Forthnet got too close
for comfort, he panicked.”

“Killing Forthnet and coming after
Marissa,” Clay said, thrusting his hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

No one said anything for a moment, and
Trace processed all the information as best he could. If RT was right, they
were dealing with a loose cannon.

“So what do you need from me to make this
go away?” Marissa questioned, her attention on the screen once more.

“At this point, I don’t know. But by the
end of the day, you can bet your ass I’ll have something more concrete. And
tomorrow night, we’ll know exactly what we’re lookin’ for.”

“Tomorrow night?” Marissa questioned.

Trace was watching the iPad screen when RT
glanced up at him. Trace shook his head, signaling to RT that he hadn’t told
Marissa about the party yet.

“We’ve been personally invited to a party
at the Adorites’ mansion.”

“We?” Clay questioned.

“Trace will be taking Marissa. I’ll be
taking Courtney.”

“And you think that’s smart?” Clay
inserted.

“We’ll have backup stationed outside,” RT
clarified. “Z, Conner, and Colby will be there to watch our backs. They’re just
not on the official guest list. And Clay, if all goes well, I’ve got a job for
you, too.”

“But this Duchein guy is on the official
guest list?” Trace asked.

RT nodded. “He’ll be there. And that’s
when I plan to nail this bastard once and for all.”

Trace heard the threat in RT’s tone. The
guy was as fed up with the bullshit as the rest of them. And now that they had
a solid lead to go on, there was no doubt in Trace’s mind that this was about
to come to a head.

He only hoped he could keep Marissa out of
the crossfire until that happened.

●«»●«»●«»●

When his phone rang, Barry was tempted to
let it go to voice mail. But it was obvious how that would go over, so he hit
the talk button and put the phone to his ear.

“Time’s up.”

Yep, exactly why he didn’t want to answer
the call.

“You better have some good news for me.”

“She’s vanished,” Barry told the asshole
on the other end of the line.

He was met with silence, which was why he
glanced in his rearview mirror, checking to see if someone was sneaking up on
him. If the guy could be trusted, any minute now, Barry would be dead and
someone else would be looking for the girl.

“Where are you now?”

Well, if that wasn’t a stupid fucking
question. Like Barry was going to tell him where he was. What? And make it
easier for him to find him and kill him? No thank you.

“I’ve got one last lead to follow up on,” Barry
said quickly, hoping the guy would give him a little more time.

“I’m done playin’ games. There’s a party
tomorrow night. At Max Adorites’. I’ll be there and so will Marissa Trexler. I
expect you to get the girl and dispose of her before the night’s over. You’ve
got till the end of the night to make that happen. Then you’re done. One way or
another.”

Without saying a word, Barry hung up the
phone. No sense in wasting precious air when he could be planning his next
steps.

A party tomorrow night, huh? At the
Adorite mansion.

Interesting.

The timing couldn’t have been better.

This could very well give him the opening
he needed to meet the big man in charge. Screw this guy and his piss-poor
attitude. If Barry wanted an in with the Southern Boy Mafia—which, no doubt, he
did—this was going to be his chance.

In the meantime, he needed to nail down
his informant at Sniper 1. That was one loose end that needed to be tied up
before tomorrow night.

Trace lounged on the couch as he stared at
the television. He had no idea what was playing or when he’d actually turned
the damn thing on, but he was doing his best to look interested. It was that or
stare at Marissa, who was sitting in the adjoining chair, close enough that he
could smell the light scent of her perfume.

After their conversation with RT, Trace
had given her the details of how tomorrow would go, including the part about
how Courtney would be picking out Marissa’s gown and then coming by with the
necessary items to help Marissa get ready. Once he’d relayed that information,
they’d gone back to business as usual. Clay and Z had stuck around for a short
time, trying to get their bearings on the mission: who would be where, what
Clay would need to do since he wasn’t invited to the foray, and how they
expected it to end.
 

By the time Trace and Marissa were the
only two left, it was closing in on one o’clock, so Trace had plied her with
food, insisting that she eat. To his surprise, she hadn’t argued. In fact,
Marissa had merely joined him in the kitchen as though nothing had happened, as
though she hadn’t learned that tomorrow would likely be the end of the line for
her stalker. Not that Trace was entirely convinced everything would go as
smoothly as they wanted, but he held out hope. Something had to go right in
this clusterfuck. There weren’t many other options.

The woman had been through hell and back,
and as an elite security team, they’d failed to protect her on numerous
occasions, yet she seemed willing to go through with their plan as though the
next time would possibly be different.

This time
would
be different, but he knew he’d never be able to convince her
of that, so he didn’t even bother to try.

Over lunch—a frozen lasagna that tasted
like cardboard—Trace had attempted to engage her in idle conversation. Bless
her, Marissa had played the polite card, nodding when she was supposed to,
agreeing other times, but never had she really opened up. When he asked her
about the nightmares that’d plagued her in recent days, she informed him that
they were now a daily occurrence, something she was getting used to. It made
him crazy with the need to wrap her in his arms and hold her close, swear to
her that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her again.

Could he really make that promise?

It seemed as though every time he turned
around, he was back to the day when she’d been kidnapped right beneath the
watchful gaze of not one but two Sniper 1 agents.

For whatever reason—probably because they
were dealing with a sadistic bastard who had a hell of a lot on the line—they
had received a tip prior to the incident. That or there was some do-gooder out
there with his nose in someone else’s business. Either way, the tip hadn’t been
enough of a heads up for Trace, but he’d made the best of it. In the end, he
knew that it had been sheer determination on Marissa’s part and his dumb luck
that had allowed things to go down the way they had.

The moment they had received the first and
only warning, Trace had gone
apeshit
. He remembered
the day like it was yesterday.

“Son
of a motherfucking bitch!”

Trace
glanced up from his laptop when the roar erupted, echoing through the narrow
halls and bouncing off the glass walls that separated the offices of the four
lead agents at Sniper 1. Without a moment’s hesitation, Trace was on his feet
and in the hallway, quickly joined by RT and Clay.

“What
the fuck?” RT spoke the words Trace had been thinking as the three of them
looked at each other and then beat feet to Bryce’s office.

“What
the hell is goin’ on?” RT asked his father while Trace stood by.

That’s
when Trace realized something bad had happened. His heart pounded furiously in
his chest as the worst possible scenarios began swimming through his brain.

“He
found her,” Bryce said, his voice trembling, his hands shaking.

“Who,
Dad?” Clay asked, although the inquiry was unnecessary. They all knew who Bryce
was talking about, but that didn’t stop Trace from praying that he was wrong.

A
blinding rage trickled into Trace’s bloodstream and quickly morphed into an
all-out tidal wave as he waited for Bryce to answer the question. To lay claim
to the assumption.

“They
found Marissa,” Bryce repeated, not answering Clay’s question directly.

“Where
is she now?” RT asked, his tone chillingly calm, his body rigid and alert as he
stood in front of Bryce’s desk.

The
world stopped spinning the moment Bryce looked up and met each of their eyes
briefly. The words that followed would forever echo in Trace’s mind.

“At
the Oklahoma safe house, but we’ve only got three hours.” A violent sob tore
from Bryce’s chest as the words exploded from his mouth.

What?

Trace
attempted to make sense of Bryce’s words, but no matter how hard he tried, he
couldn’t understand. Three hours until what?

“Until?”
RT implored.

“Until
they take her.”

“What
the fuck?” Clay bellowed. “We’re getting fucking warnings now?”

Bryce
nodded, looking back at the three of them as though he weren’t seeing them but
rather was somewhere off in his head.

“Where’re
Josh and Ian?” RT asked, referring to the agents who’d been assigned to keep their
eyes on Marissa.

“I
don’t know,” Bryce said warily. “According to the message, Josh may be out of
the equation.”

Trace
knew exactly what that meant, and he didn’t want to think about the possibility
that Josh was…

The
intercom buzzed and Jayden’s concerned voice filled the air. “I’ve got Ian on
line three. Said he needs to talk to someone ASAP.”

Without
hesitation, Bryce hit the line three button, and the call was placed on
speaker. “Ian? Where the fuck are you?”

Sounding
out of breath and slightly out of sorts, Ian said, “I took a bullet to the
shoulder. We were parked down the street. Josh went after them, but he’s… Son
of a bitch. I’m pretty sure he’s … dead.”

“Where
are you now?” RT questioned.

“Hospital,”
Ian answered roughly. “It’s not life-threatening, but it’s… Fuck, it’s not
good. I need to go back to Marissa.”

“No,
you don’t,” Trace declared. “Stay where you are. We’ll send someone to you. You
hear me?”

“Yeah,”
Ian answered. “Fuck. I’ll stay here.”

“We’ll
call you back,” Bryce informed him, hitting the button to end the call.

“Who’s
closest to her?” RT asked, looking to both Trace and Clay for answers.

Clay
already had his phone to his ear. “Son of a bitch. Her phone line’s
disconnected.”

Trace
swallowed hard, ignoring the roaring in his head. He looked at RT, then to Clay,
and then back to Bryce, unable to speak. Without a sound, he turned and left
the room. He didn’t walk; he didn’t even think. After a quick detour to his
office to grab his go-bag, Trace took off at a dead run, checking only to make
sure he was armed.

“Hey!
Where the hell are you goin’?” Hunter’s voice sounded from somewhere above him
as
Trace
shot down the stairs, choosing to take seven
flights of stairs rather than waiting for the elevator to the first floor.

By
the time Trace reached his bike, his cell phone was ringing. He ignored it at
first, more worried about hitting the road.

Two
miles into what would be a three-hundred mile trek to Bum Fuck, Oklahoma,
Trace
answered the next time his phone rang.

“What?”

“Where
are you?”

Trace
didn’t even dignify the question with a response. If Clay didn’t know him
better than that, the man didn’t deserve an answer.

“Okay,
here’s the deal,” Clay finally said when he must’ve realized Trace wasn’t going
to answer. “I’m with Dom and Austin. We called the local PD, told them to do a
welfare check. Not a top priority of theirs, but Bryce called in a few favors. I
just got off the phone with Tanner. He’s two and a half hours away and the
closest to her right now.”

Trace
didn’t give a shit who was closer or how long it would take them to get to her.
He would be there first. And he’d protect her and find Josh, no matter what it
took.

Trace
didn’t respond to Clay. He focused on the road, switching into a lower gear as
he shot through the heavy flow of traffic.

“Let
me know when you get there, Trace. I’m fucking serious. I’ll keep you updated
as soon as I know something. RT’s getting the jet ready. He’ll be on the ground
before you get there.”

Maybe,
Trace thought to himself as he hit the gas. The only thing on his mind was
getting to Marissa. Because he wouldn’t let this bastard get her. There was no
other choice. And from there, he would never trust another soul to protect her.
No one other than him.

The sound of laughter coming from the TV
pulled Trace from his thoughts. That had been one hell of a week for all of
them. The fact that Josh had been killed and the knowledge they were working
against time to protect Marissa, needless to say, everyone had been on edge.

Especially Trace.

And then, his life had nearly come to a
blinding halt when he’d realized he’d been too late. By the time he’d gotten to
the safe house—long after the local cops had done a drive by, and still within
the fucking three hours they’d given them, at that, which, as it turned out,
had been pure bullshit—Marissa was gone. It was obvious whoever had taken her
had done so against her will.

Running on nothing but fear-induced
adrenaline and pure determination, Trace had found her.

It hadn’t hurt that they’d been dealing
with a hired gun, an amateur. A psychopath, really. No, the
merc
who’d been hired to kidnap her definitely hadn’t been the brightest bulb. Thank
God for that because they had needed a shit ton of miracles, and somehow they’d
gotten them.

RT had beaten Trace to the safe house, but
barely. By minutes, actually. As soon as they’d realized she wasn’t there, they’d
begun combing the area, praying the guy had fucked up somewhere along the way.
After all, they’d had absolutely nothing to go on. The neighbors hadn’t been
much help, and the only lead they had received was from an old lady who’d
deemed herself the president of the neighborhood watch, which meant she spent
hours sitting in front of her window watching her street.

White Ford Taurus. That was the extent of
the details they’d received from the nosy neighbor.

But it had been enough.

Dom and Austin had hacked into the traffic
cameras that led into and out of the small Oklahoma town and located no fewer
than ten white Ford
Tauruses
over the course of an
hour. It was a wild goose chase if there ever was one, but they’d been lucky
that day.

Trace
had been lucky that day.

Marissa had been drugged and unconscious,
stuffed into the trunk of the nondescript white car in the parking lot of a
rest stop not far out of town. The dumb fuck who’d snatched her had actually
stopped for dinner, clearly thinking he had all the time in the world.

Well, Trace had decided to surprise the
bastard. Right after he’d made a quick call to RT, who was halfway across town,
having gone after a different white Taurus. RT had arrived in time to get
Marissa’s unconscious body out of there long before their brilliant kidnapper
had finished his steak and mashed potatoes.

No one had ever shared with Marissa who
had found her, and Trace damn sure didn’t need the glory. It had been the only
thing he cared about during those hellish three hours. His decisions after that
weren’t some of his best, though. What had happened later had been completely
and entirely Trace’s fault.

A decision he’d live with for the rest of
his life.

By the time the ordeal was over, Marissa
was safely stashed, albeit temporarily, once again, Ian was undergoing surgery
for the bullet in his shoulder, Josh was dead, as was the mercenary, and Trace
had taken a bullet himself—to the arm. At that point, Trace had gone nose to
nose with both RT and Bryce, informing them that he would be responsible for
looking after Marissa going forward. Whether they liked it or not.

He had fought tooth and nail to keep her
from being shipped off to the next safe house—in Maine—but he’d lost the
battle. Both Casper and Bryce, and even RT, had insisted it was the best thing
for her. Trace had disagreed. But he’d also packed a bag, taken his Escalade,
and hit the road then, too. He’d been in Maine before the private jet carrying
her had ever hit pavement.

And he’d remained there, despite his
father’s grumblings, for the first week. No one had questioned him. Well, no
one but himself. Not after she’d been snatched right out from under their
fucking noses. There hadn’t been a question in his mind who should’ve been
protecting her, but he had been lost on what his motivation was. Something deep
in his soul had urged him to protect her, to make sure nothing happened to her.
He still battled the all-consuming need to possess her as his, and for the sake
of his own sanity, keeping Marissa with him was the only logical answer.