Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) (10 page)

Funny, witty, handsome… Yes, those were
qualities she liked about Trace.

Not that thinking about him was helping
much, but she’d much rather do that than to think about what he’d saved her
from or what would’ve happened had he not shown up that night.

A flash of movement in the driveway pulled
Marissa from the memory. She watched as the solid black
sport
bike blasted down the
driveway
,
clearing the security gate before it was completely open. Transfixed on the
rider until he was out of sight, Marissa swallowed hard.

So much for her theory that he was there
to keep an eye on her. Trace had left, and for some reason, she felt alienated,
although there was more than enough manpower in her house to ensure her safety.

But wasn’t he supposed to be her shadow?
And why did she really care that he’d left?

Maybe that was because part of her wanted
Trace to be there for other reasons.

□«»□«»□«»□

 
“Where’d
you say he was headed?” Trace asked Z, talking to the other man via the
Bluetooth speaker in his helmet as he flew past the steel gate.

“According to Dom, he’s westbound on 635,”
Z informed him. “Give me two minutes; I’ll have you connected directly with
him.”

“Roger that.” Trace didn’t disconnect the
call as he veered onto the highway onramp, scanning the cars in front of him
for a black Ford Taurus. According to RT’s cousin Dominic, who’d called moments
after their meeting had concluded, they had a watcher staked out just outside
the compound, and the guy hadn’t moved for a solid half hour.

As soon as he’d heard the news, Trace had informed
RT that he was going after him. Considering they had so little to go on, he was
damned curious as to who was watching the house. Unfortunately, locating a
black car on the busy highway during rush-hour traffic was the equivalent of
finding a needle in a haystack.

Trace veered in and out of traffic, taking
advantage of the maneuverability of his motorcycle to bypass the slow-moving
vehicles in the two right lanes. A brief click sounded in his headset, alerting
him to the fact that Z had indeed connected him directly with Dominic.

“Talk to me,” he told the man.

“Sorry it took me so long,” Dominic
Trexler said. “I hacked into eyes in the sky, and I found him. Looks like luck
is on this guy’s side because he’s managed to make it a couple of miles ahead
of you. He’s takin’ US-75 south as we speak, headin’ toward downtown.”

Fuck.

Trace saw the southbound ramp for US-75
and swerved over, narrowly missing a dump truck entering the last on-ramp.

“Were you able to run his plates?”

“Not yet, but we’re tryin’,” Dom
confirmed.

He didn’t bother hanging up with Dom,
instead allowing him to feed him directions as he sped up, hoping like hell the
DPD weren’t out patrolling. If they were, he’d be screwed.

“He’s still southbound. You’ve got a
minute, maybe two before the traffic comes to a complete stop. I suggest you
hug the shoulder.”

Easier said than done. There were numerous
on-ramps, likely the main reason for so much congestion at eight-thirty in the
morning.

“He exited,” Dom told him suddenly. “Elm
Street.”

“Tell me which direction he goes,” Trace
stated, gunning the engine and once again using all the skill he possessed to
squeeze between and around the slow-moving traffic.

“West,” Dom said, the man’s calm tone
sounding in his ears.

“West? Where the fuck is he going?” Trace
relied on his knowledge of the area, trying to pinpoint where this guy was
headed but coming up empty. Figuring there was only one way to find out, he
didn’t let off the throttle.

When Trace hit the light at Elm, he sent
up a silent thank-you because it was green. As soon as he saw an opening, he
swerved around a silver sedan, once again narrowly missing another car as it pulled
out of a parking lot onto the busy road.

“He’s turnin’ on Griffin, headin’ over to Commerce.”

Trace wasn’t far behind, but he knew he
wasn’t going to catch the bastard before he hit the next intersection.

“He turned left on Commerce, heading… Oh,
shit.”

“What?” Trace inquired as he took a sharp
left onto Lamar after missing the light at Griffin thanks to a bottleneck in
the road.

“Fuck, Trace. The guy just pulled into the
lot across from the building that houses the ATF and the U.S. Marshalls.”

Fuck was right.

Trace came to a stop at the intersection
at Lamar and Commerce, waiting for the light to turn green. When it finally
did, he turned left onto Commerce, going slow while he waited for Dom to tell
him more.

“He’s crossing the street, going into the
building.”

“Call RT and tell him,” Trace said,
gritting his teeth, pissed that he couldn’t catch the guy.

“Will do.”

“And let him know I’m headin’ to the
office. He can meet me there.”

“Ten-four,” Dom said and then disconnected
the call.

Trace kept his head down as he passed the
building Dom had been referring to, his eyes scanning the area around him, but
there were a handful of people walking along the sidewalk, none of whom were
likely the guy who’d been sitting outside the compound.

“Son of a fucking bitch,” he grumbled to
himself, once again heading toward the highway.

Now he had another question to add to the
list: just who the hell were they dealing with?

Later that evening

“Hey, baby,” Bryce Trexler greeted his
wife when she joined him in his home office shortly after they’d had dinner. He
usually retired to his office for a glass of his favorite scotch, doing his
best to decompress after a long day.

And today had been one of the longest in
quite some time.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The
minutes that had passed while Bryce waited impatiently for his daughter to be
retrieved—praying that not a single hair on her beautiful head had been
harmed—had been the most painful.

And then last night … while he’d waited
with Emily for Marissa to walk through the front door, the minutes had ticked
by so slowly there’d been times he’d thought the damn clock was broken.

Thankfully, that waiting game was over and
Marissa was home safe and sound.

For now.

“Hey,” Emily replied sweetly.

Sometimes Bryce wondered how he’d managed
to ever land a woman as sweet, sexy, and wonderful as his bride of nearly
thirty-five years. He hadn’t deserved her, but she would never agree with him
on that. And the fact that she’d put up with him for this long only proved how
incredible she was.

Pushing back from his desk, he motioned
Emily over, taking her hand and pulling her onto his lap. “Everything okay?” he
asked, noticing the clouds forming in her pretty blue eyes as he cupped her face
and studied her.

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not you’re planning to send
Marissa off again.”

Bryce sighed, swiping his thumb over the
smooth skin of Emily’s cheek. He’d known they’d be having this conversation
sooner or later. From the moment Marissa had stepped foot back in the house,
Emily had been back to her usual chipper self—after the fifteen-minute crying
jag both women had engaged in—despite the fact that they all knew trouble was
barreling down on them quickly.

“That’s not my plan,” he told her softly,
pulling her close and pressing his lips to hers. “It’s never been my plan.”

After kissing him back, Emily snuggled
closer, burying her face in his neck, her nose pressed against him. “Thank
God.”

Wrapping his arms around her small body,
Bryce held her close, relishing the feel of her in his arms. “I’ll do whatever
I can to get her life back for her,” Bryce told her.

“I know you will,” Emily replied. “I think
this time, though, we all need to have a say in it. Including Marissa.”

Bryce nodded his head. He wasn’t sure he
agreed with his wife completely on that, but he understood where she was coming
from. After their morning discussion, Bryce had kept Ryan back and encouraged
him to drop everything he was doing until they could put a stop to the danger
that was lurking around Marissa. They’d put up with the same shit for going on
a year, and they seemed to be no further along than they had been in the
beginning, despite the fact they suspected that the Adorites were involved.

Perhaps they’d been lax because hiding her
away had been easier. Not more effective, not what any of them wanted, just
easier.

“You asked Trace to keep an eye on her?”
Emily questioned.

Smiling, Bryce squeezed Emily a little
tighter. “I didn’t have to.”

Emily lifted her head, meeting Bryce’s
gaze. “What does that mean?”

“It means he took it on himself. I always
knew that boy had feelings for her.”

Emily chuckled. “I think we all did.
Everyone but Trace and Marissa.” Emily dropped her head to his shoulder once
more. “Do you think he’s the right man for the job? Not because he’s not
capable,” she clarified. “I mean because he has feelings for her.”

“I think that makes him the perfect man
for the job.” Bryce knew that when a man set his sights on a woman, nothing or
no one would come between him and that woman. In Trace’s case, the man was on a
mission to rid the world of the evil that had shaken up Marissa’s world. And if
Bryce had to guess, Trace wouldn’t rest until it was gone completely.

“Do you think she’s safe here?” Emily
asked hesitantly.

Bryce contemplated the question for a
moment. Shaking his head sadly, he replied, “No, I don’t.”

“But you’ve never thought any of us were
safe here,” Emily countered.

“True.” Thanks to the enemies he’d made in
his lifetime, Bryce wasn’t overly optimistic when it came to keeping his family
safe. That didn’t mean he hadn’t gone to great lengths to do just that.
Although he was the most trained man to do so, he still worried. He would
always worry. His family was his life. Without them, he would be nothing.

His cell phone rang, and Emily shifted on
his lap, allowing him to reach over and grab it. Glancing at the screen, he
didn’t recognize the number, but he hit the talk button anyway.

“Trexler,” he answered sternly.

“Mr. Trexler, my name’s Dan Duchein. I’m
with the Dallas field office of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms.”

The ATF? There was no way this was a
coincidence.

“What can I help you with?” Bryce asked
casually, meeting Emily’s gaze as she got to her feet.

“I wanted to reach out to you, see if we
could meet.”

Bryce didn’t say anything.

“Possibly tomorrow? I could come to your
house or even meet you at your office,” Duchein continued.

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” Bryce
lied. He didn’t need to check his schedule, but he damn sure intended to do a
little checking of other things before he agreed to meet with the ATF. “Were
you the one watching my house today?”

The man cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. I
had wanted to stop by, but I figured it would be best to schedule an
appointment. I’m sure you’re a very busy man.”

Bryce could hear tension in the man’s tone,
and if he had to guess, the guy was lying through his teeth. He hadn’t been
there to chat, he’d been casing the house. Odd since they hadn’t had a single
stalker in all the time Marissa had been away.

“I can meet with you tomorrow, at my
office,” Bryce told him after a moment of silence. “Eleven o’clock?”

“That’d be fine. I look forward to talking
with you.”

“Likewise,” Bryce said, thinking just the
opposite.

“Who was that?” Emily asked when he set
his phone back on the desk.

“Dan Duchein. Said he’s with the ATF.”

“What does he want with you?” she asked
defensively, her ocean-blue eyes alight with curiosity.

“I don’t think this is about me,” he told
her honestly, although he didn’t go into detail about the incident that
afternoon where he’d learned that Trace had followed a man, likely this Dan
Duchein, back to his office building.

“And you’re going to meet with him
tomorrow?”

Bryce nodded.

Emily didn’t seem pleased with the idea,
but she didn’t say anything. She merely stared back at him. What she saw, he
had no idea. He figured he might as well tell her the conclusion he had come
to, hoping that would ease her mind a little. “I’m not sending Marissa away,
Em. I promise. I don’t know what we’ll do, but I’m open to suggestions. In the
meantime, we’ve doubled security here at the house, and all the agents are
keeping their eyes peeled. We’ll find this bastard this time, I can promise you
that.”

“I know you will,” Emily said, smiling
back at him, the gesture forced. “I’ve never doubted you for a second. Just do
me
a favor, would you?”

“What’s that?” he asked, shifting so that
he could lean back in his chair.

“Bring Casper in. He deserves to know
about … whatever this is.” Her eyes moved to his phone and then back to meet
his.

Bryce swallowed. “I know he does.” Casper
deserved to know a lot of things, but at the moment, Bryce wasn’t quite sure
what they were even dealing with. Not yet anyway.

“Do you still think Marissa’s not telling
us something?”

Bryce nodded. “I don’t know. I think she’s
uncovered something. Possibly something big. But I’m not sure she even knows
what that is.”

“Do you think she’d tell us if she had?”

“No idea,” Bryce stated, not telling her
the complete truth.

It wasn’t that he believed Marissa would
purposely hold back information that could solve this, but he had a suspicion
she would keep some of the details to herself if she thought it would keep
others safe.

The same reason they all kept their suspicions
close to the vest. They worried about one another, wanted to protect those they
loved. It was a bad habit that’d started long ago, keeping secrets and trying
to battle the evil individually, rather than as a team.

As far as Bryce was concerned, there was
only one problem with that…

As a team, they were damn near invincible.

Individually, Bryce feared they were as
good as dead.

□«»□«»□«»□

 
“Anything
new on this thing with Marissa?” Frank asked, his booming voice echoing through
the large living room, where Casper and his father had retreated a few minutes
ago after they’d finished dinner.

Standing at the back window, Casper stared
out into the night and responded to his father with a curt, “No.”

“But she’s safe and sound for the moment?”

“Appears that way.” Casper wasn’t sure
safe and sound
was the right terminology
to describe where Marissa stood.

They were all keeping an eye out, waiting
for the other shoe to drop. After hearing RT tell the story about the assholes
who’d tried to run Trace and Marissa down a few days ago, Casper knew they
hadn’t seen the last of those guys. And since they’d learned of the man who—for
reasons they weren’t sure of—had been watching the compound, he was doubly
curious. He didn’t figure these guys were going to sit back and wait too long.
As it was, they’d been playing this fucking game for damn near a year. And
quite frankly, Casper was getting sick and tired of playing along with them.

Goddamn Adorites. What the fuck were they
after? This didn’t seem their style. That family was the devil incarnate, but
Casper had always suspected that behind all that corruptness, there was a
little bit of good. Putting a target on a young woman’s head, sentencing her to
death, reeked of pure evil.

“Coffee?” Liz asked, sticking her head in
the room.

“That’d be great,” Casper answered his
wife, thrusting his hands into his pockets and turning to face his father.

“Decaf?” Frank inquired. “This old fart
wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he was caffeinated after six o’clock.”

Liz chuckled and gifted Frank with one of
her stunning smiles. “Of course,” she said, then nodded at Casper before
disappearing once again.

“What’s got your shorts in a bunch, young
man?” Frank asked.

Casper smirked at his father. There was
only one man in the world who still called him young, or made reference to his
shorts being in a bunch, come to think of it. At eighty-one, Frank Kogan had
probably earned the right, but still. Casper damn sure didn’t feel young these
days, and it had nothing to do with his age.

“Just tryin’ to figure out what the hell
is goin’ on,” Casper told Frank as he paced from one side of the room to the
other.

Frank reached his long arm along the back
of the couch, crossing one aging knee over the other. “With Marissa?”

“With all of it,” Casper stated abruptly.

He wasn’t merely contemplating the shit
storm that was surrounding Bryce’s daughter, Marissa. And by association, now
Trace
. As much as he wanted to figure that out, there were
so many other things on Casper’s mind these days. Things that were weighing him
down, making him feel far older than his fifty-nine years.

“You worried about Shelby?” Frank
questioned, his voice low as though he were trying to keep the topic of their
conversation within the four walls of the living room.

“Of course I’m worried about her,” Casper
growled, turning to face his father.

Shelby was Casper’s fourteen-year-old
granddaughter. His oldest son Conner’s daughter. The kid had lost her mother to
a brutal, violent crime just eighteen short months ago, and her father was out
of sorts.

Hell, they all were, at this point.

Although Conner and Tricia had gotten
pregnant while they were both still in high school, the two of them had managed
to keep things together. It had been them against the world for a while because
they, Casper included, had all doubted that things would work out. Conner and
Tricia had gone and proven them all wrong, staying together, getting married,
having Shelby.

Granted, Conner had ventured into the
military shortly after he’d graduated high school, spending four years
defending his country and leaving Tricia home to raise their young daughter
alone. It was then that Casper and Liz had taken them in, keeping them close,
keeping them safe.