Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) (22 page)

Figuring
that a newbie agent had been tasked with doing a visual inspection to ensure
she was all right, Marissa pushed the blanket from her legs and forced herself
up off the couch. Her next move would change her life forever.

Yanking
the door open, wanting to catch the agent off guard and teach him a lesson for
not following protocol, Marissa found herself face-to-face with … evil in a
suit, wielding a gun.

“Hello,
pretty girl,” the eerie-looking man greeted as his nearly black eyes glittered
with malevolence. “I knew you’d be happy to see me.”

Marissa
had no idea who the man was, but she had a pretty good idea about what he
wanted, and it damn sure wasn’t to sell her a magazine subscription.

Her.
He wanted her.

Was
it a good sign that he hadn’t shot her as soon as she’d opened the door?

As
a million ideas clamored through her brain, Marissa tried to determine what she
should do now. Did she slam the door in his face? Risk getting her face shot
off in the process? Or did she let him come in and risk God knows what?

Well,
no one ever accused Marissa of being stupid. The second wasn’t even an option,
and although she might not work for her father’s security company, she damn
sure had been taught how to defend herself.

“Let’s
take a little drive,” the man said, the muzzle of the gun aimed right at her
forehead, his hand as steady and as sure as his eyes were filled with madness.

Never let them get you to a secondary
location.

Okay,
at least she could recall something from the hours of self-defense her father
had insisted she take. Tilting her head slightly to the side, pretending to be
studying him, Marissa gripped the door knob, and then in a flash, she slammed
the door in the man’s face. Only he was faster than she was, and his foot
stopped the wood from closing completely.

The
man tsked at her as though she were a stubborn child, and his voice remained
eerily calm as he said, “That’s not how we’re going to play today, little
Marissa.”

With
her feet telling her to run, her brain scrambled with thoughts of where she was
supposed to go, she turned to flee but then somehow ended up on her knees,
forced to her stomach by the weight of the man above her as he held her face to
the floor. Her heart was pounding as if she’d run a marathon, and in actuality,
she’d only made it a couple of steps away from the door before he had tackled
her.

The
next thing she knew, he had yanked her up from the floor by her arm, sending
blinding pain pulsing through her shoulder. The agony wrenched a scream from
her chest.

“Marissa! Wake up.”

The
voice wasn’t the one she was expecting. The man with the gun began to fade, although
the enmity in his eyes was still clear.

A powerful hand on her shoulder had
Marissa jerking awake with a scream, coming face-to-face with Trace as he stood
above her. When she went to wipe her face, hoping to clear the confusion from
her brain, she realized her cheeks were damp.

She’d been crying.

Trace ran his hand over her hair, lightly
brushing strands away from her face, and her breath caught in her throat as she
stared up at him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding
genuinely concerned.

Unable to speak, Marissa merely nodded
although it was only a partial truth. She wasn’t okay, not entirely. She wasn’t
sure she ever would be again.

But there was no danger, no crazy-eyed man
looking to do her harm, which meant she was fine. About as fine as she was
anytime she closed her eyes and relived the day she’d been kidnapped right out
of what was supposed to be a safe haven where the evil couldn’t find her. That
day had changed her forever. It had diminished some of her unwavering faith in
the men who’d been charged with keeping her safe, eliminated her hope that the
asshole would be found and she’d get to live her life as normal. Even if they
had saved her within hours of the abduction—which they had—long before the man had
gotten her to a secondary location, she couldn’t help but feel as though they’d
let her down.

According to what her father had told her,
she’d been gone for three hours. To her it had seemed like a lifetime. The
memories of most of that day had vacated her. She wasn’t sure whether that was
because the man had drugged her or because her brain was trying to fend off the
pain that she would certainly endure once she did remember what had happened
during those brief few hours.

“You’re safe here, Marissa,” Trace said,
his tone soft, consoling.

She didn’t believe him for a minute.

Not that she didn’t think Trace would do
his best to keep her safe, because he’d proven it when he’d rescued her the
last time. It didn’t seem to matter who was charged with protecting her, she’d
been found every time, and as far as she was concerned, she was just biding
time before it happened again.

The man who was after her, the same one
who’d been wreaking havoc on her life for the last twelve months, he was
clearly insistent that he win this game.

And in all honesty, Marissa was tired of
playing.

As instructed, Z met up with Ryan at the
Sniper 1 offices at seven o’clock on the dot. To Ryan’s relief, the other man
didn’t seem to want to waste any time, so once Z parked the Escalade and
climbed onto his bike, they didn’t linger long before heading out to the
meeting that Ryan had set with the Adorites. Well, more specifically, the
meeting he’d set with Maximillian Adorite, the second-in-charge of the Southern
Boy Mafia, at the man’s house, although
house
was probably not the right word to describe the fifteen-thousand-square-foot
monstrosity that’d been featured in more than one magazine over the years.

Not that Ryan gave a shit about the house.
He was finally looking forward to getting some answers, though he had no idea
what to expect.

Pulling into the wide cobblestone drive
that circled in front of the enormous, white stone structure, Ryan stared at
the wealth and privilege before him. Funny how even blood money could rocket
you to the top of the wealthiest-people-in-America list. The Adorites were no
exception, although Ryan knew they hid behind their various businesses, using
them as a cover and a convenient way to launder their dirty money.

For whatever reason, they’d never been
caught, but Ryan figured that was because they had too many high-and-mighty
people in their back pocket. Politicians, law enforcement… They were all
willing to look the other way because it benefited them. The cost of doing
business, some would say.

The Adorites—usually referred to as the
Southern Boy Mafia—were the type of people that Ryan’s family protected people
from, so it was ironic to find himself standing on the front porch, waiting for
someone to answer the door and allow him to come inside.

“Mr. Trexler. Mr. Tavoularis.”

Ryan settled his helmet on his hip as he
scanned the white-haired gentleman who’d opened the massive front door,
swinging it in and motioning them forward. Obviously they’d been expected. Then
again, they’d pretty much announced their presence when they’d gone through the
process of getting through the security at the main gates.

“Mr. Adorite is waiting in the den.”

Ryan followed White Hair through the grand
entry, with Z not far behind him, past a set of staircases that circled up to
the second floor, through what was likely considered the living room—although it
probably hadn’t seen a single visitor in all the time Max had lived there—then
around a corner to another room. White Hair, who, yes, was wearing white
gloves, pushed open the doors in grand fashion—both French doors at once—and
then stepped out of the way, once more signaling them to precede him.

“RT. Good to see you.”

Ryan followed the sound of the voice to
the other side of the room in time to see Max getting to his feet, a glass of
what appeared to be scotch in his right hand, his left hand tucked into the
pocket of his expensive slacks. Ryan noticed Z’s silent question, the one that
said he hadn’t missed the familiarity in the man’s tone when he’d addressed RT.

Well, now Z was well aware that they knew
each other.

Not that Ryan knew Max well, but he had
spoken to him before.

“Max. This is Zachariah Tavoularis. Goes
by Z. Z, meet Max Adorite.”

Z responded to the polite gesture and
shook Max’s hand, meeting the man’s amber gaze. Neither of them said anything,
but it was clear to Ryan that the men were sizing one another up.

As far as Ryan was concerned, Max was the
typical-looking billionaire, if there was such a thing. Other than the fact
that he was younger than most people would expect—twenty-nine if Ryan recalled
correctly—he didn’t exude an ounce of immaturity or inexperience in this world
he found himself in, and he certainly looked the part. Nice clothes covering a
trim—although more muscular than was probably expected—physique, nice hair,
nice gleaming fingernails from the buff and polish he likely received on a
weekly basis. Yep. Nice.

But there was something in Max’s eyes that
made a man look past the prim and proper exterior to what lurked on the inside.
The guy had style, even class, but Ryan could sense something darker, more
menacing beneath. Even the man’s perfect smile didn’t mask that, but he figured
Max knew that already.

“Have a seat, gentlemen,” Max directed,
urging them toward the black leather sofas with a nod. “What can I do for you?”

Ryan didn’t get comfortable, but he did
take a seat, figuring Max would feel more at ease if he did—as would the big
bald guy standing sentry in the corner, his gun held casually in front of him.
No sense in getting anyone in a panic just because he’d rather be standing.

“As I mentioned on the phone,” Ryan began,
“I’ve uncovered a couple of things regardin’ my sister, and I’d like to get
your take on them.”

Max smiled, a disarming grin that didn’t
hint toward a lick of amusement. “Interesting way to put things. I always did
like that about you. Subtle yet not.”

“I try,” Ryan said discordantly.

“Let me cut through the BS. I’ve always
preferred straightforward,” Max stated firmly, his tone belying his relaxed
position. “You’re here to talk because someone’s attempted to kill your
sister.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement
of fact, one Ryan didn’t particularly care for. “Seems that way, yes,” he
replied coolly, ensuring Max didn’t see the defensiveness that suddenly stirred
inside him.

“Yet she’s still alive?” Max asked.

“She is,” Z growled. “And she’s gonna
remain that way.”

Max glanced over at Z, his eyes raking him
over as though once again sizing him up. He then nodded, followed by, “Then
that should tell you all you need to know.”

Ryan lifted his eyebrows in question,
waiting for Max to look his way once again.

When he finally did, Max added, “If we
wanted your sister dead … she’d be dead.”

The hair on the back of Ryan’s neck stood
on end. The mere mention of something happening to his sister didn’t ease the
tension that’d built to a fever pitch ever since Trace had pulled her out of
the safe house moments before the damn thing exploded. He was suddenly glad he
hadn’t brought Trace along. He didn’t even want to think what Trace’s reaction
would’ve been to that statement.

Forcing himself to relax, Ryan kept his
eyes locked with Max’s. “Understood,” he said, his voice a little lower, a
little gruffer than before. “And what about Douglas Forthnet?”

“The dead journalist?” Max grinned, a
feral look that spoke of the man’s true nature.

“That’d be the one,” Z confirmed.

“Not me, either. If I killed every damn
reporter who stuck his nose in my business, I wouldn’t have time to conduct
said business.”

True. The Southern Boy Mafia was a hot
topic of conversation in the Dallas area. Always had been. It wasn’t unusual
for them to be plastered on the front page or appear on the nightly news more
than once a week. It was a wonder that they could get anything accomplished at
all, now that Ryan thought about it.

“Assumin’ you believe me and don’t intend
to waste valuable time blowin’ smoke up my ass, what
other
leads do you have?” Max questioned, sipping his scotch, his
gaze darting back and forth between Ryan and Z.

“Very little,” Ryan admitted honestly. Probably
a little too honestly, but he couldn’t take it back. It was one thing to talk
to the Adorites, another to give them details that might encourage them to go
after Marissa again. Ryan still wasn’t convinced the Adorites weren’t behind
her attempted kidnappings and the attempt on her life. “Someone wants her, dead
or alive, we know that much,” he continued. “The last attempt was less than a
week ago. We had some run-ins with a couple of hired assassins but learned
little from them.”

“Why so honest?” Max asked, his dark
eyebrows lifting to his hairline.

“What else am I gonna say?” Ryan retorted.
“Someone’s after my sister. And it doesn’t matter if I know who it is today or
not. I will. And then…” He couldn’t even speak the words; the anger threatened
to boil over.

Max studied Ryan for a moment. “I can
assure you, I’m not after your sister. What she knows won’t affect me.”

“What she knows?” Z questioned, his voice
menacing.

Ryan didn’t like the sound of that. Max
obviously knew a hell of a lot more than he was saying.

Max spared Z a glance but turned his
attention back to Ryan. “There’re certain business arrangements that some
people prefer to keep under the table. Unlike them, I don’t have anything to
hide. So, like I said, I’m not interested in her. But…” Max sipped his drink,
then set the empty tumbler on the glossy oak coffee table. “Your sister’s
digging where she shouldn’t. If she’s smart, she’ll leave well enough alone.”

“Is that a threat?” Z growled.

“From me? No,” Max answered simply. “But
I’ll offer you a little tip. Sometimes we don’t see what’s right in front of
our face. My suggestion is you narrow your suspicions, bring them a little
closer to home. Maybe then, you’ll find what you’re lookin’ for.”

That didn’t tell them a damn thing, but Ryan
could tell by the way Max continued to stare at him that he had no intention of
saying anything more—nothing outside of his mysterious riddle, that was.

Of course, criminals still had a code of
ethics, one that they didn’t cross unless they wanted to end up dead. Ryan got
the feeling Max was telling him something, without saying anything at all.

Unsure what else to pry Max with, Ryan
figured it was time to go. As he got to his feet, Z and Max both stood.

“Thanks,” Ryan said to Max, holding out
his hand.

“One more thing. If you’re truly
interested in learning something, I’m throwin’ a party on Tuesday night. I’ll
be happy to add your name to the guest list,” Max said as he shook Ryan’s hand.

There was something in the man’s touch,
something akin to a warning. Ryan had no idea what it was, but he knew that Max
wasn’t requesting he come to the party. No, if he was right, the other man was
telling him that he’d find just the answers he was looking for if he did show
up.

Ryan nodded. “Funny. My schedule’s wide
open on Tuesday.”

“I thought it might be,” Max said, his
gaze still locked with Ryan’s.

“I’ll be bringin’ a couple of others,”
Ryan informed him.

Max smirked. “Whatever you feel you need
to do.”

«»□«»

After being escorted out of Max’s house by
Max himself, Ryan mounted his bike without saying a word to Z. Too many things
were running through his head to take the time to talk to anyone at the moment.
Although Max Adorite hadn’t been a wealth of information, he had given Ryan
something to go on, even if he didn’t know it. Although, if Ryan had to guess,
he did. The Adorites didn’t make a misstep. They didn’t say things they didn’t
mean to say, didn’t do things they didn’t mean to do. Even Ryan knew that much.

And the invite to the party… Now that was
something that would likely give them a solid lead. Or so Max seemed to
believe. Ryan wasn’t going to question the man’s motives. At least not yet.

Launching out onto the street, Ryan turned
his bike in the direction of the office. He had work to do, something specific
he wanted to look into. And there was no time like the present.

A short while later, he pulled into the
parking garage of the Sniper 1 office, Z still hot on his tail. When he parked
the bike, Z followed suit but didn’t bother to dismount. Good. Not that Ryan
wouldn’t welcome the input, but he preferred that Z didn’t stick around for
this. More accurately, Ryan wasn’t sure he could handle being alone with Z at the
moment. The man stirred something inside him, something he wanted to ignore.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Z asked, as
straightforward and blunt as always.

Ryan had never found it necessary to lie
to his family or those he worked with. In fact, he’d found that telling the
truth often reduced the number of unnecessary questions, so he answered with,
“When the time is right, I’ll let you know. For now, let me do this.”

Z nodded but not before he stared Ryan
down. “I want to know as soon as you figure it out. And Trace is gonna want to
know, too.”

“Trace’ll be the first person I talk to,”
Ryan replied honestly. He’d make sure of it. “And I’ll let you know, as well.”

“Oh, and if you’re goin’ to the party,
I’ll be going,” Z added. “I’m sure Trace will be bringing Marissa as well.
You’ll need the added security.”

Ryan considered that for a moment. He’d
been planning to discuss that very option with Trace. It wasn’t an easy
decision to plant Marissa in the thick of things, but it seemed like the only
logical solution at this point. If someone had his eye on her, then the party
would be the perfect opportunity for him to get his hands on her. Based on the
silent conversation he’d had with Max, the other man believed that as well.

Not that they would allow that to happen.

“I agree,” Ryan finally said. “I’ll bring
Courtney. She’ll be able to provide the perfect distraction for Max.”