by Rebecca Deel
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
About the Author
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
About the Author
PAYBACK
Rebecca Deel
Editor: Jack Williams
Cover design by Melody Simmons
Copyright © 2015 Rebecca Deel
All rights reserved.
To my amazing husband.
CHAPTER ONE
Alex Morgan made the two men for feds as soon as they stepped on the field. Couldn’t be anything else with the dark suits and ties, white shirts, shined shoes, and shades. So which one of his teammates had drawn Uncle Sam’s attention this time and which agency employed these boys? One more scan of the strangers before he returned to the task at hand, evaluating Personal Security International’s first cohort of bodyguard trainees.
Hard to believe he and his former Delta unit had created a bodyguard school in only two months. Amazing luck, full community support, and a bankrupt gym outside Otter Creek meant the pieces fell into place in eight weeks. The last pieces were currently under construction. Separate housing for men and women trainees. For now, PSI had an agreement to use the local firing range. When the classes grew in size, the local facility wouldn’t be large enough to accommodate their needs.
One recruit in particular drew his attention and not in a good way. Unless something drastic changed in Carson’s attitude, he was going to be the first washout. He jotted a few notes on the evaluation form secured to his clipboard. That kind of hot dogging led to a dead principal, not something Alex wanted on his already over-burdened conscience or hung on PSI.
When the stopwatch ticked away the last second of the exercise, Alex blew the whistle and waved the trainees to the sidelines of the pre-fab town as the feds moved closer to his position.
Quinn Gallagher, a friend and former Delta teammate, moved to his left, his own clipboard in hand, gaze fixed on the double trouble heading their direction. “Wonder what they want?”
“Nothing good, I can tell you that. Find out what they want while I wrap up this session.”
“Carson?”
“Clock’s ticking.”
Quinn handed his clipboard to Alex and headed off to intercept their unwanted visitors.
Alex scanned his spotter’s evaluation of the men now gathering in front of him. His lips quirked. Quinn’s scores and comments matched his own. He lifted his gaze from the score sheet. “Lunch break. Be back at 2:00. We’ll go over your scores then. Carson, hold up.”
The six-foot plus linebacker-sized man turned back, auburn eyebrow raised in silent inquiry. Arrogance personified. Alex sighed. No wonder Brent Maddox, the Fortress Security CEO, had sent Carson to PSI. This guy might come highly recommended, but he had a lot to learn and Brent didn’t have time to train him. “Give me an assessment of your performance.”
A smile stretched his mouth. “Perfect score. All hostages rescued, bad guys dead.”
“What were your instructions?”
The smile slipped. “Rescue the principals, neutralize the perps. That’s what I did.”
“And?”
“Watch your partner’s back,” he muttered.
“Did you protect your partner?”
“He didn’t need help.”
“Wrong. Dead wrong.” Alex got in Dan Carson’s face. “Your partner made it through Crime Town all right, no thanks to you. While you were busy showing off your sharpshooting skill, Jordan took out his targets, watched his own back and yours. Not only that, you crossed into Jordan’s line of fire twice. Know what that makes you, Carson?”
“Dead, sir?”
“First thing you’ve gotten right since you arrived. You got yourself and your partner killed in that exercise. Perfect target scores won’t keep you alive if you’re stupid. If you’re stupid, your team dies with you. Want to work for Fortress? You have to be a team player, and you aren’t because you’re too busy trying to impress people with your skill. I wouldn’t trust you to have my back on an op, Carson, no matter how skilled you are with a weapon. You don’t care about anything or anyone but yourself. My teammates have gone to the wall for me just as I did for them. Who would do that for you? You think about that while you run four laps. And while you eat lunch, you think long and hard about whether or not you can check your ego at the door. Am I making myself clear?”
“Crystal, sir.”
A nod, then, “Go.”
A soft whistle sounded to his left. Nate Armstrong, another partner in PSI and Delta teammate, shook his head as he watched Carson start his laps. “Think he’ll make it?”
“Brent wants him to.”
“You set him down hard.”
Alex flicked a glance his direction. “Trying to keep him alive, whether he washes out here or not.”
“He’s got skills.”
“Yep. Best in every category. Class ranking won’t matter if he’s dead.” Alex glanced at the approaching feds. “Keep an eye on him.”
Nate flinched. “Hey, I blow stuff up when I’m not in the kitchen. I don’t patch together bruised egos.”
Alex didn’t say a word, just gave him another look.
“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” He trotted off without another word.
“Alex.”
Just that one word from his friend and Alex knew whatever the feds had to say wou
ld be bad. He eyed the government agents who watched him so carefully, hands loose, suit jackets unbuttoned to give easy access to the weapons they carried. So they knew what he was, who he had been. Wise men to be so careful. “What do you want?”
The shorter of the two men flipped open his cred wallet. “FBI. You need to come with us.”
“What’s this about?”
“Senator James Morgan.”
Alex stilled. His father? “What happened? Is Dad okay?” His father might have disowned him fifteen years earlier, but he still loved his family, wanted the best for them.
“Senator Morgan was shot outside his home this morning.”
“How bad is he?”
“Lucky to be alive, no thanks to you,” the taller one muttered.
His partner cut him off with a raised hand. “We need to ask you some questions.”
Alex handed the clipboards to Quinn. “Take over for me. Call Ivy for me. Tell her I’ll be out of touch for a few days.” A pointed look at his friend. “Watch out for her.” Without a backward glance, he strode off the field, flanked by the two federal agents.
Ivy Monroe noted the restlessness of her students, glanced at her watch. Her lips curved. Right on time. “Don’t forget to read chapter 7 over the break. Be ready to discuss the impressionistic artists when you return next Wednesday.”
A collective groan made her grin. “Love you guys, too. Have a good break.”
Ivy spent a few minutes answering questions before her classroom was finally empty. She breathed a sigh of relief. She loved teaching, but she craved the breaks as much as her students. And wouldn’t they be shocked to know that bit of information about her.
She gathered lecture notes, ejected her flash drive from the classroom computer. A tap on the door drew her attention. She smiled at the history teacher standing in her doorway. “Hi, Vince. Ready for a break?”
“Been counting down the days since August.”
Ivy laughed, guilty of the same thing herself. “Planning to go out of town?”
“Yeah, over the weekend. I’ll be back Monday. What about you? Any big plans?”
“Just unpacking.” Ivy had moved into Josh Cahill’s old apartment when he’d married her cousin Del two weeks earlier. Remembering the looks on their faces as they said their vows made her sigh. Josh and Del were so blindingly happy it made her wish for someone special in her life.
Josh’s best friend and teammate, Alex Morgan, surged to the forefront of her mind. Her cheeks burned as she shut down that line of thinking. Way too early to view Alex in that light, she told herself. The sniper was becoming a good friend and she shouldn’t hope for more than that. He probably wouldn’t be interested anyway. Her heart, though, stubbornly ignored her directive to regard Alex as a friend.
“Want some help Tuesday?” Vince Webber grinned at her. “I’d be happy to lend a hand. I’ll even spring for dinner when we’re finished.”
Despite his friendliness and physical distance, a wave of cold rolled over Ivy’s body. She fought to keep the smile on her face. Thank goodness she had prior plans. “I appreciate the offer. I already have plenty of help and dinner plans next week.” All thanks to that handsome sniper she wasn’t supposed to keep thinking about and his friends.
Vince studied her a minute. “Everything okay, Ivy?”
“Of course. Why?”
“You seem a little skittish.”
“I’m fine. Really.” She would make sure of that. No one had the right to steal her peace of mind.
“You know I’d be glad to help if you needed anything, right?”
Good grief. She stared at Vince’s concerned expression. Was she that transparent? “I know. You’re a good friend, Vince.”
He winced. “Ouch. Friends, huh?”
Flustered, Ivy busied herself with loading her book bag. She did not want to do this. She’d tried over the past several weeks to hint that her feelings for him didn’t go any deeper than a surface friendship. She’d trusted one man with her heart and he’d turned into an abuser who’d locked her in an unfinished basement for three days and nights, pitch black except for a sliver of light under the door.
Ivy shivered, her skin going clammy. “Friends,” she said, praying he’d leave soon. She needed to sit down in the worst way. Remembering her horror in that basement always made her feel weak and claustrophobic.
“I see. Well, I’ll be off, then. See you next week, Ivy.”
Ivy forced herself to remain standing until his footsteps faded into the distance and the building’s outer door closed. Her muscles loosened and she dropped into the closest chair. She sat still, reminding herself to breathe, as the shakes worked their way through her body. The weakness seriously ticked her off. When would she get over the basement imprisonment? Lee Hall was serving time in jail for unlawful imprisonment. He couldn’t hurt her anymore.
Besides that, she had friends now, friends in law enforcement and former Delta operatives who were absolutely the best at what they did. She didn’t live in Nashville with her parents. Her friends would believe her if she told them someone was hurting her.
Ivy ran through the reassurances, ending with the fact that Alex was teaching her self-defense. She would never be without skills to defend herself again. A small smile curved her trembling mouth. Alex worked out with her three times a week, drilling her over and over on the same skills. The last time, when she complained about the simplicity of some of his techniques, he’d shrugged and said they worked if the moves were in muscle memory. If she had to think about how to execute them, she’d be in trouble.
She drew her first deep breath since Vince had left the building. “Time to get moving, Ivy,” she murmured to herself. “You have a date with the very handsome Alex Morgan.” She snorted. Right. A date at the gym at PSI for more self-defense lessons.
Ivy gathered her stuff once more and walked to her office. She dumped her book bag, grabbed her purse, locked the office door, and headed to the parking lot. Locked in her car, she cranked the engine and drove home. Upstairs in her apartment, she changed into jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and tennis shoes.
She gave thought to reapplying her makeup, then laughed at herself. Like Alex would actually notice after he’d drilled her for ten minutes. He never broke a sweat while she glowed with perspiration.
On her way back to the living room, Ivy’s cell phone rang. She glanced at the readout, half expecting it to be Alex. Disappointment made her heart sink. Quinn. “Hey, Quinn. What’s up?”
“Alex told me to call you. He’s going to be tied up for a few days, Ivy.”
The tone of his voice had her freezing in her tracks. “What’s wrong?”
“His father was shot and the feds have taken Alex in for questioning.”
“Why would they do that? He hasn’t talked to them in over fifteen years.”
“Don’t have to talk to someone to shoot them.”
Anger tightened Ivy’s stomach. “They can’t believe he’d do that.”
“Can you think of anyone better to shoot a man in cold blood than a world-class sniper?”
CHAPTER TWO
“You give me a lot more credit than I deserve to believe I can be in two places at once.” Alex scowled at the two agents seated across the table from him. Otter Creek’s Police Chief Ethan Blackhawk leaned against the wall in the interview room, behind the agents. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.
Yeah, this was a waste of time, all right. One he was about to bring to an end. “What time was my father shot this morning?”
“You should know since you pulled the trigger,” Agent Mills said. His dark eyes glittered in the interview room’s bright lights.
Ethan stiffened. “You have proof? Let’s hear it or see it.”
Agent Blades and his partner remained silent. Figured they would try to play hardball with him. Wouldn’t work. The feds didn’t know the meaning of hardball. Special forces training went way beyond anything federal law enforcement even
thought about putting their agents through.
“Why don’t you humor me.” Alex folded his arms across his chest. These bozos wanted him to be guilty so much they could almost taste it. They were doomed to disappointment. He’d crawled out of bed this morning for a five-mile run before going to the gym to meet the rest of the trainees and training staff, with the exception of Josh. His best friend was on an extended honeymoon with his wife, Del.
The poor feds would have to look elsewhere for a patsy for this shooting because Alex had 20 alibis. Even Carson couldn’t deny his presence on the grounds of PSI all day. Alex had been in Carson’s face for every training exercise because he’d been more interested in showing off his prowess than learning anything new.
A silent communication between the two agents, then Mills said, “Senator Morgan was shot at 6:30 this morning.”
“Then you’ve got a problem, boys. You should be looking for the real shooter.”
“And it’s not you? Is that what you’re telling us? Come on, Morgan, you can do better than that. Every convicted felon behind bars claims he’s innocent.”
“What kind of weapon was used?”
“Handgun, a .38.”
Ethan snorted.
Alex’s lip curled. “I don’t own a .38.”
“Easy enough to score one on the street, then dump it,” Blades said.
“You can be sure if I had shot my father, he’d be dead. When I take a shot, I don’t miss.” He smiled. “I’d tell you to check my record of kills in the military, but you can’t because all my missions are classified. And just for the record, I’d never use a crap .38 to take out a target.”
“So maybe you hired someone to kill your father for you.”
Was he serious? Why on earth would he hire someone to do his dirty work when he could take care of it himself with less risk and more efficiency? “What’s the point? I haven’t seen or spoken to my father in years. You can’t pin a motive on me because I don’t have one.”
“Senator Morgan is a man of great wealth and power.”
“I don’t need my father’s money, and I’ve never been interested in power.”
