Too bad that by morning the horse would already have left the barn.
The car pulled to a stop so that the rear driver’s-side door was in near-perfect alignment with the door through which Groton would enter the house. The front passenger door opened. The bodyguard, a tall, fortyish man with a buzzed head and a small goatee, got out and came around the front of the car. He was holding an open umbrella with a solid, dark canopy in deference to the shimmery fall of rain. The bodyguard was a pro: it was there in his walk, in his body language, in the way his overcoat and suit jacket were left open to allow easy access to the weapon in his shoulder holster. Without missing a step, he visually scanned the surroundings for possible threats. Unfortunately for him and Groton, it was too dark and she was too far away for him to spot her.
Showtime. Bianca had trained with some of the best military snipers in the world. They favored the BRASS method of assuring precise shot placement. The acronym stood for breathe, relax, aim, stop/slack, squeeze. She instinctively began the sequence.
Breathe in.
Many snipers were taught to hold their breath when taking a shot. Bianca’s instructors felt that this caused the body to struggle internally as it fought for air and thus interfered with optimum accuracy. Instead, she began to regulate her breathing so that when the time came she would be pulling the trigger in the two- to three-second interval between inhaling and exhaling.
Breathe out.
The house door opened and was held open by someone inside whom Bianca couldn’t see.
“Let’s go, sir,” the bodyguard said as he opened the rear driver’s-side door. Groton stepped out. He was a tall man, rangy in the dark overcoat he wore over his suit, moving easily despite his seventy-three years. Sheltering Groton with the umbrella in a way that blocked the top half of his head from Bianca’s view, closing the car door with a backward sweep of his arm, the bodyguard stayed half a step behind him.
The umbrella was unexpected. She would have to make adjustments. Bianca caught herself holding her breath as she concentrated on finding her shot despite its presence.
Relax. Breathe in.
Groton and the bodyguard strode toward the house.
Bianca was still cold and wet, but she was no longer aware of either. The shivering had stopped. Her heartbeat was strong and steady. Her arm and neck muscles were loose, supple. Her trigger finger was relaxed. She briefly glanced into the nearby darkness to take the strain off her eyes, then squinted back down the scope.
Her senses sharpened, focused, while around her everything else seemed to slow down. The spicy fragrance of the wet spruce intensified. The patter of the falling rain became a drumbeat. The steady drizzle separated into individual, beautifully rendered teardrops. She became supremely conscious of the direction and strength of the gusting wind, of the play of light and shadow over the target area, of the distortion created by uncertain lighting and distance.
“Where’s Mrs. Groton?” Groton called to whoever was holding open the house door.
“In the living room, sir.” It was a woman’s voice. A maid? Bianca couldn’t be sure.
Still shielded by the umbrella, Groton reached the steps.
Breathe out. Aim.
Bianca aligned the target in the crosshairs. A body shot usually yielded the highest percentage of success, but a head shot was absolutely, positively lethal, and she couldn’t afford anything less. A miss would be disastrous. If she had to shoot through the umbrella, she would. The silky fabric wouldn’t deflect the bullet by so much as a hairbreadth.
Groton put a foot on the bottom step. The bodyguard was still behind him. As her target began to climb, the umbrella tilted back out of the way.
Groton’s craggy features and thick gray hair were exposed. Yes. Bianca refined her aim, refusing to be distracted by the rain that caught in his hair and shone like diamonds in the light.
Stop/slack.
Her index finger touched the trigger at last, the lightest of contacts to ensure that there was no slack in it. She felt its carefully calibrated resistance throughout her body. The only thing that was required now was for her finger to retract and the weapon would fire.
Groton was on the middle step.
Breathe in.
She had an unimpeded shot. All she had to do was pull the trigger.
Squee—
Thud. She was surprised by a sound that made her think of a fist punching flesh. It came through her earwig and was actually the sound of a bullet finding its target, she discovered a split second later as blood exploded in a red geyser from the center of Groton’s chest. The maid screamed. Grabbing for his weapon, the bodyguard lunged forward with an inarticulate cry. Groton’s body dropped like a stone, then tumbled down the steps.
Bianca’s heart leaped. Her finger dropped away from the trigger. Stunned, she lay unmoving, her eye still glued to the scope.
Groton had been shot.
But she hadn’t pulled the trigger, hadn’t fired her weapon, hadn’t taken him out.
Which meant—
There was another shooter on the ground.
Copyright © 2018 by Karen Robards
The Moscow Deception is available now in bookstores everywhere.
Read on for an exclusive sneak peek of Fatal Invasion, the next sizzling book in the Fatal series from New York Times bestselling author Marie Force…
CHAPTER 1
“This is a classic case of be careful what you wish for.” Nick placed a stack of folded dress shirts in a suitcase that already held socks, underwear, workout clothes and several pairs of jeans. It was just like him to start packing six days ahead of his departure on Sunday, the day after Freddie and Elin’s wedding. “That’s the lesson learned here.”
Sam sat at the foot of the bed and watched him pack with a growing sense of dread. Three freaking weeks… She’d go mad without him. “The last time you were gone this long, I nearly lost my mind, and I don’t have much of a mind left to lose.”
“Come with me,” he said for the hundredth time since the president had asked him to make the diplomatic trip to Europe, representing the administration on a visit with some of the country’s closest allies. President Nelson was still recovering—in more ways than one—from his son’s criminal activities, and several of the allies had requested he send his popular vice president in his stead.
Sam flopped on the bed. “I can’t. I have work, and Scotty, and Freddie is going on his honeymoon and… I can’t.”
“Actually, you can.” Nick hovered above her, propped on arms that rippled with muscles, his splendid male chest on full display. “You have more vacation time saved up than you can use in a lifetime, and you have the right to actually use it. Scotty will be fine with Shelby and your sisters and the Secret Service here to entertain him. We could even ask Mrs. Littlefield to come up for the weekends.”
Their son’s former guardian would love the chance to spend time with him, but Sam didn’t feel right about leaving him for so long. However, the thought of being without Nick for three endless weeks made her feel sick. His trip to Iran earlier in the year had been pure torture, especially since it kept getting extended.
“Why’d you have to tell Nelson you wanted to be more than a figurehead vice president?” She play-punched his chest. “Everything was fine when he was ignoring you.”
He kissed her lips and then her neck. “You’re so, so cute when you pout.”
“Bad ass cops do not pout.”
“Mine does when she doesn’t get her own way, and it’s truly adorable.”
She scowled at him. “Bad ass cops are not adorable.”
“Mine is.” Leaving a trail of hot kisses on her neck, he said, “Come with me. London, Paris, Rome, Amsterdam, Brussels, The Hague… Come see the world with me, Samantha.”
Sam had never been to Europe and had always wanted to go, so she was sorely tempted to say to hell with her responsibilities.
“Come on.” He rolled her earlobe between his teeth and pressed ag
ainst her suggestively. “Three whole weeks together away from the madness of DC. You know you want to go. Gonzo could cover for you at work, and things have been slow anyway…”
They hadn’t had a homicide in two weeks, which meant they were due, and that was another reason to stay home. “Don’t say that and put a jinx on us.”
“Come away with me. Scotty will be fine. We’ll FaceTime with him every day and bring him presents. He’ll be well cared for by everyone who loves him.” He kissed her neck. “You’d get to meet the Queen of England.”
Sam moaned. She loved the queen—speaking of a badass female.
“And maybe even the Pope. Plus, you’ll need some clothes—and shoes. Lots of shoes.”
“Stop it. You’re fighting dirty.”
“Because I want my wife to come with me on the trip of a lifetime? I need you Samantha.”
As he well knew, she could deny him nothing when he said he needed her. “Fine, I’ll go! But only if it’s okay with Scotty.”
“Yes,” her husband said on a long exhale. “We’ll have so much fun.”
“Will we actually get to see anything?”
He pushed himself up to continue packing. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Um, excuse me.”
“What’s up?”
“My temperature after your attempts at persuasion.”
A slow, lazy smile spread across his face, making him the sexiest man in this universe—and the next. “Is my baby feeling a little… needy?”
She pulled her T-shirt over her head and released the front clasp on her bra. “More than a little.”
“We can’t have that.” Stepping to the foot of the bed, he grasped the legs of her yoga pants and yanked them off.
“Lock the door.”
“Scotty’s asleep.”
“Lock the door, or this isn’t happening.” With Secret Service agents all over their house, Sam couldn’t relax if the door wasn’t locked.
“This is definitely happening, but if it’ll make you happy, I’ll lock the door.”
“Thank you.” She splayed her legs wide open to give him a show when he returned from locking the door and was rewarded with gorgeous hazel eyes that heated with desire when he saw her waiting for him.
“You little vixen,” he muttered.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure, you don’t,” he said, laughing as he came down on top of her and set out to give her a preview of what three weeks away together might be like.
* * *
They broke the news to Scotty the next morning at breakfast. “So,” Nick said, tentatively, “what would you think if Mom came with me to Europe?”
Thirteen-year-old Scotty, who was never at his best first thing in the morning, shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“Really?” Sam said. “You wouldn’t mind? Shelby, Tracy and Angela would be around to hang with you, and Dad and Celia too. We thought maybe Mrs. Littlefield could come up for a weekend or two if she’s free.”
“Sure, that sounds good.”
Sam glanced at Nick, who seemed equally perplexed by his lack of reaction. They’d expected him to ask to come with them, at the very least.
“Is everything okay?” Sam asked her son.
“Uh-huh.” He finished his cereal and got up to put the bowl in the sink. “I’m going to finish getting ready for school.”
“Okay, bud,” Nick said.
“Something’s up,” Sam said as soon as Scotty left the room.
“I agree. He didn’t even ask if he could miss school to come with us.”
“I thought the same thing.”
“We’ll have to see if we can get him to talk to us before we go—and not in the morning,” Nick said.
“I’ll ask Shelby to make spaghetti for tonight. That always puts him in a good mood.” Sam’s phone rang and when she saw the number for Dispatch, she groaned. “Damn it. You jinxed me!” So much for getting out of Dodge without having to worry about work. She took the call. “Holland.”
“Lieutenant, there was a fire overnight in Kalorama.” The dispatcher referred to the exclusive Northwest neighborhood that was home to a former U.S. president, ambassadors and other wealthy residents. “We have two DOA at the scene,” the dispatcher said, reciting the address. “The fire marshal has requested Homicide detectives.”
“Did he say why?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Okay, I’m on my way.” Thankfully, she’d showered and gotten dressed before she woke Scotty. “Please call Sergeant Gonzales and Detective Cruz and ask them to meet me there.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sam flipped her phone closed with a satisfying smack. That smacking sound was one of many reasons she’d never upgrade to a smart phone.
“You’re still going to be able to come with me, right?” Nick said, looking adorably uncertain.
Sam went over to where he sat at the table and kissed him. “I’ll talk to Malone today and see if I can make it happen.”
“Keep me posted.”
* * *
A ringing phone woke Christina Billings from a sound sleep. Alex had been up during the night with a fever and cold that was making them both miserable. Her fiancé, Tommy, had slept through that and apparently couldn’t hear his phone ringing either. He was due at work in an hour and was usually up by now.
“Tommy,” she said, nudging him. He didn’t stir. “Tommy. Your phone.”
He came to slowly, blinking rapidly.
“The phone, Tommy. Answer it before it wakes Alex.” Tommy’s two-year-old son needed more sleep and so did she, or this was going to be a very long day.
Tommy grabbed the phone from the bedside table.
Christina saw the word Dispatch on the screen.
“Gonzales.”
She couldn’t hear the dispatcher’s side of the conversation, but she heard Tommy’s grunt of acknowledgement before he ended the call, closing his eyes even as he continued to clutch the phone.
Christina wondered if he was going back to sleep after being called into work. She was about to say something when he got out of bed and headed for the shower.
It was ten months today since his partner had been gunned down right in front of him while approaching a suspect. After months of downward spiral, Tommy had seemed to rebound somewhat during the summer. But the rebound hadn’t lasted into the fall.
In the last month, since his new partner, Cameron Green, had joined the squad, Christina had watched him regress back into his grief. He’d said and done all the right things when it came to welcoming Cameron, but he was obviously spiraling again, and she had no idea what to do to help him or even how to reach him. Even when lying next to her in bed, he seemed so far away from her.
Sometimes, when she had a rare moment alone, she allowed her thoughts to wander to life without Tommy and Alex at the center of it. She loved them both—desperately—but she wasn’t sure how much more she could take of the distant, closed-off version of the man she loved. They were supposed to have been married by now. Like everything else, that plan had been shoved aside to make room for Tommy’s overwhelming grief. It’d been months since they’d even discussed getting married. In the meantime, she took care of Alex and everything else while Tommy worked and came home to sleep before starting the cycle all over again.
They didn’t talk about anything other than Alex. They never went anywhere together or as a family. They hadn’t had sex in so long she’s forgotten when it had last happened. And she was as unhappy as she’d ever been. Something had to give—and soon, or she would be forced to decide whether their relationship was still healthy for her. She desperately did not want to have to make that decision.
Only the thought of leaving Alex had kept her from making a move before now. She loved that little boy with her whole heart and soul. She’d stepped away from her own career as Nick’s chief of staff to stay home with him and had hoped to add to their family by now. When she thought ab
out the early days of her relationship with Tommy, when they’d been so madly in love, she couldn’t have imagined the current state of affairs or feeling as insignificant to him as a piece of furniture who was always there when he finally decided to come home.
Christina hadn’t told anyone about the trouble brewing between her and Tommy. In her heart of hearts, she hoped they could still work it out somehow, and the last thing she needed was her friends and family holding a grudge against him forever—and they would if they had any idea just how bad things had gotten. Her parents had questioned the wisdom of giving up a high-profile job to stay home to care for her boyfriend’s child, especially when she’d made more money than he did. But she had been ready for a break from the political rat race when Alex came along, and she had no regrets about her decision. Or she hadn’t until Tommy checked out of their relationship.
This weekend they’d be expected to celebrate at Freddie and Elin’s wedding, and she’d have to pretend that everything was fine in her relationship when it was anything but fine. She wasn’t sure how she would pull off another convincing performance for their friends. Tommy was one of Freddie’s groomsmen, so she’d get to spend most of that day on her own while he attended to his friend.
She was dangling at the end of her rope in this situation, and more than once she’d thought about taking Alex and leaving, even though she had no legal right to take him. Another thing they’d never gotten around to was her adoption of him after his mother was killed. But what would Tommy do if she left with his son? Call the police on her? She’d be surprised if he noticed they were gone.
Tommy came out of the bathroom and went to the closet where he had clean clothes to choose from thanks to her. Did he ever wonder how that happened? He put on jeans and a black T-shirt and then went to unlock the bedside drawer where he kept his badge, weapon and cuffs.
She watched him slide the weapon into the holster he wore on his hip and jam the cuffs and badge into the back pockets of his jeans, the same way he did every day. Holding her breath, she waited to see if he would say anything to her or come around the bed to kiss her goodbye the way he used to, but he simply turned and left the room.
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