To Blind a Sniper (Women of Purgatory Book 2)

by India Kells

  Her only solution was to listen to her body and quickly put her running gear back on once more. Thankful for the quick-drying synthetic material, she dressed and opened her front door. When she stepped out, the cold humidity filled her lungs. The light coat would not be enough if she didn’t start jogging soon. Sunlight slightly colored the horizon, but clouds were about to win the battle again. It was the beauty of Seattle. Mac appreciated the cool temperatures; it soothed her soul, reminded her of her roots.

  After a quick warm-up, she launched into a lazy jog that turned into a full-fledged run. Mindlessly, she headed to the waterfront. At this time of the night, so close to dawn, people were scarce. A fine mist cooled her cheeks and clung to the ringlets of red hair that escaped her ponytail. The steady pace of her feet hitting the pavement put her into the zone, emptying her brain. At that exact moment, she was back in the state of mind she so easily slipped into when looking at the world through her visor.

  As the waterfront appeared before her, she ran until her body started to relax and fatigue set in. Alone, she reduced her speed to a complete stop, leaning against the rail, admiring the view as her breath slowed and steadied. Mac inhaled the salty air, enjoying the tranquility.

  Unfortunately, peace was never for long as she heard a deep rumble behind her and someone grabbed her shoulder. It happened so fast, like in a blur, and her training and instinct took over before her brain could analyze what was going on.

  One moment, she had a hand on her neck, and the next, a stranger attached to that hand was flat on his back. When she realized that the person down was no foe, she stopped an inch from delivering a deadly blow.

  “Sorenson, damn it! Didn’t your mother ever tell you never to stalk women?”

  Wesley Sorenson ignored her outstretched hand and got back to his feet, shaking dirt from his sports pants and gray sweater. Mac bit back an acidic remark as she noticed him wince, rubbing his thigh. His voice was too low, but she could guess that he was cursing at her.

  “I wasn’t stalking you! I just happened to be walking when I saw you. What the hell are you doing here at this hour? Don’t you ever sleep?”

  Mac shivered lightly, the cool and wet temperature slowly getting through her thin running jacket. “I can ask you the same question.”

  He frowned a second before reverting to his expressionless face again.

  “After I close the club, I go for a walk before heading to bed. I would prefer a run, but I’m not there yet. I’m at a light jog.”

  Mac nodded. “I can imagine you needing to clear your mind after spending time in your brother’s lust temple.”

  Instead of answering, he looked her up and down. “At first glance, nobody would take you for an agent. What are you? CIA?”

  She was no rookie; he was trying to read her reactions as he fished for information. Gabrielle had confirmed that only Lance knew her real identity. Not even his brother, Owen, who was away, and not Wesley. At his question, she decided to laugh it off, making light of the situation.

  “Nope. Self-defense from an early age. Even if my mother was against it.”

  Sorenson shifted on his feet, easing his left leg again. “So that’s your story? You may think I’m naïve or stupid. They don’t teach you those moves in self-defense classes. And one more thing, they ask you to scream your lungs out to attract attention. Not only did you stay silent, but you remained cold as ice.”

  Mac shrugged. “Surprise factor. I didn’t have time to be scared or to emit a sound.”

  Shaking his head, Sorenson put his hands in the pockets. “So you think that I’m stupid. Very well. We’ve been neighbors for more than a month. You don’t go out, except for running or delivering whatever you bake. And yes, I know you bake, I can smell it from Owen’s apartment and I saw you carting boxes. No friends, no lovers, no family coming around. My brother would never have let that apartment to a random woman, not even a pretty one.”

  Mac kept her smile in place. If he thought he would shake her, he was in for a long and boring stand off.

  “So you’ve been spying on me? Fascinating to know. For your information, I’m a baker, so I bake. I was tired of living on the East Coast, so I packed my bags and came here. Owen was kind enough to lend me his empty apartment while he’s away. As a baker, I work mostly night shifts, hence the lack of friends. My family is abroad, but we keep in touch. As for lovers, I didn’t have a chance yet to search for one. And after the rooms I’ve discovered in the club, I’m still debating if I’ll risk any guy living around here.”

  Sorenson quirked an eyebrow, his glacial blue eyes warming up almost imperceptibly. “Not your cup of tea, I see.”

  Now Mac laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t opened up all the doors yet. I’ll ask Sebastian to give me a tour, explore more and entertain my curious mind.”

  At the name, the gleam was gone from his eyes, as she guessed correctly. Now time for the final blow.

  “Too bad you haven’t tried to find satisfaction behind any of those doors, Sorenson. It might have made you more amenable.”

  With a wink, she walked past him, happy with her closing line. Unfortunately, she forgot too quickly that this man wasn’t meek or easily rattled. He caught her arm, twisting her around to imprison her in his grasp. In an unbreakable hold, she could have punched his weak thigh and escaped, but that option would have revealed more than what she was willing to. And to be totally honest with herself, in his arms, something thawed inside of her, taunting her to stay a longer. Sorenson hunched over her, his breath warm against her moist skin and damp hair.

  “So, tell me … if I’m so little amenable, why aren’t you punching me in the gut, yelling at me to get away, throwing the name of Sebastian at me again?”

  Now his eyes were on her, and as he so deftly described it, she stayed still.

  “There is the possibility that I’m curious to know behind which door you’re hiding, Sorenson.”

  His smile broadened with a predatory gleam, making his face dangerously handsome.

  Bubbly anticipation rose inside of her, and she was tempted to indulge once again when something caught her attention. It wasn’t obvious, or clear. A shadow mixed with a vague impression. Even though she couldn’t pinpoint it, someone was staring at them. Her.

  Mac broke Sorenson’s embrace and scanned the area.

  “What?” His voice forced her to focus on him. “Who’s watching us?”

  Mac mentally slapped herself for forgetting who this man truly was. Instead, she played it light.

  “It was me ogling the very cute butt of a guy jogging around the corner.”

  Sorenson crossed his arms, his shirt temptingly stretched over his shoulders. “Either you think that I’m the king of idiots or you have the shortest attention span in the history of humanity. Take your pick.”

  She smirked, backing away, her hands lifted in mock surrender. “I won’t start insulting you. You must be right. I get easily distracted. And now, I’ll get distracted somewhere else, maybe following that jogger.” Playfully, she smiled, but Sorenson shook his head.

  “You’re not fooling me.” He took a step in her direction. She took another step back. Her eyes scanned the area discreetly. The city was waking up, with more and more people strolling on the waterfront, cars adding up on the streets. Did she imagine this? Was her stress level and worry higher than she realized? Impossible now to know if there was really a shadow stalking her or paranoia was starting to invade her mind. None of those two possibilities were good in her opinion. Anyway, the awakening city would protect them. Her brain whirled, making lists of what she would have to go over her security system, and the one inside the club, for her own peace of mind.

  Sorenson took her arm. “Start talking.”

  Mac hunched her shoulders, resisting the need to kick him down. “What? You made me lose my jogger, so I got nothing better to do than return to the apartment.” She looked around for any sign of his ride. “How did you come here anyway, Sorenso
n?”

  “I told you, I jogged.” Mac shifted to see that the annoying man had turned defensive.

  Mac whistled softly. “Quite a distance. The pain in your leg must be excruciating by now.”

  As she expected, male pride took over any good sense. His voice was deep and menacing when he replied, “Pain is manageable and temporary. I needed the exercise.”

  She nodded. “No doubt. Your wound is probably only a scratch, as you people would say. Anyway, you’re so comfortable which is why all your weight has been off your leg for the last ten minutes, right?”

  Mac could swear she heard grinding teeth. But instead of a smart reply, he angled his head. “And you keep reminding me you aren’t an operative. Not so many people could have noticed that about me.”

  “I told you, Sorenson. I’m a professional baker, nothing more, nothing else. However, I’m an amateur massage therapist. I learned how the body works, which makes it easy to see you’re far from comfortable standing up. I know for a fact that deep-muscle massage would do you good. If you ever want a massage done on that leg of yours, you only have to ask.”

  “And if more than my thigh is in need of your attention?”

  Mac shook her head, not willing to take the bait. “I don’t think that part of your anatomy would like deep-muscle massage technique. And after our little chat, you may be too much to handle after all.”

  Sorenson started to laugh. Incredible how this simple thing transformed his face. For a few seconds, the worry lines and strain were gone. As he forgot the aches and shadows, she could see how breathtaking this man was. Apart from the physical pain, she wondered what demons he was forced to wrestle with in his mind. Part of her regretted to have stirred up the embers simmering between them. She could handle handsome. She wasn’t so sure about sexy smart with a hint of danger. She reminded herself that all Sorenson brothers had embraced a military career, and not the one leading to upper ranks and medals. They all chose the grittier, more dangerous missions. The ones that left you covered in mud, blood, and bruises, where only your body, your brain, and your teammates could beat the odds and help you survive.

  “Don’t take it the wrong way, Sorenson. Even though I know that as soon as I say the words, you will turn against me, but here it is. Would you like me to call a cab? With a healing injury, it might not be a good idea to over do it.”

  His jaw set as all remnants of flirting left his body. “I’ll get myself home by my own means, thank you.”

  And he turned and started walking toward the street with a light limp he couldn’t completely conceal.

  “Insulting a man is one thing, Mac. Insulting an operative is another. Bravo, girl. Stellar performance.”

  What a strange man, she thought. Strange, mysterious, enticing, and forbidden all at the same time. So unlike his brother, Lance, who she knew from Purgatory’s frequent rescue missions. Too bad the timing was so off and that she had to lie through her teeth. A part of her worried about the man. Why? No doubt that he could defend himself, even with what seemed to be a healing wound, but she had enough risking anyone’s life to save her own. She could survive this own ordeal, see Calvi die, and make sure no one followed him to the grave.

  Chapter 6

  The sun rose behind the clouds and Mac was glad for the thick blinds and even thicker curtains that kept light and noise out. As always, with this inverse sleeping pattern, she drifted in and out of slumber constantly. It has been surprising she rested at all.

  Now fully awake despite a dire lack of sleep, she fixed her gaze on the ceiling and emptied her mind. The city rumble was so dim, it sounded like crashing waves. Mac knew that once she started counting sheep, it would only be a matter of seconds before she fell asleep. As slumber took over, a low-pitched scream echoed from a distance.

  Simply reacting, she sat in the bed and listened. Had she imagined it? As she was pushing the covers away to get up and peek outside, the scream resonated again, not coming from the street, but from her neighbor. What was happening to Wesley Sorenson to compel him to scream that way? Still in her pink tank top and yoga shorts, her fiery hair in knots, she grabbed her gun and headed for the back door. Nobody in sight. She walked to the door and saw it was locked. No sign of forced entry, although not all enemies would use the door. She backtracked to her apartment, snatched her backpack, and went back to Sorenson’s door. It took only a second for her to pick the lock and enter the apartment. Owen must have faith in his own abilities to oversee any kind of alarm system. She dropped her backpack by the door as she closed it, keeping her gun. The layout was the same as in her apartment. It was dark inside, all curtains drawn throughout the entire place. Slivers of light allowed her not to bump into the furniture as she examined all rooms. Then, reaching the bedroom, she pushed the door open and saw that Wesley was alone. Physically alone, but by the way he was writhing and moaning on the bed, his dreams must have been filled with more than one demon.

  Reassured they were alone, Mac went back to the entry and dropped her weapon in her bag. What should she do? It was clear the man was in the throes of a bad nightmare. She was acquainted with those too well, they seemed so real, there was no escape, not even the one from waking up. Those bad dreams wouldn’t concede that.

  “Please, no!” His hoarse scream almost brought her to her knees, a wrenching plea she knew the man would never allow himself to utter unless if being tortured. What Gabrielle had told her ought to be true. He was a special operative, a soldier, but when facing his fears, he was human again.

  Without even thinking, she was back inside the room. His body was fighting against the sheets, sweat pouring from his skin. Touching him was a bad idea, she needed to find a way to wake him up from a distance. First, she opened the curtain to allow light from the window.

  “Sorenson!” Her voice was loud and firm, but it didn’t help. The man was emitting a low guttural sound, as if in excruciating pain. He twisted again, pushing the covers aside. Thank goodness he wasn’t sleeping in the nude. Mac was grateful for his black boxer briefs. It would be less awkward for him when he woke up to her.

  “Sorenson!”

  Still nothing. He was in deep, one definite sign of PTSD. Mac hesitated and decided to rub his ankle. The man arched up and kicked at her.

  If he could strike at her, she wouldn’t touch his hands for sure, let alone his face. That’s when she saw the comforter and had an idea. She grabbed it and threw it on top of him, avoiding his face. Immediately, she jumped and pinned him down over the thick blanket. When he roared, she knew she had made a mistake. It was like riding wild bull.

  “Sorenson, wake up, dammit!” Mac hung on the best she could and a second later, he stopped struggling. His eyes were open, panicked, and it took him a moment to realize where he was and finally see her.

  “Are you okay?” Again, stupid question, but one that needed to be asked.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Gone was the fear and vulnerability, the angry man was back with a vengeance. Mac went to get off the bed, but he was faster and turned them around, throwing the comforter aside, his wide, muscled frame now plastering her body on the mattress. She was trapped under him, there was no way she could escape this, and a slight pinch of fear coursed through her.

  “Calm down, I heard you scream through the walls into my apartment. I was just attempting to wake you up without risking my neck. You know, you’re a deep sleeper, Sorenson.”

  His eyes analyzed her words, his hair was damp with sweat, and his face almost touched hers. “Never try to wake me up, do you understand?” He was heaving, soaked, and still shaking off the remnants of the dream.

  For a long time, he only gazed at her, intense and unmoving and then rolled away. He sat on the edge of bed and rubbed his face before slightly massaging his thigh. A bit dazed, Mac stood up. His back was to her and she noticed angry scars, probably caused by a whip. The welts were fading. As he wasn’t acknowledging her, Mac got to her feet, her heart still pounding, and made her
way out of the bedroom door. From the corner of her eye, she saw the scar on his thigh. Definitely not made by a scalpel, but by a jagged edge knife. Hell.

  Without a word she passed him, and he caught her wrist and rose to his feet.

  “How did you get in?” Suspicion had replaced anger. She didn’t need to be a genius to detect that another storm was brewing between them. She was a great liar but wondered if he would start seeing through her.

  “Your back door was unlocked. By the way, you should be more careful with that. I don’t know if the neighborhood is safe, but I wouldn’t risk it.”

  He turned her more to him, twisting her arm and growled, his jaw set, “Stop.”

  “What? Stop what?”