Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1)

by Nicole Edwards

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.

  Yeah, safe. That damn sure hadn’t been the case eighteen fucking months ago when Conner’s high school sweetheart had been murdered in cold blood outside the coffee shop on the ground floor of the Sniper 1 building—a fucking parting shot from one of the drug trafficking fuckers they’d taken down in a sting down in San Antonio in their attempt to take back a kidnapped child.

  And now, because of the life that they all chose to live, not only was Shelby without a mother, she had to deal with her father who could hardly force himself out of bed most days.

  “She still having issues in school?” Frank asked.

  Casper nodded, looking away. “She’s doing better, though. Liz is spending a lot of time with her. Shelby’s also seein’ Dr. Dawson.”

  Dr. Lydia Dawson was the therapist they’d all seen on more than one occasion over the years. Although Casper had never been keen on opening up to anyone, he’d agreed that in their business, there were times it helped. Not that he’d admit that aloud, but he’d at least accepted it.

  Liz returned, walking into the room carrying a tray with three mugs and a carafe of coffee. Casper quickly made his way over to her, taking the tray and setting it on the table in the center of the room. Liz gifted him with another smile and proceeded to pour coffee into each mug.

  “You’re talkin’ about Shelby?” Liz inquired, handing him a cup and taking a seat beside Frank.

  “Among other things,” Casper said, hating that his own mental anguish was beginning to reflect in the way he spoke to his family. He was just so fucking angry most of the time, so fed up with all the bullshit that he was having a hard time coping.

  “Lydia said she’s opening up some,” Liz told Frank. “It’s gonna take time.”

  “Is Con around?” Frank turned to Liz.

  Liz’s eyes were sad as she said, “He’s home right now, but that’s unusual. We don’t see him much these days. Shelby’s stayin’ with us for the foreseeable future. He’s doin’ his level best to stay busy.”

  And by busy, Liz meant Conner was staying gone. Conner needed to be taking care of his daughter, not out trying to get himself killed.

  “So, is Marissa home for good?” Liz asked, her question directed at him, causing Casper to turn and face her.

  “For the time being, yes.”

  “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “I think the whole situation is fucked up, honey,” Casper told her. “I don’t know what I think anymore.”

  “And the mole? Have y’all figured out any more on that front?”

  Casper’s hand tightened around his coffee mug, and for a brief moment, he envisioned the damn thing shattering in his fist. A fucking mole. He hated the idea of a spy in their midst, but he had to admit that as soon as Trace had mentioned it, Casper hadn’t been able to brush it off the way he’d wanted to. Too damn many coincidences. And Casper, personally, didn’t believe in coincidence.

  “Nothing yet,” he told her, glancing between her and Frank. “And that doesn’t go any further than this room.” Not that he had to tell either of them that, but saying it aloud made him feel better.

  Luckily for him, Liz had been putting up with his moods for long enough that she simply nodded her head and turned to Frank, purposely changing the subject.

  While the two of them chatted, Casper returned to his position in front of the window, staring out into the darkness once again. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, but he had that niggling feeling that something was going to happen.

  And soon.

  Eleven

  “Mr. Trexler, there’s a Dan Duchein here to see you,” Jayden Brooks, their always pleasant receptionist, called through the intercom, causing Ryan to stop talking to his father and narrow his eyes.

  “Give me three minutes, then send him in,” Bryce replied.

  “Who’s Dan Duchein?” Ryan questioned suspiciously.

  “ATF.”

  Wait. What?

  Reprocessing what his father just said, Ryan tried to figure out whether or not he was hearing things. He didn’t think he was, and that was the damn problem.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Ryan scowled at his father, disbelief ringing in his tone. Sitting up straight, both feet planted firmly on the floor, he addressed his father with a hard glare. “And when were you plannin’ on tellin’ me that you had a meeting with him?”

  “Right now,” Bryce said sharply. “Get Casper and Trace.”

  Ryan didn’t hesitate before getting to his feet, opening his father’s office door, and yelling down the hall. Less than fifteen seconds later, Casper and Trace were joining them, and Ryan was back to glaring at his father.

  “What’s up?” Casper asked, closing the door behind him.

  “We’re meeting with the ATF. Right now,” Bryce imparted, sounding as though that wasn’t a big fucking deal.

  It was.

  Shit.

  Ryan watched as Trace’s eyebrows launched into his hairline, but before the other man could say anything, Bryce added, “And no, before you ask, I don’t think it’s a coincidence. But I do want to hear what he has to say.”

  Ryan wanted to grill his father on how this meeting had been set up, but he didn’t have a chance. The door opened, and Jayden peeked in, smiling before pushing the door wide.

  The man who joined them looked like a fed. Sort of. Ryan hadn’t expected him to be sporting a fancy suit, but that was exactly what he was wearing. It was tailored and pressed, and he appeared more suited for a Fortune 500 company than a branch of the federal government.

  “Please, have a seat,” Bryce motioned to the guy. “This is Casper, Trace, and RT.”

  “I know who they are,” Duchein said caustically.

  “Do you now?” Trace inquired.

  “I’m well versed on Sniper One Security, Mr. Kogan.”

  “And why’s that?” Casper shifted in his seat as he peered at the stranger.

  “It’s my business.”

  “How so?” Now Ryan was curious.

  “I didn’t ask for this meeting so that I could be interrogated,” Duchein bit out.

  “Then why did you request this meeting?” Bryce asked, drawing everyone’s attention to him as he casually leaned back in the high-back executive chair.

  “I recently heard that you’ve had a little trouble with your daughter,” Duchein offered.

  Well, that was an interesting way of putting it.

  Ryan didn’t flinch, but Trace did, leaning forward in his chair and putting his elbows on his jean-clad knees. “What kind of trouble did you hear about?” The curiosity in Trace’s tone matched Ryan’s own.

  “I should be the one asking questions,” Duchein declared, his tone commanding, as though the asshole had a chance in hell of taking control of this meeting.

  Ryan fought the urge to laugh.

  Barely.

  “Please,” Casper snarled, “why don’t you enlighten us then?”

  “It’s no secret that your daughter”—the guy pulled a small notebook from his pocket and flipped it open—“Marissa Trexler, was a source for an investigation into the Adorite family.”

  “Is that right?” Bryce’s eyebrows formed a V as he stared intently at Duchein. Ryan was impressed with his father’s ability to not act surprised.

  “A RICO investigation, Mr. Trexler. Do you understand what that is?”

  Trace spoke up. “Refers to the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act, enacted in October of 1970, providing criminal penalties for persons who engage in patterns of racketeering activity or—”

  Ryan cut Trace off. “Does that answer your question? I think we’re well versed, Mr. Duchein, so the answer is yes.”

  “Continue,” Bryce said irritab
ly, waving his hand as though bored with the discussion already.

  “From what we’ve learned, Ms. Trexler was doing a little investigating on her own. And since we’re currently pursuing charges against the Adorite family, we’d really like to talk with her.”

  No one said a word.

  “We feel that she may have information that could lead to the takedown of the Adorite family, particularly where their illegal arms trafficking is concerned.”

  “Alleged,” Trace inserted.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Alleged illegal arms trafficking,” Trace clarified. “We’re quite up to speed on the status of your investigation. However, what makes you think Marissa’s involved?” Trace asked.

  “She was identified as a person of interest after she attended a number of events spearheaded by the Adorites.”

  This wasn’t news to Ryan or anyone else in the room. She’d already given up that much information; however, Duchein didn’t seem to know that.

  “And what would you like to ask her specifically?” Bryce asked.

  “We don’t feel that’s of your concern at this time,” Duchein stated simply.

  “See, Mr. Duchein,” Bryce asserted as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk, “that’s where you’re wrong. Everything that has to do with my daughter is of my concern. And until you care to share the details, I’m not willing to let you meet with her.”

  “With all due respect, sir,” Duchein stated, his gaze locked with Bryce’s, “that’s not completely up to you. We happen to know that Ms. Trexler is back home at this time. Considering we’ve been looking for her for the past year and she’s been nowhere to be found, we feel that bringing her in immediately is critical.”

  “I disagree,” Bryce countered.

  “At the risk of repeating myself, that’s not entirely up to you,” Duchein argued, his face turning an interesting shade of red.

  Ryan was pretty sure this asshole was hiding something. And he wanted to know what that was.

  □«»□«»□«»□

  If it weren’t for the fact this condescending asshole worked for the federal government—if, in fact, that was really true—Trace would’ve punched him in the mouth by now.

  As it was, keeping from reaching over and choking the shit out of him was taking everything in Trace’s power. He still wasn’t sure he wouldn’t do it, and he was tempted to sit on his hands to avoid being taken out of the building in handcuffs. The only thing keeping him from throttling the bastard was knowing that Marissa would be in even more danger without him there.

  That wasn’t going to happen.

  That didn’t mean he was going to sit there and listen to this dickhead.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” Trace inquired, ready to call an end to the meeting.

  The surprise on Duchein’s face made Trace smile.

  “Excuse me? Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”

  Trace pretended to study him momentarily. “A prick in a suit, best I can assess.”

  Duchein’s face reddened more. “I don’t—”

  “See, this is the part where we ask you to leave,” Casper chimed in, interrupting the man’s tirade. “First of all, we’re not even sure what you’re talking about. Secondly, Marissa isn’t home, as you’ve mentioned.”

  Duchein’s brow furrowed. Clearly the guy didn’t believe Casper.

  “I—”

  This time, RT interrupted him. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with us, but we’ve got a business to run.”

  At least Duchein had the good sense to know when he was being dismissed. Considering the reputation they held, it was in his best interest to get up and walk out, just as he was doing.

  Casper got to his feet. “I’ll escort you out.”

  The moment the door closed behind them, RT stood up. “Next time you’ve got a meeting planned with the feds, I’d like to get a heads up. We don’t even know who this bastard is. Or if he’s really with the ATF.”

  “He is,” Bryce confirmed. “Don’t forget, son, I’ve been running this company for a long damn time. I still know a thing or two about investigating.”

  Trace watched as RT paced to the large window overlooking the concrete jungle surrounding them. Without looking back at them, RT said, “I’m not gonna let him get close to her.”

  “Nor will I,” Bryce stated. “Which leads me to another discussion. I want everyone to meet at the house tomorrow morning. We’ll nail down just how we’re gonna handle this moving forward.”

  Trace knew that Bryce was hesitant to talk about Marissa in the office. They still believed there was someone working from the inside, sharing information on Marissa’s whereabouts, which had led to the discovery of all five safe houses she’d been placed in.

  “I want to know everything there is to know about this guy,” RT clarified, looking directly at Trace.

  Trace nodded. “I’m on it.”

  “You’ll have to do that from my house,” Bryce inserted. “I don’t want Marissa left alone for a second. And until I say, no one else needs to know where she is.”

  “Understood,” Trace agreed as he pushed to his feet.

  He wouldn’t be the one to share the information, that was for damn sure. But clearly, someone else had been talking already. The question was who.

  Twelve

  Friday

  Just after one in the morning

  An annoying—yet not completely unfamiliar—sound pulled Marissa from a deep sleep. Her eyes popped open as soon as her brain registered what the noise was. The alarm system in her parents’ house was loud enough to wake the dead, and the damn thing was echoing through Marissa’s bedroom, along with a flashing strobe light that was mounted in the far corner of the room—one of her father’s many contraptions used to ramp up the security on the house.

  Rather annoying but clearly effective.

  The room was pitch black, except for the repetitive flash of light. Looking around, Marissa took stock of the things around her: bathroom door, dresser, mirror, chair…

  Oh, God.

  Sucking in air, Marissa did her best not to scream. There was a man standing in front of her windows, silhouetted by the moonlight filtering in through the sheer curtains. He was tall and broad. A menacing presence.

  Her heart lurched in her chest, forcing the air from her lungs as panic rushed in. She glanced toward the door, wondering how fast she could get to it and whether or not this guy was faster than she was. Six feet, maybe seven, separated her from the exit. Not impossible, but…

  “It’s okay, Marissa. It’s just me.”

  With her blood rushing in her ears—combined with the blaring alarm—she hardly heard the words, but she recognized the voice. “Trace?”

  What the hell was he doing in her bedroom? And how had he gotten in? She’d locked the door before she had climbed into bed. Hadn’t she?

  “Wh-what are you d-doing?” she stuttered, sitting up and holding the blankets tight to her body with trembling hands. It wasn’t that she was modest—she was wearing fleece pajama pants and a sweatshirt, for goodness sake, which was more than enough to cover her completely. No, at the moment, decorum was the last thing on her mind. This was something else entirely. This was a deep-rooted fear that suddenly chilled her to the bone.

  “We’ve got a man attempting to come over the wall.”

  Marissa swallowed hard, processing his words through her muddled brain.

  The wall?

  The eight-foot wall?

  Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.

  Doing her best to breathe, Marissa stared at Trace’s silhouette.

  They were coming for her now at her parents’ house? Was she not safe anywhere?

  “And you’re standin’ there why?” Marissa questioned, hating the quiver in her voice.

  “Don’t worry. He’s not gonna get close to the house. Or you. It’s just a precaution.”

  A precaution. Great.

  That meant if Trace w
as inside, then someone was running interference outside. “Who’s out there?”

  “RT and Con.”

  Although Trace didn’t live at the compound—which raised the bigger question of why he was there in the first place—both Ryan and Conner had houses on the property, and the security systems were linked together, which explained how they knew what was going on. Marissa knew for a fact that her brother—all of them, actually—slept with his gun under his freaking pillow.

  “Can you at least make the noise stop?” she asked, tempted to cover her ears to keep the violent, piercing screech from bursting her eardrums.

  “Not yet,” Trace explained, his voice loud. “Your father wants to make sure this dipshit hears it. If he thinks he’s getting anywhere close to you, he’s delusional.”

  “My father?” Marissa asked, confused.

  “No. The asshole in the yard, Marissa,” Trace replied, sounding as though he were talking to a kindergartner. She pretended not to notice.

  Marissa knew that Trace was good at what he did. So were the rest of them. She’d always trusted every single person employed by Sniper 1 Security implicitly, and only recently—since her world had started crumbling apart—had that trust started to waver somewhat. It didn’t help that an intruder had targeted her at her family’s home less than forty-eight hours after she’d arrived there, nor was it giving her a warm and fuzzy feeling.

  Worse was the fact that she couldn’t do anything about it.

  Not that she hadn’t expected them to come for her sooner or later. And this wasn’t the first intruder they’d dealt with at her parents’ house over the years, hence the need for a compound. But it was the first time someone had been after her. And there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that whoever the intruder was, he was coming for her.

  “If everyone’s armed and waiting, what’s with the alarm?” she asked, raising her voice again so he could hear her over the irritating wail.

  “Your father insisted. If it were me, I’d have silenced it. Busted the asshole when he tried to get in the house.”

  Marissa shivered. The idea of someone getting that close made her stomach churn.

  Then again, she was pretty sure someone had been in her house in Connecticut the night it’d blown up. Someone other than Trace. Just a hunch.