Rather than interrogate Trace about that night, or any night thereafter, Marissa opted to prop herself against the headboard and cover her ears. The sound was so monotonous she was sure she’d hear it echoing in her brain for the next few hours.
So much for sleep.
□«»□«»□«»□
Standing in Marissa’s bedroom in the middle of the night wasn’t Trace’s idea of a good time.
First of all, her scent overwhelmed him. Made him long for things he couldn’t have. And secondly, there was only one reason he would be there … she was in danger.
Rarely had he ever been in her bedroom, never when she’d been there, and tonight he would’ve avoided it at all costs except he was tasked with ensuring her safety. Leaving that to anyone else—including her father and brothers—hadn’t been an option. She was his charge, his responsibility, and he damn sure wasn’t leaving her in anyone else’s hands, no matter how capable they might be.
And he damn sure wasn’t going to think about what that meant. Nor was he going to try to explain it to Bryce. Marissa’s father was already looking at him funny.
Nudging the curtain open with the barrel of his gun, Trace narrowed his eyes on the asshole who had cleared the eight-foot wall and was walking toward the gate as though he were out for a midnight stroll. Whoever this guy was, he was certifiable, that was for damn sure. But something wasn’t sitting right with Trace, which was the reason he was standing guard in Marissa’s bedroom.
The alarm cut off, suddenly plunging the house into eerie silence. Trace’s ears were ringing, but he was grateful to whomever had shut the damn thing off. The bright flashing strobe, similar to a fire alarm in hotels, signaled that the alarm system had merely been silenced, not shut off completely.
Sparing a glance at Marissa, he noticed she was sitting in her bed, the blankets pulled up to her neck as she stared back at him, the whites of her wide, concerned eyes visible in the darkened room.
He felt like a shithead for not warning her, but the entire reason he was there was to keep her safe, not to hang out and chat. It helped that he’d been expecting this—or something relatively close to it—because of some Internet chatter Austin and Dominic had picked up on earlier in the day. Marissa’s younger brother and her cousin were the computer geniuses in the bunch.
It was the blatant warning that had Trace’s hackles raised, though. Almost as though someone wanted them to know that this idiot would be attempting to break in. Not the normal work of a criminal mastermind.
And that was the reason Trace hesitated to believe this blatant break-in attempt was the work of the people who were after Marissa. They might be responsible, but probably not directly.
No, this was something else. Likely someone who was put up to it in order to get more intel.
Dumb ass.
Speaking of… The guy moved closer, walking right through the interior gate—which had been opened by RT as soon as he and Conner had gotten into place, simply to allow the idiot to get closer. Seriously, the bad guys were going to have to hire smarter people, or this was going to turn into a comedy.
Trace fought the urge to laugh when he watched RT and Conner tackle the guy a few feet inside the gate. They’d been lying in wait, and the idiot had walked right into their trap. The only thing better than watching the startled man flounder around on the ground like a fish out of water as the exterior floodlights flashed on would’ve been the opportunity to listen to him cry like a little girl.
Now that they’d caught the intruder, Trace could stand down.
Somewhat.
Lowering his weapon and turning away from the window, Trace peered at Marissa in the darkness.
“They got him,” he informed her.
“So it’s … it’s over?” she asked, eyes still wide as saucers.
“I wouldn’t say that, but they caught this idiot.”
“He’s not…?”
“No, he’s not the guy who’s after you, Marissa. I wish he were that stupid. If that were the case, this would’ve been over a long damn time ago.”
The sob that tore free from Marissa startled the hell out of him, and the next thing Trace knew, he was standing a few feet from her bed watching her cry into her hands.
Shit.
What the hell was he supposed to do with a crying woman? More specifically, this crying woman. When they’d been in the motel, he’d held her, but here … in her bedroom … that wasn’t an option.
Knowing he couldn’t walk out on her—crying or not—Trace hesitantly eased closer to the bed, but not too close. As it was, he was having a damn hard time keeping his thoughts from all the ways he wanted to console her. Preferably naked.
God, he was an ass.
“Hey,” he whispered.
He had no idea what he was going to tell her, and he definitely wasn’t going to touch her. As much as he wanted to pull Marissa into his arms, hold her until the sun came up, and tell her that it would all be okay, he didn’t know that for a fact, and he damn sure wasn’t going to lie to her. Not to mention, touching her again was merely inviting trouble he wasn’t interested in signing up for. This was some serious shit, and they had yet to get a handle on it.
Instead, he settled on urging her to lie down and close her eyes. “He’s not gonna hurt you. You can go back to sleep, Marissa.”
When she looked up at him, her soft cheeks streaked with tears, his heart broke for her. And when she reached for him, her slender arms coming around his waist, her cheek resting against his stomach, instinct kicked in, and he curled his hands around her head, holding her close.
God, he should not be doing this. Touching her. Her touching him. It was a recipe for disaster, yet he couldn’t seem to push her away.
“I’m scared, Trace,” Marissa whispered in the darkened room.
He wanted to tell her that she should be, but he didn’t. He also didn’t tell her that there was no way in hell he’d let anyone get close to her or that he’d make sure no one ever hurt her again. But that was exactly what was going through his mind.
That and, well … other things. Other things that were better left alone but damn near impossible to ignore with her head against his stomach, dangerously close to…
“You need to get some sleep,” he repeated, purposely pulling away from her before he passed the point of no return and found himself in her bed, holding her in ways he’d only dreamed of.
“Are you leaving?” she asked when she got settled, her voice trembling from her tears.
“No,” he stated, pointing across the darkened room. “I’m sleeping in one of the chairs. Just to be on the safe side.”
Marissa’s gaze met his briefly and Trace had to force himself to turn away. The last damn thing he needed was her turning those crystal-blue eyes on him. For as long as he could remember, his one and only weakness had been Marissa Trexler.
She was also the one and only woman he couldn’t have.
□«»□«»□«»□
“Is this guy serious right now?” Ryan asked Conner, referring to the idiot who was pushing himself up off the ground and dusting himself off as though he hadn’t just been tackled to the ground by two men damn near twice his size. The same guy who’d come over the top of the eight-foot stone wall that surrounded the compound and then waltzed right through the open gate, coming closer to his parents’ house. And never once had the dumb ass realized they’d given him an open invitation.
“No one said criminals were smart,” Conner replied, his voice low, his hands fisted at his sides.
Ryan figured the dumb ass who was about to find himself in handcuffs was going to be happy to know that Ryan had accompanied Conner on this late-night rendezvous in order to save the fool’s life. Considering the fierce determination in Conner Kogan’s light gray eyes, the man certainly wasn’t up for playing games. Normally that wouldn’t bother Ryan, but for the past few months, he’d been a little worried about Con. More specifically, about how far Con would go if pushed.
He was a ticking time bomb, set to go off at any minute.
“You’ve got thirty seconds to tell me what the fuck you’re doin’ here,” Conner growled.
The guy looked up at Conner as though seeing him for the first time.
“What?”
“Twenty seconds,” Ryan told him, reminding him that Conner was likely counting down as well.
“I … uh… I was just…”
“You’re a fucking moron, you know that?” Ryan told the scrawny guy standing not two feet from him. “Did you not get even a little concerned when you found the gate open?”
“I … uh… I just figured y’all forgot to shut it,” the man stated, his voice shaking nearly as much as his hands.
“And what? You figured you’d get in a little late-night exercise? Maybe scale a wall, take a stroll?”
“Where’re the fucking dogs?” Conner ground out, glancing around as though he expected the dogs to come running.
Ryan fought the urge to laugh. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.
“Dogs?” their late-night visitor asked, his voice pitched high with fear as he peered around in the darkness. “What dogs?”
“Damn, man. Didn’t you do your homework before you scaled that wall?” Ryan questioned, not expecting a response.
A fierce growl sounded from the side of the house, and Ryan turned in time to see Clay come strolling out with Butch and Sundance—names his father had picked out for the well-trained German shepherds—on their leashes.
“Those dogs,” Conner said. “Would you like to meet them? I’d be more than happy to introduce you.”
The man shook his head rapidly, making his shaggy blond hair shift on top of his head. Yeah, this was a fucking amateur, that much Ryan knew. That didn’t mean they could go easy on the guy.
Grabbing the man by the back of the neck, Ryan urged him forward, making him stumble.
“Where’re you takin’ me?”
“To wait for the cops,” Ryan informed him. “You’re just lucky I’m here. If it were up to Con, you’d be headed to the woodshed. He’s always liked introducin’ strangers to Butch and Sundance. And when he’s in a really good mood, he enjoys givin’ the dogs a late-night snack. Based on your size,” Ryan said as he pretended to look the man over, “you’d be just about perfect.”
Clay laughed, but Conner didn’t. Ryan figured that was because there was probably a little truth to that statement. More than there should be. At the rate Conner was going, if he didn’t figure out a way to get his head on straight, Ryan wasn’t sure the man was going to be able to continue.
When it came down to it, their job required them to walk a fine line, and revenge and retaliation had no place in their world.
It was the fastest, surest way for one of them to end up dead.
And unfortunately, they’d already lost too much as it was.
Thirteen
Trace wasn’t all that fond of being summoned when he’d been in bed for less than an hour, but when his father had called and instructed him to get his ass back to Bryce’s house, he hadn’t argued. Hell, he’d only been home for an hour and a half, leaving Marissa asleep in her bed before the sun came up in the hopes of getting a few hours of sleep himself. Now that he was there, he was wondering what the hell was going on because he seemed to be the only person who’d arrived.
“Good mornin’, Trace,” Lilah greeted sweetly as he stepped into the kitchen to help himself to caffeine in liquid form. “I was just cleanin’ up the breakfast dishes. Would you like me to get you somethin’?”
“No, ma’am,” he replied, lifting his coffee cup to his lips. “Thank you, though.”
“Well, I’m gonna make myself busy elsewhere then,” Lilah told him, laying a hand towel on the immaculate granite countertop.
He had a pretty good idea why he’d been demanded to attend the impromptu meeting, but as he watched Lilah disappear down the hall that led to the guest wing where she stayed, the hair on the back of his neck was prickling. It was a warning, something he was familiar with. But this time he didn’t think it was immediate danger that had his Spidey senses going haywire.
No, this was something else.
Just for grins, Trace retrieved the iPad that they used to man the interior gate. He didn’t disable the keypad as he had before, instead choosing to watch to see if anyone else was heading in. He noticed the first arrival of the morning—his brother Hunter—making his way into the compound.
Interesting.
With his coffee mug full, Trace set the iPad down on the counter, leaned against the breakfast bar, crossed his ankles, and waited for someone to tell him what was going on, assuming that Casper was in Bryce’s office because he could tell from where he stood that the door was shut.
He heard the front door open and turned as Hunter stepped inside the wide foyer, looking around with a hint of confusion on his face. Something was clearly bothering Hunter, but Trace had no idea what it could possibly be. The man wasn’t known for his shining personality, by any means, but generally he was keenly focused. Didn’t seem to be the case at the moment.
Without a word, Hunter came toward him, lifting his dark eyebrows in question.
Trace responded to his brother’s silent inquisition with, “He called and told me to meet him here. You?”
“Yeah,” Hunter said absently, glancing around the room as though he expected someone to jump out at him.
“You okay?” Trace questioned, and based on the grimace he received in response, it appeared Hunter realized it for the loaded question that it was.
Seeing as it was now public knowledge that Danielle Davidson—the woman responsible for stomping all over Hunter’s worn and tattered heart—was coming back to Dallas, they were all giving Hunter a wide berth. For going on three years, they’d dealt with Hunter’s less-than-pleasant demeanor, and now that the woman Hunter had intended to marry—but hadn’t because she’d left his ass at the altar without a word—was rumored to be coming home, Hunter had been less fun to be around. If that was possible.
“Of course,” Hunter responded abruptly, seemingly shaking himself out of his funk before setting his helmet on one of the bar stools and making a beeline for the coffeepot.
Before Trace could interrogate him further, a door opened, and he looked up to see Casper and Bryce heading their way, their eyes scanning the room earnestly.
Trace sipped his coffee as he watched the older men. He found it amusing how in sync the two of them were. Then again, they’d been friends and business partners for most of their lives at this point, and Trace figured there was only so much time two people could spend together before they started acting alike.
That day had come and gone.
But personalities and poise aside, the two men were exact opposites in appearance, with the exception of their height. Trace and his siblings had all inherited their father’s unusual white-gray eyes and olive complexion, but their hair color was a mix—some light brown like Casper’s had been before he’d started to go gray, others dark brown like their mother, Elizabeth.
And on the Trexler front… As for Bryce’s kids, well, most of them had that surfer thing going on: blond hair and dark blue eyes like Bryce—who still had yet to sprout a single gray hair. The only two who were even remotely different were Marissa and RT, and that was because they had inherited their mother Emily’s ice-blue eyes, but they still sported the same blond hair that both their parents had.
Hunter elbowed Trace conspiratorially as he made his way back around to the bar, hefting himself onto a vacant stool.
“What’s up?” Trace asked their father when Casper came to stand beside him.
“Mornin’,” Casper offered by way of greeting. “Get your old man some coffee and we’ll chat.”
Without question, Trace made his way back to the coffeepot. “How ’bout you?” he asked Bryce, who was now sitting at the rustic oak breakfast table.
“None for me, thanks.”
“While
you’re makin’ yourself useful, I’ll take one, too,” Conner groused as he joined them in the kitchen, dropping his helmet onto the bar.
Shit. Trace hadn’t even heard him come in.
“Salt or sugar in that, Con?” Trace joked.
“Never mind, I’ll get my own damn coffee.” His oldest brother chuckled—a rarity these days—as he nudged Trace out of the way.
“That’s what I thought.”
Carrying a cup over to his father, who had taken a seat at the kitchen table beside Bryce, Trace watched the owners of Sniper 1 Security, waiting for someone to enlighten him as to what was going on.
“Anyone else comin’?” Trace inquired, although he already knew the answer to that question. Their expressions were dire, and Trace knew that meant a larger audience was necessary.
Neither man said anything, which was quite interesting in and of itself. Generally, you couldn’t get either of them to stop talking, and now it appeared Trace and his brothers would be working to pry the information out of them.
Casper Kogan and Bryce Trexler had created what was now their families’ company, Sniper 1 Security, thirty-three years ago. Both of them had been fresh out of the Marines, both having served eight years, the latter part spent in elite special services after completing the Marine Special Operations School. According to them, they’d been trained to do something more than sit at a desk, yet they’d had absolutely no idea what they wanted to do with the rest of their lives when the idea had come to them. They were self-proclaimed adrenaline junkies, not to mention trained killers thanks to Uncle Sam, and from the stories that had been told through the years, it was the fear of being tied down to desk jobs that had had them coming up with the brilliant plan of creating what was now one of the most successful investigation—slash—security firms in the world.
Yes. The world.
Casper and Bryce had a long history together. They had been introduced to one another during their time in the Marines, but not the way most people would assume. They’d actually met through their respective girlfriends at the time, whom they’d met while enlisted. Oddly enough, Casper had been dating Emily—who was now married to Bryce—when Casper had been introduced to Bryce, who had been dating Emily’s best friend, Elizabeth—Trace’s mother, who was now married to Casper.
Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) Page 11
