Looked like Trace Kogan would be next.
That or Barry would. And that damn sure wasn’t going to happen.
Nineteen
What was it about a man on a crotch rocket that rendered some women stupid?
Marissa was one of those women; she would admit it.
She didn’t exactly know the answer to that question, but she very much tried to stem the excitement that coursed through her as she watched Trace disappear down the driveway on his motorcycle. The man was freaking hot as it was, but there was something to be said about those sport bikes that her brothers and the Kogan boys favored.
It was almost as though they’d achieved maximum maleness for the mere fact that they owned one and knew how to maneuver it like a pro. Every single one of her brothers had at least one, as did the Kogan brothers. Hell, even Courtney had mentioned possibly getting one a time or two. Not that Marissa thought she’d have the same reaction to her friend on one as she did to Trace as he shot off down the road like a badass on two wheels, but hey, to each his own.
“You okay?” Z asked as he put the Escalade in drive and started down the driveway, following Trace’s path but thankfully at a much more reasonable speed.
Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She glanced in the side mirror and noticed that her brother Colby and Trace’s brother Hunter were behind them, both on their bikes, as well.
“I’m fine, why?” she asked, daring to look over at him.
Zachariah Tavoularis—everyone referred to him as Z at his request—was an intimidating man. Somewhere close to six and a half feet tall, the guy packed some serious size. Not to mention, he rivaled Trace in the looks department. Dark hair, dark eyes, and the sexy stubble along his large, angular jaw were damn near hard to resist. He was also a playboy of the worst kind if the rumors held true—and luckily for women everywhere, Z’s sexual conquests were with men. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a trail of broken hearts behind him, but women were safe from Z.
Rumors. God.
There were so many rumors when it came to the men in her life. She wasn’t sure where to even begin.
“No reason.” Z shot her a cocky grin, pulling her back from her thoughts. She glared over at him as he turned his attention to the road in front of them. “How’s it feel to be back home?” he asked, obviously trying to make conversation.
“I’m not exactly home,” she answered, struggling not to reveal the anxiety permeating her insides ever since she had agreed with the decision to go to Trace’s.
“Good point. Don’t look forward to stayin’ with Trace?”
“Actually, no, I don’t,” she lied.
She was looking forward to it to a degree, but she would’ve preferred much different circumstances. Like him inviting her over, not because she needed his protection but because he wanted her there. Instead, she had to come to terms with the fact that she’d practically forced his hand, and being the gentleman that he was, Trace had obviously accepted the job.
She was a job. God, didn’t that rankle just a little bit.
Sitting back, Marissa tried to relax her mind as well as her body while Z drove her to Trace’s. Although she couldn’t see Trace, she knew he was somewhere close. With the two sport bikes that she could see weaving in and out in front and behind them, she found it difficult to do anything more than watch them, which wasn’t necessarily a hardship.
With helmets on, Hunter and Colby were just two anonymous men owning the road, handling the bikes with painstaking precision, all while looking like the badasses that they were.
The only downfall… Their presence was a reminder that someone was after her and no one seemed to be getting closer to catching them even if they did now have a lead to go on. That was the reason she had garnered an entourage for a trip such as this one.
“Can I ask you a question?” Marissa addressed Z, tossing a sideways glance at him.
“Shoot.”
“Has anyone mentioned why they think the Adorites are behind this? I mean, besides the article.”
Marissa didn’t expect Z to offer her any top secret information, even if it was about her, but she figured what the hell, might as well give it a shot. It was conversation, right?
She doubted that she knew more than Trace or anyone else, for that matter, but if she could somehow understand where the Sniper 1 Security team was going with this lead, things would be so much easier. It would give her something to do, something to look into. She was good at that, but she was merely at a loss for which direction to look.
Z was quiet. So quiet that Marissa figured he wasn’t going to answer her question, so when he spoke up a minute later, she was startled.
“We don’t have anything concrete right now, Marissa. If we did, I’m sure Trace would share the details with you.”
She seriously doubted that, but she wasn’t going to tell Z as much.
“But…” Z continued, glancing over at her briefly. “If there’s somethin’ you wanna tell me, I’m all ears.”
“Like what?” Marissa asked nervously.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe there’s somethin’ you’ve learned that we don’t know.”
“Seriously, Z. I really don’t know anything else. If I do, then it’s not obvious to me.” Being so open with Z felt odd, but there was a sense of relief that came along with it. She wanted to dig deeper, to find out what these people were after, but she honestly just didn’t know how.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll figure it out soon.”
God, she hoped.
“Why is Trace handling this now?” she asked when the silence lingered on uncomfortably. She hadn’t found the nerve to ask Trace directly. And it baffled her somewhat that he’d want to involve himself when there were plenty of others who could handle watching over her. She wasn’t sure why he would agree to a plan such as this considering he’d done his absolute best to avoid her for years.
“He requested it,” Z offered easily. Too easily.
Marissa jerked her head to look at him fully. The way his skin stretched taut over his cheeks and the way his jaw bunched told her he’d said something he hadn’t intended to. Despite the millions of questions that ran rampant in her brain after that revelation, it was clear she wasn’t going to get more out of him, so she directed her attention to the motorcycles in front of her. She’d have plenty of time to contemplate Z’s statement later, she was sure.
Thankfully, nearly an hour and fifteen minutes and a couple of painful detours later, Z was pulling the Escalade into the underground garage. Although she’d never actually been to the warehouse that Trace and Z called home, Marissa had heard plenty of stories about it. She couldn’t decipher fact from fiction at this point, but she could tell no one had been inflating the tales about the actual security measures installed there.
At the entrance to the garage, there was a wrought iron gate that went floor to ceiling, wall to wall, and in order for Z to get the gate to open, he had to enter a code into his phone and then his fingerprints into a scanner on a control panel mounted near the entrance, much like the main gate that surrounded the estate her family lived on.
She noticed that Hunter and Colby continued on rather than joining them. Apparently they trusted her alone with Trace more than she trusted herself.
Once Z parked, he climbed out and hit the button that opened the back lift gate of the Escalade. After grabbing her purse and another small bag she’d brought with her, Marissa joined him to help with the rest of her things.
Before she could grab anything other than what she’d had in her lap, Trace sauntered over, easing in front of her and taking what Z wasn’t able to carry himself. Resisting the urge to huff about it, Marissa hiked her purse higher on her shoulder and hefted the one bag she was allowed to carry as she fell into step behind them.
They arrived at what appeared to be a service elevator. Another code was entered and then the doors opened.
Trace, ever the gentleman, motioned for her
to go in first. The two men then shoved her suitcases in and joined her, the doors sliding closed with ease behind them. And then they were on their way. The next thing she knew, the elevator stopped. No ding to signify they were at their destination, no instrumental music to accompany their trip up, only a whisper of noise as the doors opened.
“This is my stop unless you need help gettin’ these inside.”
“Nope, I got it from here,” Trace assured Z.
Marissa watched as Z escaped the small metal box. She couldn’t see much outside of the elevator, nothing more than a dimly lit concrete hallway.
“You two live on different floors?” she asked Trace.
“Yeah. The warehouse is split into two full-size apartments. Z’s got one floor; I’ve got the other.”
For some reason, that made Marissa feel marginally better. And worse. So much for having Z there to run interference.
Trace glanced back at her and grinned. Something wicked gleamed in his glowing gaze. “We come and go from either apartment whenever we want.”
Marissa assumed that was some sort of warning, but for the life of her, she didn’t know what Trace was trying to say. If it was supposed to put her at ease, it didn’t.
Rather than question him further, she forced a smile on her face. “Good to know.”
A minute later, they were walking out of the elevator into a hall much like the one she’d seen on Z’s floor. It wasn’t as long as she had thought it would be. Across from the elevator was a set of stairs that went both down and up, which meant there was another floor, or maybe a roof.
Trace turned to the left and led her to what appeared to be a solid steel door. Once again with the codes and fingerprints before they were making their way inside the actual living quarters.
That’s when Marissa stopped short.
Nothing in her wildest imagination could’ve prepared her for this.
The outer walls were all exposed red brick, the ceiling was a mishmash of HVAC and various pipes running back and forth. But that’s where the original warehouse design stopped.
The floors were gleaming dark hardwood, the furniture was tasteful and new, the stainless steel appliances in the kitchen on the far side glistened in the numerous overhead lights.
“How big is this place?” she asked absently.
“Each floor is four thousand square feet.”
Holy crap. That’s a lot of feet for one man, Marissa thought to herself.
“Two bedrooms this way,” he informed her as he grabbed two of the suitcases. Marissa grabbed another and wheeled it behind her as she followed him down a wide hallway that intersected with the main living area.
“You’ve got this one. Mine’s right there.” Trace nodded his head toward a closed door across from the single door he had stopped in front of. “You’ll have your own bathroom.”
Another good thing to know.
Marissa was at a loss for words when Trace opened the bedroom door. Again with the gentlemanly hospitality, he stood back and allowed her to enter first.
A-freaking-mazing.
Absolutely nothing like what she would’ve expected from a bachelor like Trace Kogan. The room he’d offered her had interior, Sheetrocked walls decorated in muted yet masculine colors. The bedspread was chocolate-brown suede. The curtains on the two huge windows that overlooked the street below matched. The furniture was wood—unstained and rustic, a beautiful contrast to the dark floors.
Dropping her purse onto the bed, she did a three-sixty, trying to take it all in. The room was huge and…
“Bathroom’s that way,” Trace said, motioning toward the far side of the room. “Closet there.”
Marissa jerked her attention to where he was pointing and then nodded, unable to speak.
“Problem?” Trace finally asked.
“No, not at all. It’s just…”
“Just what?” Trace asked, watching her closely.
Crap. How did she relay her thoughts without offending him? No matter what she said, she knew he’d take it negatively. Hell, he already seemed a little defensive.
Hoping for simple, she said, “It’s nice.”
Trace cocked one sexy eyebrow at her, but his mouth didn’t tilt into a smile. “Nice, huh? What did you expect?”
See? Offended.
Although his tone was pleasant, she’d caught the subtle underlying irritation, but she pretended she hadn’t. Marissa knew better than to answer that question. “I’ll go get my other suitcases,” she told him.
“Don’t bother. I’ll get them. You just get unpacked.”
Nodding again, Marissa watched as he walked away.
□«»□«»□«»□
When Ryan walked through the front doors of Sniper 1 Security’s main office, he suddenly wished he’d stopped to get coffee on the way up.
Although they had met at his father’s house, he knew the morning wasn’t going to get any better now that everyone was falling back into their daily routine. The office was already overflowing with people. Hunter and Colby had pulled into the lot about the same time he had, giving him a thumbs up—a signal that Marissa had made it safe and sound to Trace’s. And that’s where the calm ended and the chaos began.
“Good morning, RT,” Jayden called in greeting as she reached to answer the phone. Jayden Brooks, who the group had nicknamed Glue because she was in fact what held the office together, was the receptionist for Sniper 1. However, that was merely a title. The woman was a force to be reckoned with, and answering phones, scheduling appointments, and taking messages were just a miniscule part of the job duties she’d assigned herself. In truth, Ryan wasn’t sure they’d know what to do without her.
“Mornin’, Jay,” he said in return, not bothering to stop.
As Ryan passed through the main reception area, he noticed Decker Bromwell, one of their more tenured agents, talking to his cousin Kira, and Ryan fought the never-ending urge to tell the man to back the fuck off.
None of your business, he reminded himself. If Kira wasn’t interested in Deck’s attention, she’d surely tell him off. It wasn’t as though Ryan hadn’t seen her brush men off before.
“What was that?”
Ryan turned to see his cousin Dominic looking back at him as though he’d lost his mind.
He had; there was no doubt about that.
Apparently, speaking his thoughts aloud was one of his newly acquired hobbies. Opting to ignore his cousin’s question, Ryan decided to ask his own. “How’re things this mornin’? Any news?” Since Dom hadn’t been at the house that morning, Ryan figured there had been a good reason.
“Depends on what you consider news.” Dom’s subtle sarcasm wasn’t lost on him.
His youngest cousin—at just twenty-two—was what they referred to as a computer genius. Between Dom and Austin, Ryan figured there wasn’t a network that they couldn’t penetrate. They could hack through the most guarded systems without leaving a digital footprint in their wake, yet they had opted to use their skills for the greater good. Granted, sometimes that required them to sneak in the back door of some pretty well-protected networks, but since it was all for good, not evil, there were plenty of times the rest of them simply had to look the other direction. Okay, all the time. They looked the other way all the time.
“Spill it,” Ryan instructed, turning toward the break room, where he hoped like hell someone had had the good sense to make coffee. It would’ve been easier to stop at Percolation before he’d come up, but he hadn’t wanted to endure waiting in line. “Who made this?” he asked skeptically when he reached the freshly brewed pot.
“Either Claire or Lilly,” Dom said. “Not sure.”
It didn’t matter. As long as it wasn’t one of his brothers, he was doing all right. It wasn’t a secret that his family had more skills outside of the kitchen than inside of it, hence the reason his parents had hired Lilah all those years ago.
“Heard some stuff this mornin’.”
Ryan glanced over his shou
lder to let Dom know he was all ears.
“That idiot last night, he was theirs.”
“Son of a bitch,” Ryan exclaimed, planting his palms on the countertop and dropping his head. “They’re not wastin’ any time, are they?”
“Seems that way.”
“That guy had the break-in skills of a kindergartner,” Ryan stated. “Why’d they send him? And where are they now?” he asked, not bothering to look up.
“Austin’s following up on it now, but it looks like they’ve got someone in place—who isn’t the guy y’all encountered last night. Looks like that guy was a test. They wanted to see what they were up against. From what I can tell, they wanted to see how well the house would be defended if they attempted to get close.”
Fucking hell.
Ryan had absolutely no fucking clue why these bastards were after Marissa. It didn’t seem to matter how many months passed or how hard they tried to hide her, she was still drawing their attention for whatever reason. He wasn’t sure whether it pissed him off more that they didn’t know what they were after or that no one could get a solid lead on who was behind it. Hell, their track record with protecting her was shitty at best.
Well, Ryan wasn’t so sure their intentions were to kill her. They were escalating, there was no doubt about that, but he wasn’t quite sure that had been the intent.
As it turned out, he’d just gotten word that the Connecticut police had recovered the remains of a person within the rubble that was once the place Marissa called home for a few months. He hadn’t told anyone, opting to keep that bit of information to himself for the time being. Ryan would admit that he was a suspicious bastard, and since Marissa’s whereabouts continued to be leaked, he had no choice but to think they had a mole within their ranks.
He was a little surprised that both Casper and Bryce felt the same way. It didn’t make him feel any better, though.
Ryan fully intended to find out if this was the action of an insider working with the Adorites, but until he had to, he wasn’t going to share what he’d learned about the body with anyone except for his father. Well, no one other than Bryce and Trace, but that was because he needed Trace to be well prepared to handle anything that arose. He just had to figure out when the appropriate time to do so was.
Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) Page 17
