Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1)

by Nicole Edwards

  Too well.

  Biting back the urge to warn Trace that he’d break both of his legs and his arms if he hurt his sister, Ryan opted to gulp the scalding coffee. Not his place, he reminded himself.

  There were too many other things on his mind. Too many problems, issues, fires that needed to be put out. Hell, he didn’t have enough time to think about his own nonexistent love life to worry about anyone else’s.

  He knew when to keep his mouth shut.

  He knew the same couldn’t be said for his other brothers, so he was grateful they weren’t there. Without a doubt, Clay would’ve laid into Trace first thing, and at this point, they had plenty of other shit to worry about.

  “Surprised you’re up this early,” Trace offered with a smirk, sipping his coffee as he propped against the counter opposite Ryan.

  “Fuck you,” Ryan offered without heat. “I’m thinkin’ a nap would be good at this point. Haven’t quite made it to bed yet.”

  That seemed to catch Trace’s attention. The man pushed off the counter behind him and took a step closer, setting his coffee cup on the counter. “What’s goin’ on? This about your meeting with Max?”

  All hint of amusement was gone from Trace’s tone. That was one thing Ryan liked about the guy. He knew when to be serious, unlike some of the hooligans they were related to.

  “No. But I’ll get to that.” Taking a sip of coffee, Ryan returned the mug to the counter. “I got some news yesterday,” he began, looking over at Marissa briefly. He really didn’t want to give the gory details in front of her, but asking her to leave so they could have a conversation about her probably wouldn’t go over well.

  “From?”

  “A contact,” Ryan told him, focusing on Trace once more. “I had someone follow up on the explosion at the Connecticut safe house once the local cops gave it their brief once-over and found something interesting.”

  “And?”

  Ryan’s gaze darted over to Marissa once again as he weighed his words carefully. Redirecting his attention to Trace, Ryan said, “There was a body found.”

  Ryan watched Trace intently. Not on purpose, it was just what he did. And the subtle shift of Trace’s eyes told Ryan so much more than he’d known before he’d walked through that damn front door.

  This obviously wasn’t news to Trace.

  “What do you know?” Ryan asked immediately.

  It was Trace’s turn to glance at Marissa. Ryan could see the indecision in the other man’s eyes, and he admired Trace for looking out for Marissa, but they both knew it would be moot to try and encourage her to leave them alone. And despite the gruesome details, she needed to know what they were dealing with.

  “He wasn’t a casualty of the explosion,” Trace offered, a stone mask falling into place and erasing any sign of emotion.

  “You?” Ryan asked.

  Trace’s nod was subtle, but Ryan knew Marissa had seen it, too.

  “Oh, my God,” she gasped from beside him. “You…”

  Trace’s face hardened as he glared back at Marissa. Ryan didn’t envy the position the man was in at the moment. Explaining to someone who wasn’t part of their organization some of the things they had to do wasn’t exactly easy.

  To Trace’s credit, he didn’t respond to Marissa; rather, he met Ryan’s gaze once more. “I knew he was there when I went in. My plan was to get her out without him seeing us, but that went to shit pretty quickly. After I stumbled upon the explosives, I found him just outside her bedroom door. I was on borrowed time with the damn bomb he’d planted ticking, so asking questions wasn’t on my list of things to do. When he didn’t answer the first one, I eliminated the threat.”

  Ryan watched Trace intently. He was familiar with the matter-of-fact tone that was used, but he could still see the repercussions reflected in those eerie white eyes. Killing a man wasn’t easy. Sometimes necessary, but never easy.

  “You killed a man?” Marissa asked, drawing their attention.

  Again Trace simply stood there.

  “Answer me,” Marissa commanded, her voice a much higher pitch than before.

  Trace leaned forward against the counter, his eyes peering at Marissa while Ryan watched the interaction. “It was you or him. Easy decision if you ask me.”

  Marissa’s sharp intake of air was the only thing that followed Trace’s statement. Ryan knew his sister wanted to run screaming from the room. She’d been sheltered her entire life, the only one of them who wasn’t directly involved in the security company that their father and Trace’s father had built from the ground up. She’d opted to do other things and no one had questioned those decisions. But they all knew it meant she wasn’t hardened from life experiences like the rest of them.

  “So the sound I heard was you moving the body?” Marissa asked after a few moments of silence, and Ryan jerked his head to look at her.

  “Probably,” Trace confirmed.

  “Good.”

  Ryan’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling as he heard his sister say she was glad Trace had killed a man.

  Okay, so maybe Ryan was wrong. Maybe Marissa wasn’t as soft-hearted and vulnerable as they thought she was. He wasn’t sure what he would do with that information just yet, but he had to admit, he admired this tougher version of his sister.

  Twenty-Eight

  Marissa couldn’t disguise the shiver that sprinted through her body at the thought of Trace killing a man, but she also couldn’t pretend that it bothered her. Okay, so maybe it bothered her a little. After all, she did have a conscience. Then again, if it meant that bastard would’ve had the chance to kidnap her, she’d willingly watch while Trace erased the light from his eyes.

  And now she was going to be sick.

  Who was she? When the hell had she lost all empathy for the human race?

  Turning away from her brother and Trace, Marissa wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep breath. She was on the verge of hyperventilating when strong arms wrapped around her.

  Trace.

  After only one night in his bed, she would know him anywhere. And the way his arms came around her offered her a sense of peace she’d longed for.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered softly against her ear, his tone full of concern.

  Marissa nodded, placing her arms over his as she leaned into him slightly. “I will be,” she assured him, mirroring his voice level.

  And she would be fine. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but she would eventually be fine just as soon as this nightmare was behind her.

  Trace gave her a gentle squeeze and then pulled away much sooner than she would’ve liked.

  When Marissa glanced over at her brother, she saw him watching them attentively. She felt her cheeks heat and hoped he didn’t notice her blush. For a second, she’d forgotten that he was even there. She suspected that Trace had, too.

  “That’s what you came over to tell me?” Trace asked from behind her, obviously talking to her brother once more. “That you found a dead body?”

  “Not exactly, although yeah, I needed to make sure you knew.”

  “How’d the meeting with Max go?” Trace questioned.

  “As I thought it would. He told me very little, but I suspected he knew something.”

  Trace lifted his eyebrows in question, and Marissa waited for Ryan to continue, her curiosity piqued.

  “He bluntly informed me that if he wanted Marissa dead, she’d be dead.”

  Trace’s hands balled into fists at his sides, and a cold chill washed over Marissa.

  “The only thing I know for sure,” Ryan continued, “is that the Southern Boy Mafia is not after Marissa. That much I believe.”

  Marissa turned and walked a few feet away, letting Ryan’s statement sink in. She still didn’t understand. If it wasn’t the Adorites, then who was it?

  “Then who is?” Trace questioned, putting voice to her thoughts.

  Marissa turned around to see both men staring raptly at one another. The tension between
them doubled, and she could see the question—something he wasn’t asking aloud—on Trace’s face, but for the life of her, she didn’t know what it was.

  Finally the suspense was deflated when Trace said, “You’re worried about somethin’. What is it?”

  Marissa watched as Ryan glanced down at his hands, which were gripping his coffee mug tightly. “I know Z and I didn’t get a lot out of Max last night, but that conversation got me to thinking. As much as I hate to say this, I’m inclined to believe this is an inside job.”

  Trace merely nodded. “I don’t disagree. At least partially,” Trace mentioned, and Marissa realized they’d already had a conversation about this. How … no, why would they keep it from her?

  You thought the same thing.

  True. And in the same regard, she’d kept that information to herself as well.

  But that wasn’t the point.

  “After talking to Max, I did some more digging. I’m sorry, but my suspicions still stand. Someone we’re close to is in on this.”

  “In cahoots with the Adorites?” Trace questioned.

  Ryan glanced down at the bar. “As easy as it would be to pin this on them, I believe Max. If they wanted her dead, she’d be dead.”

  Another icy chill raced over Marissa’s skin, making her colder than she had been.

  “Goddammit! If not them, then who?” Trace questioned, his voice so low, so full of fury, Marissa cringed from the ferocity embedded in his tone.

  Ryan glared at Trace, another silent conversation that Marissa clearly wasn’t privy to.

  “What the fuck, man? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “Fuck no,” Ryan growled, his tone lethal.

  What was Trace thinking? Did he think that…? Oh!

  Oh, God.

  “This is someone in my family?” Marissa asked the obvious, unstated question.

  “Hell no!” Ryan bellowed, his gaze pinning her in place. “I never fucking said that. I don’t believe for one second that a Kogan or a Trexler is behind this.” Ryan turned back to Trace, his body rigid. “I’ve never fucking thought that. But do I think it’s someone at Sniper One? You’re damn right I do.”

  Marissa watched as Trace visibly relaxed, although his hands remained fisted at his sides as he stared off with Ryan. “Who then?”

  “I wish I had an answer for you,” Ryan replied, sounding defeated. “But I fucking don’t know. If I did, this would all be over and you”—Ryan turned to look at her—“would be safe.”

  Marissa couldn’t believe her ears. Her brother seriously thought there was someone inside Sniper 1 who was behind this? It was one thing for her to have suspected it, something else for it to be true. But hell, it didn’t seem to matter where they had put her, whether it was Ohio, Tennessee, Oklahoma, Maine, or Connecticut, she’d always been found.

  “Why? Why would someone…?” Marissa couldn’t even finish the sentence. The idea of someone from the inside giving away her location was too absurd for words.

  “Who’s been hired in the last few years?” Trace asked, ignoring her unfinished question.

  Ryan pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket, unfolded it, and flattened it on the bar in front of him. “Dom gave this to me this mornin’.” Ryan looked between the two of them as he pushed the paper toward Trace. “He’s the only one who knows of our suspicion, so keep it between us.”

  His request was obviously unnecessary, but Marissa nodded her understanding. It wasn’t like she had anyone she could tell. Well, other than Courtney, but she was even being isolated from her at this point.

  Ryan twisted the paper around so that Trace could read it from across the bar. From where Marissa stood, she couldn’t make out anything on it, and truthfully, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to know.

  “Isaac Rhames. You know much about him?” Trace asked, clearly directing the question to Ryan.

  Marissa had no idea who Isaac was. She’d never met him. There had only been three agents that she’d ever come in contact with during the time she’d been away. And besides them, the only two outside of the Kogans and the Trexlers that she knew of were Z and Deck. She didn’t know either of them well, but she knew her brothers did.

  “Twenty-six years of age. Stands five foot eleven inches. One hundred sixty-five pounds. Date of birth—”

  Trace cut Ryan off midsentence. “Okay, I get it. You know more about him than his own mother does. Anything useful?” Trace asked, still skimming the paper in front of him.

  “Nothing that I can tie back to Marissa, no. But…”

  Marissa hung on the silence, waiting for Ryan to continue.

  “One of the reasons we hired Isaac was his previous experience. For the two years prior to him coming to work for us, Isaac worked as a field agent for the ATF. In the Dallas field office.”

  “The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives,” Marissa muttered.

  Marissa wasn’t sure they’d ever find a direct link between her and anyone anywhere, much less at Sniper 1, but that particular arm of law enforcement did make sense. Especially if they were working the same angle her family was—the Adorites were somehow involved.

  However, because there were so many variables, she didn’t even know which direction to look. And truthfully, although Ryan might be right that someone had a hand on the inside, she didn’t believe the threat originated from there. This was something else entirely. Her money was on someone directly related to the Adorites. Someone who worked for them, perhaps?

  “Holy. Fucking. Shit.”

  Marissa peered up at Trace, noticing the anger burning in his eyes.

  “What?” she questioned.

  “Coincidence?” Trace asked Ryan.

  “Not from where I’m sittin’,” her brother responded.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Marissa declared.

  “Dad received a call from a Special Agent Dan Duchein from the ATF. He wanted to meet, so we did,” Ryan explained.

  “And?” How had she not known about this?

  “And nothing,” Ryan informed her. “He said he wanted to talk to you about the Adorite case, but we refused him.”

  The ATF wanted to talk to her?

  For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine why. The possibility that she’d dug just a little too deep and managed to cross the wrong person made so much sense to her. It was logical. After all, when it came to politics and corruption, the two seemed to go hand in hand. And though she never believed that she’d uncovered anything worth killing over, at least not in her opinion anyway, she could see that it was possible for her to have made a few enemies over time. It was true, people weren’t all that fond of having their dirty laundry aired.

  And that seemed to be the extent of Marissa’s job.

  Now that she really thought about it, it clicked. She knew exactly what she’d done to pull the trigger, igniting this nightmare. It didn’t matter that there were plenty of holes in her story, some gaps she hadn’t even been able to tie together… Clearly someone had been affected by the segment she’d done on a local sex club ring gone awry—the Southern Boy Mafia. They’d been affected so much that they’d had Douglas killed.

  Oh, God.

  Her stomach churned at the thought of poor Douglas. More importantly, his family. He had a wife and two children left behind because of what? A story? It was the only logical explanation. Sex, money, guns, drugs. It had all of the variables that you could put neatly into a box and label it: reason to kill someone.

  But when she tried to recall what she’d written about that might cause someone—the ATF—to want to use her or, worse, kill her, she came up blank. When this had all started, she’d dug through every article, every story she’d ever written, but … nothing. Even the story she’d released about a couple of crooked senators a year or so back hadn’t seemed like enough to trigger a response such as this.

  In many of her articles, she uncovered the truth and ensured that the public had the infor
mation she felt they deserved. But in some instances, Marissa didn’t reveal the information she learned publicly because she wasn’t that stupid. And she damn sure wasn’t interested in being a modern-day hero.

  It was her job to keep the public up to speed on the truth, but when it came to playing hardball, Marissa had always considered herself smart enough to know when she shouldn’t be pushing. She left that to the big boys, which meant she shared anything she felt might be newsworthy with her contact at the Dallas Morning News. Only…

  All of a sudden, her mind flashed with memories of a conversation she’d had, what, maybe a year and a half ago. It…

  Someone had to think she knew something.

  Oh, God. Could it be? Could this all tie back to...?

  Shit. It made sense. Too much sense actually.

  Marissa clamped her lips shut, swallowing back the fear that threatened to break free. Until she had time to research her suspicion further, she wasn’t going to mention anything to Ryan or Trace. Or anyone else, for that matter. She had never been the type to freak out for no reason, and she wasn’t about to start now.

  That didn’t stop her hands from shaking.

  □«»□«»□«»□

  Trace scanned the paper that Ryan had handed him, reviewing the names of all of the agents who currently worked for Sniper 1 in order by their hire date. He was having a hard time picturing any of the men he’d worked with over the last few years doing something so underhanded as to give away Marissa’s location and pretty much offer her up on a silver platter.

  But RT was right, the fact that Isaac had worked for the ATF… It was too much of a coincidence.

  “Who knows that she’s here?” Trace asked, looking up at RT. They’d agreed to keep her whereabouts a secret just yesterday, but Trace knew sometimes information had to be shared, even if they didn’t want to.

  “We agreed we wouldn’t tell anyone else,” RT informed him, glaring at Trace as though he were being accused of something. “We’ve leaked a couple of details, alluding to her staying with Clay. That was the deal.”

  So, RT had held true to his word. Trace wasn’t surprised, but he knew the difference a day could make. If a suspicion arose and someone brought it up, there were times when sharing certain information was necessary.