“You think so?” Ryan snapped. “What, little sister? Do you think we just sat by and waited for something to happen?”
“I know you didn’t bother to try to figure it out,” Marissa told him, anger making her face burn. “I spent twelve freaking months with junior agents watching my back. How do you think I got kidnapped? If y’all had cared enough—”
“For the record,” Z said, his voice low, menacing, “Josh wasn’t a junior agent. And that boy lost his life tryin’ to protect you.”
Marissa’s eyes widened. “What?”
Ryan cleared his throat. “Look, Ma—”
“No!” she interrupted. “What do you mean Josh lost his life?”
Marissa met Trace’s gaze, hating the emotion she saw lingering there. Something bad had happened and they hadn’t bothered to tell her?
“Josh was killed protectin’ you,” Ryan finally said, his tone softening somewhat. “And Trace… Well, I’ll let him explain that one to you.”
Marissa’s mouth fell open. No words formed as she kept her eyes locked with Trace’s. He’d… Oh God.
“I came after you, Marissa,” Trace said when the silence settled around them. “I wasn’t gonna let anyone else do it. I’m the one who found you the day you were kidnapped from that safe house.”
“But…” They’d told her that Ian—another lower-ranked agent—had been the one to find her.
“But, nothin’, Marissa,” Trace scolded. “We do what we have to do. And no, we haven’t been sittin’ around with our thumbs up our asses while you try to play detective. However, we do know that you’re aware of the situation, that you know more than we do. And it’s time you shared that intel. It’s time we got this shit taken care of once and for all.”
Marissa felt like crying, more from her anger than anything else, but she managed to hold back the tears. Instead of arguing, she merely nodded. She’d tell them what she knew. Not because she thought it would help but because they were right. It was time they stopped playing games. All of them.
□«»□«»□«»□
“You can start at the beginning,” RT told Marissa.
Trace hated that the light in her eyes had dimmed when he’d told her the truth about who had come for her when she’d been abducted. He wasn’t sure if the pain in her gaze was for the loss of Josh or perhaps that they’d kept so much information to themselves.
But it had been necessary.
When they’d found Josh, they’d talked at length about who should know the details of his death, outside of his family. It wasn’t that they’d kept it from anyone on purpose. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. They hadn’t shared the details with Marissa because her father was worried that she would carry the guilt on her own shoulders. Trace had agreed with Bryce, which was why they had kept that piece to themselves.
As far as not telling her that he’d come to get her, that had been his choice. Trace hadn’t wanted her to know because he was, at the time, still trying to keep himself distanced from her.
A hell of a lot of good that had done.
Granted, they weren’t the only ones who’d been holding back. Turned out every damn one of them had been tight-lipped when it came to the details they each had. If they’d done what they prided themselves on doing, they probably would’ve already caught this asshole by now.
Marissa swallowed hard, her eyes shifting back to the iPad as she licked her lips. “If I’m right, and I very well could be wrong, the Adorites aren’t the ones after me.”
“You’re right,” RT confirmed. “They aren’t after you.”
“You sound confident about that,” Clay inserted, looking at the screen and then back at Trace.
“We are,” RT stated. “But I believe they know something. Tell me about the article, Marissa.”
“I didn’t write the article. Either of them. And the story wasn’t my idea. At least not at the end,” Marissa added defensively, “but I did do the research. I’ve never been one who wants credit, which was why I passed along the information to my contact.”
“Forthnet?” RT asked.
“Yes…”
“The dead guy,” Z said, standing to his full height and thrusting his hands through his hair.
Marissa nodded at the same time RT confirmed verbally.
“When’s the last time you talked to him?” RT questioned.
“I don’t know,” Marissa stated, her voice quivering. “Nine months ago, maybe.”
“For those who don’t know,” RT explained, “Douglas Forthnet was a tenured staff writer with the Dallas Morning News. He met an unfortunate fate a few weeks ago. Although it was staged as an accident, we’re inclined to believe he was murdered just before they made a play for her at the Connecticut safe house. Whoever wants this information, whatever information they believe there is to be had, has escalated.”
Trace watched as Marissa’s eyes roved over everyone in the room. Her hands were shaking, as was her chin.
“This isn’t just about you anymore, Marissa,” Clay said calmly, reassuringly. “We know you’ve kept the details to yourself because you thought it was best, but we’ve got to know what we’re dealing with.”
“I want to know specifically about the guns you uncovered, Marissa,” RT stated matter-of-factly.
Trace moved to stand behind Marissa, partly so that he was in the camera’s viewing range and partly because he needed to touch Marissa. To let her know, regardless of how angry he was that she’d held back critical information, he was still on her side. He was still there to protect her.
“I … uh…”
“The eighth suspect mentioned in the article,” RT began. “I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out who that is. And if I’m right, we’re in for a fight.”
“Who is it?” Marissa asked.
“Dan Duchein.”
Son of a bitch. The ATF agent? The more Trace tossed that information around in his head, the more feasible it sounded. Dan Duchein had access to guns. More accurately, confiscated weapons that the federal government had in their possession. If he was stealing those weapons and selling them back to the Adorites, or anyone else, then he was the source. It would explain why he had escalated to the point of murder. Being that he worked for the federal government, he had a shit ton to lose.
“And he is?” Clay questioned before Trace had a chance to speak up.
“Supervisory Special Agent of the Dallas field division of the ATF,” RT explained.
And that meant Isaac…
“Which leads us to our other problem. Isaac Rhames,” RT continued, speaking Trace’s thoughts aloud.
“Our agent?” Clay asked.
“The same one. Turns out, Rhames was a special agent for the ATF, working with Duchein prior to his employment with us.”
“When was he hired?” Clay asked.
“Thirteen months ago.” Z was the one to answer, surprising them all. “Son of a motherfucking bitch.”
Trace looked at his friend. “What?”
“That little fucker started working for us at the same time someone started gunning for Marissa,” Z growled.
“My sentiments exactly,” RT chimed in. “Looks like our own has been in on this since the beginning.”
“Do you have him in custody?” Trace asked, referring to Rhames.
“We’re looking for him as we speak.”
“Who’s we?” Clay questioned.
“I’ve got Dom—”
“Rhames’s gone off the grid,” Z interrupted. “Probably safe to assume he knows we’re on to him.”
“Agree,” RT said.
“Correct me if I’m wrong here,” Clay began, “but Marissa managed to take down the Adorite family, yet we don’t think they’re part of this?”
“No. Marissa didn’t take them down,” RT replied. “They were arrested, yes. Nothing was proven. The RICO case Duchein referred to doesn’t have legs. We believe that’s because Duchein is workin’ that angle as well. He just didn’t intend to ge
t caught in the crossfire. My assumption is that he’s gonna turn on the Adorites to save his own ass if he can’t get to Marissa.”
Probably the only reason she was still breathing. Trace didn’t speak his thoughts aloud.
“The Adorites are too clever to allow that to happen,” Z informed them. “Maximillian, Samuel’s oldest son, dots every fucking i and crosses every t. It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than that to pin something on that family.”
Not a family he’d want to cross, but Z was right, the Adorites weren’t going to get their hands dirty in this mess. But…
That didn’t mean they weren’t involved, if only by association.
“That sting was what sent authorities looking into Duchein,” RT added.
“And he’s the one who wants me dead?” Marissa asked, glancing up at Trace over her shoulder.
“Looks that way,” RT stated.
“Why?” she asked.
“Duchein works for the branch of the federal government responsible for investigating federal offenses related to the unlawful use and possession of firearms and explosives. They also regulate the sale and transportation of firearms in interstate commerce. Looks like our buddy Duchein has been stealing confiscated guns from his own employer, the U.S. government. In turn, selling them to the Adorites, and probably others, who knows?”
“He’s got a lot to lose if that’s the case,” Trace stated.
“No doubt,” RT confirmed. “He’s profiting from stolen guns, and my guess is that when Marissa and Forthnet got too close for comfort, he panicked.”
“Killing Forthnet and coming after Marissa,” Clay said, thrusting his hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
No one said anything for a moment, and Trace processed all the information as best he could. If RT was right, they were dealing with a loose cannon.
“So what do you need from me to make this go away?” Marissa questioned, her attention on the screen once more.
“At this point, I don’t know. But by the end of the day, you can bet your ass I’ll have something more concrete. And tomorrow night, we’ll know exactly what we’re lookin’ for.”
“Tomorrow night?” Marissa questioned.
Trace was watching the iPad screen when RT glanced up at him. Trace shook his head, signaling to RT that he hadn’t told Marissa about the party yet.
“We’ve been personally invited to a party at the Adorites’ mansion.”
“We?” Clay questioned.
“Trace will be taking Marissa. I’ll be taking Courtney.”
“And you think that’s smart?” Clay inserted.
“We’ll have backup stationed outside,” RT clarified. “Z, Conner, and Colby will be there to watch our backs. They’re just not on the official guest list. And Clay, if all goes well, I’ve got a job for you, too.”
“But this Duchein guy is on the official guest list?” Trace asked.
RT nodded. “He’ll be there. And that’s when I plan to nail this bastard once and for all.”
Trace heard the threat in RT’s tone. The guy was as fed up with the bullshit as the rest of them. And now that they had a solid lead to go on, there was no doubt in Trace’s mind that this was about to come to a head.
He only hoped he could keep Marissa out of the crossfire until that happened.
●«»●«»●«»●
When his phone rang, Barry was tempted to let it go to voice mail. But it was obvious how that would go over, so he hit the talk button and put the phone to his ear.
“Time’s up.”
Yep, exactly why he didn’t want to answer the call.
“You better have some good news for me.”
“She’s vanished,” Barry told the asshole on the other end of the line.
He was met with silence, which was why he glanced in his rearview mirror, checking to see if someone was sneaking up on him. If the guy could be trusted, any minute now, Barry would be dead and someone else would be looking for the girl.
“Where are you now?”
Well, if that wasn’t a stupid fucking question. Like Barry was going to tell him where he was. What? And make it easier for him to find him and kill him? No thank you.
“I’ve got one last lead to follow up on,” Barry said quickly, hoping the guy would give him a little more time.
“I’m done playin’ games. There’s a party tomorrow night. At Max Adorites’. I’ll be there and so will Marissa Trexler. I expect you to get the girl and dispose of her before the night’s over. You’ve got till the end of the night to make that happen. Then you’re done. One way or another.”
Without saying a word, Barry hung up the phone. No sense in wasting precious air when he could be planning his next steps.
A party tomorrow night, huh? At the Adorite mansion.
Interesting.
The timing couldn’t have been better.
This could very well give him the opening he needed to meet the big man in charge. Screw this guy and his piss-poor attitude. If Barry wanted an in with the Southern Boy Mafia—which, no doubt, he did—this was going to be his chance.
In the meantime, he needed to nail down his informant at Sniper 1. That was one loose end that needed to be tied up before tomorrow night.
Thirty-Five
Trace lounged on the couch as he stared at the television. He had no idea what was playing or when he’d actually turned the damn thing on, but he was doing his best to look interested. It was that or stare at Marissa, who was sitting in the adjoining chair, close enough that he could smell the light scent of her perfume.
After their conversation with RT, Trace had given her the details of how tomorrow would go, including the part about how Courtney would be picking out Marissa’s gown and then coming by with the necessary items to help Marissa get ready. Once he’d relayed that information, they’d gone back to business as usual. Clay and Z had stuck around for a short time, trying to get their bearings on the mission: who would be where, what Clay would need to do since he wasn’t invited to the foray, and how they expected it to end.
By the time Trace and Marissa were the only two left, it was closing in on one o’clock, so Trace had plied her with food, insisting that she eat. To his surprise, she hadn’t argued. In fact, Marissa had merely joined him in the kitchen as though nothing had happened, as though she hadn’t learned that tomorrow would likely be the end of the line for her stalker. Not that Trace was entirely convinced everything would go as smoothly as they wanted, but he held out hope. Something had to go right in this clusterfuck. There weren’t many other options.
The woman had been through hell and back, and as an elite security team, they’d failed to protect her on numerous occasions, yet she seemed willing to go through with their plan as though the next time would possibly be different.
This time would be different, but he knew he’d never be able to convince her of that, so he didn’t even bother to try.
Over lunch—a frozen lasagna that tasted like cardboard—Trace had attempted to engage her in idle conversation. Bless her, Marissa had played the polite card, nodding when she was supposed to, agreeing other times, but never had she really opened up. When he asked her about the nightmares that’d plagued her in recent days, she informed him that they were now a daily occurrence, something she was getting used to. It made him crazy with the need to wrap her in his arms and hold her close, swear to her that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her again.
Could he really make that promise?
It seemed as though every time he turned around, he was back to the day when she’d been kidnapped right beneath the watchful gaze of not one but two Sniper 1 agents.
For whatever reason—probably because they were dealing with a sadistic bastard who had a hell of a lot on the line—they had received a tip prior to the incident. That or there was some do-gooder out there with his nose in someone else’s business. Either way, the tip hadn’t been enough of a heads up for Trace, but he’d made the best of it. In the end, he
knew that it had been sheer determination on Marissa’s part and his dumb luck that had allowed things to go down the way they had.
The moment they had received the first and only warning, Trace had gone apeshit. He remembered the day like it was yesterday.
“Son of a motherfucking bitch!”
Trace glanced up from his laptop when the roar erupted, echoing through the narrow halls and bouncing off the glass walls that separated the offices of the four lead agents at Sniper 1. Without a moment’s hesitation, Trace was on his feet and in the hallway, quickly joined by RT and Clay.
“What the fuck?” RT spoke the words Trace had been thinking as the three of them looked at each other and then beat feet to Bryce’s office.
“What the hell is goin’ on?” RT asked his father while Trace stood by.
That’s when Trace realized something bad had happened. His heart pounded furiously in his chest as the worst possible scenarios began swimming through his brain.
“He found her,” Bryce said, his voice trembling, his hands shaking.
“Who, Dad?” Clay asked, although the inquiry was unnecessary. They all knew who Bryce was talking about, but that didn’t stop Trace from praying that he was wrong.
A blinding rage trickled into Trace’s bloodstream and quickly morphed into an all-out tidal wave as he waited for Bryce to answer the question. To lay claim to the assumption.
“They found Marissa,” Bryce repeated, not answering Clay’s question directly.
“Where is she now?” RT asked, his tone chillingly calm, his body rigid and alert as he stood in front of Bryce’s desk.
The world stopped spinning the moment Bryce looked up and met each of their eyes briefly. The words that followed would forever echo in Trace’s mind.
“At the Oklahoma safe house, but we’ve only got three hours.” A violent sob tore from Bryce’s chest as the words exploded from his mouth.
What?
Trace attempted to make sense of Bryce’s words, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t understand. Three hours until what?
“Until?” RT implored.
Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) Page 30
