Today could have easily been that day, except Trace had saved her.
As she clung to him, gripping his shirt, allowing his warmth to push out some of the cold that still swirled on the inside of her chest, Marissa tried to ignore the other heat that generated due to their proximity.
For as long as she could remember, she’d been attracted to Trace. Far more than she’d ever been attracted to any other man. Trace had been her first crush at fourteen years old. And though he had pretended not to notice her, Marissa knew he had. Being that he was only two years older than she was, they’d practically grown up together. The Trexlers and the Kogans were close, always had been. Considering her father and Trace’s had created Sniper 1 Security together, their lives had been practically intertwined from the beginning.
But the truth was, Marissa had never expected to be this close to Trace. Being in his arms was almost enough to shatter the fear that had consumed her since he’d grabbed her in her house—scaring the ever-loving shit out of her in the process—and successfully led her to safety.
Almost.
“What do we do now?” Marissa asked softly.
“We wait for morning. You need to get some sleep,” Trace said, his voice a mere whisper in her ear, his breath warm against her skin.
“So do you,” she told him, forcing herself to pull back, looking up into his eyes but not releasing his shirt from her grip.
Clear gray eyes peered down at her, and Marissa did her level best not to look at his mouth, not to think about what it would feel like if he kissed her. It seemed he was battling the same thoughts because he wasn’t looking her in the eye.
But as powerful as this attraction between them was, Marissa knew Trace. He wouldn’t give in. He wouldn’t let her in, let her get too close. It was his way of protecting her. He’d always been the man who thought keeping people at a distance was the best way to keep them safe. Other than friends and family, Trace Kogan didn’t have relationships.
As much as she wanted to believe Trace was a player, a man who used a woman and then tossed her aside, she knew that wasn’t the case. In all of the years she’d tried to pursue him without really pursuing him, she’d never seen him with a woman, although she suspected there were plenty. But he didn’t bring them around, which, to her, meant he hadn’t been serious about any of them. From what she could tell, he was merely a one-night kind of guy.
Marissa didn’t want just one night with Trace. She never had.
Trace surprised her, freeing her from the steel band of his arms and wrapping his hand around hers, tugging her toward the bed. Once he pulled back the skimpy beige comforter, he urged her forward. “Get some sleep. I’ll watch over you tonight, Marissa.”
Nodding because she didn’t know what else to say, she climbed into the bed, curled up on her side, and sighed when he pulled the blanket over her. It wasn’t enough to warm her. Not even close.
She shivered, but it wasn’t from the chill in the air, it was from the ice encasing her insides. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to go to sleep, but the events of the night once again played through her mind. The sound that had pulled her from her dreamless state, the feel of Trace’s hand on her mouth when he’d scared her, the brutal wind that had bitten into her skin when he’d dragged her out of the house, the bullets, the explosion… It was as though she were reliving those treacherous moments all over again.
The mattress dipped and Marissa opened her eyes, but she couldn’t see anything. Trace had turned off the lights. His body moved up against hers, his chest to her back as he spooned her from behind.
Only when his arms came around her once more did she relax. A little. The shivering ceased, but the fear was still there.
“I’ve got you, Marissa,” he whispered against her ear. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you. Never again. And you can trust me on that.”
Marissa nodded her understanding. For the first time since she’d realized it was him, Marissa felt safe.
Too bad she knew that wasn’t going to last long.
Four
“We’ve gotta go, Marissa,” Trace whispered against her ear as softly as possible.
The flashlight beam that had shone through the narrow window in the bathroom a second ago was all Trace needed to see before he realized they’d been found. That or people were just plain stupid and went creeping around in this weather looking for whatever it was they were looking for. He didn’t know of anything that would be worth that.
He’d purposely driven behind the motel when they’d arrived in order to get a complete view of the place. The snow—at least two feet, if he had to guess—hadn’t been plowed in the back, which meant it would’ve been difficult for a car to get through. His SUV had made it, but a car would certainly have more difficulty.
Good thing he hadn’t gone to sleep.
Marissa’s body tensed against his, and he knew she realized this wasn’t a leisurely wake-up call.
She rolled to her back, peering up at him in the darkened room and locking her gaze with his without saying a word. He darted his eyes toward the only door that led to the outside, and her eyebrows lifted in question. It was their only option. He didn’t know who might be lurking on the other side of that door, but thanks to the weather, getting out of there on foot wasn’t an option.
Getting to the Escalade was their main objective. He’d improvise from there.
Trace hadn’t bothered to remove his boots for this very reason, so he was ready, but he had to wait while Marissa pulled on hers—the pair he’d grabbed from her parents’ house. He hadn’t known he’d have to sneak her out of her house without giving her the opportunity to grab any of her things, but he’d been prepared just in case.
Good thing, too, since that was exactly what had happened.
Trace pulled on his coat while Marissa stuffed everything into the duffel. When she zipped the bag, Trace handed her the .45 she’d gotten familiar with a short time ago and then checked his own weapon while she checked hers.
With the room cast in shadows and the light once again moving through the bathroom window, Trace inched toward the front door as he started the Escalade using the remote start button on his key fob, keeping Marissa close to him. Silently turning the knob, he pulled on the door and pushed it open with his foot, keeping them safely on the inside and out of the open.
Nothing.
Trace was tempted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but he fought the urge as he peered around the doorjamb, checking left and then right before reaching for Marissa’s hand and pulling her with him. They didn’t bother closing the door as they eliminated the few feet between the motel room and the Escalade’s driver’s-side door.
With his eyes scanning their surroundings, he lifted the handle, pulled it open, and then urged Marissa inside, similar to the way he’d done back at the safe house. She scrambled into the driver’s seat without question, then launched herself over the center console as she tossed the duffel into the back. He jumped in behind her.
And that’s when things went to shit.
The front passenger door flew open, and a big guy who resembled the Michelin man with his bulky white coat grabbed for Marissa. Thankfully, the guy hadn’t taken her completely by surprise, earning himself a sharp kick to the solar plexus before he stumbled back a few feet. Marissa’s scream rent the otherwise silent air when the bastard reached for her again, this time jerking her from the Escalade.
Well, fuck. This wasn’t in the plan.
Trace didn’t hesitate, launching himself through the SUV rather than wasting precious seconds by going around. He managed to tackle the guy, who’d only made it a few feet away thanks to the icy ground and Marissa’s continuous kicking and screaming. They hit the pavement with a thud, knocking Marissa to her knees in the process. Trace fought with the guy, dodging a few punches, taking one to the side of the head that made his ear ring temporarily, and delivering a couple of his own. He managed to keep the upper hand thanks to the fact the guy�
��s coat was hindering his ability to move easily. A couple of square shots to the jaw was enough to disorient the asshole.
“In the truck!” Trace yelled, holding on to the bastard while Marissa scrambled to her feet. Smart woman that she was, she didn’t bother waiting for him, jumping into the passenger side before hurdling the console into the driver’s seat and yelling at Trace.
Using the butt of his gun, Trace hit the guy on the head, knocking him out cold. And then Trace was on his feet, jumping into the Escalade as Marissa steered it out of the parking spot.
They were out of the lot and onto the winding backcountry road within seconds, but they hadn’t been stealthy enough to lose the other fools who had been snooping around outside the motel. At least not all of them. Looked like Michelin Man was going to have to find another ride home, though.
“Blue Malibu,” Marissa said, sounding confident as she white-knuckled the steering wheel.
“I see him,” Trace told her. “Trade places with me.”
Without waiting for Marissa to agree, Trace inched as close to the dashboard as he could, then eased one leg over the wide center console, pushing her foot out of the way and putting his own on the gas pedal. After a few incredibly uncomfortable seconds—no, nothing was every fucking easy for him—Marissa managed to ease out from behind him, partially sliding into the backseat to give him space, and Trace dropped gracelessly into the driver’s seat, doing his best to navigate over the icy road while adjusting his position. There must’ve been a higher power looking after them because the snowstorm that had been expected hadn’t arrived, leaving the roads a tad easier to deal with than if there’d been more snow accumulating.
“He’s coming up fast,” Marissa informed him, and Trace was grateful for the extra set of eyes. He needed to keep his attention on the narrow road in front of them or he feared they’d wind up in a ditch, which wouldn’t be a good thing. Especially not with the idiots behind them.
Trace would hate to start the morning off by killing someone. Michelin Man had been lucky.
“Oh, shit,” Marissa muttered, but there wasn’t an ounce of fear in her tone, merely concern.
If she only knew how much he respected her for her ability to keep calm.
Trace had been on a number of extractions. Getting the victim out of the hands of the bad guy wasn’t always easy, and more than once, he’d seen grown men cry like little girls when things got too hot. Not Marissa. She was calm and cool under pressure.
“Keep me updated, Marissa. I’m gonna focus on the road.”
“Malibu is backing off,” Marissa told him matter-of-factly. “But we’ve got a white Tahoe coming at us from the east. He’s gaining speed. Likely to head us off when we hit the main road.”
Good to know. Trace put his foot to the floor and pushed the Escalade harder, daring the icy conditions. He needed to get ahead of this bastard. The last thing he wanted was to get sandwiched between the two of them.
“How many in the Malibu?”
“Looks like two,” Marissa informed him. “Driver. One passenger in the front seat. I can’t see into the Tahoe to know.”
They were coming up on the main road fast, and Trace glimpsed the white Tahoe out of the corner of his eye. The sun was barely peeking up over the horizon, which helped with visibility except for the fact that the Tahoe blended in with the landscape.
“Malibu is backing off more,” Marissa stated as she shifted in her seat, her gun at the ready as she peered between the front seats through the back window.
“You’re gonna want to hold on,” he warned her as they approached the intersection.
Thankfully, it wasn’t a ninety-degree turn, but Trace still feared they’d go off into the gulley if he didn’t maintain control of the vehicle. Then again, if he didn’t make this turn, he’d flip the damn Escalade, leaving them vulnerable to the assholes on their tail.
Marissa pulled her seat belt tighter, grabbed the bar at the top of the door, and braced her feet on the floorboard as Trace turned the wheel, the Escalade sliding, narrowly missing the shallow ditch on the far side of the road before the wheels got traction once again, launching them forward.
“We’ve got another,” Marissa said, this time anger lacing her clipped tone. “Black SUV coming up from the east, behind the Tahoe.”
Please let that fucking be the good guys, Trace thought to himself as he kept his eyes on the snowy terrain.
His cell phone rang, but he didn’t bother looking at the damn thing, merely punched the button on the steering wheel to engage the speaker, never taking his eyes off the snaking road in front of them.
“How many?” Ryan Trexler’s voice sounded through the vehicle, confident and possibly even a tad eager.
“Two vehicles,” Marissa informed her brother without missing a beat. “Blue Malibu, two men. White Tahoe, from the looks of it, there’s only one inside, but I can’t be certain.”
“Got it,” RT stated. “Head west, Trace. Z’s a mile and a half up the road. Black Escalade. We’ll let the Tahoe tail you for the time being, take out the Malibu.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Marissa asked her brother.
“I’ve got Clay with me,” RT said, referring to another of Marissa’s brothers. “And Trace?”
“Yeah?” Trace asked through clenched teeth, white-knuckling the steering wheel as they finally reached the onramp to the highway.
“Don’t shoot the good guys.”
Marissa giggled and Trace cast her a hard glare. It had only happened once, for chrissakes. Rolling his eyes, he turned his attention forward once again and said, “Roger that,” and the line disconnected.
“You called for backup?” Marissa asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.
“Didn’t have to call,” he said, grinding his back teeth together.
Nope, he should’ve known that the good guys would be there. They always were.
□«»□«»□«»□
Marissa couldn’t say that she was disappointed that her brothers had come to the rescue. Based on Trace’s reaction, he was a little relieved, as well, although he had control of the situation. As much control as could be had anyway.
Now if they could only get out of the line of fire, they’d be doing just fine.
Shit. Didn’t look like that would be happening in the near future.
“Passenger window on the Tahoe just came down,” Marissa relayed calmly. “White male sticking his head out. He’s got a gun.”
So much for only one guy in the Tahoe, she thought.
“Automatic?”
“Possible. AR15 pistol. At this rate of speed, and the distance between us, your Escalade won’t look pretty if he hits his mark.”
Trace chuckled and the knots in Marissa’s stomach eased somewhat.
“You gotta plan from here? Another quarter mile till we run across Z,” Marissa said, referring to Trace’s roommate and the most tenured Sniper 1 agent who wasn’t related to the owners, although he may as well have been, considering how close he was to the family.
“The plan is to drive,” Trace snapped, jerking the wheel and narrowly missing a slow-moving vehicle on the road, the back end fishtailing before he gracefully recovered.
“Good plan,” she told him, thinking nothing of the sort.
Marissa only prayed that Z was where Ryan had said he would be. They needed to get this asshole off their six—as Trace’s brother Conner would say—especially if he intended to use that gun he was now aiming at the Escalade. The guy wasn’t close enough—probably forty-five, maybe fifty yards back—for the heavy S&W in her hand to be effective, and unless Trace had something hidden under the seats, she didn’t think they had any other options.
Knowing Trace, he did have something hidden—possibly an entire arsenal—but she wasn’t about to ask. If he wanted her to get more firepower, he’d tell her. Until then, she was just going to be his eyes.
“I’ve got eyes on Z,” Trace said. “Up on the right.”
Mar
issa turned to look, scanning the scenery for the black Escalade Ryan had mentioned, but before she could zero in on Z’s vehicle, there was the distinct sound of a gunshot. Wait. Make that multiple gunshots.
“Down,” Trace yelled, reaching for her and shoving her lower into her seat. Waiting for the sound of glass shattering or bullets hitting metal, Marissa was relieved when she realized they’d missed their target.
If it’d been her, she wouldn’t have missed.
Not that she was hoping that they would try again.
“Isn’t this thing armored?” she asked seriously.
“Of course,” he answered sharply. “Doesn’t mean I’m takin’ any chances.”
Marissa peered over the dashboard, looking for Z. She found him just as the matching Escalade pulled forward on the shoulder, letting their vehicle pass before joining them on the highway. Not with a second to spare, either.
Ignoring Trace’s command for her to stay down, Marissa turned her attention out the back window in time to see the two SUVs trade gunfire.
This wasn’t going to be good. They might’ve been out in the middle of nowhere, but gunfire on a major highway would definitely draw law enforcement. Considering they were supposed to be en route to Texas, Marissa figured they were going to need a little extra time.
“Quit worryin’,” Trace told her.
“I wasn’t looking forward to a chat with the local police,” she told him with a sneer.
“That’s good, ’cause there won’t be any chats.”
“No? You think they’re good with a couple of good ol’ boys shootin’ shit up?”
“That’s why your brothers are here,” Trace told her. “And I’m sure your daddy’s already talkin’ to the locals.”
Marissa breathed a sigh of relief. If her father was involved, she knew there really wasn’t anything to worry about. She wasn’t sure how he did it, but Bryce, as well as Trace’s father, Casper, always managed to get their children out of the hot seat whenever necessary. They’d made a lot of enemies over the years, sure, but more importantly, they’d made a lot of friends.
Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) Page 4