Trace’s cell phone rang again, and he hit the button on the steering wheel. Marissa sat up straight in her seat, waiting not so patiently for someone to tell them what was going on.
“All clear,” Ryan stated, sounding out of breath.
“Is anyone injured?” Marissa inquired, praying the answer was no.
“Not any of the good guys,” Ryan confirmed. “We’ll hang back and clear the shit up with the state police. Y’all keep headin’ toward Texas. We’ll meet up with you in a few hours.”
“Will do,” Trace said, sounding relieved.
“And Marissa?”
“Yeah?” she replied to her brother.
“Be nice to him, would ya?”
Marissa cut her eyes to Trace. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I’m always nice.”
The call ended with Ryan chuckling and Trace smiling.
And strange that. The instant Trace smiled, everything seemed to be right in her world. Even though she’d narrowly escaped death. Again.
Too bad she didn’t think the euphoric feeling was going to last long.
Five
“Tell me what you know,” Casper demanded, his gritty voice rumbling in Trace’s ear, effectively dragging his attention from the half-eaten, overcooked burger and greasy fries sitting in front of him.
With Marissa sleeping most of the time, they’d managed to drive a solid seven hours before Trace had known he wasn’t going to get much farther without a few hours of sleep. It hadn’t been difficult to convince Marissa that they needed to stop, hence the reason they were sitting at a wobbly table in another cheap motel room eating. He wasn’t sure whether this was lunch or dinner—hell, it could’ve been considered breakfast, since he’d been awake for nearly thirty-six hours straight.
“Nothing more than what I told you,” Trace informed his father, realizing he was being evasive.
“Damn it, Trace. That shit ain’t gonna fly and you know it.”
Sighing, Trace shifted forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the table. Marissa was trailing a French fry through ketchup, something she’d been doing for a good ten minutes, but not bothering to put the damn thing in her mouth. She needed to eat, or she’d be…
“I’ve got another call,” Casper stated sharply, interrupting Trace’s train of thought. “I’ll call you back.”
Without saying good-bye, Trace hit the end button on the phone and set it on the table. Swiping his hands over his hair, he realized he needed a shower. Telling Marissa as much, he grabbed the extra set of clothes he’d brought with them and disappeared into the bathroom.
Taking a deep breath, he leaned against the door. Damn, he was tired. Every muscle in his body ached. Every brain cell seemed to be misfiring. These last few days had been endless, the nights even more so. The only thing he wanted was a hot shower and a few hours of shut-eye. Then maybe he’d be lucky and they’d have a plan. Something more than another car chase on the long journey back to Texas.
Twisting the knob on the shower, Trace put to use the additional travel-sized items Marissa had picked up at the convenience store down the road. It didn’t take long for him to clean up, but he was hard-pressed to return to the single room where Marissa was sitting, so he opted to stand beneath the lukewarm water, his eyes closed.
Being close to Marissa—alone—was significantly more difficult than he’d anticipated, and he damn sure had known it wouldn’t be easy. She was too much temptation for him. Always had been.
Not that he’d have done anything different. Coming to get her had been his only option, and seeing her in one piece only solidified for him that he’d made the right choice. Having to endure her nearness was a hell of his own making, one he likely deserved.
A gentle knock on the door had Trace shutting off the water. “Yeah?”
“My brother’s on the phone. He said he needs to talk to you.”
Not bothering to dry off, Trace wrapped one of the stiff white towels around his waist and opened the door. Marissa was less than a foot away, her eyes widening when she saw him. He fought the urge to smile, enjoying the way her interested gaze traveled from his neck downward. Slowly.
Yep, she felt it, too.
Reaching for the phone, Trace then brought it to his ear, slid his hand over his short hair, and turned away from Marissa, pacing to the opposite side of the room.
“’S up?” he asked.
“We’ve got another problem.”
Those four words captured Trace’s attention instantly.
“Go on.”
“I don’t want to have this conversation over the phone. Clay and I are roughly four hours behind you. I want to meet up when we get there.”
Trace glanced at the clock. It was closing in on two o’clock in the afternoon. That’d put RT there around dinnertime, which gave Trace ample time to sleep.
“I’m gonna catch a nap. Call us when you get here,” Trace told RT.
“Will do. She stayin’ with you?”
Trace sighed, his gaze sliding over to Marissa. He knew RT wasn’t just asking because he wanted to ensure his sister was safe. No, Ryan Trexler was questioning his sister’s whereabouts because he likely worried about her being left alone with him. Not that Trace blamed the guy. Hell, he worried about being alone with Marissa. A man could only be pushed so far, and at that moment, seeing her staring at him from across the room, Trace was hanging by a very thin thread.
“She’s with me,” Trace confirmed.
“Good.”
Trace’s brow raised skeptically. Taking the word at face value wasn’t a good idea. There was no way Ryan, better known as RT, trusted him alone with his sister. Didn’t matter that Trace had grown up with the Trexlers, been practically a part of their family since the day he was born.
If he had to guess, RT was worried that Trace would act on the lust he’d harbored for Marissa for far too long.
“I’ll talk to you when you get here,” Trace said, not wanting to get into it with RT. After all, the guy wasn’t just Marissa’s brother. He was also the next in line to take over Sniper 1 Security. Right alongside Trace’s older brother Hunter, who was stepping up since Trace’s oldest brother Conner had no intention of taking over.
Trace hit the end button, disconnecting the call, and then set his phone on the nightstand. Turning to face Marissa once again, he relayed the message, informing her that RT and Clay would be meeting with them in a few hours.
“I’m gonna sleep,” he said. “You should do the same.”
As though she were reading his mind, Marissa’s eyes went to the bed. This motel was equipped with rooms with double beds, or so he’d been told by the young kid manning the desk. However, they didn’t have any available. That was the moment Trace had figured there was a higher power trying to pull one over on him. Instead of arguing with the guy, he’d accepted his fate. And now, despite wanting to do the right thing—he was just too damn tired—Trace lowered himself to the bed.
Oh, yes.
Just a few hours horizontal was all he needed.
□«»□«»□«»□
Marissa watched as Trace lowered himself to the king-sized bed after pulling back the comforter. This place wasn’t much better than the last, but the décor was significantly nicer. It was still cheap, still smelled like dust and mildew, but it was clean and warm. She couldn’t ask for much more than that.
Did he not realize he was wearing only a towel?
Uh…
Oh, shit.
Scratch that. Clearly he realized, but that was no longer her issue. Trace Kogan was now … very, very naked, his discarded towel in a heap at the end of the mattress.
Her gaze traveled over Trace’s bare back as he got comfortable on his side. He grabbed one of the pillows, roughly stabbing it before settling down onto it. She watched, her mouth agape as he got situated beneath the comforter, leaving Marissa staring at him with her jaw scraping the thin, worn beige carpet.
Lord have mercy.
/> Thanks to having dozed on and off for close to seven hours, Marissa wasn’t tired. And that meant she was going to have to sit there, watching Trace sleep, all the while knowing he was naked underneath that blanket.
God, it’d been tough enough watching him move across the room wearing just that white towel. His golden skin had glowed against the stark white, his ropey muscles bunching and flexing as he moved. In a word, Trace Kogan was … sexy.
“You should get some sleep, too.” Trace’s deep baritone echoed in the small space, interrupting her wayward thoughts. He was still facing the door, his gun on the nightstand alongside his phone, his back to her, the comforter at his waist.
“I’m good,” she told him. She really wasn’t tired. Not to mention, there wasn’t a chance in hell that she’d be able to sleep with him naked.
Freaking naked.
Holy crap. How long had she fantasized about Trace? Ten years? Twelve?
Marissa was a healthy twenty-six-year-old woman. One who’d had her fair share of erotic thoughts involving Trace Kogan over the years. Her sex life was nonexistent thanks to the months she’d spent in isolation. It wasn’t that she missed sex… Okay, she definitely missed sex, but this … this was just a cruel joke.
Trace Kogan. Naked.
Sighing, Marissa quietly cleaned up their food, depositing the empty bag and half-eaten burgers into the plastic trash bin in the bathroom.
“Marissa. Seriously.”
“Sorry.” She wasn’t really sorry that she was making too much noise, because Trace was freaking naked beneath that comforter, and if she didn’t keep herself busy, she feared she would find herself daydreaming about lifting that comforter, crawling beneath it, and cuddling up to the warm, sexy man who was supposed to be sleeping.
“Get in this bed,” Trace commanded, making Marissa jump, a frisson of heat searing her insides.
“What? Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“But you’re…”
“Naked?” he asked. “So what? It’s a big bed.”
Not big enough.
“Would it make you feel better if I got dressed?”
“No,” she said, far too quickly.
Trace’s chuckle told her that he’d caught on to her blunder.
“Good. Now get in this bed with me and get some sleep.”
Trace was nothing if not demanding. Still, Marissa had no idea why that turned her on. Especially now.
Figuring an argument wasn’t going to change anything, Marissa eased closer to the bed. Instead of climbing beneath the blankets, she grabbed her coat from the chair she’d been sitting in and used it as a blanket. It was her only option.
That or she feared she was going to take advantage of this man.
And on top of everything else that was going on, Marissa knew that wasn’t a good idea.
While she stared at the popcorn ceiling, attempting to ignore the big, warm lump of man lying a few feet away, Marissa thought back to years ago, back when she’d been bold enough to flirt with Trace in an attempt to get him to notice her. Not that it had ever worked, but she’d been proud of her teenage self even then.
Marissa practically skipped out of her bedroom, grabbing her beach towel on her way out the door and swinging it over her shoulder.
“Where’re you goin’?” her mother asked as they passed one another in the hall.
“To the pool,” she said sweetly.
“Marissa.” The fact that her mother dragged her name out into significantly more syllables than there were only made her smile.
“I’ll be good, I promise!” Marissa called back as she traipsed down the stairs.
As she approached the back of the house, she noticed that Clay and Trace were still outside in the pool, exactly as she’d hoped they would be. Well, Trace anyway. If her brother wanted to go in, then more power to him.
Opening the back door silently, Marissa crept outside, hoping to catch them off guard. The last thing she wanted was for Clay to give her a lecture about staying away from Trace. She’d heard it time and time again for the last few years—not only from Clay, either—ever since she’d developed a crush on the guy.
But she was seventeen now. She was almost a woman, and if Trace didn’t notice her now … well, then she was pretty sure he was just blind.
“Damn it, Marissa!” Clay exclaimed as she reached the steps leading down into the cool, blue water. She ignored her brother, purposely watching Trace, who, yes, was watching her as she dipped her toes into the water.
Thank you, God!
“Go back inside!” Clay bellowed. “We’ll be done in a little while. Then you can have it all to yourself.”
“I don’t want it all to myself,” Marissa said sweetly, still not looking at Clay. “I wanted to join y’all. What’s the harm anyway?”
In that moment, Trace tore his eyes away from her, turning in the opposite direction and diving under the water. Marissa wished she could see more of him, the way his ripped body moved. She’d been watching him from afar for so long she could practically predict the way his muscles would shift.
But the water hindered her ability to admire him, which was the only reason she noticed Clay glaring at her.
“Marissa, he’s too old for you.”
“Not really,” she murmured to herself as she stepped into the water, her gaze swaying back in Trace’s direction. He emerged at the opposite end of the pool, shaking the water from his dark hair. He was doing his best not to look at her; that was obvious. But she wanted him to look at her. She wanted him to want her as much as she wanted him.
Unfortunately, today wasn’t going to be any different than yesterday or the day before. Trace Kogan was being a butt.
Marissa had known from experience that Trace would ignore her as he always did, which was the exact reason she had gone out there that day. Hoping that would change. Hoping that would be the day he opened his eyes and realized there was chemistry between them. She remembered that he’d done his best to stay far, far away from her in the pool, but more than once, she’d caught him glancing at her. At the time, she’d sent up numerous silent prayers, hoping he’d give in and at least talk to her as a man talked to a woman.
No, that day, Trace had managed to shatter her heart, all thanks to her attempt to get his attention. At Clay’s prompting, the two of them had engaged in a conversation about some girl Trace was supposedly “dating.” While Marissa had floated on a raft, Trace had gone into detail about the girl he was interested in. He’d purposely pushed her away; she’d picked that up quickly. And for a while, it had worked. Her anger had taken precedence over the feelings she’d had for him.
But as the years passed, Marissa still found herself inexplicably drawn to the man. The heated glances remained an ongoing thing between them, but it was after that incident that Marissa had given up trying to get his attention. It wasn’t that she didn’t think he was interested. She was pretty sure he was. However, convincing Trace of something he didn’t want to believe in was like trying to light a candle in a hurricane.
And that was the sole reason Marissa knew she had to ignore the desire he invoked in her. Her life was hard enough to deal with at the moment; she certainly didn’t need rejection as a cherry topping on her shit sundae.
●«»●«»●«»●
Barry couldn’t believe that rich fucker had attempted to double-cross him. After hiring him and tasking him with snatching the girl, the asshole had hired someone else to take her out, and if he had to guess, him as well.
“Un-fucking-believable!” he yelled, slamming his hands onto the steering wheel.
Fuck that shit. He didn’t take kindly to being set up.
It wasn’t enough that he’d had to leave Darrell—and the guy’s stupid white coat—behind after the idiot got himself knocked out in a scuffle with Trace. There’d been no time to drag Darrell’s big ass into the car, so Barry had opted to go on without him, all while Darrell’s buddy Jim bitched and complained fr
om the passenger seat.
Resolving that had been easy enough. Barry had simply stopped the car. At that point, Jim had found himself on the side of the road. Let them figure out how to not freeze to death while reuniting with one another. He didn’t really give a fuck.
But those two idiots were the least of his worries. Now he had to formulate a plan that would make this go his way. The little shithead might believe he possessed all the power, but that damn sure wasn’t the case anymore.
In fact, he now had a new game plan. One that involved getting the girl and taking her to the big man in charge, because he knew there had to be someone above this shithead. Hell, the guy was associated with the Southern Boy Mafia, even he’d picked up on that. Which meant he likely worked for someone else, someone who called the shots, pulled the reigns. Surely this asshole wasn’t the brains behind this operation.
Regardless, Barry was going to find an in with the Southern Boy Mafia one way or another. It’d been his plan all along, the sole reason he was putting up with this egotistical asshole.
Six
Trace watched RT and Clay as they approached the table in the small diner where they’d agreed to meet. The place—with its typical diner décor: red plastic booths, black stools, and white everything else—was empty except for two police officers sitting at the counter, drinking coffee, and talking to a gray-haired guy wearing a white apron over a grungy white T-shirt—both stained with grease. From the moment they’d stepped into the place, no one had bothered to look at them, which raised Trace’s hackles slightly.
When the bells over the front door stopped clanging, the only waitress in the place walked toward RT and Clay, intercepting them before they could get to the table. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked both men directly.
“Coffee’s good, darlin’,” RT said with that good ol’ boy charm he’d been known to bestow on the unsuspecting people he came into contact with, not bothering to look at her before grabbing a chair, spinning it around, and dropping into it at the end of the booth.
Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) Page 5