Clay slid into the opposite side from where Trace sat beside Marissa—the optimal spot to keep his eye on the door. As Clay got comfortable, his eyes continued to dart back and forth between Trace and Marissa.
When he reached across the table, Marissa reached back. “I’m glad you’re safe,” Clay said softly.
Marissa squeezed Clay’s hand and smiled.
Clay Trexler was Trace’s closest friend, other than Z. They were the same age, had grown up together, graduated from high school together, even spent four years in the Marines together. Hell, Trace considered Clay more of a brother than a friend. But based on the way the other man’s blue eyes scanned over him, he wasn’t sure Clay was feeling a ton of love for him at the moment.
“Been here long?” RT asked casually.
“Ten minutes,” Trace informed him, meeting the hardened gaze of Marissa’s oldest brother. Before he could say anything more, Marissa spoke up, drawing everyone’s attention her way.
“What do you know?”
Trace wasn’t shocked by her blurted question. She’d been on edge ever since Trace had woken up to find her hovering on the corner of the bed, staring at the ceiling, wrapped in her coat. He’d actually found that particular situation amusing, especially when he’d returned to the bathroom to get dressed, forgoing the towel he’d discarded earlier. Her shocked inhale had made him laugh, but it hadn’t done anything to dispel the desire he was still attempting to fight.
“That’s the million-dollar question, sis,” RT said, his tone reflecting the irritation Trace had glimpsed in the other man’s eyes when he’d arrived. “But I think it’s better if you answer that one.”
Trace glanced over at RT, studying him for a moment before he said, “You think she knows something?”
“Think? No. I know she does.” RT rested his forearms on the chair back, his eyes intensely focused on his sister. “And it’s time we stop playing this game.”
“Does the name Adorite ring a bell?” Clay questioned, his tone as terse as RT’s had been.
Okay, so obviously Trace was the only one not in the loop here.
The hair on the back of Trace’s neck stood on end from the mere mention of one of the most powerful families in the great state of Texas. The Adorites weren’t the normal, run-of-the-mill, wealthy family, either. They were Texas’s very own Southern Boy Mafia—a name given to them by the media because of their good ol’ boy personas, a name that had eventually stuck—with deep pockets and even deeper roots into a world that Trace’s family had spent years fighting against. Despite the way the name sounded, the Southern Boys weren’t backwoods rednecks—hell, they weren’t rednecks at all—but they wanted people to believe they were. And Trace knew for a fact that Casper, Bryce, and the Adorite patriarch, Samuel, were on a first-name basis. Not exactly friends. More of a live and let live sort of relationship or so he’d been told.
Marissa didn’t say a word, which spoke far louder than anything she could’ve said.
RT pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and slid it over to Trace. It was an article cut out of a newspaper, dated February tenth, one year ago. Rather than read the contents, Trace glanced at Marissa.
“What’s this about?” he asked, the question not exactly pointed at her, but he’d take any information he could get.
No one spoke.
“Did you write this article?” Trace questioned.
“No,” Marissa stated stubbornly, shaking her head.
Trace’s gaze shifted back to the article. Who the hell was Douglas Forthnet?
“But you played a huge part in the story?” RT asked, dragging Trace’s attention back to Marissa as he waited for her to respond.
Marissa nodded.
“Do you know Douglas Forthnet?” It was Clay’s turn to interrogate.
“He’s a journalist. He writes for the Dallas Morning News,” Marissa said.
“He was a journalist,” RT said, sitting up straight. “He’s dead, Marissa.”
Trace watched Marissa’s throat work as she swallowed hard, and her eyes turned glassy with what appeared to be tears. Did this Douglas guy mean something to her? The mere thought of Marissa with some other man made a knot form in his chest. Rather than dwell on what that meant, Trace shoved the thought away.
The waitress returned with two white mugs of coffee and a carafe that she used to refill Trace’s cup.
“Can I get you something to eat?” the waitress asked, her eyes roaming over each one of them before returning to RT.
Marissa shook her head at the same time Trace rattled off his order, informing the waitress to make it two. Marissa was going to eat, whether she liked it or not.
RT and Clay chimed in, telling the waitress to bring them the same, and she was off once again. When she was out of earshot, RT continued. “Your buddy Doug was in a fatal car accident two weeks ago. DOA. No witnesses.”
Trace didn’t need for RT to continue; he got the gist of what the man was saying. Douglas Forthnet had been a casualty in this war that seemed to be going on around them, and it seemed that RT was tying that unfortunate incident to the most recent attempt on Marissa’s life.
“Do you think the Adorites are retaliating? Maybe they think she knows something?” Trace turned his attention to RT.
“It’s a possibility. One I fully intend to get to the bottom of as soon as we make it back to Texas.”
“And how do you plan to do that?” Marissa inquired.
“I plan to go talk to them.”
“I want to be there when you do,” Trace demanded.
RT met his gaze but didn’t say anything.
“Right now, before we do anything rash, we need to know everything Marissa knows,” Clay added.
“I really don’t know anything more,” she said, her voice pitched higher than before.
“What I want to know is why you didn’t bother to tell us this in the beginning,” RT grumbled. “We could’ve had this taken care of a long damn time ago. Not spent the last twelve months chasing our own fucking asses.”
Trace leaned closer to the tense woman sitting beside him, feeling a tad protective of Marissa. Sure, RT had a point. She’d kept this information to herself when it would’ve at least given them something to go on. But that didn’t mean she’d done it on purpose.
“How’d you figure this out?” he asked RT.
“The shooter. The one in the Tahoe. Dude had some seriously loose lips,” RT said, shifting in his seat, his defensive posture softening somewhat.
RT nodded his head to Clay, suggesting he move over as RT got to his feet and then moved into the booth alongside the other man. Clearly he’d determined that there wasn’t a threat to them there. Trace wasn’t so sure he agreed, but from where he sat, his back to the wall, he had a perfect view of the two cops now chatting with the waitress. They seemed a bit curious from their perch at the counter if the sideways glances were anything to go by.
“He specifically mentioned the Southern Boy Mafia?” Trace probed.
“Not in so many words, no,” RT confirmed. “But no smart man would.”
True. If Trace were in the hot seat, the last thing he’d do was lay the blame at the Adorites’ feet. Only a fool would be so stupid. “What about the driver? Get anything from him?”
“Nada. Bastard didn’t say a word.”
“What about the Malibu?” Marissa inserted.
RT glanced at Marissa, answering her with, “They fled.”
“Shit.”
“What?” Clay asked Trace.
“I’m more interested in what they’re after. That Malibu was at the first motel we stopped at. As though they were one step ahead of us.”
RT glanced at Clay, but before Trace could ask them what they were keeping from him, the waitress reappeared with their food.
Not only that, but an older couple arrived, choosing to take the booth directly behind them, which meant their conversation had just come to a jarring halt.
It was then that
the cops got to their feet, their eyes slowly moving in Trace’s direction. With a subtle head nod, Trace warned RT and Clay that they were about to have company.
Come on over, boys. Let’s get this over with.
□«»□«»□«»□
Ryan thanked the waitress when she delivered their food. He even started to eat as the two police officers he’d noted when he’d come in approached their table. He pretended not to notice when they stood just inches from the end of the table, hips cocked, hands resting on their police-issued weapons.
“You boys don’t look like you’re from around here,” the taller, skinnier of the two said.
“Just passin’ through,” Clay told Skinny off-handedly as he kept his attention riveted on his food, shoveling in a mouthful before offering them a brief once-over.
Ryan set his fork down and lifted his coffee cup, turning his full attention on the two smug bastards, who seemed to believe that badge on their shirts made their balls a little bigger than they really were. “Heard the food was good.”
“Yeah? Who’d you hear that from?” Stumpy asked skeptically, a smirk on his lips as he glanced over at Skinny.
“The police chief,” Ryan offered, grinning behind the rim of his coffee cup.
Well, that certainly got their attention.
Glancing at his watch and then looking back up at the two men, Ryan said, “You can call him if you’d like. Although I bet you’d be interruptin’ his supper with his wife.”
Ryan wasn’t lying. He knew that Stan Albert was the police chief of this small town just outside of Harrisonburg, Virginia, where they found themselves tonight. He also knew that Stan and his bride of fifteen years, Marsha, were likely having dinner at the Texas Roadhouse, only a few blocks down the road. According to the information his cousin Dominic had given him, the chief and his wife preferred the restaurant, mainly because they allowed the head of their ten-man force to eat for free.
It paid to know the details. And Ryan was nothing if not prepared.
“We’ll be happy to wait while you give him a call,” Trace offered, his fork held halfway to his mouth, his eyes scanning the two men.
“No?” Ryan asked. “Well, we’re just gonna finish our dinner, and then we’ll be on our way. I’m not sure how y’all do things ’round here, but we prefer to eat our meals without an audience. Unless, of course, you gentlemen have somethin’ you’d like to ask.”
Ryan noticed Skinny’s sneer, but he pretended not to. The guy obviously got off on exerting his authority. Too bad Ryan had no desire to have a dick measuring contest at the moment. He was hungry and tired and ready to get back to Texas. The sooner the better.
Neither officer said anything before turning and walking away. Ryan watched Trace’s face as the other man’s gaze tracked the pair out the door. Once they were outside, Ryan peered out the window, noticing both cops were checking out their license plates. Good for them. He hoped they followed up on it, too.
Seven
Marissa was fighting a restless need to do something by the time she and Trace returned to the Escalade after having dinner. Thankfully, he’d decided that they’d get back on the road instead of returning to the motel. According to him, it wasn’t a good idea to stay in one place for too long. She figured since the guy in the Malibu hadn’t been arrested or even taken into custody, that was probably true.
Not to mention, the local police seemed to be nosing around. She was alert enough to see the cop car still in the parking lot, although it’d moved to a different spot since their arrival.
“Do you want me to drive?” she asked as they approached the SUV, hoping Trace would give her the opportunity. She was restless, as well as mentally exhausted, and she needed something to do.
Trace glanced at her and she wished she could read his mind. She wasn’t sure whether or not he was angry, curious, or a mixture of both. Regardless, she figured this leg of their trip wasn’t going to be spent in silence the way the last one had.
“Sure,” Trace finally said, dangling the keys for her to take.
Without wasting a second, Marissa snatched them from his hand and then climbed into the driver’s seat. She immediately started the engine, in desperate need of warm air to ward off the bitter cold, and waited for Trace to join her.
“Are RT and Clay heading back tonight?” she questioned, figuring the three of them had had plenty to talk about when she’d managed to excuse herself to the restroom. It hadn’t been easy to convince them that she’d be okay alone for three minutes, but somehow she’d managed.
Trace shook his head. “They’re gonna stop for a bit. They drove straight through after taking care of the shit back in Connecticut.”
Then yeah, it was probably a good idea that her brothers rested for a bit. Truth was, Marissa hoped to put a little distance between her and her oldest brother specifically. Ryan was a bit testy tonight, and she wasn’t used to seeing him like that. At least not with his frustration aimed directly at her.
Then again, she’d never withheld the type of pertinent information she’d been keeping to herself for the past year.
Pulling onto the highway, Marissa thought back to the minutes before she and Trace had left the last motel room, heading to the diner.
“Seriously, Trace,” Marissa stated as calmly as she could, “y’all really don’t have any new leads?”
Trace paced in front of the cheap motel bed, both hands clasped together behind his head as he peered down at the floor. He seemed unusually calm, but she could sense the tension in him. Marissa had no idea whether that was because of what had happened the night before or if it was simply the proximity that they found themselves in. After all, he had taken a nap in the nude.
From the moment she’d awoken—having dozed off for less than an hour—Marissa had wanted to nudge him away and riddle him with all the questions she’d put on hold ever since he’d swept her out of her house. For whatever reason, she’d allowed him to sleep while she twiddled her thumbs and thought about Trace, seeing her parents again, finally getting to talk to her best friend face-to-face. Anything except for the shit she had found herself buried under. It was either that or she would’ve been tempted to find a way to distract herself from everything entirely.
But now that they had a few minutes to spare, and he was awake and, yes, dressed, she wanted some damn answers. And there was only one way she could think to do that: ask Trace directly. She figured Trace would likely push her away, although he couldn’t push too far since they were both confined to the same small room, but still, she hoped he wouldn’t.
“Don’t know,” he finally said. His stern, matter-of-fact tone told her he wasn’t interested in talking, but that was nothing new.
And too bad. Marissa was tired of being left in the dark. “Okay, then how’d you know to get me out?”
Trace looked up, his eyes locking with hers, and Marissa found herself drawn into the nearly colorless orbs, mesmerized by him once again.
Sometimes she wondered if he did that on purpose. A distraction of sorts. Whatever it took to get her to stop talking. He should know better.
“I just did,” he told her with a heavy sigh. “I don’t want to talk about this. Unless you’re gonna go back to sleep, I say we head for the diner to meet your brothers.”
Marissa instantly looked over at the lone king-sized bed with its hideous brown-and-green shabby comforter and two scrawny pillows, still holding the indent from when they’d been in that bed earlier. She wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep, but when she’d attempted to tell Trace that half an hour ago, he hadn’t listened. Her preference would’ve been to head back to Texas last night. Driving straight through would’ve been a much better plan, but Trace had looked as though he were about to drop when he’d made the suggestion to stop. Although, his suggestion hadn’t been a suggestion at all. Not when he’d all but insisted that she take it easy and try to catch a few hours of sleep while she had a chance.
Which they’d d
one, and now they could be on their way.
“I take it you’re ready to go then?” Trace questioned, his eyes locked on her face.
Marissa wasn’t sure what she was ready for, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. For years, she’d lusted after this man, but she’d done her best not to let him—or anyone else, for that matter—know. If it weren’t for the heated glances he’d shot her way on more than one occasion, she would’ve given up long ago, but something—a strange connection, maybe—had always had her hoping for more from him.
After last night, when he’d held her in his arms while she slept, her hopes had lifted even more.
Although she knew better.
But right now, her need for him to be close had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with settling the unnerving feeling that was mutinying inside her. Except that wasn’t going to get her home, where she desperately wanted to be. She wanted to put this entire nightmare behind her, and locking herself away with a man who wasn’t going to give her what she wanted was only wasting precious time.
Trace reached for her hand, causing a riot of nerves to flutter in her belly. Without hesitation, Marissa flattened her fingers against his palm and allowed him to help her to her feet. She shouldn’t have touched him, but she had. It was a mistake, one she didn’t necessarily want to take back. When he simply turned her toward the door, grabbing the duffel bag from the bed on the way, she knew he’d merely been taking control of the situation.
Something Trace did regardless of who was or wasn’t around.
“So tell me more about the Adorite family,” Trace prompted, pulling her from her thoughts.
“What’s there to tell? You read the article.” While the four of them had eaten their meals in silence after their run-in with the police, Trace had gone over the article Ryan had provided him with more than once. Although the three men hadn’t discussed anything further, Marissa knew it was only because they’d had additional ears too close for comfort.
“How’d you stumble upon the Adorites?” Trace’s tone suggested he wasn’t playing games, nor was he asking her politely.
Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) Page 6