Funny, witty, handsome… Yes, those were qualities she liked about Trace.
Not that thinking about him was helping much, but she’d much rather do that than to think about what he’d saved her from or what would’ve happened had he not shown up that night.
A flash of movement in the driveway pulled Marissa from the memory. She watched as the solid black sport bike blasted down the driveway, clearing the security gate before it was completely open. Transfixed on the rider until he was out of sight, Marissa swallowed hard.
So much for her theory that he was there to keep an eye on her. Trace had left, and for some reason, she felt alienated, although there was more than enough manpower in her house to ensure her safety.
But wasn’t he supposed to be her shadow? And why did she really care that he’d left?
Maybe that was because part of her wanted Trace to be there for other reasons.
□«»□«»□«»□
“Where’d you say he was headed?” Trace asked Z, talking to the other man via the Bluetooth speaker in his helmet as he flew past the steel gate.
“According to Dom, he’s westbound on 635,” Z informed him. “Give me two minutes; I’ll have you connected directly with him.”
“Roger that.” Trace didn’t disconnect the call as he veered onto the highway onramp, scanning the cars in front of him for a black Ford Taurus. According to RT’s cousin Dominic, who’d called moments after their meeting had concluded, they had a watcher staked out just outside the compound, and the guy hadn’t moved for a solid half hour.
As soon as he’d heard the news, Trace had informed RT that he was going after him. Considering they had so little to go on, he was damned curious as to who was watching the house. Unfortunately, locating a black car on the busy highway during rush-hour traffic was the equivalent of finding a needle in a haystack.
Trace veered in and out of traffic, taking advantage of the maneuverability of his motorcycle to bypass the slow-moving vehicles in the two right lanes. A brief click sounded in his headset, alerting him to the fact that Z had indeed connected him directly with Dominic.
“Talk to me,” he told the man.
“Sorry it took me so long,” Dominic Trexler said. “I hacked into eyes in the sky, and I found him. Looks like luck is on this guy’s side because he’s managed to make it a couple of miles ahead of you. He’s takin’ US-75 south as we speak, headin’ toward downtown.”
Fuck.
Trace saw the southbound ramp for US-75 and swerved over, narrowly missing a dump truck entering the last on-ramp.
“Were you able to run his plates?”
“Not yet, but we’re tryin’,” Dom confirmed.
He didn’t bother hanging up with Dom, instead allowing him to feed him directions as he sped up, hoping like hell the DPD weren’t out patrolling. If they were, he’d be screwed.
“He’s still southbound. You’ve got a minute, maybe two before the traffic comes to a complete stop. I suggest you hug the shoulder.”
Easier said than done. There were numerous on-ramps, likely the main reason for so much congestion at eight-thirty in the morning.
“He exited,” Dom told him suddenly. “Elm Street.”
“Tell me which direction he goes,” Trace stated, gunning the engine and once again using all the skill he possessed to squeeze between and around the slow-moving traffic.
“West,” Dom said, the man’s calm tone sounding in his ears.
“West? Where the fuck is he going?” Trace relied on his knowledge of the area, trying to pinpoint where this guy was headed but coming up empty. Figuring there was only one way to find out, he didn’t let off the throttle.
When Trace hit the light at Elm, he sent up a silent thank-you because it was green. As soon as he saw an opening, he swerved around a silver sedan, once again narrowly missing another car as it pulled out of a parking lot onto the busy road.
“He’s turnin’ on Griffin, headin’ over to Commerce.”
Trace wasn’t far behind, but he knew he wasn’t going to catch the bastard before he hit the next intersection.
“He turned left on Commerce, heading… Oh, shit.”
“What?” Trace inquired as he took a sharp left onto Lamar after missing the light at Griffin thanks to a bottleneck in the road.
“Fuck, Trace. The guy just pulled into the lot across from the building that houses the ATF and the U.S. Marshalls.”
Fuck was right.
Trace came to a stop at the intersection at Lamar and Commerce, waiting for the light to turn green. When it finally did, he turned left onto Commerce, going slow while he waited for Dom to tell him more.
“He’s crossing the street, going into the building.”
“Call RT and tell him,” Trace said, gritting his teeth, pissed that he couldn’t catch the guy.
“Will do.”
“And let him know I’m headin’ to the office. He can meet me there.”
“Ten-four,” Dom said and then disconnected the call.
Trace kept his head down as he passed the building Dom had been referring to, his eyes scanning the area around him, but there were a handful of people walking along the sidewalk, none of whom were likely the guy who’d been sitting outside the compound.
“Son of a fucking bitch,” he grumbled to himself, once again heading toward the highway.
Now he had another question to add to the list: just who the hell were they dealing with?
Ten
Later that evening
“Hey, baby,” Bryce Trexler greeted his wife when she joined him in his home office shortly after they’d had dinner. He usually retired to his office for a glass of his favorite scotch, doing his best to decompress after a long day.
And today had been one of the longest in quite some time.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The minutes that had passed while Bryce waited impatiently for his daughter to be retrieved—praying that not a single hair on her beautiful head had been harmed—had been the most painful.
And then last night … while he’d waited with Emily for Marissa to walk through the front door, the minutes had ticked by so slowly there’d been times he’d thought the damn clock was broken.
Thankfully, that waiting game was over and Marissa was home safe and sound.
For now.
“Hey,” Emily replied sweetly.
Sometimes Bryce wondered how he’d managed to ever land a woman as sweet, sexy, and wonderful as his bride of nearly thirty-five years. He hadn’t deserved her, but she would never agree with him on that. And the fact that she’d put up with him for this long only proved how incredible she was.
Pushing back from his desk, he motioned Emily over, taking her hand and pulling her onto his lap. “Everything okay?” he asked, noticing the clouds forming in her pretty blue eyes as he cupped her face and studied her.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“On whether or not you’re planning to send Marissa off again.”
Bryce sighed, swiping his thumb over the smooth skin of Emily’s cheek. He’d known they’d be having this conversation sooner or later. From the moment Marissa had stepped foot back in the house, Emily had been back to her usual chipper self—after the fifteen-minute crying jag both women had engaged in—despite the fact that they all knew trouble was barreling down on them quickly.
“That’s not my plan,” he told her softly, pulling her close and pressing his lips to hers. “It’s never been my plan.”
After kissing him back, Emily snuggled closer, burying her face in his neck, her nose pressed against him. “Thank God.”
Wrapping his arms around her small body, Bryce held her close, relishing the feel of her in his arms. “I’ll do whatever I can to get her life back for her,” Bryce told her.
“I know you will,” Emily replied. “I think this time, though, we all need to have a say in it. Including Marissa.”
Bryce nodded his head. He wasn’t sure he agreed
with his wife completely on that, but he understood where she was coming from. After their morning discussion, Bryce had kept Ryan back and encouraged him to drop everything he was doing until they could put a stop to the danger that was lurking around Marissa. They’d put up with the same shit for going on a year, and they seemed to be no further along than they had been in the beginning, despite the fact they suspected that the Adorites were involved.
Perhaps they’d been lax because hiding her away had been easier. Not more effective, not what any of them wanted, just easier.
“You asked Trace to keep an eye on her?” Emily questioned.
Smiling, Bryce squeezed Emily a little tighter. “I didn’t have to.”
Emily lifted her head, meeting Bryce’s gaze. “What does that mean?”
“It means he took it on himself. I always knew that boy had feelings for her.”
Emily chuckled. “I think we all did. Everyone but Trace and Marissa.” Emily dropped her head to his shoulder once more. “Do you think he’s the right man for the job? Not because he’s not capable,” she clarified. “I mean because he has feelings for her.”
“I think that makes him the perfect man for the job.” Bryce knew that when a man set his sights on a woman, nothing or no one would come between him and that woman. In Trace’s case, the man was on a mission to rid the world of the evil that had shaken up Marissa’s world. And if Bryce had to guess, Trace wouldn’t rest until it was gone completely.
“Do you think she’s safe here?” Emily asked hesitantly.
Bryce contemplated the question for a moment. Shaking his head sadly, he replied, “No, I don’t.”
“But you’ve never thought any of us were safe here,” Emily countered.
“True.” Thanks to the enemies he’d made in his lifetime, Bryce wasn’t overly optimistic when it came to keeping his family safe. That didn’t mean he hadn’t gone to great lengths to do just that. Although he was the most trained man to do so, he still worried. He would always worry. His family was his life. Without them, he would be nothing.
His cell phone rang, and Emily shifted on his lap, allowing him to reach over and grab it. Glancing at the screen, he didn’t recognize the number, but he hit the talk button anyway.
“Trexler,” he answered sternly.
“Mr. Trexler, my name’s Dan Duchein. I’m with the Dallas field office of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms.”
The ATF? There was no way this was a coincidence.
“What can I help you with?” Bryce asked casually, meeting Emily’s gaze as she got to her feet.
“I wanted to reach out to you, see if we could meet.”
Bryce didn’t say anything.
“Possibly tomorrow? I could come to your house or even meet you at your office,” Duchein continued.
“I’ll have to check my schedule,” Bryce lied. He didn’t need to check his schedule, but he damn sure intended to do a little checking of other things before he agreed to meet with the ATF. “Were you the one watching my house today?”
The man cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. I had wanted to stop by, but I figured it would be best to schedule an appointment. I’m sure you’re a very busy man.”
Bryce could hear tension in the man’s tone, and if he had to guess, the guy was lying through his teeth. He hadn’t been there to chat, he’d been casing the house. Odd since they hadn’t had a single stalker in all the time Marissa had been away.
“I can meet with you tomorrow, at my office,” Bryce told him after a moment of silence. “Eleven o’clock?”
“That’d be fine. I look forward to talking with you.”
“Likewise,” Bryce said, thinking just the opposite.
“Who was that?” Emily asked when he set his phone back on the desk.
“Dan Duchein. Said he’s with the ATF.”
“What does he want with you?” she asked defensively, her ocean-blue eyes alight with curiosity.
“I don’t think this is about me,” he told her honestly, although he didn’t go into detail about the incident that afternoon where he’d learned that Trace had followed a man, likely this Dan Duchein, back to his office building.
“And you’re going to meet with him tomorrow?”
Bryce nodded.
Emily didn’t seem pleased with the idea, but she didn’t say anything. She merely stared back at him. What she saw, he had no idea. He figured he might as well tell her the conclusion he had come to, hoping that would ease her mind a little. “I’m not sending Marissa away, Em. I promise. I don’t know what we’ll do, but I’m open to suggestions. In the meantime, we’ve doubled security here at the house, and all the agents are keeping their eyes peeled. We’ll find this bastard this time, I can promise you that.”
“I know you will,” Emily said, smiling back at him, the gesture forced. “I’ve never doubted you for a second. Just do me a favor, would you?”
“What’s that?” he asked, shifting so that he could lean back in his chair.
“Bring Casper in. He deserves to know about … whatever this is.” Her eyes moved to his phone and then back to meet his.
Bryce swallowed. “I know he does.” Casper deserved to know a lot of things, but at the moment, Bryce wasn’t quite sure what they were even dealing with. Not yet anyway.
“Do you still think Marissa’s not telling us something?”
Bryce nodded. “I don’t know. I think she’s uncovered something. Possibly something big. But I’m not sure she even knows what that is.”
“Do you think she’d tell us if she had?”
“No idea,” Bryce stated, not telling her the complete truth.
It wasn’t that he believed Marissa would purposely hold back information that could solve this, but he had a suspicion she would keep some of the details to herself if she thought it would keep others safe.
The same reason they all kept their suspicions close to the vest. They worried about one another, wanted to protect those they loved. It was a bad habit that’d started long ago, keeping secrets and trying to battle the evil individually, rather than as a team.
As far as Bryce was concerned, there was only one problem with that…
As a team, they were damn near invincible.
Individually, Bryce feared they were as good as dead.
□«»□«»□«»□
“Anything new on this thing with Marissa?” Frank asked, his booming voice echoing through the large living room, where Casper and his father had retreated a few minutes ago after they’d finished dinner.
Standing at the back window, Casper stared out into the night and responded to his father with a curt, “No.”
“But she’s safe and sound for the moment?”
“Appears that way.” Casper wasn’t sure safe and sound was the right terminology to describe where Marissa stood.
They were all keeping an eye out, waiting for the other shoe to drop. After hearing RT tell the story about the assholes who’d tried to run Trace and Marissa down a few days ago, Casper knew they hadn’t seen the last of those guys. And since they’d learned of the man who—for reasons they weren’t sure of—had been watching the compound, he was doubly curious. He didn’t figure these guys were going to sit back and wait too long. As it was, they’d been playing this fucking game for damn near a year. And quite frankly, Casper was getting sick and tired of playing along with them.
Goddamn Adorites. What the fuck were they after? This didn’t seem their style. That family was the devil incarnate, but Casper had always suspected that behind all that corruptness, there was a little bit of good. Putting a target on a young woman’s head, sentencing her to death, reeked of pure evil.
“Coffee?” Liz asked, sticking her head in the room.
“That’d be great,” Casper answered his wife, thrusting his hands into his pockets and turning to face his father.
“Decaf?” Frank inquired. “This old fart wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he was caffeinated after six o
’clock.”
Liz chuckled and gifted Frank with one of her stunning smiles. “Of course,” she said, then nodded at Casper before disappearing once again.
“What’s got your shorts in a bunch, young man?” Frank asked.
Casper smirked at his father. There was only one man in the world who still called him young, or made reference to his shorts being in a bunch, come to think of it. At eighty-one, Frank Kogan had probably earned the right, but still. Casper damn sure didn’t feel young these days, and it had nothing to do with his age.
“Just tryin’ to figure out what the hell is goin’ on,” Casper told Frank as he paced from one side of the room to the other.
Frank reached his long arm along the back of the couch, crossing one aging knee over the other. “With Marissa?”
“With all of it,” Casper stated abruptly.
He wasn’t merely contemplating the shit storm that was surrounding Bryce’s daughter, Marissa. And by association, now Trace. As much as he wanted to figure that out, there were so many other things on Casper’s mind these days. Things that were weighing him down, making him feel far older than his fifty-nine years.
“You worried about Shelby?” Frank questioned, his voice low as though he were trying to keep the topic of their conversation within the four walls of the living room.
“Of course I’m worried about her,” Casper growled, turning to face his father.
Shelby was Casper’s fourteen-year-old granddaughter. His oldest son Conner’s daughter. The kid had lost her mother to a brutal, violent crime just eighteen short months ago, and her father was out of sorts.
Hell, they all were, at this point.
Although Conner and Tricia had gotten pregnant while they were both still in high school, the two of them had managed to keep things together. It had been them against the world for a while because they, Casper included, had all doubted that things would work out. Conner and Tricia had gone and proven them all wrong, staying together, getting married, having Shelby.
Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) Page 9