They still didn’t have an identity on the dead man yet, but based on what they could logically assume, the remains were probably those of the man who’d planted the bomb. Trace’s perfect timing had likely put a wrench in the plan, and the guy had been in search of Marissa when the bomb had gone off. But it was all speculation at this point, and until Ryan got word back from his source—or a firsthand account from Trace, which he’d yet to get—he wasn’t going to jump to conclusions.
“So they’ve narrowed down her location to the compound?”
“Looks that way. And I’ve notified Tanner. He’s worried about my mom.”
Rightfully so, Ryan thought to himself. Especially since they’d recently devised a plan to mislead folks into believing Marissa was really staying at the compound, although she was no longer there. That decision alone put all of their parents in danger—the main reason Ryan had opted to temporarily move back into the main house until this was resolved once and for all. That way he could keep an eye on his mother and his father. But he couldn’t be multiple places at the same time, so Hunter and Tanner would need to step up and make sure that Liz and Steph were protected.
“What about Conner? You let him know yet?” Dom asked.
Just like Dom, Ryan knew that Conner would be the first one to insist that Steph, Emily, and Liz be shipped off to a safe house as well, for their own protection. Not that any of their mothers would go willingly. It took a strong-willed woman to marry men like TJ, Casper, and Bryce, and when it came down to it, Steph, Liz, and Emily would fight for what was important to them—and nothing was more important than family.
“Yeah, I shot him a text. He’s on his way over there now,” Ryan confirmed. Had Conner stuck around, he would’ve learned that earlier.
“Good deal. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said, reaching for a coffee mug. “I’ll let TJ, Bryce, and Casper know this new development when I see them, and we’ll figure out a plan. Until then, I need you to monitor this and let me know as soon as you learn anything else.”
Dom nodded and turned to walk away, but Ryan called him back. “Hey. Do me a favor.”
Dominic cocked an eyebrow and met his stare.
“Don’t share this news with anyone else. Not until I give you the go-ahead.”
Dom’s eyebrows shot up, but his cousin had the decency not to argue.
Another brief nod was all Dom offered before he darted out of the break room, leaving Ryan alone.
Shit. Now came the hard part. Sharing the most recent news with his father.
But first, he needed to have a conversation with Decker. The guy clearly needed something to do besides flirt with Ryan’s cousin. And he’d take care of that, right after he messaged Z, letting him know where their rendezvous point would be tonight.
Shit.
His body instantly hardened.
Bad choice of words.
It’s not like that. And never will be.
Twenty
Trace stood in his kitchen, a bottle of water in hand as he stared out the massive, floor-to-ceiling, bullet-proof pane of glass that overlooked downtown Fort Worth.
The view was one of the things he liked most about the place. The other was the anonymity he had in the area. In his line of work, being hard to find was critical.
It didn’t seem to matter how discreet or how far undercover they all had gone at one time or another, there was always the potential of being identified, which could prove to be a fatal error if and when someone were to find them. Trace had managed to pretty much stay off the radar with his nontraditional location, and that was saying something, because he knew for certain he’d been ID’d on at least one job.
That particular clusterfuck had been an epic failure if ever there was one. Both he and Z had been made, which had put their lives in precarious danger for a brief amount of time. Luckily, they’d been deep undercover, which had meant their true identities were about the only things that hadn’t been figured out.
That was probably the only reason they were still alive and breathing.
After all, drug cartels didn’t take kindly to outsiders invading their territory. Especially when the outsiders were looking to unearth a missing person—a wealthy businessman who had some unique ties to the Columbian government—which they’d had in their clutches for going on sixteen months.
The fact that any of them had gotten out alive was still surprising, but as was their mantra, never underestimate anyone. Not yourself and certainly not your enemy.
Trace ran his hands over his hair. What was left of it anyway. Thanks to that op gone awry, he’d had to resort to the too-short buzz he’d worn when he was in the military, and somewhere along the way, he’d grown used to it once again.
The sound of footsteps on the hardwood had Trace turning to see Marissa as she made her way out of the bedroom. She still seemed to be in awe as she stared around his place, checking it out. He couldn’t help but wonder what she’d expected, but her expression was clearly one of wonder. He wasn’t sure whether he should be flattered or offended.
Not that it mattered what she thought either way because the woman wouldn’t be there long.
Maybe.
“Hungry?” he asked, trying to remember to be a good host as he fought the idea of Marissa being in his house permanently. The idea was not a bad one but one he still didn’t care to think about.
“No, but I wouldn’t object to coffee.”
Good, something he could do. Trace moved across the open kitchen to the coffeepot. He made quick work of getting it started as he watched her.
“How long do you think I’ll be here?” she asked.
“Already itchin’ to go home?” he countered snidely.
Marissa’s lips formed a hard line, but she didn’t say anything in response to his sarcasm.
He quelled the urge to remind her this had been her final decision. If he would’ve considered all points before running off at the mouth, they’d still be at her parents’ house and she’d be holed up in her bedroom. And he’d be … anywhere but where she was.
Oh, who the fuck was he kidding? When he’d tossed out the suggestion of sticking close to her parents, he’d been more than hoping she’d choose to go with the original plan. Which she had. And now, he was hyperaware of her, and that was the real problem. Keeping her at a distance had been relatively easy. Until now.
No one to blame but yourself.
When the coffee maker spit and hissed its completion, Trace grabbed a mug and filled it. “Cream or sugar?” he asked.
“No, black is fine.”
Sliding the cup toward her on the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen, Trace then leaned back against the island and crossed his arms over his chest.
“You don’t mind me being here?” she asked softly, sounding suddenly very unsure of herself.
Trace’s defenses lowered slightly at the vulnerability in her eyes.
“I don’t mind,” he assured her, pausing to study her before adding, “It shouldn’t be long. We’ll find this bastard, and your life will finally be back to normal.”
At least he hoped that would be the case. For his own sanity.
“Right,” she replied, still standing as she took her first sip of coffee. “Like I even know what normal is anymore.”
Neither of them said anything for a couple of minutes, and then he was saved by the ringing of his cell phone. Unclipping it from his belt, Trace glanced at the number and then hit the talk button.
“Kogan,” he said calmly.
“It’s Deck.”
“I know who it is, bro.” Trace laughed, watching Marissa as he listened to Decker Bromwell.
“You want me on the Chastin case?”
No, he didn’t want one of his best fucking agents handling a damn cheating spouse case. “Who the fuck told you to handle that one?”
“RT,” Deck confirmed.
“Don’t listen to RT. Hand that one off to
Isaac.”
Deck laughed, not an ounce of humor in it. “You gonna talk to RT? ’Cause I damn sure don’t plan to tell him no.”
“Yeah, I’ll talk to him. For now, I want you to take over the skips. Only temporary, though. We’ve got too many right now and not enough people looking out for them. In the meantime, become Dom’s shadow and fill in on the monitors when he can’t.”
“Will do,” Deck stated. “Let me know if you need me.”
Trace didn’t say anything more before hitting the end button and clipping his phone back to his belt.
“How many people are working for Sniper One now?” Marissa asked as she climbed up onto one of the barstools.
“Twenty-four last I counted,” he answered easily. He didn’t bother to tell her that was only in the US. There were a handful more who worked permanently out of the country, but Sniper 1 kept them on the down low, choosing not to draw attention to their overseas business.
“Impressive,” she told him, looking quite bored.
“Why? You lookin’ to come on board?”
“Not a chance.”
“Why not?”
“I think Sniper One has enough hands on deck. Don’t need me pitching in. I don’t have any interest in chasing down the bad guys.”
Just being chased by them, Trace thought.
Even with the information he now had, he couldn’t help but wonder how Marissa had become a target. From the beginning, he’d always assumed there were three possible reasons, although, these days, he was leaning more heavily toward one specific one.
First option, she was the only member of her entire family who wasn’t an agent, which meant she exuded vulnerability in a big way. Even he thought that one didn’t seem feasible. Not enough to define why she’d be the intended target and not one of the others. Two, Bryce had pissed off the wrong person and the easiest target was his only daughter. Or three, Marissa had pissed off the wrong people with that damn blogging shit she did.
If it were a multiple choice question, Trace was definitely going with number three.
Based on the new evidence they had, he didn’t think they were heading in the wrong direction, either. Not that it mattered, because regardless of the reason, Trace was going to protect her with his life. Even if that meant enduring the constant hard-on that seemed to be an ever-present thing when she was around.
Forcing his thoughts away from the part of his anatomy that jumped up and took notice whenever she was around, Trace focused on her once more. “Before you do anything, I want you to give me your laptop,” he told her while he was thinking about it.
“I’m not giving up my laptop.” Marissa’s steadfast argument was exactly what he’d expected.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get it back. I just need to do something. Don’t want anyone tracing it back here.” Trace wouldn’t bother to tell her that they’d done that every damn time they’d hidden her and it could very well be pointless, but it was a safety precaution that he was willing to go the extra mile for. If he could keep her IP address bouncing, even if they did get a bead on her, it might keep them guessing for a while.
Before Marissa could argue, Z walked through the front door, making a ruckus as he did. Trace grinned. As though they’d be doing anything that the man could possibly interrupt.
“What’s up?” Trace asked, downing what was left of his water as he shifted his attention to the giant walking into his living room.
“Wanted to give you a heads up that Dom’s coming over. He wants to man the computers from here.”
“You have computers here?” Marissa asked, glancing between the two men.
Z laughed. “We’ve been dubbed CCB—Command Central Backup.”
Ignoring Z’s response, Trace attempted to remain on topic. “And he can’t do that at his own damn house, why?” Trace wasn’t stupid. Dom was coming over to keep an eye on Marissa, and he had a feeling this was all Clay’s idea.
“No idea. I didn’t ask questions.”
Grabbing his phone, Trace scanned through his contacts until he found Dom’s number. Typing out a quick text, he told Marissa’s cousin that it was a no go. He didn’t need a fucking babysitter. Once that text was sent, he scrolled until he got to Clay’s name.
The message he sent Clay said: Un-fucking-cool.
“All right then,” Z stated, sounding uncomfortable. “I’m out.” The big man turned and headed back to the door. Before he made his exit, he turned to face Trace again. “Oh, and I’ll … uh… I’d planned to go out tonight, but … but now I’ll be meetin’ RT. When I’m done with that, I’ll be out. Late. Probably not home till mornin’.”
Trace nodded. “Duly noted.”
“Cool,” Z said, his gaze darting between him and Marissa before he turned for the door.
“Am I gonna be interrupting something?” Marissa asked when Z left.
“Nope,” Trace answered, glancing down at the text he had just received from Clay.
Someone needs to keep an eye on you.
Bullshit was Trace’s response to that. He didn’t need a babysitter and neither did Marissa. Nothing was going to happen.
“I don’t want to be in the way,” Marissa said, and this time Trace looked up at her.
“What do you think you’ll be interrupting?”
Marissa glanced down at her coffee cup for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I don’t know. Women?”
She sounded nervous.
“No women comin’ here,” he informed her.
“Are you sure?”
Trace laughed without mirth. “What? You think they just show up at all hours of the day and night, Marissa? I’m beginnin’ to wonder just what the hell kind of man you take me for.”
Marissa’s face fell and Trace suddenly felt like a dickhead.
“I don’t bring women here, Marissa,” he went on to explain, letting the anger drain from his tone.
He didn’t bother to tell her that not having visitors was part of keeping off the grid, which meant his hookups were done elsewhere. Z was the same way, sometimes disappearing for several nights at a time. Z even went so far as to not use his real name with the men he met as an added precaution—strange as that was.
“And I haven’t been with anyone in a while.” What the fuck? Why the hell had he tacked that on? He’d been doing just fine, so why the hell did his mouth have to get away from him?
Shit.
“What’s ‘a while’?” she asked, and Trace took her question as the fishing expedition he suspected it to be. He knew he shouldn’t rise to her bait, but he couldn’t help himself. There was something about the woman that pulled at him. For some unknown reason, he didn’t want her thinking bad about him.
“A long while.” At least two months, and his balls were beginning to feel the repercussions of his abstinence. Especially when Marissa Trexler was sitting in his kitchen staring back at him with big blue eyes that held a hint of longing in them. Something she’d never been able to hide from him.
“Okay.”
Trace smirked. He wasn’t sure she’d meant to say anything at all, but obviously she approved.
And he had no idea why he liked that.
A lot.
Twenty-One
Awkward.
Yeah, that was definitely the word to describe what Marissa was feeling as she sat at Trace’s breakfast bar, watching him stare back at her. Until recent events, it wasn’t often that the two of them were alone together. Most of the time, she at least had Courtney to run interference, which had always been Marissa’s saving grace, because even though she wasn’t uncomfortable around Trace, she was still incredibly aware of the man.
No Courtney today.
No anyone today, in fact.
Relief had surfaced for a brief second when Z had walked through the door, but unfortunately he hadn’t stayed long, and now Marissa didn’t know what she was supposed to do. As much as she tried to relax, it was still disconcerting to be at Trace’s place. Alone with hi
m.
“So…” Okay, so she had absolutely no idea what to say, but she felt like something needed to be said.
“So what?”
Blurting the first thing that came to mind, Marissa answered with, “So, y’all agree no more safe houses for me then?”
She asked the question with as much positivity as she could, injecting a whole lot of smile in the words because even she had to admit the topic wasn’t a fun one. Then again, she’d readily discuss pretty much anything if it meant she didn’t have to think about Trace with other women.
The thought had never sat well with her.
So now, at least maybe they could get the topic back on neutral ground.
“Not if I have a say in the matter,” he mumbled beneath his breath.
Marissa stared at him, her smile faltering slightly. She never quite knew how to take Trace’s comments. Was he speaking from a purely business point of view or… Yeah, she probably shouldn’t go there.
“Do you? Have a say in the matter, that is?”
Aside from it being her suggestion when it had come down to relocating her to the first safe house, Marissa hadn’t had much say in the matter. But she knew Trace had quite a bit of sway with the family, especially when it came to business. He knew his stuff.
Trace cocked his head and smiled, the dimple in his left cheek flashing with his crooked grin. “I’d like to think so.”
Something about the gleam in Trace’s eyes told her there might be an innuendo in there somewhere. She had to pretend that she hadn’t noticed, though, because at this point, business was the only safe subject.
“Well, if I have a say in the matter,” she told him, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug and staring into the inky black liquid, “I’d prefer to avoid them as much as possible.”
There was silence for a moment, and Marissa was about to excuse herself back to the bedroom, where she could hide away from the man with the million-megawatt smile.
Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) Page 18