Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1)

by Nicole Edwards

  “We’re keeping it that way, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ve shut down all information on her going anywhere. At this point, it’s on a need-to-know basis, and no one needs to fucking know.”

  Trace could hear the irritation in RT’s voice and he understood it all too well. Whoever was selling Marissa out was putting her life in jeopardy, and if he had to guess, the bastard was right under their noses.

  Then it dawned on him… “We need to do some digging. Can we get bank account information on these people? Starting with Isaac?” he asked RT, nodding his head toward the paper in front of him.

  It was a logical conclusion. People were fueled by money, and some didn’t give a shit what the repercussions of their actions might be, as long as it was a means to an end.

  Fine thing to trade, a life for a dollar.

  Shaking his head, Trace did his best to chase away the thought that someone close to them would be willing to hand Marissa over for a buck. No matter the reason for their deceit, Trace wasn’t going to sit back and let the asshole have another leg up on them this time.

  RT nodded. “I’ll have Dom do some diggin’ for me.”

  “What about Casper and Bryce? Have you talked to them any more? Did you tell them about the body you uncovered?” Trace added, standing up straight.

  “Yeah. It didn’t go over well. You know my father. However, the casualty was the least of their concerns. In fact, they’d sent a cleanup crew up there already.”

  Trace knew how that worked. The body would disappear before anyone had time to dig deeper. “What about the insider? What do they think about that?”

  “They still don’t want to believe they could have a traitor in their mix, but they understand it’s a very real possibility,” RT answered.

  “Too real,” Trace mumbled. “Did you tell them about Isaac?”

  “Not yet, no.”

  “So what do we do from here?” Marissa asked.

  It was a valid question. Looking at her, Trace waited for RT to give them the next steps. Trace was keeping her under lock and key, and until there was sufficient reason, they wouldn’t be leaving the warehouse. It made for some interminably boring days to come, but at this point, keeping her safe was his only priority.

  “Right now, we’re at a standstill,” RT told Marissa before turning his attention back to Trace. “As we learned with Waters, they’re testing us, trying to find our weakness, so I expect them to make another appearance any day now.”

  The front door opened and Z stuck his head inside. At that moment, RT suddenly stopped talking, and Trace had to wonder why. Rather than ask, he kept his eyes on Marissa’s oldest brother as RT pushed to his feet.

  There was a sudden tension in the room, something heated and palpable that seemed to spark between Z and RT. Something that Trace didn’t think had anything to do with Marissa’s case or need-to-know information. This was … personal.

  “As soon as I know more, I’ll definitely let you know,” RT said, suddenly eager to head out.

  Cutting his eyes to Z, Trace saw the other man’s heated glare fixed on RT.

  What the fuck?

  When RT moved to the door, Trace pursued him, not willing to let him leave before he got a few more answers. Trace knew RT had probably come up with a plan, but obviously he wasn’t interested in sharing the details. Whether that was because of Z or Marissa, he wasn’t sure. Trace walked RT to the front door while Marissa followed close behind and Z moved inside.

  “I need to talk to him for a minute,” Trace told them, hating the betrayal he saw flash in Marissa’s eyes at his request.

  Rather than argue, Marissa turned on her heels and headed toward her bedroom, leaving the three of them alone. Trace didn’t want to risk her overhearing, and he wasn’t sure what the hell was going on between RT and Z, so he followed RT out into the narrow hallway.

  “What didn’t you say in there?” Trace asked RT directly when the door shut soundly behind them.

  RT thrust his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He was watching the door intently, as though he expected Z to come out any minute. He must’ve been satisfied that it wouldn’t happen, because he said, “I’ve got three agents stationed in the surrounding buildings, keeping an eye on your place. Not that I think they’re necessary,” RT added abruptly when Trace would’ve objected. “But I’m done playin’ these fucking games. It’s all goin’ down this time, Trace.”

  Trace swallowed the rebuttal when he saw the rage that contorted RT’s face. He agreed. It was beyond time that they eliminate the threat, and at this point, he didn’t give a shit how they went about it. As long as Marissa wasn’t caught in the crossfire.

  “So, you don’t think it’s the Southern Boy Mafia.” It wasn’t a question.

  “No, I don’t,” RT said obstinately. “But I do believe it’s somehow tied to them.”

  “One of their suppliers?”

  “Maybe,” RT stated. “It’s logical, don’t you think? The question we need to ask ourselves is who has something to lose if Marissa knows something? Max wasn’t lying to me. It’s not in his nature.”

  “But you said he didn’t tell you anything,” Trace ground out.

  “Not in so many words, no. He knows who it is, even I know that much.”

  “So why won’t he fucking say it?” Trace hated the fact that they could end this shit if Max would simply tell them who the fuck they were dealing with.

  “Ethics. Even the bad guys have them. It’s someone who works for him or with him. Not family, though. But whoever it is, they’ve got something to lose.”

  “And you think it’s tied to Isaac somehow?”

  RT nodded.

  “So what’s the next step?” Trace questioned.

  “Well, I didn’t want to mention this in front of Marissa, but Max invited us to a party on Tuesday night. He seemed insistent that we’d find all we need to know if we show up.”

  “We?” Trace inquired.

  “I’ll bring Courtney. You’ll bring Marissa. We’ll have Z, Conner, and Colby as backup. Clay, too, if we need him.”

  Trace stared back at RT, not sure how to respond to that. He didn’t like the idea of putting Marissa in that situation, out in the open. He didn’t like it one damn bit.

  “We’re at a standstill, Trace. This is our only option.”

  Fuck. He hated that RT was right. “Fine. But I call the shots where she’s concerned.”

  RT nodded. “In the meantime, I’m gonna get someone to trail Isaac while Dom digs into his background. If I’m right, we won’t have to go much further than that.”

  “I hope like hell you’re right,” Trace told him.

  “Me, too, man. Me, too.”

  Twenty-Nine

  As Ryan took the stairs down to the parking garage, he tried to ignore the anger that burned inside at the thought of one of their own betraying them. But as he’d expected, Trace had latched on to the same thing he had when he’d found out about Isaac Rhames.

  “Goddammit!” Ryan exclaimed as he stepped out into the garage, his voice echoing off the concrete walls and floor.

  “You okay?”

  Ryan spun around, instantly retrieving his gun from its holster and aiming directly at the man who’d questioned him.

  Z held his hands up in mock surrender, his face hard—though there was a small hint of amusement in his eyes—as he stared back at Ryan.

  “Sonuvabitch!” Ryan exclaimed before tucking his weapon back in its rightful place. “Don’t do that shit.”

  “Do what?” Z asked, lowering his hands to his sides. “Ask you a question?”

  “Fucking sneak up on me.”

  Z chuckled. “Dude, I find it hard to believe you didn’t see me.”

  Ryan hadn’t seen him. He hadn’t heard him, either, and that was a testament to how far into his own head he was getting these days.

  “What the fuck are you doing out here anyway?” he asked Z suspiciously. Not two minutes ago, Z had been
inside Trace’s apartment. Now… How the fuck he’d made it to the parking garage without Ryan seeing him had him questioning his own sanity.

  “Same reason you are,” Z replied. “Heading out.”

  Ryan cocked an eyebrow, trying to settle his nerves. He wasn’t about to ask Z where he was headed. He didn’t want to know. He damn sure didn’t want to know who Z was fucking these days. Shaking off the thought—not to mention the reason it bothered him so damn much—Ryan combed his fingers through his hair and pretended not to give a shit that he was standing just a few feet away from the man who made his fucking blood pound in his veins.

  “You get what you came for?” Z asked, a hint of knowledge backlighting his dark brown eyes. Ryan damn sure didn’t want to know what the guy thought he knew. Especially when it came to Ryan.

  “Just came to share some information,” Ryan answered nonchalantly.

  “Anything I need to know?” Z questioned.

  “Depends.”

  Z’s eyebrows lifted as he said, “On?”

  “On whether or not you’ve got time to help out.”

  “I’ll make time,” Z responded quickly.

  “Problems?”

  “Nope. I’m just ready for life to get back to normal. Like everyone else.”

  Ryan locked eyes with Z, understanding completely what the man was talking about. With Marissa in the house, the notorious playboy probably had to take care of his urges elsewhere, if, in fact, he brought his conquests home with him. Ryan didn’t feel sorry for the guy. Considering Z went through men like most men went through socks, a small road bump such as a houseguest probably didn’t slow him down any.

  Ryan wasn’t going to think about why he liked the fact that Z had to show a little restraint when it came to his extracurricular activities.

  “You look like shit,” Z offered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

  Ryan wasn’t going to argue. He felt like shit, so he wasn’t surprised that he looked the part. It’d been a long damn night.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a couple of errands to run,” Z told him as he moved toward the monochrome Ducati 1199 Superlegerra that he’d bought nearly a year ago. Funny how Ryan remembered the day Z had traded in his old bike for that one. The guy was moving up in the world, there was no doubt about that.

  “You do that,” Ryan mumbled as he started to walk toward his own motorcycle. “Hey, Z!” he called out, shifting so that he could walk backward.

  “Yeah?”

  Ryan watched the big man turn to face him, his face expressionless.

  “I actually do need your help on somethin’, so after you get done with your stuff, give me a call, would ya?”

  Z nodded, that damn twinkle in his eye hitting a nerve in Ryan, before turning away quickly.

  Ryan stared after him for a moment. He needed to head home to get some sleep. Then, hopefully, his head would be clear enough that he’d have half a chance of figuring this shit out once and for all.

  And then, once his sister was no longer in danger, maybe he’d figure out just what this connection between him and Z really was. Or if it was possibly just a figment of his overactive, definitely sleep-deprived, imagination.

  Thirty

  By the time Marissa emerged from the room she’d commandeered as her own, she had managed to calm herself somewhat. Having been shut out completely by Trace had pissed her off as much as it had hurt.

  She should’ve expected it.

  It wasn’t as though last night’s foray between the sheets should’ve made a difference, should it? A little naked-time did not mean they were in a relationship or that trust should run both ways.

  Well, okay … so, in her mind it had and it did, but clearly as far as Trace was concerned, she was just a name that hadn’t been checked on the need-to-know report.

  “Hey.”

  The deep rumble of Trace’s voice had Marissa coming up short as soon as she stepped into the living room.

  Trace was sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched her. He looked intense. Like… Oh no, he looked like he was pissed.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, stunning her by the sincerity she heard in his tone.

  Okay, so maybe he wasn’t pissed at her.

  Or maybe he was and she was reading him wrong. Either way, she couldn’t find the words to answer him. Her anger was still as vibrant as it had been when he’d dismissed her a short while ago.

  Ignoring him, she made her way into the kitchen, hoping there was still some coffee left. Thanks to the very little sleep she’d gotten the night before, a caffeine drip sounded like a good idea at that point. Since it wasn’t an option, she’d settle for a cup.

  The coffeepot was nearly empty. Shit.

  “I’ll make some more,” Trace said, startling her.

  She hadn’t seen him move, hadn’t heard him make a sound, but suddenly he was behind her.

  “I can make it,” she assured him, her tone clipped.

  Shit.

  She really didn’t want him to see how pissed off she was. It wasn’t like this was something new. She’d been shut out more times than she could count over the last year, so why it bothered her so much now, she wasn’t sure.

  Trace must’ve picked up on her irritation, because he held his hands up, palms out, as he backed away slowly. “Have at it.”

  Okay, so now he was pissed.

  What the hell was wrong with her?

  Not wanting to answer that question, Marissa moved around his kitchen, remembering exactly where he’d put all of the makings for the coffee. Filter, coffee, water … not too difficult.

  As she rinsed the coffee carafe and refilled it, Marissa noticed her hands were shaking. The glass container clanged against the stainless steel sink, and she had to set it down momentarily to try and gain her composure.

  As she took slow, measured breaths, Marissa felt marginally better. But it wasn’t until Trace was back by her side that the calm suddenly settled over her.

  How did he do that? How did his mere presence make everything better even when he was the one she was upset with?

  Trace’s big, warm hands came up and cupped her shoulders gently as he stood directly behind her, his chest pressing against her back.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “For what?” she asked, unable to hide the irritation.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear about…”

  Trace didn’t finish his statement, leaving Marissa lost on what they were talking about. Shutting off the water, she turned to face him, coffee no longer the most important thing on her agenda.

  “About what?” she implored.

  Marissa met Trace’s gaze head on and that’s when she saw it. He wasn’t sorry that he’d shut her out of the conversation he’d had with Ryan. He was upset that she’d been a part of the conversation as a whole.

  “I didn’t want you to know,” he said softly, his eyes darting over her face. “I swear to God, Marissa. It was you or him. That’s the only reason…”

  Once again, his sentence was left dangling between them, and then the real reason for his apology hit her.

  “Trace,” she whispered, her hands instinctively reaching for him as all of her anger over the situation subsided.

  “The only thing I could think about was getting you out of there,” he explained, his words rushed.

  “Stop,” she said adamantly. Trace’s body went rigid at her demand. “You did what you had to do. And I know you’d do it all over again. I would, too, if I’d been in your shoes.” And she would’ve. If it came down to Trace or some nameless, faceless man who was hell-bent on doing the unthinkable, Marissa wouldn’t shed a tear before or after pulling the trigger.

  Trace pulled away from her, thrusting his hands into his short, spiky hair.

  Marissa stood there watching him. Admiring him.

  The man was… He was almost too perfect. His body was a gift from the hea
vens, lean and ripped with muscle. His face looked as though it’d been chiseled to perfection. And when he smiled… Holy crap, when he smiled, it was enough to knock Marissa off her feet.

  But he wasn’t smiling now. He appeared almost lost. Dazed and confused.

  “I didn’t want you to know,” he clarified, his tone much stronger than before as he stood staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a fairly serene view of the city.

  Rather than argue with him, because frankly, she knew she’d lose this one, Marissa moved up behind him. It was her turn to touch him. She placed her hands on his back, feeling the flex of his muscles beneath his warm skin as she laid her palms against him.

  His skin was tan and smooth, and she had the sudden urge to place her lips against him. Worried that he would pull away from her, Marissa didn’t do anything impulsive. Instead, she stood there, letting her fingers graze over the planes and angles of his back momentarily.

  When he didn’t move, she inched closer until she was pressed up against him, wrapping her arms around him, her palms flattening on his chest.

  Was she an idiot? Maybe.

  After last night, Marissa wasn’t sure what was going on between the two of them, but she knew without a doubt that what had happened between them had been mutual. She hadn’t imagined the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d touched her, the way he’d made love to her.

  And maybe she was overthinking things. Maybe he wasn’t interested in anything more than sating the hunger, but she didn’t think that was the case.

  Was he serious about her?

  Crap. Now her mind was beginning an internal battle of what was she thinking, but for some reason, her heart couldn’t accept that last night had only been a convenient way to take the edge off.

  “Marissa.”

  She was pulled back to the present by the tortured sound of her name on Trace’s lips, and that’s when she realized she’d wrapped her arms around him and had placed a kiss to the center of his back. Unable to stop herself, she continued.