Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) (29 page)

So, RT had held true to his word. Trace
wasn’t surprised, but he knew the difference a day could make. If a suspicion
arose and someone brought it up, there were times when sharing certain
information was necessary.

“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.”

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.

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 heavens, 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.

He wasn’t pulling away, which was a good
thing, right?

“Fuck,” he growled, his hands reaching
back for her, grabbing her hips and pulling her flush against him as she
continued to trail kisses over his smooth, warm skin.

He smelled like … Trace. That was the only
way she could describe it. Like soap and man and need. Sex and promises
mingling into a delicious scent that she wanted to inhale into her lungs and
keep there for eternity.

When his fingers began kneading her hips,
pulling her impossibly close to him, she damn near lost her mind. Here they
were standing in the middle of his kitchen, and she knew without a doubt what
was about to happen.

And for her, the only fear she had was
that it wouldn’t happen soon enough.

□«»□«»□«»□

Trace wasn’t a man who battled with his
emotions. No, he didn’t shy away from them, didn’t try to pretend he had
absolutely no feelings whatsoever in order to protect himself. But he also
wasn’t used to being inundated with them on a regular basis, either.

It seemed as though, for the last few
months, he’d done little else besides ensure Marissa was protected, keep a safe
distance from her, and try to convince himself that, no, he wasn’t in love with
the woman.

He’d apparently failed at all three.

From the moment he’d stepped back inside
his apartment after RT left, he’d been waiting for her to emerge from her room,
yet not strong enough to go to her. He couldn’t help but think she was hiding
from him, probably trying to come to accept the fact that he was a killer.

He’d seen the look on her face when he’d
admitted to killing the man in her house. And no, he had absolutely no remorse.
In his mind, it had been her or that bastard, and Trace would go to the depths
of hell to ensure that nothing happened to her. He damn sure hadn’t lost an
ounce of sleep over it.

But what made his head reel was the way
she was touching him now. Her soft, cool fingers against his naked skin, her
lips brushing against him. He was quickly losing what was left of the tattered
remnants of his control.

What made it worse was the fact that he
wanted nothing more than what they had right that moment. The two of them,
alone in his apartment, the rest of the world shut out completely. No danger,
no interference, and most importantly, no interruptions.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned when Marissa’s
hands slid up his chest, her fingers gently teasing his nipples as she did. For
half a second, he feared he might just come in his jeans. When she touched him,
he was reduced to nothing more than a jumble of hormones whose sole interest
was how good she made him feel. He hadn’t expected it, but fuck, he wished
she’d never stop.

He sucked in a harsh breath when her hands
made a quick U-turn, detouring south. And then she was easily sliding the
button on his jeans free before lowering the zipper. His cock was aching to
break free, desperately in need of her touch.

“Oh, God, Marissa,” he moaned, unsure
whether his legs would hold him up as she slipped her hand into the waistband
of his boxers and wrapped her smooth fingers around his dick, gently stroking
him.

How had they gotten to this point? He
couldn’t answer that because the reason was no longer important. The only thing
he could focus on was the way her soft lips pressed to his skin, her gentle fingers
molded to his cock.

“I need you,” she whispered against him,
her words muffled as she continued to press her lips against his back, her fist
stroking him more urgently.

Yeah, well, he needed her, too. More than
he cared to admit. Although, he wasn’t doing a damn good job of keeping that
tidbit of information to himself. Hell, last night, when he’d been buried deep
inside of her, he’d lost a part of himself. She’d stolen what was left of his
ability to keep her at a distance, and he’d let down his guard.

Somehow, Marissa Trexler had managed to
sneak her way into his heart, into his soul, and he’d welcomed her with open
arms, ignoring everything else. Including what he was supposed to be focused
on.

Protecting her.

Seducing her was not part of his job
description, but no matter how many times he’d tried to convince himself that
she was off-limits, Trace was throwing caution to the wind. He was tired of
fucking holding back, tired of keeping himself at a safe distance from the one
and only woman he’d ever…

Shit, he couldn’t admit it, not even to
himself, although he knew it was true.

But God help him, he couldn’t stop
himself. He’d wanted this woman for as long as he could remember. And it
wouldn’t have mattered if he’d just had her ten minutes ago, he would still
want her again.

And again.

Just when he would’ve turned to face her,
Marissa moved around so that she was between him and the window. Instinct
kicked in and he immediately moved them both backward. Although the glass was
bulletproof and mirrored from the outside so that no one could see in, he
wasn’t willing to take that chance. His dick might be doing the majority of his
thinking for him, but Trace damn sure wasn’t going to lose sight of what was
most important.

Leading her into the living room, on the
far side of the breakfast bar, Trace came up short when she pulled on his arm,
effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“I need you, Trace,” she repeated, looking
up at him.

Ah, fuck. She thought he was retreating
from her. He could see the cost of her words reflected in her brilliant blue
eyes, and the plea nearly leveled him.

“You’ve got me,” he told her, almost the
same words he’d told her the night before.
You’ve
always had me.

And she did. Have him. As far as Trace was
concerned, she owned him, even if that was something he’d never be able to tell
her.

“Son of a…” Trace cut off the curse as
fast as he could, but the instant Marissa went to her knees in front of him, he
damn near lost his fucking mind. “Don’t do this, baby. Not here.”

God
yes, here, please here.