Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) (4 page)

The mattress dipped and Marissa opened her
eyes, but she couldn’t see anything. Trace had turned off the lights. His body
moved up against hers, his chest to her back as he spooned her from behind.

Only when his arms came around her once
more did she relax. A little. The shivering ceased, but the fear was still
there.

“I’ve got you, Marissa,” he whispered
against her ear. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you. Never again. And you can
trust me on that.”

Marissa nodded her understanding. For the
first time since she’d realized it was him, Marissa felt safe.

Too bad she knew that wasn’t going to last
long.

“We’ve gotta go, Marissa,” Trace whispered
against her ear as softly as possible.

The flashlight beam that had shone through
the narrow window in the bathroom a second ago was all Trace needed to see
before he realized they’d been found. That or people were just plain stupid and
went creeping around in this weather looking for whatever it was they were
looking for. He didn’t know of anything that would be worth that.

He’d purposely driven
behind
the motel when they’d arrived in order
to get a complete view of the place. The snow—at least two feet, if he had to
guess—hadn’t been plowed in the back, which meant it would’ve been difficult
for a car to get through. His SUV had made it, but a car would certainly have
more difficulty.

Good thing he hadn’t gone to sleep.

Marissa’s body tensed against his, and he
knew she realized this wasn’t a leisurely
wake-up
call.

She rolled to her back, peering up at him
in the darkened room and locking her gaze with his without saying a word. He
darted his eyes toward the only door that led to the outside, and her eyebrows
lifted in question. It was their only option. He didn’t know who might be
lurking on the other side of that door, but thanks to the weather, getting out
of there on foot wasn’t an option.

Getting to the Escalade was their main
objective. He’d improvise from there.

Trace hadn’t bothered to
remove his boots for this very reason, so he was ready, but he had to wait
while Marissa pulled on hers—the pair he’d grabbed from her parents’ house.
He hadn’t known he’d have to sneak her out of her house without giving her the
opportunity to grab any of her things, but he’d been prepared just in case.

Good thing, too, since that was exactly
what had happened.

Trace pulled on his coat while Marissa stuffed
everything into the duffel. When she zipped the bag, Trace handed her the .45
she’d gotten familiar with a short time ago and then checked his own weapon
while she checked hers.

With the room cast in shadows and the
light once again moving through the bathroom window, Trace
inched toward
the front door as he started the
Escalade using the remote start button on his key fob, keeping Marissa close to
him. Silently turning the knob, he pulled on the
door
and pushed it open with his foot, keeping them safely on the
inside and out of the open.

Nothing.

Trace was tempted to laugh at the
absurdity of it all, but he fought the urge as he peered around the doorjamb,
checking left and then right before reaching for Marissa’s hand and pulling her
with him. They didn’t bother closing the door as they eliminated the few feet
between the motel room and the Escalade’s driver’s-side door.

With his eyes scanning their surroundings,
he lifted the handle, pulled it open, and then urged Marissa inside, similar to
the way he’d done back at the safe house. She scrambled into the driver’s seat
without question, then launched herself over the center console as she tossed
the duffel into the back. He jumped in behind her.

And that’s when things went to shit.

The front passenger door flew open, and a
big guy who resembled the Michelin man with his bulky white coat grabbed for
Marissa. Thankfully, the guy hadn’t taken her completely by surprise, earning himself
a sharp kick to the solar plexus before he stumbled back a few feet. Marissa’s
scream rent the otherwise silent air when the bastard reached for her again,
this time jerking her from the Escalade.

Well, fuck. This wasn’t in the plan.

Trace didn’t hesitate, launching himself
through the SUV rather than wasting precious seconds by going around. He
managed to tackle the guy, who’d only made it a few feet away thanks to the icy
ground and Marissa’s continuous kicking and screaming. They hit the pavement
with a thud, knocking Marissa to her knees in the process. Trace fought with
the guy, dodging a few punches, taking one to the side of the head that made
his ear ring temporarily, and delivering a couple of his own. He managed to
keep the upper hand thanks to the fact the guy’s coat was hindering his ability
to move easily. A couple of square shots to the jaw was enough to disorient the
asshole.

“In the truck!” Trace yelled, holding on to
the bastard while Marissa scrambled to her feet. Smart woman that she was, she
didn’t bother waiting for him, jumping into the passenger side before hurdling
the console into the driver’s seat and yelling at Trace.

Using the butt of his gun, Trace hit the
guy on the head, knocking him out cold. And then Trace was on his feet, jumping
into the Escalade as Marissa steered it out of the parking spot.

They were out of the lot and onto the
winding backcountry road within seconds, but they hadn’t been stealthy enough
to lose the other fools who had been snooping around outside the motel. At
least not all of them. Looked like Michelin Man was going to have to find
another ride home, though.

“Blue Malibu,” Marissa said, sounding
confident as she white-knuckled the steering wheel.

“I see him,” Trace told her. “Trade places
with me.”

Without waiting for Marissa to agree,
Trace inched as close to the dashboard as he could, then eased one leg over the
wide center console, pushing her foot out of the way and putting his own on the
gas pedal. After a few incredibly uncomfortable seconds—no, nothing was every
fucking easy for him—Marissa managed to ease out from behind him, partially
sliding into the backseat to give him space, and Trace dropped gracelessly into
the driver’s seat, doing his best to navigate over the icy road while adjusting
his position. There must’ve been a higher power looking after them because the
snowstorm that had been expected hadn’t arrived, leaving the
roads
a tad easier to deal with than if there’d
been more snow accumulating.

“He’s coming up fast,” Marissa informed
him, and Trace was grateful for the extra set of eyes. He needed to keep his
attention on the narrow road in front of them or he feared they’d
wind
up in a ditch, which wouldn’t be
a good
thing. Especially not with the idiots
behind them.

Trace would hate to start the morning off
by killing someone. Michelin Man had been lucky.

“Oh, shit,” Marissa muttered, but there
wasn’t an ounce of fear in her tone, merely concern.

If she only knew how much he respected her
for her ability to keep calm.

Trace had been on a number
of extractions. Getting the victim out of the hands of the bad guy wasn’t
always easy, and more than once, he’d seen grown men cry like little girls when
things got too hot.
Not Marissa. She was calm and
cool
under pressure.

“Keep me updated, Marissa. I’m gonna focus
on the road.”

“Malibu is backing off,” Marissa told him
matter-of-factly. “But we’ve got a white Tahoe coming at us from the east. He’s
gaining speed. Likely to head us off when we hit the main road.”

Good
to know. Trace put his foot to the floor and pushed the Escalade harder, daring
the icy conditions. He needed to get ahead of this bastard. The last thing he
wanted was to get sandwiched between the two of them.

“How many in the Malibu?”

“Looks like two,” Marissa informed him.
“Driver. One passenger in the front seat. I can’t see into the Tahoe to know.”

They were coming up on the main road fast,
and Trace glimpsed the white Tahoe out of the corner of his eye. The sun was
barely peeking up over the horizon, which helped with visibility except for the
fact that the Tahoe blended in with the landscape.

“Malibu is backing off more,” Marissa
stated as she shifted in her seat, her gun at the ready as she peered between
the front seats through the back window.

“You’re gonna want to hold on,” he warned
her as they approached the intersection.

Thankfully, it wasn’t a ninety-degree
turn, but Trace still feared they’d go off into the gulley if he didn’t
maintain control of the vehicle. Then again, if he didn’t make this turn, he’d
flip the damn Escalade, leaving them vulnerable to the assholes on their tail.

Marissa pulled her seat belt
tighter, grabbed the bar at the top of the door, and braced her feet on the
floorboard as Trace turned the wheel, the Escalade sliding, narrowly missing
the shallow ditch on the far side of the road before the wheels got traction
once again, launching them forward.

“We’ve got another,” Marissa said, this
time anger lacing her clipped tone. “Black SUV coming up from the east, behind
the Tahoe.”

Please
let that fucking be the
good
guys
,
Trace thought to himself as he kept his eyes on the snowy terrain.

His cell phone rang, but he didn’t bother
looking at the damn thing, merely punched the button on the steering wheel to
engage the speaker, never taking his eyes off the snaking road in front of
them.

“How many?” Ryan Trexler’s voice sounded
through the vehicle, confident and possibly even a tad eager.

“Two vehicles,” Marissa informed her
brother without missing a beat. “Blue Malibu, two men. White Tahoe, from the
looks of it, there’s only one inside, but I can’t be
certain
.”

“Got it,” RT stated. “Head west, Trace.
Z’s a mile and a half up the road. Black Escalade. We’ll let the Tahoe tail you
for the time being, take out the Malibu.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Marissa asked her brother.

“I’ve got Clay with me,” RT said,
referring to another of Marissa’s brothers. “And Trace?”

“Yeah?” Trace asked through clenched
teeth, white-knuckling the steering wheel as they
finally
reached the onramp to the highway.

“Don’t shoot the good guys.”

Marissa giggled and Trace cast her a hard
glare. It had only happened once, for chrissakes. Rolling his eyes, he turned
his attention forward once again and said, “Roger that,” and the line
disconnected.

“You called for backup?” Marissa
asked,
a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Didn’t have to call,” he said, grinding
his back teeth together.

Nope, he should’ve known that the good
guys would be there. They always were.

□«»□«»□«»□

Marissa couldn’t say that she was
disappointed that her brothers had come to the rescue. Based on Trace’s
reaction, he was a little relieved, as well, although he had control of the
situation. As much control as could be had anyway.

Now if they could only get out of the line
of fire, they’d be doing just fine.

Shit. Didn’t look like that would be
happening in the near future.

“Passenger window on the Tahoe just came
down,” Marissa relayed calmly. “White male sticking his head out. He’s got a
gun.”

So much for only one guy in the Tahoe, she
thought.

“Automatic?”

“Possible. AR15 pistol. At this rate of
speed, and the distance between us, your Escalade won’t look pretty if he hits
his mark.”

Trace chuckled and the knots in Marissa’s
stomach eased somewhat.

“You gotta plan from here? Another quarter
mile till we run across Z,” Marissa said, referring to
Trace’s
roommate and the most tenured Sniper 1 agent who wasn’t related to the owners,
although he may as well have been, considering how close he was to the family.

“The plan is to drive,” Trace snapped,
jerking the wheel and narrowly missing a slow-moving vehicle on the road, the
back end
fishtailing before he gracefully
recovered.

“Good plan,” she told him, thinking
nothing of the sort.

Marissa only prayed that Z was where Ryan
had said he would be. They needed to get this asshole off their six—as Trace’s
brother Conner would say—especially if he
intended
to use that gun he was now aiming at the Escalade. The guy wasn’t close enough—probably
forty-five, maybe fifty yards back—for the heavy S&W in her hand to be
effective,
and unless Trace had something
hidden
under
the seats, she didn’t think
they had any other options.

Knowing Trace, he
did
have something hidden—possibly an entire arsenal—but she wasn’t
about to ask. If he wanted her to get more
firepower
,
he’d tell her. Until then, she was just going to be his eyes.

“I’ve got eyes on Z,” Trace said. “Up on
the right.”

Marissa turned to look, scanning the
scenery for the black Escalade Ryan had mentioned, but before she could zero in
on Z’s vehicle, there was the distinct sound of a gunshot. Wait. Make that
multiple gunshots.

“Down,” Trace yelled, reaching for her and
shoving her lower into her seat. Waiting for the sound of glass shattering or
bullets hitting metal, Marissa was relieved when she realized they’d missed
their target.

If it’d been her, she wouldn’t have
missed.

Not that she was hoping that they would
try again.