Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) (9 page)

“Sit,” Casper commanded, his tone only
slightly less commanding than Bryce’s had been.

Of the two men, Casper could soften a blow
significantly better than Bryce,
although,
after years in a business where they were required to maintain an unwavering
control, that wasn’t saying much.

Trace joined his father on the couch,
opting for the opposite end. Propping his right ankle on his left knee, he casually
leaned against the armrest and watched Bryce pace the floor. Z braced a
shoulder against the wall behind them. When Conner and RT joined them a minute
later, Bryce closed the door and returned to the center of the room.

“What’s going on?” RT asked Bryce
directly. “And
why’re
we doin’ this here?
Not at the office?”

Trace noticed the way Bryce’s eyes darted
to Casper, then dropped to the floor. He then thrust his hands
in
his pockets, inhaled deeply, and looked up
at RT.

“As much as I hate to say this, I think
we’ve got a leak in the office,” Bryce informed them.

Trace’s eyes scanned the faces of the
others in the room as that information was processed.

“
What?
”
Conner
asked,
his tone just shy of
belligerent.

“Where’s everyone else?” RT asked at the
same time.

And that—the last one—was the very
question Trace
wanted answered
.

Between the
Trexlers
and the
Kogans
,
there were fourteen Sniper 1 employees in total who would be keenly interested
in this conversation. That was counting family only. Of course, there was Z,
who’d been with them since he’d relocated to Dallas, looking for a job in
security, nearly a decade ago. With him, that made fifteen interested people.
Yet there were only six of them present and accounted for.

“I didn’t think it was necessary to pull
everyone in,” Bryce said, locking eyes with RT. “Yet. And before you argue with
me, hear me out.”

Surprisingly, RT leaned back in the
armchair
sitting opposite Bryce’s desk. To the
casual observer, RT appeared relaxed, laid-back even. To
Trace’s
trained eye, the guy was a ticking time bomb, although he was doing a damn good
job disguising it. If it weren’t for the slight twitch
of
RT’s left eyebrow and the muscles bunching in his jaw, RT
would’ve pulled it off.

The decision to keep this discussion to a
limited number of people was proof that Casper and Bryce were still involved in
every decision regarding Sniper 1. It didn’t matter that RT was the guy they
all looked to as the man in charge; he still answered to the big guys.

But that didn’t explain why the rest of
them weren’t there.

“Right now, we need to keep moving
forward, business as usual. The less they know, the better off they’ll be.
However,” Bryce said, turning and walking behind his
desk, “Marissa is the absolute top priority, which means that every single
person employed by Sniper One is subject to being pulled from their current
assignment if need be.”

No one argued with Bryce.

As of two weeks ago, Trace had been the
only one coming off an assignment, which was the main reason he was tasked with
shadowing Marissa. Not the
only
reason, but the main one. Not to mention, like the last time he intervened, it
had been his idea. And he damn sure wasn’t going to go
into the causes of that
.

Trace felt the scrutiny as all eyes turned
to him once again. “If you’re
doubtin’
my
abilities, screw every last one of you. I got her home in one piece, didn’t I?”
He said the words without heat, didn’t move from his position, but he knew they
could see the anger flashing in his eyes. He was fucking good at what he did,
and they all knew it.

“There’s no doubt that you’re the right
guy to look after my sister,” RT said reassuringly, turning his attention back
to Bryce. “Now I want to know what makes you think there’s a leak.”

Bryce lowered his six-foot-four-inch frame
into his high-back executive chair and steepled his hands on the polished
mahogany. “You got a better idea
on
how
the info on every goddamn safe house she’s been shuffled off to
has
gotten out?”

Bryce had a damn good point, and it was an
angle Trace had been looking into on his own. The only person he’d shared his
concern with was his father, though, and he figured that was where this had
originated. But he didn’t say as much, wanting to hear RT’s take on things. The
guy was incredibly perceptive, and he very well could have an entirely
different theory.

Unfortunately, based on RT’s heavy sigh,
Trace got the impression he didn’t.

And as far as Trace was concerned, that
meant they were still chasing shadows in the dark.

Marissa could hear the muffled drone of
voices coming from her father’s office as she made her way across the living
room and into the kitchen. She was starving, even though she wasn’t sure she
would be able to keep anything down. Ever since the night of the explosion, her
insides were acting a little wonky. According to Dr. Janelle Miller, the
physician on Sniper 1’s payroll who had paid Marissa a house visit late last
night, Marissa’s gastrointestinal tract was merely a little upset from the
anxiety.

Yeah, well, the good doc probably didn’t
need a medical degree to figure that one out. Nor did Marissa.

Her stomach rumbled a warning—hunger or revulsion,
Marissa wasn’t sure which—as she opened the refrigerator and peered inside.
Nothing at all sounded appealing, but she knew she would have to eat something.
As it was, she’d survived on mostly coffee for the last couple of days. Not a healthy
meal selection by any means. Trace had attempted to force her to eat a few
times, but she’d only managed a couple of bites, unable to stomach even the
thought of food.

“Can I make you something, honey?” Lilah’s
soft voice caused Marissa to close the door and turn to face the family’s
longtime housekeeper.

“I’m not sure,” Marissa
said honestly, moving to the breakfast bar and hoisting herself up onto one of
the stools as Lilah donned her little white apron that read:
I’d worry about getting older if I wasn’t so
damn sexy.
The apron had been a gift from
Frank—Trace’s grandfather, who, on a good day, was quite a character—on Lilah’s
seventieth birthday. “I’m hungry, but I’m not. Does that even make sense?”

“It does.” Lilah smiled, her aged eyes
wrinkling near the corners. “I bet I can find something that’ll do the trick.”

“I’m open to whatever you suggest,”
Marissa replied.

Lilah Snider was more than a housekeeper;
she was a member of the family. Having worked for Marissa’s parents for longer
than Marissa had been alive, they’d grown to trust Lilah with every aspect of
their lives. At seventy-two, the woman was as spry as she’d been nearly thirty
years ago—or so Marissa had been told.

Lilah had lost her husband, Richard, in
1967
after they’d been married for four years.
Richard had asked for her hand on her twentieth birthday, and they’d married
less than three months later, although he had rarely been home at the time.
Based on the tales Lilah told, Richard had been drafted into the Army to fight
for his country at the age of eighteen, during the Vietnam War. Over the years,
Marissa had heard so much about him, and it was clear Lilah loved him more than
life itself, which, according to her, was the reason she’d never remarried
after.

“Tell me a story about Richard,” Marissa
said now, needing something to take her mind off the nightmare that had woken
her a short while ago. She loved listening to Lilah’s stories, and she knew
that Lilah loved telling them.

Lilah’s face lit up as she retrieved a pan
from one of the cabinets.

“Oh, honey, he was so… You know the term
tall, dark and handsome
? I think that
was created in reference to him.”

Marissa smiled.

“I still remember the day he asked me to
marry him. He was so nervous. His hands were shaking and perspiration dotted his
forehead.” Lilah momentarily disappeared into the walk-in pantry, returning
with the canister of oatmeal. As she filled the pot with water from the spout
above the stove, she glanced over at Marissa. “I remember every single thing
about that day. He was wearing his tweed sports coat, the one his father had
passed down to him. He loved that ol’ thing. Didn’t matter that it was July or
that it happened to be the hottest day of the year; he wore it proudly.”

The things Lilah remembered had always
astonished her. The old woman’s mind was like a steel trap.

“And boy, was it hot that day.” Lilah
smiled as though she
were remembering
that day fondly. She pulled open another cabinet door, retrieving a bottle of
vanilla extract and a couple of spice bottles. “But my sweet Richie wanted to
look
nice
, so he wore the jacket. It was
also the day that he introduced me to a band that changed my life.”

“The Beatles?” Marissa knew that Lilah
adored The Beatles, always had. Even now she could be found listening to them
on her iPod—the one the family had bought her for Christmas a few years back.

“Oh, yes,” Lilah said, her light brown
eyes twinkling. “How he got it, I still don’t know, but he had their brand new
record:
Introducing the Beatles
. Told
me he wanted me to hear a song.”

Marissa already knew what the song was
because she’d heard a version of this story numerous times over the years, but
she didn’t interrupt.

“‘I Saw Her Standing There’ became my
favorite song of all time,” Lilah said warmly, her voice soft. “Anyway.”
Stirring the oats into the water as it began to slowly boil, Lilah glanced up
at Marissa. “I was wearing my favorite dress. It flared out at the
bottom”—Lilah set the wooden spoon down briefly so she could use her hands to
explain—“and had a fabric belt. But I didn’t wear the belt, because I liked the
way it belled out without it. Very popular back then. Richie said he loved when
I wore red, so that was all I bought.”

Marissa could imagine Lilah’s closet full
of red dresses.
  

“Like I said,” Lilah explained, placing a
box of raisins and a bag of walnuts that she took from another cabinet on the
counter, “I knew he was going to ask me. He told me he chose that day because
he wanted me to always remember. That silly man, I would’ve remembered no matter
what day it was.”

The sound of footsteps
echoed
from behind Marissa, and she glanced
over her shoulder to see the men behind the voices in her father’s office
stepping into the living room, still deep in conversation. Her eyes drifted to
Trace, and before she could look away, he glanced up. For a brief, thrilling
instant, their gazes locked, and she could’ve sworn she saw a flash of heat in
those sexy white-gray eyes. But rather than dwell on what likely was just her
imagination, Marissa turned back to face Lilah, who was finishing her oatmeal
preparations.

“Eat this,” Lilah said, pushing a small
glass bowl toward her. “My vanilla spice oatmeal. I put in honey instead of
sugar. No milk.”

Marissa nodded and gripped the spoon,
doing her
best
not to pay attention to
what was being said behind her. When the conversation paused, she knew they
would soon be scattering in various directions, something that was quite usual
for the men she’d grown up around. They didn’t congregate much at the house, so
their appearances there that morning were definitely worthy of questioning, but
for now, Marissa was going to focus on eating. Anything but the fact that Trace
was still standing there, watching her from her parents’ living room. She could
feel his presence, sense his intense gaze on her.

“Good morning, honey,” Bryce greeted, his
arm coming over her shoulder and gently pulling her toward him.

“Morning, Daddy,” Marissa replied, leaning
into
her father when he kissed her
temple.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

No.
“Yeah,” she lied.

She wasn’t feeling better, but she didn’t
want him to know that. At least she wasn’t crying, but that hadn’t been the
case last night when she’d walked into the house only to find her parents
waiting for her in the living room. The instant they’d come over to her, the
dam had broken, and Marissa had been hard-pressed to stop crying.

As for right now, Marissa knew her father
was worried about her after her most recent ordeal, as was the rest of her
family, and the last thing she wanted to do was give them more reason. If he
knew that the nightmares had come back with a vengeance, he’d likely be pushing
her to talk to someone.

She didn’t want to talk.

Nope, she didn’t
want
to open up, didn’t
want
to eat, couldn’t
really
sleep. Her life
had coalesced into one big-ass nightmare—regardless of if her eyes were open or
closed—and she just wanted it all to go back to normal. Back before people were
trying to kidnap or kill her.

“Where’s Mom?” she asked her father when
he walked to the coffee maker.

“Talking with Liz,” he explained,
referring to Elizabeth Kogan, her mother’s best
friend
and Trace’s
mother
. Liz and Emily were
rarely apart, and
it’d
been that way for
Marissa’s entire life.

Now that they lived in a compound,
albeit
in separate houses dispersed over five
hundred acres, it seemed that they were spending even more time together.
Marissa had no idea what they were conspiring, but she figured they’d all find
out soon enough.

The two women did whatever was necessary
to keep the two families close. With so many kids, Marissa knew that wasn’t an
easy feat, especially once they’d all grown up. Marissa’s parents,
Bryce
and Emily, had five children, and Marissa
was the only girl. In her opinion, the only thing that could’ve been worse than
being the only source of estrogen (besides her mother, of course) in the
testosterone-driven world she lived in would’ve been for her to be the
youngest. Luckily, that wasn’t the case. She had three older brothers: Ryan,
Colby, and Clay, and one younger: Austin. Every member of her immediate family
worked for Sniper 1 Security, with the exception of her. Even her mother was an
employee, an accountant by trade whose sole customer was Sniper 1.

As for Liz and Casper, they had four kids:
Conner, Hunter, Trace, and the youngest, Courtney, who, not surprisingly, was
Marissa’s best friend. All of the
Kogans
worked for Sniper 1 Security. Even Casper’s wife, Liz, who worked alongside
Emily, handling the financial end of things.

Then there was Marissa’s
uncle
TJ, and his family.
TJ brought his own party to the mix with four kids of
his own: Tanner, Evan, Kira, and Dominic, all four of whom worked at Sniper 1
also, although three-quarters of them worked in the office, rather than in the
field.
Stephanie, TJ’s wife, worked as a public relations consultant for
the firm.

So, as it turned out, Marissa was the only
stubborn one, seemingly bucking the system by refusing to take up a position
within the globally known company. Marissa was the only one out of the thirteen
kids who had chosen not to join the ranks. No one had ever held that against
her.

It wasn’t that she didn’t respect what her
family did. Quite the opposite, actually. She admired them for taking on the
bad guys, most of them having bravely served in the military at some point only
to venture deeper into the world that they now lived in. A world that, quite
frankly, Marissa hadn’t seen herself quite fitting into.

The Kogans and both sets
of Trexlers had lived close to each other for many years, and there was hardly
a time when they weren’t all together unless, of course, one or more of them
were on an op, which was an all-too-familiar phenomenon.
These days, because of the escalating threat to Marissa, she suspected,
everyone seemed to be sticking close to home.
And
in their case, home meant they were practically on top of each other within the
walls of the compound, as could be seen by the six towering males who were
filling the living room now that her father had left her side and rejoined
them.

Resting her spoon in her half-empty bowl,
Marissa felt the need to get away from the testosterone overload while she
still had the opportunity. Getting to her feet, she grabbed the bowl and took
it to the sink. Lilah quickly retrieved it before Marissa had a chance to rinse
it out.

“I’ve got it, honey. Go rest. And let me
know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Marissa said, hugging Lilah
gently before sneaking up the back stairs to the second floor rather than
passing the others to get to the main staircase. After all, Marissa wasn’t just
avoiding confrontation, she was avoiding the one man who’d plagued her for a
hell of a lot longer than she was comfortable with.

She knew not to think too much about the
fact that Trace was at her parents’ house. He was technically in charge of her,
as he’d so kindly told her after he’d saved her ass from being blown to
smithereens. He wasn’t there because he was worried. No, he was there because
she was his assignment. This was his job.

Once in her bedroom, Marissa closed and
locked the door to keep anyone from barging in. Although she was happy to be
home after being hidden away for months on end, Marissa wasn’t interested in
having a conversation about what had happened. Everyone wanted to talk about
that, and truth was, Marissa
only
wanted
to forget.

Wasn’t happening.

Returning to the chair she’d been
occupying since she’d woken up in a cold sweat that morning, the one that sat
directly in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the front lawn,
Marissa pulled a blanket across her legs. Instead of sleeping and battling the
nightmares, Marissa had busied herself by staring out the window, seeing
nothing except for the memories of the last few days that flashed like a slide show
on repeat through her mind. Since she couldn’t get away from the thoughts
completely, she’d been forced to focus on those that involved her interactions
with Trace. Despite his all-business demeanor—which she fully believed was the
equivalent of body armor when he was around her—the guy was actually quite
charming.