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Authors: Roxanne St. Claire

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BOOK: Then You Hide
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CHAPTER ONE

 

Astor Cove, New York
The Hudson RiverValley
Summer 2008

 

“I’M NOT IN
the business of killing people anymore.” Wade Cordell slid the contract across Lucy Sharpe’s writing table, his defined jaw and steel-blue eyes hard in contrast to his soft Southern drawl.

“Bullet Catchers don’t kill people, Wade. We protect them. If pushed to the absolute limit and forced to save the life of a principal, we do what needs to be done. And we do it better than any other security and investigation firm in the world.” She slid the paper right back and tapped the signature line with one red nail. “That’s why I want you on my staff full-time.”

“Call it what you like, ma’am, but killing is killing, and I have murdered my last person.”

“It’s not
murder
when the world is a better, safer place and thousands of people are alive because of your skills.”

He shifted his muscular frame in the antique chair and nailed her with his deadly sniper’s gaze. “I had no problems pulling that trigger as a Marine, Lucy. It was my job, it was war, and it was right. But those other times…”

“Special assignments for the CIA are as much an act of war as anything you did in Iraq, and you know that.”

“Spoken like a true former spook.”

She acknowledged her background with a nod. “But you aren’t in the CIA, you’re a free agent. And I want you as a Bullet Catcher. Not because you’re the best damn sharpshooter the Marines ever produced but because your overall instincts are masterful.”

He snorted softly. “Yeah, that last kill was pure genius.”

“You did what had to be done. I heard the details from the top of the agency, and you may think it was a mess, but—”

“It
was
a mess.”

“They were pleased with the outcome. But not so pleased that you’ve refused every assignment since. I, however”—she picked up the pen and offered it to him—“am thrilled.”

He leaned back and stretched out his long legs. “I like consulting occasionally for you, Luce. It suits me to drop in quickly, then disappear. I don’t want to get too…close to anything.” He treated her to a grin as sweet as pecan pie. “That’s just the hunter in me, I guess.”

“That’s just your inability to commit to anything but a clean shot,” she replied, instantly erasing his smile. “You need to commit to an organization. This one.”

He pushed himself up to amble over to the window and studied the summer green hills of the Hudson RiverValley for a long time. Finally, he turned back to her. “You have any assassins on your payroll, Luce?”

“Wade, you are not an assassin. You are a man with an extraordinary sniper’s skill, a hunter’s eye, and a powerful sense of duty. You briefly combined those abilities to rid the world of a few evil beasts. It didn’t work out for you, and now it’s time to do something else.” She tapped the contract. “Be a Bullet Catcher.”

“I’ve been one,” he replied.

“You’ve done special projects for the last five months, and you’ve been brilliant. Now it’s time to belong.”

He returned to the view, undoubtedly thinking and deliberating, as he always did before making any decision.

“Bullet Catchers’ clients are some mighty high-profile people,” he finally said.

“They can be. Some are just enormously wealthy.”

“I imagine they want to know exactly who is protecting them.”

“They aren’t privy to the backgrounds of my specialists and bodyguards, Wade. And believe me, not every Bullet Catcher can wear a halo, including me.”

He turned to give her a slight smile. “Yet what could be more on the side of the angels than this operation?”

“Which is exactly why I want you.” Lucy waited a beat. “I run a tight group, and a sense of community and trust is critical to our success on every assignment. As the owner of this business, I prefer full-time staff to consultants.”

“Because you can’t control consultants.”

True
. “I want you full-time, committed to the job and the company. You’ll make an outstanding Bullet Catcher, and you’ll get tremendous satisfaction from the work.” She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. “But I’m not going to push anymore. The decision is yours.”

He strolled back to the desk. “I need some more time.”

“To do what?” she challenged. “Beat yourself up for what happened in Budapest?”

“I shot a man in the face from two feet away, Lucy. I watched his skull crack. He looked me in the eye as he died.” He dropped into the chair, his wide shoulders slumping. “That’s a whole lot different from taking a shot from fifteen hundred yards, peering through a rifle sight. And I doubt you can promise that I’d never have to do that again, as somone’s paid protector.”

“I won’t lie to you, Wade. You might have to kill someone again in the line of duty. But most of the time, you’ll be saving lives and protecting people. You may be looking for missing persons, and hunting is another of your proficiencies—along with a keen mind and a steady hand. Honestly, what else are you going to do with your life?”

He lifted one impressive shoulder. “I haven’t figured that out yet, but I will. I like to take my time and plan things.”

“All right.” Disappointed, she was sliding the unsigned contract back into his file when her fingers grazed the paperwork for her next meeting…and lightning struck. She plucked the folder out and held it to her chest, regarding him. “I was going to send Donovan Rush on this case as his first official assignment, since it’s a gimme.”

“An assignment so cushy they should pay you to take it?”

“Precisely.” She handed him the file. “My gift to you. Go take a few days in paradise, and find a woman.”

Humor glinted like ice in his eyes. “So everything your men say is true.”

“That I have a kind, understanding heart, and I’m a goddess to work for?”

He laughed at her sarcasm. “That you have elevated manipulation to an art form and don’t take no for an answer.”

“Oh, that. But I’m not manipulating you. I’m giving you time and a lovely place to think and plan. You’ll never have to touch your Smith and Wesson. The only talent you’ll use is charm,” she added with a wink.

Wade opened the folder and glanced at the top page. “Who is Vanessa Porter, and what sins has she committed?”

“Nothing but being born and adopted on the black market. We need to find her.”

He glanced up. “I thought that case was closed after Adrien Fletcher located Miranda Lang out in California a few months ago. I did some backup for him on the takedown. The cult leader who was terrorizing Miranda Lang was turned over to the FBI.”

“Yes, and Miranda went with Fletch to South Carolina and met the birth mother, who, as you may recall, is in jail for murder.”

He nodded, returning to the file. “The mother needs a bone-marrow transplant to live, right?”

“Correct. But Miranda isn’t a match. We hope Vanessa Porter is.”

He studied the photo clipped to the file, intrigued. “How’s that?”

“She’s Miranda’s sister. Eileen Stafford, the birth mother, revealed that Miranda was one of triplet girls sold through the Sapphire Trail operation. Vanessa Porter is another of the three.”

Wade looked at the photo of an impeccably dressed blonde striding down Wall Street, a cell phone pressed to her ear, a sleek briefcase clutched in her other hand, no-nonsense black glasses completing the look. He skimmed through a few more pages, which described a single, workaholic money manager living in Manhattan.

“According to your men in California, Jack Culver thinks this Eileen Stafford might be innocent.”

“Jack is not one of my men,” Lucy said coolly. “He’s simply a PI who initially launched this investigation on behalf of Eileen Stafford. Her guilt or innocence isn’t my concern.” Nothing that involved former Bullet Catcher Jack Culver was her concern. “I promised to locate Vanessa Porter, and I have. She’s a passenger on a Utopia Cruise Line sailing clipper, currently cruising the Leeward Islands. The next stop is St. Kitts. I’m offering you a few days in the islands, a pretty blonde to persuade to meet her birth mother, and a chance to think about what you want to do with your life.”

He glanced at the pages again, returning to the photo. “How much time do I have?”

“Not much. Stafford is in a coma and fading fast. If we’re going to reunite her with her daughters and try to find a bone-marrow match, we have to move quickly. There may not be time for Vanessa to finish her Caribbean cruise—which could be a sticking point, since she evidently hasn’t taken a day off in six years.”

“What if she doesn’t believe me? A financial wizard will probably demand irrefutable proof. We have, what…” He pulled a paper out. “A list of babies born in this farmhouse and sold sometime in the summer of 1977. No birth certificate? No legal docs?”

“We have something.” She touched her nape. “Under her hair, there should be a small tattoo. Evidently, all three girls got them at birth. Once she hears the story, her sister Miranda is hoping she’ll have a soft heart.”

“This Wall Street high roller doesn’t look like she has a soft anything.”

“You’ll never know until you find her.”

He closed the file and stood. “All right. I’m in. Tell Donovan I’m sorry I stole his gimme job, and thanks for the R-and-R.”

Lucy stood to shake hands. “Thank you, Wade. Sage will arrange for the Bullet Catchers jet to get you down there, and she’ll hook you up with an international phone and a password for our locator system to track you. She’ll also have all the necessary paperwork for you and a bodyguard’s license to carry concealed anywhere in the world.”

There was skepticism in his smile. “And here I thought I’d never have to touch my S-and-W.”

She came around her desk and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Only in extreme situations.”

“Exactly what I’m trying to avoid.”

After Wade left, Lucy reread the confidential report on Budapest she’d managed to get from the agency. It
had
been a wreck, but they still believed in Wade Cordell, and so did she. This trip to the French West Indies was a brilliant way to remind him of how great the Bullet Catchers job could be. Then he’d sign, and they’d both be happier.

If not, she’d still be looking for a fearless, intelligent security professional with unparalleled sharpshooting skills for her staff. And Wade Cordell, a man she admired and respected, would still be trying to make peace with the fact that his greatest talent was killing people.

Vanessa Porter was
not
his type.

Not that Wade didn’t appreciate a tall, sexy blonde as much as the next male, especially when her black tank top and white shorts hugged some sweet curves. But something about her irritated him—even from fifty feet away with clusters of tourists separating them across Port Zante.

The horn-rimmed glasses? A power play. The speed of her trajectory? That screamed Yankee to him. The little left-right sway in her backside that grabbed the eye of every man she passed? He despised women who drew attention to themselves. Her generous breasts were more than the requisite handful, her hair needed a six-inch trim and something to keep it from flying all over the place, and those thighs? They didn’t quite touch at the top, as if there were room for…someone else in there.

She was plenty womanly, all right, but not
feminine
. He liked a sweet, tender peach, all squeezably soft and fresh. Vanessa Porter was no peach.

She was a tart.

And just for the record, this tart was
not
on vacation. He didn’t have to scope her for ten minutes to figure that out. She’d disembarked a water taxi from a sailing ship anchored a half-mile away and held a brief conversation with an older woman who wore a ridiculous orange sun hat and a matching muumuu. Discussing an itinerary or shopping and lunch plans? But then she took off at the speed of light, leaving the big orange hat looking vaguely disappointed.

Wade followed her, easily matching her speed and agility but marveling at it.

She navigated packs of tourists on the promenade, sidestepping street vendors who hawked their wares, heading straight into the crowded streets and clogged sidewalks of Basseterre. Carrying only a huge handbag, her flip-flops snapping on the pavement, she moved like a heat-seeking missile with no camera or guidebook in sight. She was on a mission, all right, and it wasn’t to sightsee in the capital of St. Kitts.

But whatever she had on her agenda, Wade was about to change it.

He planned to get the adoption-and-dying-mother announcement over with as quickly and cleanly as possible. Find the target, scope out the situation, take a clean shot, be done.

If he got lucky, she’d take the Bullet Catchers plane to South Carolina all by herself, and he could hang around the tropics with no shirt, no shoes, no problems.

Watching her buzz through Basseterre, that fantasy faded fast. Everything about her body language was uninviting and closed. Her delicate jaw was set in the direction she strode, her left arm clutching her bag like a warrior’s shield, her right hand pressed protectively to her side as she barreled along. What was so dang important?

Maybe that was just the walk of a New Yorker, as observed by a man who grew up fifty miles south of Alabama. Still, he followed her easily, his interest notching up. After years of stealthily tailing targets, Wade had gotten very good at surmising what someone was up to.

And Vanessa Porter, thirty-one-year-old Wall Street high flyer who hadn’t taken a vacation in six years and pulled in a quarter-mil a year—base pay—as vice president and director of mergers and acquisitions at Razor Partners LLC, was definitely up to
something
.

Every few minutes, she whipped out a handheld device and angled it to the sun, touching the screen and muttering to herself. Once, just for fun, he circled around and brushed by her and heard what his mama called the “dirtiest of dirty words” when she didn’t get whatever she wanted from the little computer.

She’d glanced up and met his gaze, holding it longer than any Southern girl who’d been schooled in the art of averting her eyes. She gave him a thorough checking-out before she zoomed on. She didn’t pause to admire the landmark tower, inhale the sweetness of the frangipani that hung over the whole island, or toss some change to the herds of barefoot children pleading for pennies on every corner. She sailed right past candy-colored buildings and marched over cobblestones and bricks with the focus of a woman who knew exactly where she was going and why.

BOOK: Then You Hide
3.31Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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