Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) (38 page)

In that moment, just when he thought
Duchein was going to do something stupid, like lunge for Marissa, RT walked up,
flanking Trace’s left side, a fake smile plastered on his face.

“Agent Duchein,” RT greeted as though he
had no idea what was going on. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“Like I was tellin’ your boy here. This is
official business. I’m here to take Marissa into protective custody.”

“How’d you know she would be here?” RT
asked, his eyebrows downturned skeptically.

“I’ve got Marissa,” Z told them through
the transmitter. “Conner’s with us. Escorting her out.”

“I’m on my way back to you,” Courtney
informed them.

Trace continued to stare down Duchein.

“Gentlemen, why don’t we take this
somewhere with a little more privacy,” Courtney said sweetly when she
approached, smiling at them. “Our gracious host has offered his office.”

Duchein’s eyes widened, but he covered his
surprise quickly.

“After you,” Trace stated, turning and
holding out his hand for Duchein to follow RT.

The man didn’t move.

“Where is she?” Duchein barked. “Where is
Marissa Trexler?”

“Who?”

It was Max who questioned him as he came
to a stop just a few feet from where they still stood.

Duchein looked like a deer caught in the
headlights.

For a fraction of a second, Trace found
the situation amusing.

But that didn’t last long.

“Gentlemen, either we relocate this
conversation to my office or things are about to get real ugly,” Max ground out,
his amber eyes sparkling with what Ryan assumed was anger.

Not that Ryan blamed him. Arguing in the
middle of the man’s party was disrespectful. An all-out fight would be
downright stupid.

Ryan could tell the man’s patience was
being tested, so he opted to do as Max suggested. “Lead the way, Mr. Adorite.”

Knowing that Trace would bring up the
rear, Ryan fell into step with Max, who had his hand possessively against
Courtney’s lower back. Although Ryan wondered what the hell was going on with
those two, he opted to ignore his curiosity. There’d be plenty of time to grill
her about her association with the underboss of the Southern Boy Mafia later.

Max suddenly looked over at him, and Ryan
leaned closer to hear what he had to say. “If anything happens to her,” Max
said under his breath, loud enough for only Ryan to hear, “I’ll kill you
myself.”

“He always had an issue with me knowin’
how to protect myself,” Courtney said sharply. “It’s one of the reasons our
relationship never worked out.”

Ryan grinned as he watched Trace’s sister
strut toward Max’s office, obviously knowing where she was going. He didn’t
like the fact that she had been—or possibly still was—involved with Max, but it
really wasn’t his place to get involved. As much as he wanted to give his two
cents, they had bigger issues to deal with.

“Where is she?” Duchein demanded when the
five of them entered Max’s office, the same place Ryan and Z had talked to him
a few days ago, along with two of Max’s bodyguards.

The doors closed behind them, but no one
took a seat.

“Where is
who
?” Courtney questioned, sounding sweet and oblivious. The woman
knew how to play a part well.

“Marissa Trexler.”

Courtney glanced at RT. “I thought she was
with you.”

RT turned to
Trace
.
“I thought she was with you.”

Trace shrugged. “I thought she was with
you.”

The fact that Trace didn’t direct his
statement to anyone in particular made it clear they were bullshitting Duchein,
but Ryan didn’t actually give a shit. He wanted some fucking answers, and it
was high time he got them.

“Question is, what do you
really
want with Ms. Trexler?” Max said,
his tone hard, firm.

“She’s … uh… We’re… That’s none of your goddamn
business.”

“No? Considering this is my house, my
fucking party, I’d say it’s
exactly
my business.” Max’s voice remained calm, a deadly rumble in the oversized room.

“I don’t answer to any of you,” Duchein retorted.
“Don’t forget who I am. Who I work for. Trust me, you’ll regret double-crossing
me.”

“Double-crossing? Is that what you call
this? Seemed more to me like biting the hand that feeds you,” Max said, sarcasm
dripping from his every word. “Now, we can settle this like men or you can take
your chances with my boys.” Max nodded to the two gunmen flanking the exit.
“Either way, we’re going to get a few answers before you go.”

“I have nothing to say. To anyone.”

Ryan wasn’t sure whether Duchein was
talking to them or to Max, but he didn’t get a chance to ask before Duchein
caught Courtney by surprise, grabbing her and pulling her against him, his gun
pressed to her head.

The guy’s first mistake was
underestimating every person in the room. He instantly turned to face the two
bodyguards—likely planning his escape route—but a round of clicks was all that
could be heard in the silence of the room.

When Duchein glanced back over at them,
the look on his face was priceless.

Three guns were pointed directly at the
back of his head. And though Ryan had no qualms about shooting the asshole
dead, and he doubt Trace did, either, he didn’t think they’d get the chance
before Max got a few rounds off.

An animalistic growl erupted from beside
them, and RT knew what was coming. Max Adorite was about to lose his shit and
Ryan understood why. If he were a betting man, he’d lay every dime he owned on
the fact that Max was in love with Courtney Kogan.

Which meant Duchein had just put a target
on his own fucking head.

□«»□«»□«»□

Trace watched while the special agent
asshole put a gun to his sister’s head, and he had to rely on every ounce of
his training to keep from blowing Duchein’s fucking brains all over Adorite’s
clean floors.

“Let. Her. Go,” Max commanded, his tone
harsher than Trace had ever heard it.

“Let me out of this room and I’ll do
that,” Duchein countered.

“Open the door for him,” Max instructed
the two guards.

The doors opened, and Duchein glanced over
his shoulder, taking two steps back and pulling Courtney with him.

“Duchein, I’m gonna make myself very, very
clear. You better listen to every single word.”

Duchein lifted one eyebrow as he watched
Max intently, clearly waiting for him to continue.

“You hurt her in any way, I’ll gun you
down myself and put a bullet in your face. Feel me?”

Duchein merely nodded as he continued to
back out of the room. When he got to the door, he released Courtney, pushing
her forward. She stumbled but righted herself immediately, pulling her little
.38 from beneath her dress before aiming it at Duchein.

“Hey, Duchein!” Max called out as the man
turned to flee. “You can run, but I can guarantee I will find you. And when I
do…”

“Goin’ somewhere?”

Trace smiled when he heard the sound of
Z’s voice. The big guy stopped Duchein with a hand to his chest, effectively
forcing him back into the room, Conner directly behind them.

For a brief second, Trace’s heart seized
up in his chest when he saw that Marissa wasn’t with them, but then, the world
righted itself as she stepped into view, her arm intertwined with Colby’s as
though they were a couple out for a stroll.

“I believe this is yours,” Colby said with
a grin as he delivered Marissa to Trace.

Without wasting a breath, Trace pulled her
against him, wrapping her in his arms and holding her tight. “Are you okay?” he
whispered in her ear.

The relief he felt nearly leveled him. He
knew there were more important things to deal with, but he couldn’t seem to
stop himself from running his hands over her arms, her neck,
her
cheeks.

“Fine,” she said, her voice stronger than
he’d expected.

“I guess the night’s not over yet, huh?” Max
questioned facetiously, reaching for Courtney and pulling her behind him. Surprisingly,
she didn’t put up a fight, but Trace could tell she wasn’t happy with Max.

Those two had some serious issues.

“So, why don’t we try this again,” RT
said.

Duchein stared back at RT, looking as
though he wanted to strangle someone. Kind of sucked to be the guest of honor,
especially when everyone in the room wanted a piece of you.

“What do you want with Marissa Trexler?”
Max asked, his gravelly words reeking of impatience.

“To take her into protective custody,”
Duchein stated firmly.

“That’s horseshit,” Z declared.

“Do you even know who I am?”

“I’ve got this one,” Trace said loudly. “I
think I’ve answered it before. A prick in a suit. That’s the right answer?”

Duchein snarled but didn’t have a
comeback.

Trace was tired of playing games. Glancing
at Z, he nodded for him to take Marissa. And when she was safely with the other
man, Trace closed the gap between him and Duchein, his gun aimed at the ground.

Gripping the front of the guy’s shirt, he
yanked him closer. “I’m fucking tired of the bullshit, asshole. Either you
answer the questions or I’m gonna assume I know them already.”

“What do you think you know?” Duchein
growled in response.

Trace lifted his trusty 9mm, a
comfortable, familiar weight in his hand, and pointed it directly at Duchein’s
forehead. “That you’re a greedy fucking bastard. That you’re sellin’
confiscated guns, and when the media got a little too close to the truth, you
panicked, taking out an innocent journalist and trying to kill Marissa. That
sound about right?”

Duchein’s jaw clamped shut.

“So, during this war of yours for the past
year, we lost one of our best agents, another took a bullet from one of your hired
guns, and Marissa has lived through hell trying to hide from you. All because
you wanted her silenced.”

Duchein’s eyes darted over to Max. “She
knows too much. She can bring us all down.”

“Who’s
us
?”
Max asked innocently.

“That’s bullshit. Don’t you dare pin this
shit on
me.
”

A door opened, but this time it wasn’t the
French doors that led from the main house. This was a door at the back of the
room. All eyes turned to see who was coming in. All except Trace. He kept his
locked on Duchein’s face, his gun still pressing firmly against the weasel’s
forehead.

“Recognize him?” RT asked. “The guy used
to work for you, right? But then you sent him to us. Asked him to try to get
some inside information.”

Trace didn’t look away, but out of the
corner of his eye, he could see Clay leading Isaac Rhames closer to them.
Would’ve been nice to know the plan, but Trace decided not to dwell on that.

Duchein didn’t say anything, but the guilt
was reflected in his eyes.

“Mr. Rhames, you have anything you wanna
say?” RT asked.

“He’s the one I work for,” Isaac said. He
didn’t sound happy about selling himself out, but considering Clay was standing
behind him with a gun pointed to his head, he really didn’t have much of a
choice.

“Bring the other one in,” RT insisted.

One of the guards near the main doors
opened them and called out to someone. A second later, another man entered,
restrained and held at gunpoint by one of Max’s other goons.

Trace once again kept his eyes trained on
Duchein’s face. He witnessed a hint of worry there this time.

“Gotta name?” RT asked the newcomer, who
was immediately flanked by Conner.

“That’s the guy from the mall,” Courtney
commented. “The one who tried to grab Marissa.”

“Barry Thompson,” the guy mumbled.

“Who do you work for, Mr. Thompson?” Max
questioned.

“This asshole,” Thompson declared, nodding
toward Duchein.

“And what is it that you do for him?” RT
asked.

“He hired me to snatch the girl.”

“Which girl?” Trace asked, wanting him to
clarify.

“Marissa Trexler. He told me that Mr.
Adorite was blackmailing him and he had to produce the girl or he was as good
as dead.”

“Well, he got one thing right,” Max
disclosed gruffly.

Trace knew it was coming before the
muffled gunshot sounded, the noise muted by a silencer. He turned his head, but
that didn’t stop him from getting splattered with Duchein’s brain matter.

Not a single person said a word. No
screams, no cries.

Nothing.

The eerie silence that followed was
deafening.

A second later, Max spoke. “You get the
reassurance you needed?”

Trace released Duchein’s shirt—the dead
man dropping to the floor instantly—and retrieved the handkerchief from his
breast pocket, then proceeded to wipe his face. He didn’t move as Max came to
stand in front of him and RT.

“What reassurance is that?” Trace
questioned harshly.

“That I’m not after your girl,” Max
replied.

“No? That’s not what Duchein said,” Trace
said coldly. “According to your
business
partner
, you set us up. Lured Marissa here to take her out.”

“I heard what he said,” Max retorted. “I
hear every fucking thing that goes on. Don’t forget that.”

RT stepped forward. “We’re takin’ you at
your word. This is over.”

“She’s never been an issue for me,” Max
confirmed, glancing over at Marissa. “I assure you, the threat to her is gone.”

“Why’d you kill him?” Barry asked, his
face ashen white.

“Because he touched what belongs to me.”

Trace understood clearly what Max Adorite
was saying. Regardless, Duchein wasn’t going to be an issue anymore. He hadn’t died
because he’d threatened Marissa. He’d died because he couldn’t be trusted. He’d
died because he’d betrayed the Adorites. But more importantly, he’d died
because he’d touched Courtney. And Max Adorite had needed to make an example
out of him.

Mission accomplished.

“Thank you for inviting us to your lovely
party,” Courtney said sardonically. “But I think we’re gonna call it a night.”

“Courtney,” Max ground out as she turned
to walk away.