Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) (13 page)

Ryan figured the dumb ass who was about to
find himself in handcuffs was going to be happy to know that Ryan had
accompanied Conner on this late-night rendezvous in order to save the fool’s
life. Considering the fierce determination in Conner Kogan’s light gray eyes, the
man certainly wasn’t up for playing games. Normally that wouldn’t bother Ryan,
but for the past few months, he’d been a little worried about Con. More
specifically, about how far Con would go if pushed. He was a ticking time bomb,
set to go off at any minute.

“You’ve got thirty seconds to tell me what
the fuck you’re doin’ here,” Conner growled.

The guy looked up at Conner as though
seeing him for the first time.

“What?”

“Twenty seconds,” Ryan told him, reminding
him that Conner was likely counting down as well.

“I … uh… I was just…”

“You’re a fucking moron, you know that?”
Ryan told the scrawny guy standing not two feet from him. “Did you not get even
a little concerned when you found the gate open?”

“I … uh… I just figured y’all forgot to
shut it,” the man stated, his voice shaking nearly as much as his hands.

“And what? You figured you’d get in a
little late-night exercise? Maybe scale a wall, take a stroll?”

“Where’re the fucking dogs?” Conner ground
out, glancing around as though he expected the dogs to come running.

Ryan fought the urge to laugh. He seemed
to be doing that a lot lately.

“
Dogs
?”
their late-night visitor asked, his voice pitched high with fear as he peered
around in the darkness. “What dogs?”

“Damn, man. Didn’t you do your homework
before you scaled that wall?” Ryan questioned, not expecting a response.

A fierce growl sounded from the side of
the house, and Ryan turned in time to see Clay come strolling out with Butch
and Sundance—names his father had picked out for the well-trained German shepherds—on
their leashes.

“
Those
dogs,” Conner said. “Would you like to meet them? I’d be more than happy to
introduce you.”

The man shook his head rapidly, making his
shaggy blond hair shift on top of his head. Yeah, this was a fucking
amateur, that
much Ryan knew. That didn’t mean they could go
easy on the guy.

Grabbing the man by the back of the neck,
Ryan urged him forward, making him stumble.

“Where’re you takin’ me?”

“To wait for the cops,” Ryan informed him.
“You’re just lucky I’m here. If it were up to Con, you’d be headed to the
woodshed. He’s always liked introducin’ strangers to Butch and Sundance. And
when he’s in a really good mood, he enjoys givin’ the dogs a late-night snack.
Based on your size,” Ryan said as he pretended to look the man over, “you’d be
just about perfect.”

Clay laughed, but Conner didn’t. Ryan
figured that was because there was probably a little truth to that statement.
More than there should be. At the rate Conner was going, if he didn’t figure
out a way to get his head on straight, Ryan wasn’t sure the man was going to be
able to continue.

When it came down to it, their job
required them to walk a fine line, and revenge and retaliation had no place in
their world.

It was the fastest, surest way for one of
them to end up dead.

And unfortunately, they’d already lost too
much as it was.

Trace wasn’t all that
fond of being summoned when he’d been in bed for less than an hour, but when
his father had called and instructed him to get his ass back to Bryce’s house,
he hadn’t argued. Hell, he’d only been home for an hour and a half, leaving
Marissa asleep in her bed before the sun came up in the hopes of getting a few
hours of sleep himself.
Now that he was there,
he was wondering what the hell was going on because he seemed to be the only
person who’d arrived.

 
“Good mornin’, Trace,” Lilah greeted sweetly
as he stepped into the kitchen to help himself to caffeine in liquid form. “I
was just cleanin’ up the breakfast dishes. Would you like me to get you
somethin’?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied, lifting his
coffee cup to his lips. “Thank you, though.”

“Well, I’m gonna make myself busy
elsewhere then,” Lilah told him, laying a hand towel on the immaculate granite
countertop.

He had a pretty good idea
why
he’d been demanded to attend the
impromptu meeting, but as he watched Lilah disappear down the hall that led to
the guest wing where she stayed, the hair on the back of his neck was
prickling.
It was a warning, something he was
familiar with. But this time he didn’t think it was immediate danger that had
his Spidey senses going haywire.

No, this was something else.

Just for grins, Trace retrieved the iPad
that they used to man the interior gate. He didn’t disable the keypad as he had
before, instead choosing to watch to see if anyone else was heading in. He
noticed the first arrival of the morning—his brother Hunter—making his way into
the compound.

Interesting.

With his coffee mug full,
Trace set the iPad down on the counter, leaned against the breakfast bar,
crossed his ankles, and waited for someone to tell him what was going on,
assuming that Casper was in Bryce’s office because he could tell from where he
stood that the door was shut.

He heard the front door open and turned as
Hunter stepped inside the
wide
foyer,
looking around with a hint of confusion on his face. Something was
clearly
bothering Hunter, but Trace had no idea
what it could possibly be. The man wasn’t known for his shining personality, by
any means, but generally he was keenly focused. Didn’t seem to be the case at
the moment.

Without a word, Hunter came toward him,
lifting his dark eyebrows in question.

Trace responded to his brother’s silent inquisition
with, “He called and told me to meet him here. You?”

“Yeah,” Hunter said absently, glancing
around the room as though he expected someone to jump out at him.

“You okay?” Trace questioned, and based on
the grimace he received in response, it appeared Hunter realized it for the
loaded question that it was.

Seeing as it was now
public knowledge that Danielle Davidson—the woman responsible for stomping all
over Hunter’s worn and tattered heart—was coming back to Dallas, they were all
giving Hunter a wide berth.
For going on three years, they’d dealt with Hunter’s less-than-pleasant
demeanor, and now that the woman Hunter had intended to marry—but hadn’t because
she’d left his ass at the altar without a word—was rumored to be coming home,
Hunter had been less fun to be around.
If that was possible.

“Of course,” Hunter responded abruptly,
seemingly shaking himself out of his funk before setting his helmet on one of
the bar stools and making a beeline for the coffeepot.

Before Trace could interrogate him
further, a door opened, and he looked up to see Casper and Bryce heading their
way, their eyes scanning the room earnestly.

Trace sipped his coffee as he watched the
older men. He found it amusing how in sync the two of them were. Then again,
they’d been friends and business partners for most of their lives at this
point, and Trace figured there was only so much time two people could spend
together before they started acting alike.

That day had come and gone.

But personalities and poise aside, the two
men were exact opposites in appearance, with the exception of their height.
Trace and his siblings had all inherited their
father’s unusual white-gray eyes and olive complexion, but their hair color was
a mix—some light brown like Casper’s had been before he’d started to go gray,
others dark brown like their mother, Elizabeth.

And on the Trexler front… As for Bryce’s
kids, well, most of them had that surfer thing going on: blond hair and dark
blue eyes like Bryce—who still had yet to sprout a single gray hair. The only
two who were even remotely different were Marissa and RT, and that was because
they had inherited their mother Emily’s ice-blue eyes, but they still sported
the same blond hair that both their parents had.

Hunter elbowed Trace conspiratorially as
he made his way back around to the bar, hefting himself onto a vacant stool.

“What’s up?” Trace asked their father when
Casper came to stand beside him.

“
Mornin’
,”
Casper offered by way of greeting. “Get your old man some coffee and we’ll
chat.”

Without question, Trace made his way back
to the coffeepot. “How
’bout
you?” he
asked Bryce, who was now sitting at the rustic oak breakfast table.

“None for me, thanks.”

“While you’re
makin’
yourself useful, I’ll take one, too,” Conner groused as he
joined them in the kitchen, dropping his helmet onto the bar.

Shit. Trace hadn’t even heard him come in.

“Salt or sugar in that, Con?” Trace joked.

“Never mind, I’ll get my own damn coffee.”
His oldest brother chuckled—a rarity these days—as he nudged
Trace
out of the way.

“That’s what I thought.”

Carrying a cup over to
his father, who had taken a seat at the kitchen table beside Bryce, Trace
watched the owners of Sniper 1 Security, waiting for someone to enlighten him
as to what was going on.

“Anyone else comin’?” Trace inquired,
although he already knew the answer to that question. Their expressions were
dire, and Trace knew that meant a larger audience was necessary.

Neither man said anything, which was quite
interesting
in and of itself. Generally,
you couldn’t get either of them to
stop
talking, and now it appeared Trace and his brothers would be working to pry the
information out of them.

Casper Kogan and Bryce Trexler had created
what
was now their families’ company, Sniper 1
Security, thirty-three years ago
. Both of them had been fresh out of the
Marines, both having served eight years, the latter part spent in elite special
services after completing the Marine Special Operations School. According to
them, they’d been trained to do something more than sit at a desk, yet they’d
had absolutely no idea what they wanted to do with the rest of their lives when
the idea had come to them.
They were
self-proclaimed adrenaline junkies, not to mention trained killers thanks to
Uncle Sam, and from the stories that had been told through the years, it was
the fear of being tied down to desk jobs that had had them coming up with the
brilliant plan of creating what was now one of the most successful
investigation—
slash
—security firms in
the world.

Yes. The
world
.

Casper and Bryce had a long history
together. They had been introduced to one another during their time in the Marines,
but not the way most people would assume. They’d actually met through their
respective girlfriends at the time, whom they’d met while enlisted.
Oddly enough, Casper had been dating Emily—who was now
married to Bryce—when Casper had been introduced to Bryce, who had been dating
Emily’s best friend, Elizabeth—Trace’s mother, who was now married to Casper.

Confusing as hell. Simply put: the four of
them had determined that they’d paired up with the wrong person in the
beginning. And according to the stories, no one had been bothered by the
switch. Then again, Trace knew that the four of them had a relationship that
went a little deeper than merely friends. They were family, according to them.

Not only had they married the women who’d
introduced them to one another, they’d also done
pretty much
everything together from that point on: grow their
business, start families, raise their children. Even the kids they had were
born relatively close to one another. Almost as though it had been planned.

Trace dropped into one of the chairs
across from Bryce and Casper. Hunter grunted as he eased off the barstool he’d
claimed a few minutes before and then gently maneuvered into the chair beside
Trace.

“Problems? You hurt or somethin’? Or just
gettin’
old
?”
Trace chided Hunter.

“Fuck no,” his older brother retorted,
grimacing as he shifted in his chair but not clarifying which question he was
answering.

Trace let it be.

“Where’s TJ?” Casper asked, his question
directed at Bryce, referring to Bryce’s brother, who also worked for Sniper 1.

“On his way. Said he had something he
needed to take care of first.”

Shit.
TJ was coming? That made it official. This was serious. And if they had to wait
for TJ, Trace figured he might as well get comfortable. No telling how long it
would take the man to show up. He seemed to work on his own timeline.

The iPad chimed, notifying them of another
visitor.

Needing something to do, Trace pushed to
his feet so he could retrieve the tablet. As he moved across the kitchen, he
realized it would’ve been a hell of a lot simpler if he’d just carried the damn
thing with him. Peering at the screen, he frowned.

It only took a fraction of a second for
Trace to recognize the shark-gray metallic Corvette Stingray idling at the
gate. With the top down, despite the frigid temperature—it seemed they’d
brought a bout of cold weather back with them from Connecticut—Trace saw his
sister tapping her fingertips on the steering wheel. After keying in her code,
she accelerated, shooting up the drive as the gate closed slowly behind her.

“You invite Courtney?” Trace asked his
father.

Casper shook his head. “But I intended to.
Why? She here?”

“Yep.”

A minute later, Trace’s exuberant sister
traipsed into the house, waving over her shoulder as she made her way to the
stairs. “I’m here to see Marissa.
Y’all
have fun!”

“Young lady,” Casper called out, “I want
to talk to you before you leave.”

“Yup,” was the only response that came
back as Courtney rounded the top of the stairs, disappearing from view.

Trace’s phone chirped and he grabbed it,
glancing at the screen.

As the
confusion
over what was going on took root, Trace realized he should’ve just ignored his
phone that morning and opted to sleep.

It was going to be a long damn day, he
could feel it.