Exit Strategy (10 page)

“But it can be done?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Excellent. Notify me immediately once you have anything. And if you find even the whisper of a security breach of any kind, by
anyone
, I don’t want to have to wait for a formal report.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll call as soon as I have any information at all.”

Cyprian disconnected the call and considered his next set of problems, two very big problems.

Devlin Buchanan and Mason Hunt.

He sorely regretted having to add Hunt to his list of loose ends, but it couldn’t be helped, not since he knew about the fake EXIT order. Cyprian could well imagine Hunt’s outrage. It had been that moral outrage that had drawn Cyprian to him as a potential enforcer in the first place. One of his contacts in the army had alerted him about Mason shortly after Mason quit the army, bitter and disillusioned. Appealing to his burning thirst for justice had been the right strategy to get him to sign on with EXIT. But that same mindset was what made Mason a liability now.

He would be worried that other innocents were being targeted in addition to Hightower. Like a bloodhound, he’d keep digging until he turned over the wrong grave. He was far too dangerous to allow to go unchecked. And if he teamed up with Buchanan, the two would be a formidable pair. It would be far easier to deal with them separately.

What he needed was a diversion, a way to get Buchanan out of North Carolina and focused on something other than EXIT. Fortunately, he knew exactly how to do that.
Unfortunately
, it meant crossing a personal line that he’d never crossed before, breaking one of his own rules that he drilled into all enforcers—­never go after an enforcer’s family. That rule was in place as incentive when signing on new recruits. They needed assurance that no matter what, their families would be safe, that they wouldn’t become targets for retribution if things went sour. It also was a quid pro quo—­honor among thieves, as it were—­to keep his own daughter safe if anyone broke with the firm. The rule was supposed to protect a family forever, even after the enforcer left the company.

But did it apply if the enforcer went rogue?

He blew out a breath and scrubbed his face. What choice did he really have? Weaken his authority by breaking his own rules, or risk EXIT being destroyed because he didn’t act to put down the current rebellion? Or was there another option altogether? He clicked the remote, changing the scenery on the wall of windows, and swiveled in his chair watching the leaves, weighing the pros and cons. After he thought it through, a reassuring calm settled over him. He knew exactly what he had to do. And he knew just the person who could help him: someone without scruples, or a conscience. Someone who always followed orders, without question.

He flipped through his old-­fashioned Rolodex, preferring the comfort of names and numbers on paper over the current fashion of having everything stored electronically. When he located the name he wanted, he keyed in the number. A moment later, the line beeped, letting him know the encryption software was preparing to scramble the line before placing the call, to ensure that no one could ungarble the conversation even if the call was intercepted.

As long as he spoke to someone on this particular phone, it didn’t matter what type of phone was on the other end. The contents of the call would be protected. It was an expensive, sophisticated upgrade that he’d insisted on when he’d purchased this old building and had it retrofitted. It made everything simple and secure.

Another beep signaled that the call was going through. After one ring, the line crackled. “Stryker.”

“It’s Cyprian. Where are you?”

“Athens, Georgia. Hunting.”

“Will your . . . hunting . . . take much longer to conclude?”

“Actually, my prey is in my sights right now.”

“I’ll wait.” Cyprian leaned back against the desk and adjusted the lapel of his charcoal gray suit. Less than a minute later, the sharp crack of a rifle echoed from the speaker. Then a pause, probably while Stryker snapped the required picture through the rifle scope. Pounding footsteps and heavy breathing followed. Another minute and the roar of an engine filled the room, and something that Cyprian imagined were tires kicking up gravel and dirt.

“Okay,” Stryker said, sounding slightly out of breath. “Mission accomplished. What can I do for you, boss?”

“I need a favor.”

“Name it.”

“I want you to go to Augusta and pick someone up for me.”

“Who?”

“Austin Buchanan.”

Chapter Eight

Day Two—­5:30 p.m.

S
abrina rinsed her hair beneath the jet sprays of the shower, relishing the feel of the hot water sluicing down her back. She couldn’t believe she’d slept so long—­it was almost the dinner hour. But the sleep had done wonders for her aches and pains. The bruises on her chest, just beneath her breasts, were an ugly dark purple now. Thankfully, they looked far worse than they felt. And her arm barely bothered her at all.
That
was probably due to the pain pills she was taking.

Thinking about her injuries had her remembering last night and everything that had happened. Her enjoyment of the shower faded and she turned it off. It was time to make some decisions about her future. She just wished there was even one person she could trust so she could discuss the pros and cons of her current predicament.

Six months ago, she’d had her brother, Thomas, to talk to. And Grampy Hightower, of course. She fought back the grief that always threatened to overwhelm her when thinking about either of them. Not even her parents’ deaths two months earlier had the power to destroy her like the loss of Thomas and Grampy did. But then again, she’d never really known her parents. John and Jacinda Hightower were just the fun-­loving, smiling strangers who visited her on Christmas. And, sometimes, on her birthday.

She towel-­dried her hair and plopped down on her makeup bench, quickly putting on some mascara and eyeliner, but nothing else. She wasn’t much for primping, but accentuating her best feature made her feel more confident, even if she didn’t have anyone to primp for but herself. Confidence was definitely what she needed right now.

Her hair, as thin as it was, would quickly dry on its own and hang straight as usual. When she was younger, she’d hated her hair and had spent untold hours trying to curl it or follow the current fashions. But no matter what she did, within a few hours her hair would slide out of whatever style she’d arranged. So she’d given up the fight and had adopted straight, heavy bangs and allowed her hair to fall the way it wanted. As soon as she’d accepted her hair’s foibles, she’d learned to appreciate how easy it was to take care of.

Sitting there thinking about hair and makeup wasn’t going to make her problems go away. She had to face them head-­on. And what, exactly, did that mean? Stay and hope the ­people who’d hired Mason and Ace didn’t send another hit man after her? That held no appeal. She couldn’t afford the three bodyguards she’d already hired. She certainly couldn’t pay them long-­term.

Leave, then? That seemed to make the most sense. She could rent someplace outside the city, use a fake name. Would someone rent to her without ID? She didn’t know. How did a person assume a fake identity? She had no clue.

Wherever she went, she’d have to call in monthly to an assistant DA back in Colorado per her plea bargain agreement. She’d also have to check in with her lawyer and private investigators. And pay them. She wasn’t sure how to work all of that out, but the thought of leaving felt right. The tension in her shoulders eased just knowing that she wasn’t going to sit here waiting, hoping that some hit man didn’t come looking for her. Well, if she was going to leave, she might as well do it right now.

She put her glasses on, hung up her towel, and hurried into the bedroom to get dressed and start packing.

She saw him a split second before he grabbed her. She drew a breath to scream just as he clamped his hand over her mouth, capturing her hands between them and pressing her against the bedroom wall.

Mason.

She wasn’t sure who was more surprised. Her, because he’d managed to break into her home, again, in spite of
three
bodyguards. Or him, because she was naked.

One thing was for sure, he wasn’t shy about enjoying the view. His dark gaze roamed leisurely over the upper swells of her breasts crushed against his chest, before he looked her in the eyes. The sudden pressure against her belly told her he wasn’t unaffected by her nakedness.

Her face flamed and she tried to tell him to let her go, but her words came out muffled against his hand. His erection continued to harden against her belly, and since that’s where her hands were trapped between them, she was literally getting a handful of him.

A flash of heat swept through her, making her lower belly clench and her toes curl against the floor. To her shame, her body was just as turned on as his, and the shiver that swept through her was just as telling as his erection.

His mouth curved in a knowing smile.

Damn him.

He bent down toward her. Was he going to kiss her? She hoped so. Because this time a Kevlar vest wouldn’t save him from her bite.

But instead of kissing her, he pressed his lips close to her ear, his warm breath tickling the fine hairs on her neck.

“We need to talk,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her skin, raising goose bumps. “I’m going to move my hand. If you scream and alert the guards downstairs, I may be forced to kill them in self-­defense. Neither of us wants that. I just want to talk to you. That’s all. Do you understand?”

He waited, his body pressed against hers so tightly that she could feel his heartbeat against her breasts. She didn’t doubt what he’d said. If she screamed, he really would kill the men tasked with protecting her. She slowly nodded, letting him know she understood and that she wouldn’t make a sound.

“Only whispers,” he said. “We’re going to have a calm, quiet conversation.”

She nodded again.

He moved back, just enough to pull his hand away from her mouth.

She licked her dry lips.

His erection pulsed against her hands.

Part of her was so mortified that she wanted to crawl under the bed and hide. The other part, a part she didn’t even recognize, wanted to stroke that impressive erection through his jeans just to see how he’d react.

“Please,” she whispered, refusing to meet his gaze, afraid he’d see the confused jumble of fear and desire roiling inside her. “Let me get dressed.”

Surprisingly, he immediately stepped back.

The heat in his gaze reminded her that she was still standing there, completely naked. She ran into the bathroom for a towel.

A
FTER
S
ABRINA, ALL
covered up in a towel this time, retrieved some clothes from her dresser and disappeared back into the bathroom, Mason plopped down on the chair by the window. He let out a deep breath and adjusted himself to ease the pressure of his erection against the front of his jeans. With those cute glasses on her perky little nose, Sabrina had reminded him of a librarian. Who knew that librarians were his weakness? The wave of lust that had slammed through him had nearly driven him mad.

Damned if he hadn’t wanted to drop to his knees right there and dip his tongue inside her, tasting and worshipping her, stroking her softness with his fingers while he suckled her until she sobbed his name and climaxed against his mouth. Then he’d wrap her toned legs around his waist and pump into her over and over, hard and deep until she screamed his name again and came undone around him. She’d collapse in his arms and he’d carry her to the bed. And this time, he’d take it slow and easy and enjoy every luscious curve.

He shuddered and scrubbed his face. Sabrina Hightower was dangerous, in more ways than one. He shouldn’t have come back. Shouldn’t have decided to check on her security one last time before heading off to the rendezvous. But he’d had to assure himself she was safe before he could focus on his new mission—­finding out who was behind the fake EXIT orders.

But now that he’d seen how easy it
still
was to break into her house, he was so disgusted that he hadn’t decided what to do. Those pathetic bodyguards she’d hired were too interested in watching the big-­screen TV in the back of the house to even notice him sneaking inside and slipping up the stairs. A neighborhood thug would have no trouble breaking into this place, let alone an enforcer like Ace. She wasn’t even remotely safe.

“How did you get in here?”

He looked up to see the object of his lust and consternation standing outside the bathroom again, her back to the same wall he’d pressed her against earlier. Unfortunately, instead of being naked, she had jeans and a shirt on. And her small, soft, perfect breasts were almost flattened to nothing in the utilitarian bra she wore. If she were his, the first thing he’d do was throw away that bra and take her to a decadent lingerie store to buy the type of underthings that would accentuate and reveal her for the beauty that she was.

“Mason? How did you get inside with the alarm set, and avoid the bodyguards?” Her brows drew down. The flash of anger in her eyes had him fighting a smile as usual around her. She had more spunk than women twice her size and didn’t seem the least bit intimidated that
he
was
more
than twice her size and carried a gun.

Damn, he’d love to get her into bed.

He raised his hand and pointed to the watchlike unit on his wrist. “I programmed this last week to knock out your alarm through a wireless override. Basically, it fakes out the alarm so it doesn’t realize it’s been overridden. Then it scrambles the history so the alarm company thinks the alarm was never set.”

Reluctant interest lit her eyes. “I didn’t hear any breaking glass this time.”

“I picked the lock. I was in too much of a hurry last time to bother.”

“And the security guards?”

He shrugged. “Amateurs.”

She looked past him toward the bedroom door.

“Sabrina?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve got no reason to fear me.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m not afraid of
you
. I’m afraid of this whole situation. I thought I’d be safe with three bodyguards, at least for a little while. But if you could get in here that easily, I have to assume whoever is after me could do the same thing.”

She closed the distance between them. “Due to my felon status, I don’t own a gun. And in spite of how inept my guards appear to be, they refused the bribe I offered if they’d give me one of their guns. So, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d share. I saw the Sig Sauer on your ankle earlier. I prefer the Sig, since it’s smaller. But then again, the recoil is less on the heavier Glock, so I’ll take either. I hope you have some spare ammo too because, obviously, I’m fresh out.” She held her hand out as if she fully expected him to give her one of his pistols.

He imagined he looked as stunned as he felt. Here he was, worried about her being helpless, and she was demanding a gun and citing calibers and manufacturer names like an expert.

“You’re serious,” he said, still a bit rattled.

She put her hands on her hips. “I have to defend myself. Look, if you’re worried that I don’t know how to handle a gun, don’t be. Grampy Hightower took me and my brother target practicing in the Rockies all the time. I can shoot the eye out of a rattlesnake at twenty paces.”

He shook his head. “That felony will get you thrown into prison if you’re caught with a gun. Regardless of your reasons.”

She gave him a droll look. “Seriously? The hit man is lecturing me about the law?”

He shoved out of the chair and towered over her. “I prefer ‘enforcer’ to hit man. And I do a lot more than kill ­people for a living. Or did. As for giving you a weapon, not happening. I came here to check on your security. It sucks, by the way.”

“Obviously. Thus the need for a gun.”

“
Thus
the need to hire better bodyguards and go somewhere else. Have the security company rent a house for you, under their company name. Pay for everything in cash.”

She opened her mouth, probably to continue arguing, but he cut her off by holding up the picture from her desk, the one of her and two other ­people wearing dark green T-­shirts that he’d noticed while she was in the shower.

He was pretty sure he knew who the two other ­people were in that picture, but he wanted to be certain. And then he was going to make sure she knew exactly how much danger she was in, and why she needed to fire her current guards and get out of Dodge. “Tell me about this picture.”

Her blue eyes widened and she pressed her hand to her throat in a moment of unguarded emotion. But what that emotion was he wasn’t sure—­fear? Regret? Anger? She blinked and lowered her hand. “That picture is none of your business. Put it down.”

“They’re your parents, aren’t they?”

Her jaw worked for a moment. “Yes. They died a few months ago. Why are you asking me about them?”

“They were on an EXIT tour when they died.”

“Is that a question?”

“Were you with them? Was that picture taken on the same tour where they died?”

“They only went on one tour. Yes, I was . . .” She closed her eyes briefly. “I was with them. They died right in front of me, if you must know. Will you please tell me why you’re so fixated on that picture?”

He set it down and grabbed her shoulders. “You moved to Asheville from Colorado because EXIT was opening an office here, didn’t you? Since you’re suing them for the wrongful death of your parents . . .” Her startled look made him pause.

“Yes,” he continued. “I know about the lawsuit. It’s one of many things I’ve learned about you in the past twenty-­four hours. Did you think moving here would give you an advantage somehow, that it would help you pressure Cyprian and EXIT Inc. to admit their wrongdoings?”

She frowned and pushed his arms down. “Enough with the inquisition. If you’re not going to give me a gun, then get out of here. I’ll even open the door for you.” She stalked past him toward the bedroom door.

He clapped his hand over her mouth and grabbed her from behind, pulling her against his chest. “Quit being so stubborn and listen for a minute.”

Her teeth clamped down on his index finger.

He swore and jerked his hand back.

Sabrina whirled around to face him.

Mason blinked in astonishment to see his own Glock in her hand, the muzzle pressing against his stomach. “You little devil. You do know the gun is loaded, right?”