On Her Master's Secret Service (Masters and Mercenaries #4)(86)

Kristen. He’d watched as Kristen led that f*cker Carl to one of the back rooms. He’d been surprised at just how much he’d hated that. It wasn’t that he liked Kris. Fuck. It was impossible not to like Kris. She was one of those glowy people, the kind who could get the shit knocked out of them and get back up and still have a smile to show the world.

His heart had taken a little dive when he’d seen her with Carl. Carl was an ass. He treated all women like they were nothing but holes to stick his dick in. What the hell did she see in him? And wasn’t she supposed to be all girl-on-girl action? Carl, with his copious body hair, was as far from feminine as it was possible to be.

He’d had to take a walk, grab a smoke. It felt like things were coming to a head. Chazz had informed him that the man who ran everything was coming in for a visit.

He’d overheard Chazz talking about the “farm” again. He mentioned it from time to time, but if Chazz was growing carrots and potatoes, Jesse wasn’t aware of it.

“You’ll get to meet the big boss,” he’d said.

Like I didn’t already know that, dumbass. You have no idea who I am.

Jesse had just lit up, trying to think his way out of what he had to do.

That was when he’d seen Carl the Douchenozzle taking a header out the window. He’d wondered why Carl was leaving via window when there was a perfectly good front door. He’d giggled a little and then realized the dude was dead. He didn’t move at all. Jesse knew what a dead body looked like. He knew it all too well.

Kris was awfully cool under pressure. He’d watched as she maneuvered Carl’s body into the back of her SUV, all the while keeping track of who was coming and going. She’d even moved off to talk to one of the cocktail waitresses, probably to ensure that she didn’t step into the scene of Kristen’s crime.

So why hadn’t he mentioned it to his boss?

For the same damn reason he was about to do what he was about to do.

Because he’d just found out that there were lines he couldn’t step over.

He stared out at the gorgeous condo where his prey was staying. Another lie he’d been told. According to the lovely Kristen, everyone should be at her rundown little house in St. Augustine proper. But he’d followed her out to Palm Coast, driving along a lonely highway with his lights off so she wouldn’t think she was being tailed. He’d followed her past the beach houses and Marine World. Well, he’d followed as far as he could. Once he’d crossed through the toll bridge, he’d come to a gate with a security guard.

He’d had to park his car and make his way around the security. It hadn’t been easy, but they hadn’t given him the call sign “Wraith” in his old unit for nothing. He hunkered down inside one of the gated lanais on the first floor. He wouldn’t have known what building she was in if he hadn’t been able to find her car.

He felt safe here. The windows were all dark and there were no little tables on this side, the inland side. As far as he could tell, the lanai went all the way around the back to the ocean side. These were seriously wealthy people.

What the f*ck was she doing tending bar when she could afford this place?

About an hour after he’d found her, she’d left again with the big blond cook who looked like he could butcher more than a cow.

After they had driven away, Jesse had found Master A’s vehicle, broken in, placed his equipment inside and then walked back to his hidey-hole. Jesse waited patiently. He was sure he was in the right place, watching the right door.

Just him and his gun.

The sun had come up an hour or so ago, roughly twenty minutes after Kristen and the cook had completed whatever their errand had been. From where he was sitting, he had a view of the door Kristen and the cook had disappeared into earlier. He would have taken a closer look, tried to peek inside, but there was a security camera on the door. It was the only one. Once the target was a few feet past the entryway, Jesse could act without the problem of prying eyes.

He had two roads to go down. Three, really. If Master A came out first or with the cook, he would pop them both and be done. If his target came out with one of the women, he would have a choice to make, but if the sub came out alone, he had a plan.

It was all about waiting now.

Waiting and figuring out how to salvage his career.

Or just accepting that he was a f*ck up now and he always had been.

What would his hero father think of him now? There was no way he would be proud, right? He would be like the rest. He would wonder why Jesse Murdoch’s head was on his body when the rest of his team had met such a grisly fate.

Jesse closed his eyes because sometimes he could stop the visions if he thought of something else. Anything but that dank Iraqi prison, smelling of death and blood and piss. Anything but the way poor Alannah had looked at him right before the sword had severed her head from her body.

He’d cared for her and she’d hated him in that moment. She’d hated the fact that she was dying and he wasn’t. She’d believed that he’d turned.

So did everyone else.

Losing this job would be the nail in his coffin, but by god, he would go out being true to himself.

The sun kept rising, but Jesse felt no warmth.





“So what’s the problem?” Alex asked, looking down at the computer screen. It was a mass of 1s and 0s and a bunch of shit that made no sense to him.