The Kendall Family: Riley Part 1

RILEY.

A Kendall Family Novel.

by Randi Everheart.

Chapter 1 The Target.

Jordan Hunt gazed through the sight on her sniper rifle and checked a sigh. "Killing this guy would be a shame," she muttered to herself, "but a job's a job."

Riley Kendall sat shirtless in his living room, six-pack abs rippling beneath a muscled chest as he cleaned a handgun. His torso bore its share of scars, some looking like bullet holes and others like knife wounds. Four tattoos covered his powerful arms: a dragon on his right bicep, an eagle on the left, a snake on his left forearm, and a dagger on the right. Jordan wanted to kiss his thick neck and feel the corded muscles in those arms holding her fast as he manhandled her. Normally the idea of submitting to a man didn't sit so well with her, but something about him stirred her interest. Then again, maybe it was just because she was about to murder him in the prime of his life. That had never made her feel romantic about her victim before, but there's a first time for everything.

She used the view port to admire his cobalt-blue eyes, softer than she would have expected given his otherwise macho appearance. A crew cut matched the black stubble outlining his strong jaw. Even if she hadn't read his dossier, she'd have known at once that he was a Marine. A sniper, like her. Those gentle eyes made her wonder if he was a sweetheart under the typical bravado of military guys. Part of her had always wanted that even though most of them turned out to be pigs.

"I could just wound him," she murmured, "and go steal a kiss before finishing him. Tie him up, have some fun." She chuckled, then realized those thoughts were a distraction. "Better stop that or I won't be able to do this."

To collect her composure, Jordan put the gun down and picked up her binoculars to scan for witnesses again. Few were likely, for most houses in rural Comus, Maryland sat on at least an acre, and the Kendall family's property spanned dozens. His green and black Harley-Davidson Night Rod Special sat on the otherwise empty driveway of the guest house he called home. A dog that had been sniffing around had trotted off to the bigger, main house owned by Riley's brother. Jordan couldn't see any activity over there because of the trees separating the houses.

A hundred yards off to one side stood the family-owned Sugarloaf Stables; two barns and other, smaller buildings peeked through the foliage. A number of horses were grazing in the surrounding fields, but one of the outdoor riding rings had three riders in it. Jordan had been waiting an hour for them to disappear.

"Maybe they're used to hearing gun shots," she speculated, "and won't think anything of it, but then maybe they will."

Riley had a makeshift gun range set up behind the guesthouse, the targets being just below her perch on a hillside so that she was firing in the opposite direction from whomever might be using the range. Despite the way movies portrayed them, gun silencers only lowered the sound of a gunshot by a few decibels; no one would fail to hear or recognize the sound. Her shot could be mistaken for his, though usually people at a range fire more than the one bullet she antic.i.p.ated needing. She seldom missed, and never had at this close range.

She trained her gaze on other houses nearby but saw no activity outside. Behind her, the twelve-hundred-foot Sugarloaf Mountain dominated the mostly flat landscape. A trail led back up to a lookout where her rental car sat, but she was fifty feet from the trail and no one had been hiking in this area when she came down an hour ago, or since. She could've made the shot from farther than she was, as only a hundred yards separated her from Riley, but increasing the distance invited witnesses. Besides, she needed proof that he was a corpse to get paid the other half of her fee. A photo of his body would require going down there once he was dead.

Seeing all of the riders exit the ring, she decided now was the time.

"Okay, baby-blue-eyes," she said to him, settling into position again, "time to sleep forever."

She suspected Riley had the window open because many of the cleaners used for gun care smelled like h.e.l.l. It didn't change her shot, but the absence of shattered gla.s.s might make it harder for cops to determine where a bullet had come from. She didn't intend to clean up the place she was shooting from. The loose leaves and vegetation would prevent anyone, including her, from easily finding the sh.e.l.l casing from her bullet, which didn't have her fingerprints on it anyway. She'd made sure of that. She took aim and waited for him to stop moving so much. When he picked up a gun barrel and rag, the time had come.

Jordan pulled the trigger. The shot rang out.

But at the same moment, Riley dropped the barrel and leaned forward sharply to retrieve it. Her bullet shattered the gla.s.s covering a framed photo behind him. Keeping her cool, she waited for him to straighten up and look around like many victims did, making a second shot easy, but she wasn't surprised when he didn't. He likely knew better.

Stifling a sigh, she dropped the rifle, and pulled on a camouflage ski mask that matched the rest of her clothing. She began working her way toward the house as fast as possible while trying to stay unseen. Killing him up close and personal would be harder but might just be worth it to get a closer look at those blue eyes before she snuffed the life out of them forever.

When the gla.s.s in the picture frame shattered amid a rifle's familiar echo, Riley Kendall threw himself to the floor. No one fired shots at his private range but him and his family, and no one shot in the opposite direction by accident. Someone had just tried to kill him.

Adrenaline pumping, he glared at the ruined picture of his mother. He'd kill whoever had destroyed it. First he needed a gun, but the bullet's trajectory eliminated getting the one he'd been cleaning because he'd get shot going for it. There were only so many places from which a sniper could fire a rifle into the living room, which was at the house's rear, facing the mountain. The shot had to have come from near his targets, and directly above them. That limited his options for reaching the gun chest in the upper guest room, too.

"Stairs are out," he muttered.

His dog, Coby, scampered down the steps, nails clattering on the hardwood.

"Down," Riley commanded, and the dog lay at the bottom of the stairs, ears perked up. He'd trained his best friend as a guard dog but didn't want him getting shot.

Riley glanced up at the table; he could have tipped it to slide the remaining gun pieces to him, but he likely didn't have time to a.s.semble the weapon. The Nighthawk T4 handgun he used for work was sitting in its holster near the front door. If he made it to the hallway by sliding across the floor, solid walls would be between him and the shooter. He set off and made it there easily, then crawled around the corner with Coby beside him. Once there, he almost stood up but realized more than one person might be out there. Crouching, he made it down the hall and grabbed the holster off the table in the foyer and removed the gun from it.

It would take a minute for a sniper to reach him, especially if trying to remain hidden along the way, and he knew the shooter had to try. Most snipers knew enough about their target to make the kill easier, and that meant the guy knew Riley was a sniper, too, which meant that if the a.s.sa.s.sin came across the open field out back, Riley could pick him off. That meant he had a couple minutes.

Riley had been hunted before. The key to survival was being unpredictable. Be where the killer did not expect you to be. With that in mind, he ducked into the garage and clicked the b.u.t.ton to open it. That should lure the a.s.sa.s.sin that way.

"Find Quinn," he said to the dog, and Coby bolted through the garage and down the pavement toward his brother's house. He wasn't sure Coby would bring Quinn back, but he had to get rid of the dog. When the a.s.sa.s.sin entered the house, the sound of Coby's claws would give away both Riley's and the dog's position.

Riley slipped back inside, locking the door before discreetly peeking through a front window. No sign of activity except Coby rapidly disappearing. If he knew the sniper was alone, he might've gone out that way. Instead, he locked the front door and moved to the side of the house farthest from the garage, where he opened a kitchen window and lifted up the screen. Going outside was a risk, especially if the shooter had help, but the garage door should've drawn all the attention away from his location.

He slipped outside, booted feet landing in the gra.s.s between several bushes. He ducked behind them. The drop happened so fast no one could've shot him even had they seen his escape, but he moved away from the shrubbery anyway, to the house's rear corner, where he looked across the backyard. Again he saw no movement, but the nearby trees had enough underbrush for someone to hide behind. So did the line of foliage on the garage side. Nothing but treetops and the rounded peak of Sugarloaf Mountain greeted his eyes. Never before had he realized his yard offered so many chances to pick off someone. While he waited for a sign, the hot summer sun beat down on his bare shoulders and reminded him that his bulletproof vest was upstairs.

With nothing happening, he peered around the corner across the rear of the house just in time to see a single camouflage boot lift from the ground and disappear inside the house's back door. The a.s.sa.s.sin was already inside, faster than expected, having come down the far side, apparently.

"Answers that question," he muttered, glad for the knowledge. The advantage was his. On the other hand, the garage door bait hadn't been taken, so maybe this guy had some brains.

Suddenly he remembered the smartphone in one pocket of his black jeans. His cousin Isabel was something of a geek and had helped Riley install and set up security cameras at the family businesses. On a lark, Riley had her install some in the house. An app on his phone let him see inside when he was gone and even tilt and pan the cameras remotely. Quickly, he grabbed the phone, accessed the app, and pulled up a screen that let him see multiple cameras at once.

And there, in the living room, stood the sniper, a silver Colt Defender revolver sweeping side to side in one hand as his head swiveled quickly. Riley knew the guy was a.s.sessing with every second, and listening, too. The shooter moved right for the camera on the corner table and Riley frowned, expecting what came next as the a.s.sa.s.sin reached behind it for the plug. The image went black.

"Oh, well," he said, unruffled. "Time for a Plan B."

Thinking hard about how to handle this, he waited for the a.s.sa.s.sin to appear in another camera and suspected it would be the kitchen. Anyone with half a brain cleared a floor first before going to another. The seconds ticked by while the guy likely checked the hall bathroom and foyer. Then the killer entered the kitchen, moving straight for the camera overlooking Coby's food and water bowls. Head scanning back and forth, the intruder's gaze settled on the open window as one hand reached for the camera's cord. When the camera went black, Riley realized he had just seconds before the a.s.sa.s.sin stuck a head out that window and saw him at the corner.

He tucked the gun into his waistband and quietly hurried back to the window. A little hand-to-hand combat would spice up his morning and keep the target alive for questioning. He crouched beneath the sill and flattened against the wall. If he stood to either side, the a.s.sa.s.sin could see him more easily, but the only way to be certain Riley wasn't under the window was to stick a head out.

Or so he thought.

While Riley looked upward, the a.s.sa.s.sin stuck Riley's red cooking pot, which he'd left on the stove, out the window and dropped it even as Riley began to surge upward. It cracked him on the head but he still caught the gloved hand and wrist. Then he yanked the a.s.sa.s.sin so hard that the guy flew out the window and over him into a bush, causing Riley to lose his grip. The Colt fell beside them in the gra.s.s.

In the time it took Riley to grab his Nighthawk, the nimble a.s.sa.s.sin leapt up and punched his wrist just as he brought the Nighthawk around. Numb fingers dropped the weapon, so he swung with the other fist. His target ducked and then delivered a spinning kick to his ribs, but Riley partially blocked it by grabbing the leg with both hands.

"Got you now," he said.

"Like h.e.l.l you do," replied a woman's voice.

Riley's momentary startled reaction was enough for the a.s.sa.s.sin to kick her other foot toward his crotch despite risking falling to the ground. Riley saw it coming and closed his legs in time to trap her foot between his muscled thighs. Showing impressive strength, she didn't fall. Instead, she sat up and swung both hands at his ears. To prevent the ear-boxing, he had no choice but to let go so that she fell to the ground. No sooner had she struck earth than she rolled for the Colt, but Riley straddled her lush a.s.s to lean forward and wrap a powerful arm around her neck.

"Time for a nap, sweetie," he said in her ear, which smelled of lilacs. Then he compressed her windpipe while leaning on her back to squeeze the air from her lungs. He felt her holding her breath, but it finally exploded from her and her resistance waned until she finally went limp, in stark contrast to his hard c.o.c.k pressing against her soft rear. He made sure she was out before relaxing his grip and checking her pulse.

"Can't have you die on me," he said to her unconscious body. "You have information I need." He rolled her over, then lifted the mask to reveal a face like fine porcelain, high cheekbones beneath eyes that were now closed. Full, sensuous lips made him wonder who'd been kissing them. Another tug on her mask and it came off, a tumble of long, wavy, auburn hair cascading around her. The softness of it contrasted with the hardened killer he knew she was and he grinned, stroking her cheek with one hand.

"And maybe you have something else I need. I'm really going to enjoy your strip search. I'd say it's just business, honey, but believe me, it's gonna get personal for me in a hurry."

Chuckling in antic.i.p.ation, he tucked both of their handguns in his pants, along with her mask, and hauled her upright before lifting her over one shoulder. Then he sauntered toward the back door, patting his conquest on the rump once. He sensed that although he might've captured her, she could still be the death of him.

Chapter 2 Intel.

Riley stood at the foot of the bed in his guest room, staring down at the a.s.sa.s.sin. She wouldn't be out cold for long, so he'd already handcuffed both hands and feet to the bedposts, the sheets pulled down and pooled between her spread feet. She was still dressed, but not for long. A quick search of her had turned up a smartphone, car keys, two knives, and handcuffs, but now he needed to make sure she had nothing else.

Using one of her own knives, he ripped through her pants, destroying them so that if she managed to escape, she'd have nothing to put on. Most people weren't hardened enough to just go naked and not give a d.a.m.n. She'd waste precious seconds searching for clothes before fleeing-or even coming after him. Being exposed had also made more than one person uncomfortable enough to cough up information while being interrogated. And then there was the personal enjoyment he'd derive.

On seeing the red thong underneath, he felt his c.o.c.k stir and wondered if she'd rattle him more than he her. Two scars, neither of them appearing fresh, on one leg accentuated her softness. Firm, toned muscles didn't surprise him. On the outside of one ankle lay a tattoo of a great white shark eating a man, making him wonder if that's how she saw herself.

Riley removed her tan boots and socks, noting the lack of nail polish on either toes or fingertips. Sitting beside her, he took her long-sleeved shirt in hand and cut it off, revealing a barbed wire tattoo around one bicep. Tight abs rose and fell with her breathing beneath a sports bra that held her b.r.e.a.s.t.s down until he snipped that, too. Her b.o.o.bs jiggled nicely. He tossed the bra aside without looking to see where it landed, eyes riveted by her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, two soft nipples beginning to expand after having been flattened by the tight confinement. He wanted to make them stand up all the way, like his c.o.c.k was starting to. With a grin, he took the knife to her thong and cut that off.

"Oh, very nice," he said, gazing at the neatly shaved p.u.s.s.y now revealed, his c.o.c.k stiffening more. He hadn't seen a woman this fit, this beautiful, in a long time. And she was a sniper, too. Maybe if they'd met under different circ.u.mstances, they'd have a chance together, but after he'd gotten done with her, she had a long stay in federal prison somewhere.

She hadn't brought much with her, including the rifle, so he'd need to go find that and whatever else she'd left. She'd presumably come in a car; that probably held everything else of interest, including an ID, even if fake. Only the phone offered info now, so he picked it up and clicked the "home" b.u.t.ton. He didn't have the code to get in but the fingerprint scanner might work. With a smirk, he went over to her and placed her left thumb on it. No luck. He tried twice more before switching to her right thumb, which worked on the first pa.s.s.

"Tactical mistake, sweetheart," he said, pausing to stare at her in admiration. With an effort, he turned his attention to the phone.

He pulled up the contacts and saw none, which didn't surprise him. Operatives were trained to memorize info. The call log showed two numbers she'd dialed. He could call them to see who answered, but that might give him away, so he copied one and pasted it into the internet browser, hoping Google would return intel. The first search result was for Enterprise Car Rental in Dulles, Virginia. He clicked on the map, not surprised to see it was at the airport; she'd flown in. The question was from where? If he could find the car here, he might find a key for a locker and her belongings at the airport. Stashing them there was what he would've done, had he been her.

Before he had a chance to search on the other number, a text message from it appeared, so he clicked the messenger app. Only the letter "T" indicated the sender, who'd typed "Hold off." Curious, Riley typed a response, pretending to be her. He might learn all sorts of things this way and felt certain the texter was somehow involved.

Riley: Why?

T: Just do it R: Negative. Target in sight T: More intel coming R: Such as?

T: Later R: Taking shot T: No!

R: Best chance T: Wait! d.a.m.n it Jordan. Do as told for once!

He smiled. So he had her name. It suited her. He wondered if that was her real one or a code name, but he'd find out soon enough.

And he also knew she didn't follow orders. That didn't surprise him. Nothing about her suggested military. Defiance seemed to exude from her even while unconscious. Curious and a little turned on, he turned back to the phone. He wanted to know why the change order had come.

Riley: Target change?

T: N.

R: Mission off?

T: N. Just wait R: How long?

T: Unclear. Day?

Riley wondered if his family was in danger, too, not because they had a violent history like him, but just because they existed. A hit on him might include someone close to him. It depended on who'd ordered the hit. In his military service, he'd never gone after a target's family because the Marines didn't operate that way, but anyone trying to a.s.sa.s.sinate him in private life was likely dishonorable and wouldn't stop at just him, necessarily.

And what was so special about tomorrow? Or the next day? He had nothing planned except the usual-visiting his family's businesses as the security officer. In two days, he was supposed to lead a riding tour from Kendall Motorsports, but there was nothing unique about it. Or the attendees, as far as he knew. But maybe that was it.

Riley: More targets?

T: Sort of.

R: WTF?.

T: Intel coming Riley: How many more?

T: Just one That suggested the additional target wasn't his family. With three brothers, two sisters, and some in-laws, there was no sense in taking out just one of them. None had a background anything like his military service. As a sniper, Riley had killed many men and probably earned his enemies, a.s.suming anyone ever learned his ident.i.ty, but that was unlikely. Still, stranger things had happened.

None of the guys he'd served with in the Marines lived anywhere near him, and they were the only people he knew who could possibly have a sniper sent to execute them, but even that was hard to believe. Still, there lay Jordan right in front of him. He couldn't think how another target would be connected to him. Still, it couldn't hurt to ask.

Riley: Where? Near?

T: Y.

R: Who?

T: No intel R: Relative?

T: N.

Riley let out a breath. While that was good, it didn't mean his family couldn't be used as leverage against him if he was discovered to still be alive. He might have to take an extended vacation from here and let that be known so that no one came here looking for him, but he needed to learn T's ident.i.ty and more about this other target. Was someone else pulling strings, or would finding and killing T to protect his family, if not himself, be enough? Taking a cue from Jordan's tattoos and free spirit, he typed a challenging response.

Riley: Just tell me. Stop jerking me around T: Relax R: Source?

T: You know I never say R: Make exception T: Stop it R: Payment?

T: Double Riley frowned. That didn't tell him anything and showing too much ignorance by asking to confirm a number might tip off whoever this was that Jordan wasn't doing the texting. It didn't matter anyway but he wanted to know the bounty on his head. The higher the amount, the more people might try to collect. Someone might have contracted his killing, or they might have just put him on a hit list. He asked for more info in case this guy revealed something while his guard was down.

Riley: Upfront?

T: Half R: Do it now. Or I call off both T: Hold on.

R: Standing down Riley realized Jordan might have a way to confirm such a payment via this phone. He clicked the "home" b.u.t.ton and saw just a handful of apps. One was for banking. He clicked it, not surprised to find it locked, but it wanted a fingerprint. Rolling his eyes, he again used her right thumb to get into the app. Two accounts were listed. He clicked on each, noting the large balances, deposits into and payments from them.

One was a U.S. bank and showed debits from Air France, which he knew flew into Dulles. That answered that question. Another debit was from Enterprise Car Rental there, and a Hilton in Gaithersburg to the south told him where she was staying. She'd apparently eaten at Rainbow Sushi nearby, too.

"Well, aren't you full of information," he said, a little surprised Jordan had screwed up this way. Maybe she wasn't that professional after all. He was looking forward to learning more about her.

He checked the other account, for Credit Suisse, a Swiss bank, and saw a deposit for five hundred thousand dollars dated a week ago. The number startled him. He'd never killed for money, only duty, and in that sense hadn't earned much as compared to Jordan. He suspected this deposit was for his a.s.sa.s.sination because similar deposits, albeit in the fifty to hundred thousand range, went back months, as did withdrawals of nearly the same amounts, likely to another account not listed on her phone.

A new text message interrupted his thoughts.