Page 1 of Kiss Marry Kill
Chapter 1
“Promise me, you’ll be happy,” he sang from the other side of the door. “Promise me, you’ll always sing. Promise me you’ll never settle. . . .” He jiggled the door handle. “Meggy? Where are you, my little mouse?” he said in a singsong voice, sounding nice enough. Soft enough. Safe enough. But Megan Cruz knew better. The man trying to lure her out of her enormous walk-in closet was deranged.
Megan huddled in a corner behind all of her cocktail dresses, her knees pushed up and a butcher knife in one of her trembling hands. Just waiting. Waiting for the cops to show up, or for Ryan to finally find her. If she could stop breathing, she would. Trying to stay perfectly still and utterly quiet was an impossible feat with her hands shaking so violently. Surely he could hear her fear from where he stood on the other side of the door. If he walked deep enough into the closet, the dresses that served as a barrier between them would not be sufficient to shield her. And the fact that he’d broken into her house in the middle of the night was a good indication that he did want to hurt her.
Twenty minutes earlier she had been sitting on her bed, completely immersed in writing some lyrics in her notebook, when she heard the sound of a window shattering downstairs. Her house may have been huge, but it wouldn’t take long for whoever had broken in to find her, especially since her room was the first one up the grand staircase, even more obvious because of its huge double doors. Not about to sit and wait to find out if it was her stalker or a robber who had broken in, she immediately sent a text to her parents who lived close by, praying they’d understand the message: Break in. 911. Help! Then she silenced her phone and tucked it into her bra. She had also grabbed the enormous butcher knife she’d hid under mattress six months ago when Ryan had started sending her disturbing emails and letters. At that time she’d thought he was just an overzealous fan and had worried she was being overly cautious, but now, as she cowered in fear, she realized how wrong she’d been.
Megan actually held her breath when she heard the squeaky noise of the hinges of her closet door. He was inside now. Sweat dripped down her back and her heart pounded so loudly it seemed he had to have heard it. It felt as if it was going to physically come out of her chest, together with the sandwich she’d eaten a few hours ago. Peering under the hanging clothes she could see green Converse sneakers moving closer to where she sat curled into a small ball, her arms around her knees.
“Oh, Meggy, where are you? Sing for me, my naughty little mouse. Just one song. Just ‘Promise Me,’ that’s my favorite.” As he stepped closer, she tightened her grip on the knife. “You’re supposed to make your fans happy.” His voice was louder and more agitated this time.
She could hear the fabric running through his fingers as he caressed her clothes, shifting the fragile curtain of dresses and shirts she was hiding behind.
“Oh, this is what you wore to the Grammys last month!” He pulled the dress out, and Megan tensed when a sliver of light cut through her hiding place. The small gap where the dress had hung made her more visible, and if he happened to look down he’d undoubtedly see her on the floor behind the rest of the clothes. She shut her eyes.
“This is perfect. You can wear this when you sing for me at my house. Does anyone else know how much you love the chase, Meggy? Am I the only one that knows your secret? I have your new room all ready for you. We can play and sing all the time. . . . It’ll be so fun, Meggy.” His feet were moving slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.
She could tell he was directly in front of her now by how close the sound of his heavy breathing was and by the way the rubber soles of his sneakers skidded against the wood floor.
She shut her eyes harder and braced herself.
She didn’t need her eyes open to see him—the memory was burned into her brain. His face was unassuming and his body unimposing. White skin, rounded cheeks, kind-looking face, maybe even cute, if he wasn’t a complete sociopath. He wasn’t too thin or too large, not too tall, not too short. Just an ordinary-looking guy. One you would smile at in line for coffee or at the grocery store. The nonthreatening Good Samaritan who helped you with your flat tire. Completely harmless, completely average, except for his eyes, gray eyes that were a bit too large and had a slight tilt upward, reminding her of a cat. Gray eyes that could be considered attractive if it weren’t for the coldness behind them.
Megan didn’t want to die looking into that coldness. She didn’t want to die hiding in her closet, with the creepy man asking her to sing the song that was about the best four days of her entire life. The four days that also changed the course of her life. Ironic, she would potentially die thinking of those memories.
“Come on, Meggy, where are you hiding? Don’t make me get upset at you. I don’t think I want to play anymore.” She opened her eyes and the green Converses turned as if he was going to leave, but stopped. The tips of his shoes were mere inches from her bare feet, which were tight against her body. She pressed her heel even closer to her butt. Oh, how she wished she was more flexible or had been consistent with her Pilates classes. Because right now, she had no place to go. She was cornered, and she couldn’t make herself any smaller than she already was. All that separated her from the nightmare was the clothing hanging between them. His rank smell of perspiration filled her nostrils and made her want to gag, causing her to breathe through her mouth instead of her nose. She was afraid to look up and find him staring back at her with those deranged gray eyes. Fear bubbled up in her throat, and holding back a terrified scream was nearly choking her.
A sudden banging from downstairs made her jerk, and she saw his feet move quickly out of the closet. There was another bang and then another loud noise, like her front door being rammed open, followed by voices. She had her hands over her ears and her face tucked into her knees. Then it was quiet.
* * *
Jackson “Jax” Irons sat in the situation room of Iron-Clad Security watching two of his best recruits get ambushed in the middle of the Syrian Desert.
“Fucking hell, Josef!” Jax barked, standing up and leaning forward, his eyes monitoring the dots in motion on the multiple screens. It was pitch-black in the desert at this time and even with the infrared satellite imaging it was impossible to see more than colored dots, each of which represented one of the insurgents—colored dots that were getting closer and closer to their team. It was like a shit version of an eighties Atari video game, but in this game the loser always got dead.
“Damn intel!” Josef, Jax’s best friend and the co-owner of Iron-Clad Security, threw down his headset. “This shit happens with Fed jobs every fucking time!” He typed something into the computer that brought up a wider aerial view of the location on one of the monitors. Mountains ringed their men from the back and to the west. Essentially, they were trapped.
“They just need to stay alive for two more goddamn minutes, Joey,” Jax shouted—as if Josef had any control over the FUBAR scene playing out in front of them. Leaning into the conference call system in the middle of the table, Jax pressed the speaker button that connected him to his team abroad. “Hang tight. Cavalry is ninety seconds out.” Jesus, he was getting too damn old for this shit. Sweat trailed down his back and his heart beat rapidly against his chest as he stared at the screens in front of the room. ICS hadn’t lost a man yet, and today wouldn’t be the day.
Joey stood by the table, looking at the dots come closer and closer to their men as the insurgents neared.
Where the fuck was backup? Jax ran a hand down his face and gripped his beard. These guys had families, wives, kids. The in-and-out mission was supposed to be simple, easy, meant to get the new recruits’ feet wet. He’d practically guaranteed his team’s safety when he’d recruited them for the job.
But nothing about this damn op had gone according to plan. He should’ve been there with them. He’d taken on and planned the mission, and he normally went himself. Except that his leg had been acting up and like a pussy, he’d heeded Joey’s advice and sent Brian and Jason instead.
They never went on a mission blind, but here he was, blind as a fucking bat.
“ETA?” Joey barked into the phone. Then the sound coming from the speaker changed and his pulse calmed at hearing the familiar whop whop sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air. “Jesus, they’re finally there,” Joey sighed, turning back to the speaker. “Heads up, boys. Bird incoming to your east.”
Jax tensed when the sound of a firefight erupted through the coms. “Fuck!” he roared, pressing the speaker button. “Heads down. Asses on the chopper. Don’t get fucking shot!”
“Goddamn clusterfuck,” Joey said, typing into the screen to zoom closer to the scene unfolding.
Instead of the voices of the crew assuring them of their safety, a jumbled cacophony of noises—gunshots, men cursing, and the blades from the approaching helicopter—came in through the com.
Joey and Jax looked at the screen with bated breath, red flares indicating firing, either from guns or from explosives. The muffled voices of their men and now the crew in the sky made it difficult to ascertain who was under attack. After agonizing minutes, the noise cleared.
“We’re on,” Brian’s voice called out from the speaker. “Target in hand, minor injuries, nothing serious. All men accounted for.”
