Target: A Circle of Justice Novel Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Other Titles by LP Dover

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  ALSO CHECK OUT THESE EXTRAORDINARY AUTHORS & BOOKS

  ROPED IN (An Armed & Dangerous Novel)

  Copyright Notice

  CIRCLE OF JUSTICE SERIES

  Trigger

  Target

  Aim (August 2017)

  FOREVER FAE SERIES

  Forever Fae

  Betrayals of Spring

  Summer of Frost

  Reign of Ice

  SECOND CHANCES SERIES

  Love’s Second Chance

  What He Wants

  Trusting You

  Meant for Me

  Fighting for Love

  Intercepting Love

  Catching Summer

  Defending Hayden

  Last Chance

  Intended for Bristol

  GLOVES OFF SERIES

  A Fighter’s Desire: Part One

  A Fighter’s Desire: Part Two

  Tyler’s Undoing

  Ryley’s Revenge

  Winter Kiss: Ryley and Ash (A Gloves Off Novella)

  Paxton’s Promise

  Camden’s Redemption

  Kyle’s Return

  ARMED & DANGEROUS SERIES

  No Limit

  Roped In

  High-Sided

  SOCIETY X SERIES

  Dark Room

  Viewing Room

  ROYAL SHIFTERS SERIES

  Turn of the Moon

  Resisting the Moon

  BREAKAWAY SERIES

  Hard Stick (June 2017)

  Blocked (October 2017)

  Playmaker (Feb 2018)

  STANDALONE TITLE

  Love, Lies, and Deception

  Brina

  “Feels good to spend Christmas out here.”

  My mother kissed me on the head and set a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of me. It smelled like heaven. “Yes, it does, sweetheart. I miss it terribly,” she murmured, patting my shoulder before putting away the clean dishes.

  Looking out the kitchen window, I drank my hot chocolate. Even though the sky was dark, the mountains were bright against the moonlight with all the snow. In another year or so, when my father was done serving his last term as President of the United States, we were going to move back here to Wyoming, instead of Charleston, South Carolina, where I grew up.

  My father’s expression was sad as I watched him through the reflection in the window. He never regretted running for president, but I could see the toll the job had had on him over the years. Here we were, away for Christmas vacation, yet in his mind, he never rested. I missed the way he used to be.

  “Ready to play cards, pumpkin?” He shuffled the deck of cards.

  Giggling, I turned around to face him. “I’m sixteen, Dad. Are you still going to call me that when I’m thirty-five?”

  Face brightening, he dealt out the cards and winked. “Even when you’re sixty. Now come on, let’s play rummy. It’s been too long since we last played.”

  The game was on. Playing cards and board games all night long was our Christmas tradition, ever since I found out Santa Claus didn’t exist. We’d play until we could barely keep our eyes open.

  Chuckling, my mother put up the last dish, then kissed him on the cheek. “Make sure to get some sleep tonight. Noah and Renee will be here with Trinity tomorrow to spend the rest of Christmas vacation with us. You both don’t need to be zombies.”

  “We will, Mom. I promise.” I looked at my dad, the gray hair on his head taking up more real estate than it had the previous Christmas. Even his handsome face had more wrinkles. He glanced over at me and I smiled smugly. “Dad will get tired of losing and give up,” I added, making my mom giggle.

  He snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

  My mother rolled her eyes. “Have fun, you two. See you in the morning.”

  She walked out of the kitchen and my father watched her as she disappeared around the corner, a look of longing on his face. There was no denying the love he had for her. “She’s different when she’s here,” he murmured sadly.

  “Being the First Lady isn’t an easy job.”

  He reached for my hand. “Neither is being the president’s daughter. I know I’ve been overprotective of you for the past few years. It’s only because I love you.”

  I squeezed his hand. “I know, Dad. But I’m ready for a normal life. In a couple of years, I’ll be going off to college. And I’m talking, as far away from D.C. as I can.”

  Nodding, he closed his eyes and sighed. “I figured as much. Guess I can’t blame you. But you know I’m not sending you to school without protection.”

  I held up my hand. The thought of not having my freedom after almost eight years was too infuriating to think about. “Let’s not talk about that now. I just want to pretend I’ll be able to drive away in my own car like a normal teenage girl.” I still had a couple of more years to dream of a freedom I’d probably never get, at least not until I was older and able to refuse security detail.

  My father grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I didn’t say you couldn’t drive away in your own car,” he said with a sly smile. “I just said you needed protection. Why don’t we cross that bridge when it gets here?”

  Eyes wide, I jumped up and squealed. “Oh my God, are you serious? You have no idea how much that’d mean to me.” Any amount of normalcy was better than none.

  “I know.” He laughed. “Now sit down so I can win, would ya? The last thing I want to think about is you growing up.”

  Rolling my eyes, I sat down. “I’m just excited we’ll be away from all the politics soon, and back here where we belong.” A look passed across his face and my stomach dropped. “What’s going on?”

  Releasing a heavy sigh, he lowered his gaze. “Moving back here will only be temporary, at least for me and your mother.”

  My gut clenched. “Temporary? Why?”

  “By the time things are set in motion, you’ll be old enough to live on your own. Your mother and I are giving you this house . . . or you can take the one in Charleston.”

  “I don’t understand. Where will you be?” When his eyes met mine, I already knew. I’d heard the hushed conversations between him and my brother for a while now. I just didn’t want to believe it. “You’ll be in DC.”

  Swallowing hard, my father agreed with a nod. “Noah needs me to help him prepare for the presidency. I have to be there to support him when it’s his time to run.”

  “It’s too soon,” I snapped. “He’s not even close to running. Why do you have to help him now?”

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nbsp; He sighed. “I’m sorry, pumpkin. Please tell me you understand.”

  I did, because I knew he’d stay to help me if I was running for president, but I wanted to be selfish. I’d spent my whole life sharing my parents with the country. “Does mom know?”

  “Yes.” His head drooped. “But that’s why we’re giving you one of the houses. It’ll give us a reason to get away and come see you.”

  As much as I wanted to leave Washington D.C., there was no way I could live on the opposite side of the country from my parents. The thought of sacrificing more years terrified me. It wasn’t the life I wanted.

  Taking a deep breath, I lowered my head and let it out. “I appreciate that. But wherever my family is, that’s where I need to be.” I looked up at him and his eyes widened. “However,” I blurted, getting up to put my cup in the sink, “it doesn’t mean I’m going to college close by.”

  Chuckling, my father stood and pulled me into his arms. “I can live with that. Do you have any idea how much this means to me?”

  I breathed him in, loving the way he always made me feel safe. “What can I say? I’d miss you and mom too much if I moved far away.”

  He squeezed me hard, then kissed the top of my head. “I love you, pumpkin.”

  My eyes watered. “I love you too,” I said, letting him go. “I’ve had too much hot chocolate. Let me run to the bathroom before I dominate you in cards.”

  “Hurry up.” He laughed as I took off down the hallway. I was halfway to the bathroom when the sound of breaking glass and a gasp came from the kitchen. For a second, I thought I imagined it. Time stood still and I froze. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until my lungs screamed at me. “Dad? You okay?” I called out.

  Shouts erupted outside the house and the front door slammed open. Gun drawn, Joseph, one of my father’s secret service agents, barreled inside. As soon as he saw me, he lowered his gun. “Go to your room,” he commanded, then spoke into his head piece. “Willow secure. Anyone have eyes on Woodlark?”

  My heart stopped and all I could think about was my dad. “What’s going on?”

  More shouting erupted outside and Joseph turned toward the front door, gun raised. I used that second of time to run back into the kitchen. My pulse pounded in my ears, terrified of what I was going to see once I rounded the corner. The last thing I expected to find was my father on the floor in a pool of blood.

  “Dad!” I screamed, sliding across the floor to him. Panic welled and overflowed. I choked on the lump forming in my throat. “Joseph, help me!” My father’s blood soaked through my jeans but I didn’t care. There was a hole in his chest, where blood steadily poured out. “Oh my God, oh my God,” I cried. There was a dishtowel on the counter so I grabbed it, placing it over the wound, hoping the pressure would stop the bleeding.

  Joseph charged in and fell on his knees at my father’s side. “Warrior down, repeat Warrior down. We need an ambulance here, now,” he shouted into his headset. “Move over, Brina. I got this.”

  I did as he said, but the blood kept flowing.

  I shook my father’s shoulders, staring into his lifeless eyes. “Dad, you can’t leave us,” I commanded. “Please don’t do this.” Tears clouded my vision, but I could still see his skin growing paler with every second that passed. It almost felt as if I was in a twilight zone. I couldn’t understand what was happening, or why I was sitting on the floor with my father’s blood all over me. Nothing made sense.

  More secret service agents rushed in and I heard my mother’s screams in the background.

  Rocking back and forth, I couldn’t leave my father’s side. The metallic smell of blood made me sick, but I swallowed down the urge to vomit. It was all a bad dream. I was sure of it. Joseph placed his fingers at my father’s neck and bowed his head.

  The gesture confirmed my worst fear. “No!” I shook my head and leaned over my dad, clutching his body.

  “Brina, let him go,” he murmured.

  He tried to grab my arm, but I pushed him off. “No. We have to get him help.” The next thing I knew, someone had me from behind and pulled me away as Joseph gently laid my father’s head on the floor. “Let me go!” I shouted, fighting to get out of the arms that held me back.

  “I’m sorry, Brina,” Steven grunted out. He was another of my father’s secret service agents.

  I kicked and screamed, until eventually, Steven lifted me off the floor and carried me out of the room to the living room. In my struggle to get free, I caught a glimpse of my mom slumped in the kitchen doorway, clutching at her heart and sobbing. The sight calmed my hysteria down, and filled me with a need to comfort her.

  A few seconds later, Joseph stormed in, his face a stony mask. “We need to keep them safe. Get Willow and Woodlark into transport,” he commanded.

  “No,” I cried.

  He walked away and quickly brought his phone up to his ear. The words he said next would always and forever be engrained in my mind. “Get a location on the vice president. The president has been assassinated.”

  Brina

  (Thirteen Years Later)

  I never thought I’d step foot back into Wyoming, but here I was, sitting at the kitchen table of our ranch, the night before Christmas, just as I’d been every year of my life. It’d been thirteen years since my father’s assassination, and my mother refused to let me spend the holidays elsewhere. She said it was tradition, and it was something my father would’ve wanted.

  Looking out the kitchen window, I could still remember the exact place the bullet came through; the smell of my father’s blood raced back to me.

  “Want some hot chocolate?” My mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. She ran a hand through her silvery blonde hair, her lips quivering. My heart couldn’t take it.

  Swallowing hard, I walked back over to the table and grabbed my sketchpad. “Thanks, but no. I need to concentrate on my drawings.”

  Remembering that night fueled the anger inside of me. You’d have thought with all the protection we had, no one would’ve been able to penetrate through our defenses. It just confirmed how a shrewd person could get through a dozen guards. What made it worse was the man who did it was still alive, living off our tax dollars in a prison in California. He was a raging fanatic who hated all Republicans. My father was just the unlucky one to have won the election. One day, Sanders would rot in hell.

  “We could always play cards,” she suggested.

  I froze. I hadn’t played cards with anyone since that night. It was something my father and I always did together. “I can’t, Mom.” Holding my sketchpad to my chest, I hurried out of the kitchen.

  She followed me out and sat beside me on the couch. “It was a stupid idea.” Tears fell down her cheeks. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Maybe I should just sell this place? It only serves to bring us pain.”

  Eyes burning, I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. As much as I never wanted to stay there, I couldn’t let her sell. She’d regret it. “It means too much to you. It’s where you and daddy lived when you got married. Noah grew up here.”

  “Then what can we do to make this easier? I want us to enjoy the holidays.”

  I wanted to as well, but I just couldn’t in that house. The good memories trumped the bad ones. I couldn’t walk into the kitchen without envisioning my father dead on the floor. “Maybe we could start new memories?” I slid my arm off her shoulders and faced her.

  “Doing what?”

  I hated that she was alone in Wyoming, without me or my brother around. He’d sworn in as President of the United States, and was in his own world at the White House, while I’d retreated to our Charleston home to open my own clothing and surfboard shop.

  I knew exactly what my mother needed. “You could come back to Charleston and stay with me,” I told her. She shook her head, but I grabbed her hand. “Why not? You have nothing but great memories there. It’ll be good for you to get away. You can hang out with me at the shop and relax on the beach.” I squeezed her hand.
“Come on, it’ll be fun. You’ll finally be able to get a tan. Not to mention, you’ll get to see me every day.” I batted my eyelashes and smiled sweetly.

  Sighing, she wiped away her tears. “Okay, you got me. I’ll come.”

  I hugged her tight. “You won’t regret it.”

  When I let her go, her gaze lingered on my sketchpad. Most of my clothing designs were bathing suits, T-shirts, and sundresses. But what I really enjoyed doing were the custom surfboard designs. We didn’t have huge waves in Charleston, yet there were still a ton of people who liked to do it. “Your bathing suits are beautiful,” she gushed.

  It felt good to hear words of praise, especially from my mom. All I wanted was for her to be proud of me. “Thanks.”

  “How’s business treating you? You haven’t talked about it much.”

  There was a reason for that—business was horrible. With a simple shrug, I tried to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. “Not great, but I did just finish a couple of custom surfboard designs. Wanna look?”

  Her eyes lit up, but I could tell she was worried about me. “Of course.” I handed her the pad and she flipped through, studying each page with fascination. “This is so exciting. I always knew you’d be an artist when you grew up.”

  “A starving one,” I teased. “If it wasn’t for my trust fund I’d be struggling.”

  “Do you need money?” she asked.

  If I did, I knew she’d give it to me, and then some. Shaking my head, I blinked back the burn in my eyes. “No, Mom. I have plenty in the bank. I was just hoping my shop would take off. I have connections in the political world, but none in the surfing one.”

  Brows furrowed, she pursed her lips. “You know, I think I might know someone who can help you.”

  “Who? And don’t you dare say Chris.”

  Christopher Parks was my ex and the current Vice President of the United States. When the campaigning started, Chris had wanted me by his side, but I couldn’t leave my life in Charleston to follow him around.

  My mother held up her hands. “No, dear. It’s not Chris. How are things between you two anyway?”

  With a heavy sigh, I leaned back on the couch. “I told him once the election was over we could see where we stand. Honestly, I don’t want to move back to Washington. But we’ll never see each other if I don’t.”