by Debra Webb
She let Jason carve a path as they slipped out of the other side of the cabana and joined the crowd getting pressed back from the scene as paramedics arrived.
He held her hand as they grabbed their things and then made their way back to their room, and she didn’t think it was all about acting the part this time. His grip was too strong, just shy of painful, but she didn’t pull away. She’d never admit it, but his touch was an anchor she needed after such a close call.
Someone had taken a shot at her.
Gin was well-versed in the physiological responses to adrenaline and fear. She’d trained hard to minimize those effects. Her increased heart rate and rapid breathing were normal, nothing to be embarrassed about. Those effects would settle and probably give way to shaking as soon as they were safely in the room.
But the shaking started in the elevator, and Jason wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, into the warm security of his solid chest. His heart beat strong and steady in her ear and she let herself cling, enormously grateful for the comfort he offered.
Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d wept, and she’d never done so on a mission.
The elevator car chimed when they reached their floor. By unspoken agreement, they walked in silence down the hallway to their room. She used the brief time to sort out what she’d heard and seen so they could effectively analyze the incident and potential reasons for such a bold strike.
But the truth was she hadn’t heard anything...she’d been too distracted.
That was the most dangerous part of all.
Chapter Six
Mission Recovery headquarters,
1:05 p.m.
“Mr. Camp on line one, sir.”
Holt scowled at the phone. The last thing he needed was Lucas Camp sniffing around and poking his nose into this situation. Holt had planned for every contingency.
Except Camp. Holt had been appointed to this post when Camp had returned to the private sector. A smart man would stay there.
After a quick mental rundown of current operations, he picked up the phone. “This is Holt.”
“It’s Lucas Camp. Thank you for taking my call.”
Holt bit back a curt reply. He didn’t have time to waste on distractions. “What do you need, Lucas?”
“I picked up word on a couple of shooting incidents in Las Vegas.”
Holt rubbed at his brow. “Going slumming, Lucas, or are you planning your next vacation with the missus?”
“The details were vague, but I wondered if you had anyone in the area.”
“No.” Holt had to amend the outright lie. “No one I’m willing to discuss with you.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t.” Holt leaned forward and went on the offensive. “When Casey went missing last month, I understood your concern. But that’s as far as my understanding goes. You’re retired, Lucas, and I don’t appreciate your interference.”
“You were very cooperative in Colorado and I appreciated it,” Lucas interjected.
Holt snorted. “Rest assured Thomas has made all his check-ins since he left for his honeymoon.” There was nothing else about Colorado they needed to talk about.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Holt gritted his teeth. Thomas Casey and Lucas Camp went way back. After the trouble in Colorado, Casey had probably been checking in with Camp these past weeks, too. He told himself to ease up. This was just another wrinkle in the ever-shifting sands of his plan. But he couldn’t shake the gut feeling that Camp knew more than he should about the problems inside Mission Recovery.
“What do you want, Lucas?”
“I want to know if you have someone looking into this thing in Las Vegas.”
“Is retirement too boring?” When was this old man going to let it go? “The actions of this office are no longer your concern. Go find a hobby.”
The other end of the line was so quiet Holt thought Camp had ended the call. He was about to replace the receiver when Camp finally replied.
“That’s a good idea, Holt. I think I’ll try gambling.”
This time, he heard the click and knew the call was finished. He also understood that Camp’s final words had been a warning he would be smart not to ignore. Holt replaced the receiver and sat back, tapping a pencil against the desk blotter. He checked his watch and pulled up a travel website to get an idea of flight availability.
Assuming Camp was in Houston there was any number of flight options that could put him in Vegas in time for dinner. Holt closed the search. It didn’t matter.
Even if Camp got to Vegas, he couldn’t possibly know where to look or who to look for—other than Grant. Considering the struggle his own people were having keeping Grant contained, he didn’t think Camp had better odds.
Who was he kidding?
He broke the pencil he’d been toying with and tossed both pieces into the trash. What was the worst that could happen if Camp managed to interfere? Would one compromised link bring the whole thing tumbling down?
Holt pulled out his cell phone and made a call. A carefully phrased warning was all he could offer, but it would have to suffice.
Houston, 1:20 p.m.
LUCAS CAMP STARED at the telephone. This was wrong.
“I take it that didn’t go very well,” Victoria Colby-Camp said from the counter where she was preparing lunch.
Lucas had a bad, bad feeling about what Emmett Holt was up to. He placed the phone back into its cradle and joined his wife at the kitchen island. “Holt is up to something. I can feel it. I think I should call Thomas.”
Victoria gave him that look, the one that suggested he should rethink that strategy. “Are you certain you want to disturb his honeymoon? Thomas waited a very long time to take a wife. He deserves a proper honeymoon without interruption.”
Lucas couldn’t deny the validity of her point. “You’re right, of course.” He kissed his wife’s cheek. “I waited quite a while to take a wife, too.”
Victoria stopped preparing the salad and smiled at him. “Yes, you did.”
He had been in love with Victoria since the first time he laid eyes on her when she was only twenty, but she had belonged to another—his best friend, the late James Colby. But Lucas had waited and now she was his.
“All right.” Lucas relented. “I won’t call Thomas. I’ll just have to go to Vegas and check on this situation personally.”
Victoria wiped her hands on a towel. “I think that’s an excellent idea,” she said to his surprise. “As long as you wait until Jim arrives tomorrow afternoon to pick up the children. He can give us a lift. I’m certain he won’t mind flying back to Chicago via Las Vegas.”
The Colby Agency jet would certainly make traveling considerably easier. “Very well, my dear. Holt gets a twenty-four-hour reprieve.”
“One of these days we’re going to have to actually retire,” Victoria suggested.
Lucas grinned. “I’ll remind you of that the next time an intriguing case comes across the desk of the Colby Agency or to you directly.”
“Touché,” Victoria confessed. Since they’d announced their retirement they’d been involved in as many cases as ever. The new Colby Agency Houston office had ensured they were never too far from the action.
As if they both needed a reprieve to remind them of what was really important in life, little Luke, their grandson, raced through the living room screaming at the top of his lungs. Eight-year-old Jamie was right on his heels. “Give me my purse!” she wailed.
Jamie had discovered accessories. Before they knew it there would be boyfriends and proms. Time had a way of flying entirely too fast.
Victoria laughed. “How could you possibly consider leaving me at a time like this?”
“What was I thinking?” He joined his wife in laughter as the two children argued over who did what.
Eventually Lucas played the part of negotiator while Victoria finished lunch.
His wife was right. This was the most important part of their lives right now.
The rest could wait.
Chapter Seven
Caesar’s Palace, Las Vegas,
1:42 p.m.
At the door Gin let Jason swipe the keycard through the lock. He got a red light. He tried a second time and failed again. They exchanged a look, both of them listening for any sounds inside the room. Stepping forward, she tried her keycard, but it failed, too.
With a finger to his lips, he held up a second keycard.
She could only watch and wonder where he’d picked it up as he swiped it through the lock and the light turned green.
As she silently stepped into the room, nothing was out of place. Everything she could see looked precisely as they’d left it, even the shopping bag on the table and Jason’s damaged sport coat on the chair. Still, something was off.
She sensed the attack, but didn’t have time to brace for it as the room door slammed into her.
Gin let the impact carry her into the wall and then stumbled back into Jason when the intruder kept pushing. She lurched forward, ready and able to handle this, but Jason caught her and pushed her back into the hallway. She bristled, but they would deal with the implied insult later.
Jason drove through the door with his shoulder, pinning whoever was on the other side behind it. She watched the door shift as they struggled, then Jason pulled the door closer and quickly shoved it back against the intruder. As Jason reached around and pulled out a man dressed in a hotel uniform she gaped.
Hands and elbows became a blur in the tight space, but Jason worked him deeper into the suite. She blocked the door, understanding he wanted to prevent an escape. They needed answers.
“You?” The intruder swore and gawked at her and Jason took advantage, landing a solid uppercut, but the intruder recovered. Jason warded off the next hurried advance with swift blocks and a knee strike. The intruder stumbled over the coffee table and it broke with a loud crash, but he rolled away from Jason’s next advance.
Gin could see they were evenly matched. Though Jason had muscle mass over the guy, the other man was absorbing the blows and dealing plenty of his own.
Suddenly Jason reared back and she swore when sunlight glinted off the blade of a knife. The intruder feinted toward Jason, who dropped and swung out his leg to trip the other man. The intruder went down and Gin tried to scoot by and get to the weapons in the bedroom safe.
But the intruder jumped up faster than she expected and he caught her. She went still as he jerked her back against him, the cold, sharp edge of his knife pressed against her throat.
Instantly, her training kicked in. Her emotions drew deep inside with the blast of adrenaline, leaving her feeling as cold and hard as the blade of the knife.
Jason took a step and the intruder warned him off.
“Don’t even think it,” he warned.
“Let her go.”
“Not just yet.”
“What do you want?” Jason demanded. “Money?”
“Just the woman.”
Gin silently commended Jason on the rambling effort and the big worried eyes, but everyone in the room knew this was no simple robbery attempt. Using her eyes, she tried to warn Jason of her intent as the intruder dragged her back toward the door.
“Wait,” Jason shouted. “Let me open the safe. We have cash.”
He sounded so desperate she almost believed he was worried.
Timing it, she drove her elbow into the intruder’s side and twisted her hips, pinning him to the counter. The coffeepot crashed as he waved, tried to regain his balance. With the element of surprise she got her hand up and disarmed him. The knife clattered away and Gin thought it made the odds fair again, but that wasn’t giving Jason enough credit.
Jason tackled the intruder and the men fumbled backward, the intruder caught between Jason’s advance and the flat-panel television. He pushed Jason off him and they tumbled to the floor, scrapping and rolling for the advantage. This time she made it to the bedroom and, with shaking hands, she punched in the combination to open the small safe. She heard the two trading punches and crashing into things in the other room as she grabbed her revolver.
“Find something to tie him up,” Jason called.
With the gun in one hand, she grabbed the roll of duct tape from her suitcase and rushed back out of the bedroom to see the intruder in a heap amid the mess of the broken coffee table and with Jason’s knee in his back.
“Nice work,” she said, handing him the roll of tape.
“Same goes for you. Where’d you find this?” he asked, accepting her preferred method of bondage.
“I never travel without it.”
He shot her a look. “You can be a little scary.” He bound the intruder’s wrists and feet. “You’ll have to show me that move you pulled.”
“Anytime.”
Jason flipped over the intruder and checked his pockets. “He’s not carrying anything but the employee keycard.”
“No ID?” She studied the face, the wiry build, but nothing was familiar to her.
“Only the bogus name tag. But I know this guy. His name is Rick Wallace, he works with Gabriel Frost, an assassin I had the misfortune of running into in Europe. He’s an independent contractor. He’s good and he takes work from the highest bidder. I’d say based on the angle of the shot at the pool, they accessed a room in this tower to take that shot at you.” He made a sound that was part grunt, part hum. “I wonder how they managed the uniform and master key.”
“Maybe the same way you did?”
His unrepentant grin flashed and she had to admit to herself at least, she found it charming.
“I lifted mine off the housekeeping cart down the hall,” he confessed.
“Good hands.”
“All the girls say so,” he teased with a wicked wink. “This guy probably got his in a kit that accompanied the orders and the down payment. Go ahead and call security.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not taking the blame for all this damage. Besides, what else are we going to do with him?”
She had a few ideas, none of them legal. “Fine,” she said picking up the hotel phone and pressing the key for security. Letting her voice shake, she asked for assistance. “They’re on the way,” she said when she hung up the phone.
“He looked pretty surprised to see you,” Jason said. “You must have been the intended target if he was willing to try to take you at knife point.”
“I’d have to agree.” She ran her fingertips over the scrape at her throat as she stared out of the window. “But he broke into the room registered in your name.” She spun on her heel and glared at the unconscious man. “Wake him up so we can talk to him.”
“Not a good idea,” he said. “He already knows too much. Let security handle it.”
“They won’t ask the right questions.”
“That might be for the best under the circumstances.”
Jason’s voice was calm and quiet. He stood beside her but was evidently wise enough not to touch her. His stable presence should have soothed her, but her stomach knotted more. She felt twitchy all over, as if she’d been rolling around in poison ivy instead of lounging poolside. But then again, the poolside fun had ended when someone took that shot at her, so maybe the poison ivy would have been better.
She had to be logical here. Someone had managed to identify them both, even though they hadn’t been connected at all before last night. Gin pulled him away from the suite door. “Why are you in town?”
He frowned at her. “I told you—to recover an agent.”
“An unnamed agent who has yet to show up.” She ran her hands through her hair. “This makes me edgy.” She didn’t do edgy. “Something else is going on. What was he—” she gestured to the guy on the floor “—doing in here?”
“You got me. Is anything missing?”
“Nothing obvious, but I haven’t taken a good look.”
“Let’s
do that.”
Swiftly, they searched the room and realized everything was accounted for. Both laptops, her tablet and the small stack of poker chips she’d left on the dresser in the bedroom. She returned her gun to the safe and was checking the status of the virus tracking signal when Jason swore.
“What did you find?”
He lifted the mattress and pointed to a small plastic envelope of ammunition.
“That wasn’t here last night,” she said.
“Glad we both know that,” he said with more than a little irritation. “What are the odds this was left by the previous occupant?”
“Zero.” She sighed. “Setting you up for the incident at the pool?”
“It’s the wrong ammunition for that shot, but yeah, that’s my gut reaction.”
She crossed her arms and rubbed at the chill on her skin. “You said you ran into the man, Frost, when you were in Europe. What was your mission?”
“I’ll explain while we pack.” He snatched the ammunition and zipped it into a concealed compartment in his suitcase. “We have to get out of here.”
“Security is on the way,” she hissed. “And my op is here.”
“I understand that,” he replied from the closet safe. He pulled weapons, chips and a jewelry box out of the safe and dumped everything into his suitcase.
“We can change rooms,” she said, gathering their belongings from the bathroom and tossing his toiletry kit on top of his clothes. “But it’s too late to get out of the hotel unnoticed.”
“We stand out more if we stay.” He pulled on a gray T-shirt that did little to tone down his bright board shorts. With the flip-flops he looked like a surfer in need of a good wave. If only the hair were longer.
“I disagree.” She shook her head. “We should go ahead with the report and convince the security team to help us out with surveillance.”
“Right, because people in the hospitality industry love hosting sniper bait.”
“We have to report the break-in.” She stood her ground. This was where she needed to be.
“No,” he argued. “Let them find the mess in the course of their investigation. I’m more concerned about who ordered a hit on you and getting you out of range.”