Ready, Aim...I Do!: Missing

by Debra Webb

  “Highly unlikely.” She sat up and tossed a small pillow at him. “Hey. You got me off topic. We were discussing the shooting and who’s behind it. Talk to me. I’m a great listener.”

  “Except I don’t need a great listener. I’m used to working alone.” Irritated, he stood up and walked toward the bathroom, dumping the melting ice out of the bag and into the bathtub.

  Talking about this wouldn’t help. He needed some quiet to review the facts and crack the phones he’d taken off the thugs. Wouldn’t it be ideal if he could get a look at the bullet that had ended Redding’s life? How much could the cover story work to his advantage? A security conference offered a variety of suspects for this incident. Thanks to the media, most people liked to assume those in private security frequently went off the deep end. Whoever caught this case at the local level should know better, but stereotypes were hard to overcome.

  His cover story closely mirrored his real story, including his military background, but not his sniper expertise. It was only a matter of time before the local law enforcement realized he had a potential connection to Redding. Along with his presence as a witness to the incident at the pool, this setup might catch him yet.

  Without Gin—and her timely intervention at the bar—he might already be a person of interest in this case. He couldn’t see any way that his involvement and possible detention benefitted Holt, but no one else knew he was here. There had to be another answer, or he had to accept a terrible truth about betrayal.

  “Jason?”

  She was right behind him. He’d felt her before she’d said a word. He met her gaze in the reflection of the mirror. “Yeah?”

  “What can I do?”

  He shook his head. He wasn’t a fan of her tactics, but there was no doubt getting married offered him an incontrovertible alibi.

  “Keep the marriage certificate close, I guess,” he suggested.

  “That’s hardly a real answer.”

  True. He couldn’t give her an answer while his mind wrestled with the best way to get a look at the crime scene and maybe the evidence in last night’s murder. What the hell was going on here?

  “Right.” She slid down the zipper hidden in the side seam of her dress.

  He’d wondered how she’d poured herself into the snug, black sheath.

  She started peeling the dress from her body and he caught sight of sheer black lace against the pure ivory of her skin. He stilled her hand before he saw more than she intended to show. Married on paper didn’t give him the right to ogle her. No matter what happened last night, no matter that he couldn’t remember it, he’d been indisposed. He was in full control now and he refused to take advantage of her.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Changing clothes. You want to go out to the crime scene.”

  “Did I say that out loud?”

  She smiled, and it was warm and kind without an ounce of smirk in her expression. She reached up but stopped short of touching him. Her hand fell away. “You didn’t have to.”

  He stared as she pulled jeans and a sweater out of her suitcase then rooted around until she found socks and tennis shoes.

  The woman had packed duct tape, so he shouldn’t be surprised that she was prepped for any occasion.

  “Are you going like that? Crime scenes usually aren’t formal events.” She kept herself covered with her dress, but it was clear that wouldn’t last much longer.

  He lurched into motion and headed for his own suitcase. “No.” He couldn’t figure out his sudden modesty. That had flown out the window this morning when she’d put him in the shower. But it was different now when he was completely aware of her and completely aware of his reactions to her. He swapped dress slacks for his own jeans and traded the shirt and tie for a polo shirt.

  Before he could pull it over his head, he felt her staring at him.

  He swiveled around. “What is it?”

  “Admiring your tattoo. What does it symbolize?”

  “A night of drunken stupidity.” He pulled his shirt over his head and turned around before she could blink away the flash of pain in her eyes.

  “Why are you pushing me away again?”

  He bit back the truth. Letting her in only meant a bigger ache when this was over. They could hardly stay married, considering their divergent careers. “I’m not. I’m just thinking.”

  “So give me the short version.”

  “We were working a case in Dublin during my Interpol days. O’Marron convinced me a Celtic warrior dragon was the right choice.”

  “I’d agree.” She looked at him. “It suits you.” She tied her shoe with a bit too much enthusiasm, wincing when the laces cinched tightly across her injured foot.

  “You could wait here.”

  “Not a chance.” Her emerald eyes were snapping with ire and he regretted putting it there. “Whether or not you want to admit it, you need me. Especially at the crime scene.”

  “Okay.” He wouldn’t argue, afraid of revealing more emotion than she might be ready to take from him. He clipped his holster onto his belt and slid his sport coat over it. Tucking the wallet with his badge into the inner pocket, he looked at her. “How do you suggest we proceed?”

  “Did you rent a car?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great. Let’s drive on out to the scene and then you can let me do the talking.”

  He found the key to the rental and confirmed she had a key for the room, and together they cautiously made their way out of the hotel to the valet stand.

  Caution was the word of the day. They’d been lucky so far. Another run-in with trouble and their luck might just run out.

  Chapter Twelve

  When the valet returned with the car, a bright yellow Corvette, Gin had more cause to re-evaluate Mission Recovery’s golden boy.

  It would be easier if he’d open up to her, but he wasn’t big on sharing. She could hardly fault him for that, but after what they’d recently survived she’d expected him to be more forthcoming.

  Common sense and a basic understanding of investigative curiosity was enough to convince her he needed to visit the scene. Something about either the victim or the method of the shooting had tripped up Jason. Which meant there was no way she was letting him do this alone.

  She recognized a setup and knew he did, too, and if he wouldn’t share his theories, she’d develop her own.

  The big engine purred as he pulled out on the Strip, and she couldn’t help but admire the glitz of all the lights and stunning casino facades. “When you were with Interpol, did you ever run across Isely or his family?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. And you’re fishing.”

  Like she had any choice but to fish for information when he was doing the strong, silent routine. At this rate he was as useful to her as one of the marble statues planted around Caesar’s.

  “Just trying to determine if my connection to you puts my own case at risk.”

  “Is that your way of asking for a divorce?”

  “No.” The question automatically drew her eye to the lights bouncing off his wedding band as he used his left hand to steer while his right rested lightly on the gear shift. Within reach if she chose to make personal contact.

  Too bad he wasn’t giving off any signal that said he’d be receptive to her touch right now. She might have teased him more when he’d reacted to the glimpse of her lacy bra, but when they did make love—and she decided they would—she wanted his undivided attention.

  As they turned off Las Vegas Boulevard toward the crime scene at the monorail station, he cleared his throat. “Since you’re doing the talking, why don’t you give me a general idea of your approach?”

  “I tend to wing it. Just play along.”

  “Great.”

  “It will be.” She pulled a camera out of her tote. “And memorable. You can be my cameraman.”

  He turned toward her, one eyebrow arched. “We’re still talking
about the case, right?” He pulled to a stop behind a line of police cars and other official vehicles.

  She handed him the camera. “Of course we are.” She was out of the car, game face on, purpose in her stride as she sought out the lead investigator on the scene.

  The news trucks were gone but the scene was plenty busy. Crime scene techs in their well-known jackets with cameras and evidence bags crawled over every inch of the site where Redding’s body had been found.

  Gin knew she probably should have pushed Jason for a few details about how he knew the man. Then again, winging it hadn’t failed her yet.

  “Wait,” Jason stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Don’t do this.”

  “You need a look at the scene and the evidence.” She smiled at him. “Trust me.”

  She felt him at her back as she walked up to the yellow tape barrier and stepped into character. The one she chose was a familiar British role. “I need a minute with the lead investigator.”

  The police officer stared at her. “He’s not available. I can give him a message.”

  “Thanks, but that doesn’t always work out so well.” She handed him a business card that showed her as a reporter from London. “I’m working a story and I have information that might help with his case.”

  “Really?” he asked, clearly unconvinced.

  “Really.” She grinned at him, turned on the charm, as she caught movement from the corner of her eye. Jason was moving toward the techs. “Would you give me a quote?”

  “Can’t do that.”

  “Not even off the record? We believe there’s a vigilante on a world tour picking off criminals. And, personally, I believe it’s the local cops on the ground like you who’ll make all the difference.” She made a face and shook her head. “Not the feds or Interpol.”

  She had the cop’s interest now and she tweaked his curiosity. “Interpol says the bloke can make a long distance shot as cleanly as a small-caliber double-tap execution. But that’s hardly relevant if this was a close-range sort of thing.”

  The cop leaned forward, his attention completely with Gin. “It wasn’t.” He glanced side to side and lowered his voice. “You can’t quote me, but we’re thinking sniper here, too.”

  “One shot?”

  The cop shook his head. “Two.”

  She waited, leaned in just a smidge more.

  “Head and heart. I heard one of the other guys say the bastard—pardon my French, ma’am—was showing off with the second shot.”

  She nodded as if this was familiar news. In reality, it scared the hell out of her.

  “That’s not all.”

  She gave him a wide-eyed, tell-me-more look. “We think this victim is related to a fatality on the highway a couple days ago.”

  “The big pileup I heard about?”

  The cop nodded.

  “But I thought that was just an accident.”

  “We don’t want to cause panic, but between you and me, it was a bullet in the tire of the first car that started the whole thing.”

  More likely, the local team didn’t want to have the FBI breathing down their necks and stealing the investigation. Which would happen if word got out they were dealing with a U.S. Army–trained sniper.

  Jason’s cover was just too close to the truth on this.

  “Have they found where the shot came from?”

  “That’s the real mystery in this incident. We found the nest for the highway shooting but not this one yet.”

  “Hmm.” She looked around, as if she could see anything useful in the dark. “Please, please give my card to the lead detective on this. What we’ve gathered from other incidents might be helpful.”

  “Have you had any incidents in the past week?”

  Gin winked at him. “There’s a reason I’m here and not in the UK.”

  “Well, Vegas is a great place for a vacation.”

  Wasn’t he well-trained to toe the tourism line even at a crime scene? Of course, she wasn’t the typical tourist. “Quite true. I’ve found a wealth of diversions since my arrival.” She wanted to glance at Jason but didn’t want to break the spell she held over the cop.

  He tapped her card against his palm. “If you need a guide, I could show you around when I’m off shift.”

  “That could be lovely.” She used her left hand to smooth her hair back, flashing her wedding band. “Go ahead and make a note of my number there.” Jason was striding her way, grim determination clear in the set of his jaw. “Thank you for your time,” she said extending her hand to shake his. “We’ll just get out of your way.”

  Back in the car Jason glared for a long moment before he put the key into the ignition.

  “Problem, dear?”

  “A flirty reporter? That was your big idea?”

  “Flirty, British reporter,” she corrected. “I left my shiny fake badge in my other purse,” she added.

  “Right.”

  “What’s the problem? I got useful information out of him.”

  “The poor sap thinks he’s going to get something more than useful out of you.”

  “Are you jealous?”

  “Of a Las Vegas rookie cop ogling my wife? No.”

  She watched the way he shielded his face as they rolled slowly by the personnel at the scene. “If not jealousy, what’s crawled up your rear?”

  “Do you even know you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Resort to a more colorful dialect when you’re irritated.”

  She’d never been accused of doing it before. “I don’t believe you,” she said in a flat Midwestern accent. No way she’d admit the amount of concentration it took to pull it off.

  “You’re saying it’s my influence, then?”

  “No.”

  “My proximity?” He reached over and patted her leg, then left his big palm warm on her thigh.

  With deliberate motions, like she was disposing of something unpleasant, she removed his hand from her leg and dropped it back on the gear shift between them. “Stop teasing me and just say what’s on your mind.”

  “Now you’re all business.”

  “I’m always all business.” But she was watching his hands as he negotiated a turn and clicked the headlights to bright. “Where are we going?”

  “To check out the nest for this hit.”

  “You figured that out?”

  “We’ll know in a few minutes.”

  “The cop said the pileup on the interstate started with a bullet to the left front tire rather than an accidental blowout.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “Right for what?” She wanted to shake him. Why wouldn’t he share the theory he was working on? She’d been open with him. More open than she’d ever been with anyone else—including her fellow agents within the CIA. Gin wasn’t sure she wanted to evaluate that development any time soon. No matter what she did or thought, her emotions were fully engaged with this man. Whoever was after him shouldn’t be her concern, but she couldn’t maintain her professional distance. As much as she wanted to chalk it up to the close call at the pool, or Wallace’s knife at her throat, lying to herself would only make it worse.

  Her heart had skipped at the sight of Jason in that bar and it wanted to keep on skipping the longer they stayed together. An agent falling like this was never a pretty sight. She was in deep here.

  Not just because she knew he’d help her; she had a variety of skills to coerce any red-blooded male into providing assistance when she needed it. It hadn’t just been about seeing a friendly face, either. His initial greeting had been less than encouraging.

  It had been him. No more, no less than the simple truth. Jason Grant had managed to ignite a spark of hope or happiness inside her she’d decided wasn’t within her capacity to feel.

  Good Lord, she wished the man would talk so she could stop thinking!

  He pulled the car into a parking garage and drove up the ramps. “Let’s just see if we find the nest.”

  “
Okay.” If he wouldn’t share, she’d just have to figure it out. “The cop said the man was shot twice.”

  “Show off.” Jason stopped on the top level and got out of the car, walking forward in the wash from the headlights.

  “The local officials agree with you,” she said, catching up to him. “The sniper put a bullet through his brain and then the heart as he went down just to prove he could.”

  Jason shook his head.

  “Have you ever done that?”

  “Only on a training dummy. I was the only one who could pull it off perfectly. Straight through the center of the heart before the victim—dummy, of course—slumped too far from the head shot that had already killed him.”

  “Something else in your closed file?”

  He nodded.

  A chill slid down her spine as potential connections bumped around in her mind. “So whoever is behind the rifle is trying to get your attention?”

  “More likely he’s trying to get me blamed. He just has to blow apart my cover story about why I’m in Vegas.”

  She patted him on the back. “No worries. I can arrange an exit strategy for you, Specialist Grant.”

  “Funny.”

  She was trying to lighten the mood, if only to prevent the unprecedented worry from choking her. Getting emotional was way, way out of character and entirely dangerous for all involved.

  Jason stopped, stepping carefully using the glow of the headlights. “Here we are.” He knelt down and used a flashlight to poke around the trash that had been blown against the low wall.

  Gin looked down toward the crime scene to the big lights set up around the area. It appeared more than possible to her that a sniper had made the shots from here. “Why aren’t the police up here?”

  “Probably because the body was shifted so they would be looking at a different trajectory.”

  “Something else you learned in training?”

  “No, that’s something I heard about in the field.”

  When he didn’t explain, she sighed. “Jason, darling, you simply must learn to keep some information to yourself. The way you go on and on it’s a wonder you qualified for a security clearance.”

  “Unlike your new admirer down there, I know better than to talk with cute reporters.”