Ready, Aim...I Do!: Missing

by Debra Webb

  “Cute?” She snorted. “No one’s accused me of cute since I wore pigtails in grammar school.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present our Irish lass, Ginger Olin.” He shot her a wink.

  “You’re a mixed-up sort of Yank,” she said in her best Irish lilt. She punched him in the shoulder and set her voice to match the locals. “Keep it up and I’ll have no choice but to seek revenge.”

  He looked up at her, his face an odd blend of humor and regret. “Let’s hope you get the chance.”

  “What does that mean?” She dropped to her knees beside him, peering at an object he’d picked up. “Is that shell casing related to this case?”

  “I believe so. There’s another right over there.”

  “Sloppy to leave them lying around.”

  “Not if you want to get caught. Or rather, get me caught.”

  “No way.” She frowned at the brass casing on the end of his pen. “Have you ever left a shell casing behind?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. I bet that detail is even a notation in your service record. Jason, you can’t believe I’ll let them so much as question you. I’m your alibi. Rock solid with a marriage certificate to prove it.”

  He stood and she followed suit, gazing up at his troubled face.

  “Thanks. But doing that could blow your own mission here. You might be better off to hurry up with the divorce.”

  “Despite our whirlwind courtship, I’m not eager for the dubious honor of shortest marriage on record.”

  He laughed, just as she’d hoped, though it was painfully brief. “How do you want to deal with this?” He held the brass casing up between them.

  “I say we leave them here.” She planted her hands on her hips. “If we do the police work for them, it only raises more questions about how we knew where to look.”

  “How I knew where to look,” he said.

  “We. For better or worse, remember?”

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “No. I don’t remember to be honest. But this is definitely one for the worse column.”

  She pushed his hand down until the brass shell slid off the pen and landed at their feet. He looked so desperately alone, she couldn’t bear it. Taking his hand, she led him back to the car and opened the passenger door for him.

  He slid in without protest—which worried her more. Before she could close the door, the window shattered, spilling safety glass across her shoes.

  “Keys!” She scrambled around the back of the car, staying low even as she opened the door and adjusted the driver’s seat.

  Jason shoved the key in the ignition and she started the car and put it into reverse. They flew backward down the parking garage ramps, both cars. Keeping low in the seats as bullets peppered the windshield she prayed they wouldn’t encounter a vehicle coming up.

  “What the hell is this?” She wrestled with the steering wheel.

  “A trap,” he replied. “Small caliber. Go faster.”

  Judging the space wide enough, she executed an impressively fast three-point turn and worked the high-performance engine until they were out of the garage and flying toward a main road. She heard the engine behind them closing in, swore when another bullet clipped her sideview mirror.

  “Where’s a cop when you need one?” she muttered.

  Jason’s hearty belly laugh made her jump. “At the crime scene with your new admirer.”

  “Funny.” Grumbling, she turned away from the direction of the crime scene and headed south, determined to get back toward the famous glow of the Las Vegas strip. They needed a crowd and cops. Cops cruised the Strip 24/7. “Can you see anything back there?”

  “Just headlights.” He jerked and raised his hands to shield himself when the passenger-side mirror blew apart. “Head for the interstate.”

  She adjusted her course. “We’ll be lucky to avoid a ticket for safety violations.”

  “That’ll be the least of our worries if you can’t lose them.”

  “The task would have been far easier if you’d rented a normal car.”

  “A normal car wouldn’t have this engine.”

  “Mixed blessings,” she allowed. Working through the gears, she edged away from their pursuers.

  “Why didn’t they shoot us while we were looking at the casing?”

  “Guess they don’t want us dead.”

  “Then it would be best to stop shooting in our general direction.”

  “Agreed. It’s small-caliber fire.” He dug a bullet out of the seat area near his shoulder.

  She could tell he was mulling over this weird development, but discussion would have to wait as she navigated the increasing traffic.

  “Slow down.”

  “You just told me to lose them.”

  “I know.” He drew his own weapon, a semi-automatic nine millimeter. “Humor me.”

  She eased off the accelerator and downshifted, her palms damp on the leather-covered steering wheel as the other car closed the gap. “What’s your plan?”

  “I’m just going to wing it.”

  “Assuming we survive,” Gin vowed, “I’m plotting a prolonged revenge at the earliest opportunity.”

  “That’s just proof I’m the luckiest husband in Vegas,” Jason said. He reclined the back of the seat, then tugged at the seat belt as he shifted and twisted around to get a better position.

  “You shoot left-handed?”

  “Only when I have to.”

  She was cruising now, exactly at the posted speed limit.

  “If he’s smart, he’ll go for the tires,” she muttered, mostly to herself. As if on cue, she caught the muzzle flash in her rearview mirror, and she braced to work with the spinout. Avoiding collateral damage out here was her first priority.

  The first shot hit the car, and she heard the deep pop of Jason’s gun as he returned fire.

  Another flash and the left rear of the car lurched as the tire came apart.

  Sparks of the wheel against the roadway reflected in the remaining shards of her side mirror. Gin didn’t have time to appreciate the artistry of it as she struggled to maintain control of the Corvette. Steering into the spin, she said a prayer when the interstate median stopped the momentum with a sickening crunch as the front end crumpled.

  Jason gave a victory whoop. When her stomach settled and the airbag deflated, she understood why.

  The other car was stalled in the left lane, a few yards in front of them, the hood popped and smoke and steam pluming.

  “You tagged the radiator?”

  “Took me two tries.”

  “In the middle of a spin?”

  “No, before that.” He leaned over and planted a hard kiss on her mouth. “Listen.”

  She could only stare at him as the sounds of emergency sirens drew closer.

  “Come on. Let’s go make a citizen’s arrest.”

  Jason bolted out of the car as the driver who’d been chasing them started limping away from the scene. She watched him go as she inventoried her situation. Her foot was more unhappy than ever and her lip was swelling from the airbag.

  “The man is insane.” This she knew with complete certainty.

  Climbing out of the car became a problem. Her foot was caught between the clutch pedal and the crushed left front quarter panel. The painful bruise from the earlier fight would no longer be ignored. She could only watch as Jason ran down the other driver, tackling him to the pavement.

  “Yay team,” she muttered, leaning her head back against the headrest. Hopefully this would be the lead Jason was looking for. If she was really lucky, it would be the catalyst to get him talking about whatever he really thought was going on.

  Wishing he’d come back to help her out of the car, she opened her eyes and screamed. Flames were licking at the hood and closing in on her. She scrabbled against the seat and pulled at her foot, but it wouldn’t budge.

  She refused to panic, told herself she’d been in worse situations and swore that later she’d
laugh at the overwhelming urge to panic. Now, she had to think.

  There was always a way out.

  “Cover your head!”

  She looked up into Jason’s face at her window.

  “Do it, Gin!”

  She met his gaze and choked back the panicked scream. Flames at his back, he showed her a crowbar. She had no idea what he meant to do, only that any moment he could be in as much danger as she was.

  “Get away! I’m stuck.”

  “Cover your head.”

  He didn’t wait, and she turned her head as he smashed the window. What he might do against the crumpled door, she had no idea. Emergency crews were racing toward them. Over the sound of the fire and traffic, she heard Jason barking orders, and she saw shadows through the smoke and blue flashes of police lights.

  Her thoughts disjointed and muddled by the swirling smoke, she vaguely wondered if she’d get ticketed for speeding.

  Beneath her the car rocked and metal and fiberglass crunched with whatever they were doing. Then suddenly the pressure on her foot released and she scrambled back as white foam covered the car and doused the flames.

  She wasn’t ashamed to cling to Jason, was too relieved they were both alive as he carried her to the waiting paramedics.

  “I’m fine,” she began, but her protest was cut off by a fit of coughing. An oxygen mask landed on her face and she was urged to lie back and relax. An order that became more challenging when they pushed Jason out of reach and out of her sight.

  Someone packed her foot in ice and propped it up, then covered her with a blanket while they measured her pulse and blood pressure. No surprise that both were slightly elevated.

  They asked her several questions, which she remembered to answer as the British reporter. Hopefully Jason had grabbed her purse from the wrecked car. Aside from being a bit groggy and sore, she wasn’t in terrible condition.

  Another police officer stepped up beside her. Despite the oxygen mask she tried to smile when she recognized him from the murder scene.

  “We should thank you.”

  She raised her eyebrows, her throat too raw and tender to speak much.

  “You and your photographer found the sniper’s nest for the Redding shooting. We were looking in a different area.”

  She nodded.

  A warm hand landed on her shoulder, and she recognized Jason’s touch. “Feeling better?”

  She nodded again.

  “They want to transport you for X-rays on that foot.”

  She shook her head. “Not broken,” she rasped.

  “You should make sure.”

  “I am,” she said with a pointed look. Certainly he’d realize she had plenty of experience diagnosing and managing physical injuries. Her head clearing and her lungs feeling better, she nudged the oxygen mask out of the way. “Are you hurt?”

  “Just a scratch.”

  He pointed to his head. It looked more like a gash to her, with four butterfly closures holding it together.

  He smoothed a hand over her hair. “Neither of us is concussed and if you’re sure about the foot, we’re free to go.”

  Gin sat up, more than ready to get out of here. They needed to discuss this situation with the sniper and put a lid on it before it got any more out of control. Maybe her smoke-roughened throat was a good thing if it meant Jason had to do more of the talking.

  What the hell were they going to do? That gorgeous car was destroyed. More important, where would they go? Sure they had a room, but returning to the hotel in this condition would raise eyebrows and suspicions.

  Jason smiled down at her, smoothing her hair from her face. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, and she soaked up the comfort he offered.

  “What now?”

  “I’m not without resources. Trust me?”

  She did, she realized, more than she’d ever trusted anyone else. “Lead on.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Emmett Holt’s home,

  11:15 p.m.

  Holt’s phone rang, interrupting his workout. He answered it when he saw the number from the Mission Recovery analyst department.

  “Sir, our contact in Nevada wants to confirm a new requisition.”

  Holt stifled his first response. “Who is asking for what?”

  “Specialist Grant requested a car, among other things.”

  Grant should have been out of the way by now, and “other things” covered a lot of gray area. “Approve it all and make sure I have a list on my desk in the morning.”

  He disconnected the call and dialed back his frustration. Intelligent, capable people were a boon when they were working with you. Having so many variables in play, so many people who could turn his plans inside out was a pain in the ass.

  He threw a series of uppercuts into the heavy bag he’d been punching when Nadine had interrupted. As far as he could tell the woman never slept. Not that he could say anything. He rarely did himself.

  What didn’t kill him made him stronger. It would appear the same held true for Grant. Holt tried to be objective and find a way to turn this to his advantage.

  The arrangements had been clear and specific; he didn’t conduct business of this nature in any other fashion. He jabbed twice and came around with a left hook.

  As his body worked out the combination, his mind flipped through the potential pitfalls like a slide show. Move one way, get result A. Move the other, result B.

  His counterpart had dropped the ball, giving Holt a new opening. He just had to decide how to use it.

  He drove his fists into the heavy bag then slumped against it, catching his breath. He checked the clock on the wall and knew he should get some of that sleep he more often than not denied himself.

  Instead, he turned on the television in the corner and drained a bottle of water while he cruised the news stations.

  Only a few more weeks. He could sleep for a month on a warm beach in a nonextradition country when this was over. Or he was dead. At this point he wasn’t sure which outcome he preferred.

  As long as it was done.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nevada,

  11:50 p.m.

  Jason watched Gin’s face as she tried to figure out what resources he might have called on, but now wasn’t the time to explain it all. Right now he was just relieved she was alive. When the car had stopped spinning and the airbags deflated, he’d had one goal: catch the attacker and squeeze him for information before the cops pulled him out of reach.

  Except Gin hadn’t been beside him as he’d expected. He’d turned around just in time to see the fire catch, and his heart just stopped.

  Looking at her now, he wondered when she had become so important to him. It couldn’t be because of a piece of paper. Not when he couldn’t even remember the wedding. He wanted to chalk it up to proximity and the camaraderie of working together, but he knew it went deeper than that.

  She was gorgeous and he was thoroughly attracted, but there was more. Even knowing it would make her mad, he wanted to comfort and coddle. She could take care of herself and the paramedics had cleared her, but he couldn’t shut down the instinct to protect her. To treasure her.

  There probably wasn’t an accurate term to define his degree of foolishness when her smoke-damaged voice only made her more appealing.

  He could just imagine her laughter if she knew.

  “Come on. Your new pal is giving us a lift to a truck stop.”

  She shot him a skeptical look.

  “You said you’d trust me.”

  She smiled and when she put her hand in his, he felt like he’d won the jackpot at the Palace. In that habit she had, she rested her head on his shoulder and rubbed his arm with her free hand as she limped along to the patrol car.

  He knew he was reading too much into it—they were in public after all—but something in her touch felt more sincere this time. A survivor’s euphoria and definitely an adrenaline rush were going on here with both of them. Maintaining logic was critical to sort
ing out their respective missions and keeping their emotions in perspective.

  They rode together in the back of the police car because he didn’t want her out of reach.

  “I’m okay,” she whispered, but she kept her body pressed along his side for the duration of the twenty-minute ride.

  “If you need anything, just give us a call,” the officer said when they reached The King Truck Stop.

  “Bet they try to call us first,” Gin said as he pulled away, a tired smile on her lips.

  Jason bent down and kissed her. “Probably. We should make the most of our time before that happens.”

  Those green eyes lit with a determined fire. He appreciated her enthusiasm, could only hope it lasted after she understood his theory and how he wanted to deal with it.

  “Is your contact inside?”

  “Should be.” Jason nodded. “Lean on me,” he offered when she started to limp. “If he’s running late, we can ice that foot again.”

  “It’s fine,” she insisted.

  “I could just carry you.”

  “In your dreams,” she said, but the bravado wasn’t as effective when she bit her lip with the exertion of the next step.

  “Come on.” He knelt in front of her. “Hop on.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “It’ll be fun. You probably haven’t had a piggyback ride since your cute days.”

  “Fine.” She looped her bag across her body, then wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned onto his back. He reached around and, holding on to her thighs, stood up. He could have sworn she giggled, but she said, “You are impossible.”

  “Just what every husband wants to hear.”

  “Men are so easy,” she whispered at his ear.

  A trucker exiting the diner held the door open for them as they entered. Jason carried her to the counter and let her slide down onto one of the tall stools.

  “I must look terrible.” She pulled the barrette out of her hair and tried to smooth all the wayward strands back into place.

  He shook his head. “Not as bad as you think.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel one bit better.” She pulled a face and rooted through her bag, holding up a small compact like a trophy. She took one look at her reflection and the color drained from her face. “I can’t believe people aren’t running away in terror.”