Ready, Aim...I Do!: Missing

by Debra Webb

  “That would be easier if we weren’t in Las Vegas, land of a gazillion hotels and nearly guaranteed anonymity.”

  “Come on.” She opened her door. “Let’s see if some fresh air and sunshine help you sort this out before nightfall.”

  “All right. It’s not like we have a lot of other options.” He twisted around and flipped up the back seat, withdrawing a pistol. “Let’s go.”

  She grabbed the shopping bag. “All set. When was the last time you picked up a golf club?”

  “Beginning of last month,” he replied, taking her hand as they crossed the parking lot. “You?”

  “Let’s just say I’m probably better at shopping.” As she’d hoped, her answer had them both smiling when they walked into the cool lobby of the club.

  It was easy to be with Jason, and now that he was opening up and trusting her, being partners of a sort seemed like a natural progression. The whole situation made her long for something more permanent.

  She was starting to think sentimental was going to be a way of life from here on out. Watching people was part of her job, one she enjoyed and excelled at. She imagined the same was true for Jason.

  Is that why he was so good at playing the doting husband? According to that theory, she should be good at portraying an enamored wife. She knew better. Years ago, she’d nearly botched a married cover story because she was too stiff with the agent assigned to be her husband.

  But this time, with Jason, they had everyone they encountered convinced of their mutual devotion. Which, she knew, meant she was becoming seriously attached to him.

  Not such a bad thing...as long as she wasn’t in this attachment thing alone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Desert Ridge Golf Club,

  1:05 p.m.

  Jason stopped the cart at the ninth tee, reluctant to move because it meant letting go of her hand. There were fewer people to judge the newlyweds out here, but by now they both knew he liked touching her.

  If all went well tonight, they had a date with a divorce drive-through and he might never see her again. He didn’t like way his stomach clutched at the thought.

  “I should tell you something.” She squeezed his hand. “Promise you won’t interrupt?”

  “Promise.”

  She took a deep breath. “There’s two things. First, the morning after I saved you, I got an alert about a sniper in Vegas.”

  Jason kept his mouth shut—he’d promised to listen—but he pulled his hand from hers. He could tell he wasn’t going to like whatever she was about to say.

  “The police hadn’t yet announced anything official about Redding and you were right there with me, so I knew it wasn’t you.”

  He stepped out of the cart and walked back to get their drivers.

  “Jason?”

  “I’m listening.” Except he wasn’t. She’d done a fine job pretending she hadn’t known anything about the sniper in Vegas. Acting was part of the job description for covert agents, but suddenly he didn’t know if anything they’d shared had any meaning. She might as well have punched him in the gut.

  How many ways could he screw up on this assignment? First he let a stranger drug him, then he let Elvis marry him, and now he’d let Gin put her life on the line.

  She accepted the club he handed her. “Did you know he was in town?”

  He stared at her. “Are you asking if I was tasked with removing him?”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  He sneered. “In polite company.” He bent down to put his tee in the ground. “Why does it matter? We both know I didn’t shoot him. You went through my belongings. Did you find a dossier or ammunition?”

  “Lower your voice,” she snapped in a whisper, glancing around. “You know I didn’t.”

  The fact that she didn’t deny performing the search made it worse somehow. As if being dragged to the altar while he was out of his mind on a drug wasn’t enough of a problem.

  He battled against the anger building inside him. Not because she’d lied—that was a frequent necessity—or even that she’d married him—apparently that was her best option at the time. No, he was furious because knowing there was a sniper in the area, she’d put herself in danger.

  To protect him.

  “You interfered—”

  “They were setting you up!”

  “—and willfully made yourself a target,” he said over her justification.

  She took a practice cut with the driver, then let the club swing from her hand. Her sunglasses hid her eyes, but it was a safe bet she was considering the appeal of bashing him over the head with it.

  He couldn’t blame her. Not for that anyway.

  “Don’t pretend it was about me.” He told himself to shut up, but he just kept talking. “You like the rush of cheating death. Crave it.”

  “That’s what you think of me?”

  He jerked his chin in the affirmative. It wasn’t even close. Professionally, operatives with that attitude didn’t survive, and personally...he couldn’t risk thinking personally right now.

  She pursed her lips. “I see.” She waved a hand toward the fairway. “Carry on or we’ll soon be holding up the group behind us.”

  Though he heard the faint lilt in her voice that revealed how hard she was working to hold onto calm, Jason couldn’t seem to stop himself. “What else are you keeping from me?”

  “Oh, that’s more than enough.” She slammed her club to the ground. “I don’t have to tolerate this.” She started marching away toward the clubhouse.

  He let her go. She had the right idea. They both needed to cool off, and some distance would give him a chance to get a grip on the irrational distraction about what would happen when they were done here.

  So much for the happy couple cover, he thought as she stalked up the small rise. What was wrong with him? They couldn’t afford to split up—not before he stopped Frost and they turned in the virus.

  “Gin! Wait!”

  She broke into a run.

  Swearing a blue streak at his stupidity, he jumped into the golf cart and raced after her.

  But the battery was fading and with a head start fueled by temper, she was getting away even with an injured foot.

  Hopping out of the useless cart, he chased after her. In the back of his mind he wondered if the casino had a couple’s therapist on call. They had everything else.

  He’d almost reached her when the turf flew up in front of him and just to her left. Bullet. Had to be. The breeze had carried it just wide of her.

  “Down,” he barked.

  But she stood there, frozen in place, a perfect target even an average shooter could pick off. He didn’t need to see her face to know it was blank with shock. A second bullet sent gravel spraying out of the landscaping to their left.

  He couldn’t be sure which of them was the real target, but it hardly mattered. They were out here with zilch for cover and he couldn’t live on the hope that the next shot would miss. Whoever was behind the trigger was either impatient or new to the job. On his worst day, Frost would have tagged them both by now.

  Of all the gambles in his career, all the hunches, everything that mattered was riding on this one. If they could make it to the clubhouse, or at least the deep sand trap, they had a chance.

  Jason surged up behind Gin and forced her toward the sand trap and what he hoped was the better safety of the clubhouse beyond.

  The sniper squeezed off two more shots before Jason shoved Gin deep into the bunker. It was a guess, based on the angle, but pressed against the carved-out edge, he thought they were out of harm’s way.

  For the moment.

  He fumbled for his phone and dialed 911, reporting a shooting at the golf course as if he’d been a witness and not the potential target.

  “Thank you,” Gin said, tucked between him and the sand. “I can’t believe I froze.”

  He looked down into her clear green gaze, grateful her sunglasses had been lost in the scramble. He kissed her lightl
y. “It happens.”

  “But it’s not the first time I’ve been shot at. Not even this week.”

  “I’m aware of that,” he said through gritted teeth.

  She pulled him down for a more thorough kiss. “I am not an adrenaline junkie.”

  “I know. I was just so mad thinking you put yourself at risk for me on purpose.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Hey. You married me.”

  “Well, sort of anyway.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “Now is good.”

  She rolled her eyes and shoved at his shoulder, but when he raised himself up and off of her, she yanked him back down. “No. He might try again.”

  Jason smiled, understanding the depth of her concern completely. “Does that mean you don’t want to be a widow?”

  “Not today.” Her smile was soft and full of an emotion he wasn’t sure he wanted to decipher. “How do you think Frost got back on task so fast?” she asked.

  “This wasn’t him. He never works alone.” He told her about his interpretation of the misses being impatience and poor timing. “Frost wouldn’t make that mistake. Whoever just fired at us didn’t allow for wind,” he added. “And as far as I can tell, he doesn’t care which one of us dies.”

  “That’s new.”

  “Agreed.” Sirens wailed in the distance. He wanted to get up and snag one of the bullets for closer inspection before the crime scene techs stashed them into evidence bags. “Maybe we’re a two-for-one special because we’re married.” Hearing shouts from the clubhouse, he decided they were safe enough. “Come on.”

  “Jason.” Her voice cracked on his name.

  “What’s wrong?” He reached down to help her up, but she held up bloodstained fingers.

  “You’re hit.” Fear roared through him.

  She shook her head. “No, it’s you.”

  He felt fine, but she rolled to her feet and ripped open his shirt. “This kind of thing should wait until we’re back in our room,” he said.

  She batted his hands away, clearly not amused, when she spotted the injury.

  He shushed her when she gave a panicked shout for help. “It’s just a scratch, Gin. I can’t even feel it.”

  “Sit down.”

  “I’m not going to pass out.” He walked out of the sand trap, buttoning his shirt as he went. “It’s nothing.” Now that she pointed it out, it had started to sting, but it wasn’t a big deal. “We need a look at one of the rounds.”

  “Now who’s the adrenaline junkie?”

  “I would still vote for you,” he said with a warm smile. He knelt by one of the furrows in the turf and used the pencil to dig the bullet out so he could look at it. “That’s what I thought.”

  She crouched beside him. “Different ammo?”

  “Definitely. This isn’t the .338 Frost would use for a shot like this. I’m probably the only person other than Frost or Wallace who knows that. And Frost never works alone, remember? Last I checked no one had posted Wallace’s bond on the burglary charge.”

  “Which means?”

  “Whoever hired Frost has taken matters into his own hands.”

  “That implies a certain desperation. Why take the risk?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

  He could tell from the look on her face that they were thinking the same thing. Only two men knew his past well enough to create such a viable and elaborate setup. One of them was on his honeymoon. The other had ordered him to sit in a Vegas casino and wait for a contact.

  A contact that might have led to his incarceration, or even his death, if not for Gin’s timely arrival at the bar.

  Could Emmett Holt really be in league with Isely? Jason didn’t want to believe it and refused to say it aloud. It would make it too real. Still, he had to get this information to the director. The way Washington politics operated, even in agencies that didn’t officially exist, the rumor alone would be enough to crush Mission Recovery.

  Why would Holt want to do that?

  “Killing both of us expedites something we’re not seeing. But we survived, which means Frost has to go through with the club strike tonight in order to finish the setup on me.”

  “Shh.” She gave him a little shake. “The authorities are here. Let’s give a bystander statement and get back to the room,” she said, rubbing her hand over his shoulder. “I can clean you up as well as any paramedic.”

  “Sure.” He pressed a hand to the wound. “One favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Update Camp about the inside job theory.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Jason nodded. “Do it now. He’ll tell Director Casey. And he’s the only person I can trust right now.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” she promised.

  They answered the questions for the police, and Jason relented when the paramedics insisted on treating him. He refused any painkillers or to be transported to the hospital. He just wanted to get back to the room and figure out which angle Frost would take for tonight’s strike. That would require a clear head.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Flamingo resort,

  8:52 p.m.

  Jason and Gin had talked it through, analyzed the best intelligence offered from his friend in Interpol and her support team and developed a plan. Jason didn’t like that she’d be in the mix—alone—her life as likely as any other for Frost to end, but it had to be done.

  When he walked out of their room in a few minutes they might not meet again until the divorce. If he succeeded tonight—and he had to succeed—he’d be spending the night with the local police offering up evidence.

  If she followed her standard procedure, she’d leave town to track the last of the virus vials and Isely. His new goal was to change her plan.

  “So if I understand you,” Jason said as he dressed for a night leaping rooftops, “sort of married means we’ve been living in sin these past few days?”

  “Well, it is Sin City.” Dressed for a night of clubbing, Gin sat back on the bed and he watched her twist the wedding band on her finger. Her foot was still a little swollen but she insisted on dressing the part. “Would it have been so bad if it was real?”

  It would be the best thing that ever happened to him, Jason thought, but he didn’t say the words. Studying her, he saw the price of asking was clear in her eyes. Nothing they’d faced in the past two days had put that vulnerability in her eyes. Only the possibility of his rejection.

  Here was a woman he admired for her calm under fire and quick mind. A woman he trusted despite her tricks and the shadowy elements inherent to their line of work. Here was the woman he loved above all else.

  For a man trained to work alone, it was a big change to admit he needed her. More than that, he wanted her. Now. Always.

  He stepped close and reached out to trail a finger across her collarbone. He wanted to press a kiss to the spot he knew would raise goose bumps across her body, but he restrained himself. They had a lifetime ahead of them.

  “Is that a proposal? It’s not very romantic.” He shrugged. “Just saying.”

  She cocked an eyebrow, clearly annoyed, and he almost cheered that he knew her every expression—or lack thereof—so well.

  “Traditionally, proposing is the man’s job.”

  “It’s a little late for tradition in our case, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe,” she admitted, the brief flare of bravado flickering back to vulnerable.

  He almost relented and dropped to one knee, but she’d jerked him around so much at the start of all of this, he was due a little fun of his own.

  If she was ready to make this official, he knew just what he had to do as soon as they captured Frost. He had tickets for an Alaskan cruise on hold along with an engagement ring and wedding bands engraved with Celtic warrior knots. He couldn’t wait to see her face when he slipped it on her finger. He’d arranged
to have them married by the ship’s captain, but if she had something else in mind, he’d happily adjust his plan.

  “Are you going to answer me?”

  “Just as soon as you ask me the only question that matters.”

  Her tempestuous emerald gaze might well have killed him if such a thing were possible. He rocked back on his heels, smothering a laugh.

  “Fine.”

  That one word, bearing a faint trace of her Irish blood, told him how much this meant to her. It was all he could do to keep from blurting out the question himself.

  She took his left hand in both of hers and ran her thumb over the plain gold of the wedding band he already wore. When she looked up, her heart was shining in her eyes.

  “Jason Grant, if you’ll be my husband, meet me at this address tomorrow afternoon.” She pressed a card into his palm, then a soft kiss to his lips, preventing him from answering. “Now let’s go get this bastard.”

  * * *

  Las Vegas Strip, 9:24 p.m.

  IT SURPRISED HER to be nervous now, standing here in the club line as sniper bait, when she hadn’t been nervous before in too many situations just like this to list. Not to mention she hadn’t really been nervous when she’d proposed.

  Oh God, she had.

  Gin took a deep breath and reminded herself to focus. Jason was up there somewhere, ready to spring their trap on Frost. She trusted him completely to manage that before the notoriously accurate sniper ended her life for real this time. She had to believe Jason would prevail, couldn’t bear the idea that she’d fallen in love only to die in the line of duty before she had a chance to enjoy it.

  She had to believe she’d see him tomorrow.

  Scanning the crowded line for a glimpse of Wallace, or whomever Frost might have been forced to help him misdirect the investigators who would be saddled with this crime, she was as surprised as everyone else when a neon sign across the street burst into a showy display of sparks.

  People stared upward, but Gin sheltered her eyes and watched for anything out of place around her. She spotted the blond woman scurrying to catch a taxi across the street and smothered a shocked cry when she fell to the ground.

  Had Jason taken that shot? No. He was a professional. But Gin knew the plan, knew Jason was on one of the rooftops on her side of the Strip taking aim at Frost—if he’d located him—who would be eyeing the crowd around her.