Debra & Regan Webb & Black - Ready, Aim...I Do!

He glanced down and then gave her an interested half-grin. “You don’t have to bait me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He leaned closer. “I’m a sure thing, remember?”

She tipped her head back and laughed, playing along. “That’s good to know.” Studying him, she wondered how much he’d had to drink. Any alcohol beyond a few sips to set his profile meant he was here for pleasure rather than business. Grant, she suspected, wasn’t the sort to bend the rules on a mission. His brown eyes were a little unfocused, his pupils dilated. So maybe he wasn’t here on business. Still, even in the midst of tying one on, he was her best bet to get out of here.

Using the mirror behind the bar, she checked for Isely. He’d stepped just inside the doorway and was checking out the milling crowd. He didn’t come closer, but she could feel his gaze land on her back. If he didn’t know for sure, he’d suspected she was trouble. Well, Jason Grant could help her prove otherwise.

The bartender delivered her wine and she sipped, rubbing her palm across Jason’s knee. Isely had to believe she was involved with him, that they were simply a couple here to enjoy a long weekend.

“Need a hand?”

“Why, Mr. Grant, that sounds like a wonderful start. I think you’re just the lucky charm that would be helpful to me at the craps tables.”

He shook his head. “I—ah, don’t gamble,” he mumbled with a laugh that sounded almost drunken.

Alarms sounded in her head. A man who didn’t gamble didn’t do Vegas for pleasure. Something was wrong here. “Sweetheart, are you feeling well?”

“Fine.” He picked up her hand and stroked her palm with his thumb. “Your hand is...is so soft.”

And his was quite strong, but something was clearly wrong. Careful not to break cover, she scanned the room for whoever had drugged him. She needed to get him out of here before he was too loopy to walk.

He started to slump to the side, and she signaled for the bartender to settle the tab. Jason managed a signature and she caught the room number he’d listed along with the drink tally. Two beers wouldn’t have put him in this state.

“Why don’t we take a walk?” she suggested.

“I’d like that.”

“Good.” She looped his arm over her shoulder and with hers at his waist she steadied him as they maneuvered through the bar.

The gun she felt in the waistband at the small of his back implied he was on the clock and only solidified her theory that someone had decided he was a target for something. As they exited no one seemed to care, not even Isely, but she couldn’t be sure because it took all her concentration to keep Jason upright. His height of just over six feet and lean but muscular build were far more appealing when he was supporting both on his own power.

His hand slid down to cup her bottom and she jumped a little, surprised by his touch. She covered her reaction with a laugh. Maybe he was faking the drunk part. Was he taking advantage and hamming it up, or was there a real problem? It helped the cover, so she wouldn’t complain. She guided him toward the main entrance, hoping the fresh air and surroundings would help revive him if this wasn’t for show.

“What did you have to drink, sweetheart?” she asked. The crowded streets and traffic noise meant no one could eavesdrop and she wanted as much information as she could get.

“A beer. Not even. Oh!” He jerked a bit. “And you sent me a shot of tequila.”

“Ah.” As they walked, she checked his pockets. He had his wallet and his room key. She must have interrupted before whoever started this had finished the job. Well, luck was certainly a lady for Jason tonight. She would ask him later why he thought the person who sent him a shot was her.

“You aren’t really blonde.” He reached over and brushed at the blonde bangs of her wig.

“That’s just for fun tonight, remember?”

“Mmm-hmm. Where’re we going?”

Back to his room if she could manage it. She risked another glance over her shoulder. Damned if Isely wasn’t still on her. What would it take to get rid of him?

She’d worn a disguise, stopped shadowing his seller and left the casino where the transaction was slated to occur. “Give a girl a break,” she muttered, pausing to catch her breath. Her chosen method of distraction was turning into a serious problem.

Next time, she was going with the old school chum routine. No hormonal interference with that diversion. Running into Jason had looked like a fun, sexy ticket out of trouble, but now he felt like a block of cement dragging her down. She leaned him against a palm tree and kept him there with a hand on his hard chest.

She could leave him and call a cop to help him back to his room. Practical, but wrong. “Kiss me,” she said.

“What?” His eyelids were droopy and his grin was that of a sweet drunk, and still it made butterflies circle in her belly.

“Kiss me,” she ordered.

“In a minute.” His hands were warm on her waist. “You hafta say ‘I do’ first.”

She followed his gaze. They were standing under the bright neon lights of an Elvis-themed wedding chapel. To her left, Isely was only a few yards away. To her right, one of the brutal men she recognized from his personal security team was even closer and reaching into his jacket.

Damn.

Why couldn’t these guys just believe the only thing she was into was her man?

Catching a glimpse of the shoulder holster, she made up her mind. Isely and his crew were known to act first and rationalize later. Drugged, Jason wasn’t in any shape to help her. Maybe it was time to play the game their way.

“Well,” she said to Jason, marching the fingers of one hand up his shirt while she reached for his gun with the other. She wasn’t a great shot left-handed, but she only had to create a diversion if they tried to take her. Flipping off the safety, she kept Jason distracted with her body pressed against his.

Isely’s thug had his weapon out now and his attention was locked on her. She didn’t know who or what had tipped off Isely, but his intended method of problem solving was clear. As the thug raised his weapon, she fired through Jason’s sport coat, aiming for the thug’s knee and praying she wouldn’t hit anyone else.

People on the street reacted predictably—a sudden flurry of motion set to the soundtrack of panicked screaming. Isely’s thug was hopping around in pain—she must have clipped his foot—and people caught sight of his gun. He was swarmed by determined citizens yelling for police assistance.

Jason jumped, a delayed reaction to the sound of the shot. He almost fell, dragging her with him. “Steady, sweetheart. That’s just a car back firing,” she lied smoothly.

“It’s loud out here.” He traced the shell of her ear with his fingertip. “Let’s get married so I can kiss you,” he said.

She tucked the gun back into the holster at his back. “If you insist, honey.”

“I do.” He sputtered with laughter when he realized what he said. “C’mon.” He pushed away from the tree and wobbled toward the chapel entrance with the careful determination of a drunk.

She wasn’t sure he’d appreciate her current opinion of Specialist Jason Grant as sweet edging toward adorable, but there wasn’t a better way to define him in his diminished state.

Less than an hour later, to the tune of Viva Las Vegas, they were newlyweds with the gold bands, a champagne toast and a “Just Married” limo ride up and down the Strip to prove it.

She wondered how happy her groom would be when he woke up tomorrow morning?

Chapter Two

Mission Recovery headquarters,

11:45 p.m.

Emmett Holt steepled his fingers as he reviewed the detailed reports his assistant had sent to his computer. Apparently a sniper was on a killing spree in Las Vegas. Times, targets—hell, even the type of bullets—pointed to Jason Grant, the Specialist who would one day take over this very office. Director Casey had handpicked Grant for the deputy director’s chair when Holt eventually moved up to Casey’s post, but this development could change everything.