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

She didn’t like the way he said that, and for the first time since bolting into the wedding chapel with an oblivious fiancé on her arm she questioned the wisdom of her rash decision. Well, the second time. Sharing a room with him had pushed her resolve to the brink.

“Getting married was your idea.” Had she really needed a kiss from him that badly? She touched her lips again. If she were completely honest with herself she would admit that the kiss had been worth it. “I swear it was your idea.”

“You knew I was compromised.”

“True, and leaving you in a public place seemed like a really bad idea.” She folded her arms over her chest.

“Let me get this straight. You didn’t drug me, didn’t see who did, but you thought it was okay to haul me into an Elvis-themed chapel and marry me?”

“Not exactly. My first suggestion involved you giving me some cover at the craps tables.”

“I don’t gamble.”

“So you said.”

“What else?”

“We went for a walk and I asked you to kiss me.” She hurried on when he raised an eyebrow. “But you said we had to be married first. It was all rather gallant.” If she didn’t think about Isely and his thug flanking them. That was one part she could not afford to mention. Her mission was far too important to compromise for anyone, even the man she’d pretended to marry.

“Gallant?”

“I assumed it was a personality quirk. It fits your whole ex-military persona.” She went to the table and pulled out a chair, sitting on her hands so she wouldn’t fidget with the breakfast dishes. “But now that we’re stuck together it could be an advantage. Just give me forty-eight hours to track this product and sale and then I’ll pay the fees to grant you a speedy divorce.”

It wouldn’t be necessary because the receptionist knew he was intoxicated at the time of the marriage and because they hadn’t filed the marriage license, but Gin could tell him the whole story later. No sense burning bridges and tossing away an ally right now. This might be her only chance to experience a marriage. Not to mention she’d been having fantasies about this guy for weeks now.

As a CIA agent, she wasn’t the sort of woman a man brought home to his family. She didn’t even resemble the sort of woman a man wanted to build a family with. No, she’d learned that hard lesson early in her life.

She was the sort of woman men fantasized about, the woman men liked to show off, but never the woman they kept around. They gave different reasons and it took her longer than she cared to admit to learn those reasons were a reflection of the men who gave them, not the reality of who she was as a person.

When he still hadn’t given her an answer, she went for broke. “Please. I really need your help.” There, she’d said it. Gin Olin rarely asked for help, but she was no fool and it was clear she couldn’t finish this alone.

“Fine. I’ll help. Holt gave me an ultimatum. Either I fly back to the office or consider myself fired. The suite is booked through the weekend. If I’m fired I may as well have a little fun with the last perk my job bought me.”

“You’re willing to risk your job to help me?” Was he serious? Would Mission Recovery really fire him? Emotions she didn’t want to try and untangle were suddenly twisting inside her.

He startled her, tugging one of her hands free to hold it. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Do we need ground rules?” He raised her hand to his lips and feathered small kisses over her fingers. “Or do you trust me to be the best doting husband ever?”

She yanked her hand away. “Doting?”

“We might even enjoy ourselves.”

That was her second biggest fear. Her first was losing the trail of that bio-weapon. “We need ground rules.” That was a given. There was just something about this guy that got to her. As badly as she needed him, she also needed to keep her head on straight.

He sat back. “I’m listening.”

“Whatever happens outside of this room stays outside of this room.”

“Isn’t that just the opposite of how it should be for wedded bliss?”

She ignored him. “I mean it. The ‘doting’ is for public consumption. Up here, we’re just you and me—two covert agents sacrificing for the mission.”

His brow furrowed. “Ah, sharing a bed, giving completely of ourselves.” He made a tsking sound. “The sacrifices we make.”

She rolled her eyes. Snagging another piece of bacon, she nibbled it while she resumed her pacing. What she was about to do was risky, but having a second set of eyes and a capable agent at her back in the casino was her best chance of spotting the buyer.

“Let me fill you in on why I’m here.”

He leaned back, laced his fingers behind his head. “I’m all ears.” He sniffed. “Wait. What is that smell?”

“Bacon?” She held it up.

“Not unless it’s extra crispy.” He looked at the dishes and then swiveled around in the chair. “Something smells scorched.”

She sighed. “Probably your coat.”

“Huh?” He pulled it off the chair and turned it until he found the hole. “Why is there a bullet hole in my sport coat?” He stuck his finger through it, but his eyes were on her. “An explanation, Mrs. Grant?”

“Technically that happened before we exchanged vows.”

“Were they shooting at you or me?”

“Me. But I fired first.” She paused, thinking it through again. “I was followed into the bar. I thought the disguise and chatting you up would be enough to dissuade him, but you were going loopy on me. So we left, but I was followed again.” As much as she’d reviewed it, she couldn’t come up with any reason Isely would be onto Jason. Isely shouldn’t know her either, but she’d been following the virus for several weeks, and someone might have run a facial recognition that tipped him off. “They were definitely shooting at me,” she said confidently.

“All right. Is there a police report?”

“Not that connects us because we ducked into the wedding chapel when people panicked. I fired the gun through your coat. Sorry, that’s obvious, I guess.” Why did this man make her so nervous? Maybe it was all those waking fantasies about him she’d relished.

He stared at her for a moment. “Did it work? Our marriage ploy?”

“You really don’t remember?”

“Could you please stop saying that?”

“Sure. It worked well enough.” She came closer and took the coat out of his hands, folding it so the bullet hole was hidden, then she draped it across the top of a different chair. “It made a great diversion.”

“Good?”

“Sort of.” She hesitated, balanced on the precipice of evading the truth or spilling it all in a messy rush of too much information. Unfortunately she was running out of time before the virus landed in the wrong hands. “Five years ago a European crime family named Isely acquired a lethal strain of influenza. A major sale was interrupted and the virus was confiscated by none other than Thomas Casey. Or so we thought. Testing proved the vials he brought back were fakes. The general consensus, if you assume Thomas Casey isn’t a traitor—”

“Which he isn’t,” he cut in.

“Agreed and proven. But that means someone in the Isely food chain still has the virus. It’s come back on the market recently and I’ve been following the tracking tags on the vials. One is here. I know the seller, but it would be great bonus points if I can identify the buyer.”

“That was your assignment in Colorado.”

“Among other things. Focus, Grant.”

“Oh, I’m dialed in.”

She met his intense gaze and nearly shivered in response. The man had an effect on her she could not deny. “Good.” She cleared her throat. “I need you to help me identify who’s who in this little drama. Two sets of eyes and gadding about in wedded bliss should be enough to get this done. I can watch the tracker tag and you can keep an eye on Isely.”