by Debra Webb
“Spoken like a doting husband.”
“When in Rome,” he muttered.
She laughed, more than a little surprised that she could under the circumstances. This had to be the work of Isely. He was on to her. She should have admitted that when he followed her to the bar last night. Her cover was blown. No two ways about it.
“Seriously,” she persisted, “we have to file the report. This room is booked under your name. As victims of attempted robbery we’ll have their sympathy.”
“They’ll know I’m here for a security conference,” he finished for her. “Even my cover story has a military history. The police and security will see the path of the bullet and put us at the scene quickly enough. If they haven’t already.”
“The hotel video record will clear you.”
“Maybe. It depends on the angle. Brown hair, average height—anyone could be me in that pool.”
“Running away definitely won’t help your case.”
He took a deep breath and pushed a hand through his wet hair. “You were booked here under an alias?”
“Of course.”
He frowned. “You put Ginger Olin on the marriage license.”
She nodded, ignoring the little shiver that skated down her spine as he spoke her name. So he knew her real name. Big deal. She should be pleased that her efforts in Colorado irritated him enough to dig deeper. Why did she keep underestimating him?
“And too many staff know our faces thanks to your little newlywed game.”
“That’s not so bad. We change rooms, of course, but we stay and use the temporary fame to our advantage.”
“Fine,” he said with a heavy sigh, looking around at the mess. “Are you going to claim anything was stolen?”
“No,” she gave a nod to his zipped suitcase. “You?”
He shook his head. “Who wants you dead?”
“Any number of people, I suppose, considering my rate of mission success. My intel says none of them are in town.” Except Isely.
“But any of them could hire a sniper to deal with you.”
She ignored that. “What do we say about this guy?” She nudged the unconscious intruder with her foot.
“Do we have to say anything? We walked in and subdued him. The less we share about him the better our odds if we stay.”
“If? Are you going back to the change hotels idea?”
“No. Do you still have the keycard for the room you booked with your alias?”
“Yes. Why?”
“We should go see if anything’s wrong there.”
“Agreed. But there’s nothing to find. I moved all of my things here last night.”
Further discussion had to wait as the security team arrived with the hotel manager and a Las Vegas police officer. When they took in the scene, the hotel security team radioed for help to remove the intruder and refrained from detailed questions until he was out of the way.
She and Jason went through the standard background questions and gave the contact information that matched up with their cover stories. They both applied the right amount of bewildered distress mixed with the temper and shock of the pool shooting and room invasion.
No, none of their valuables were missing. Yes, they’d combined business with pleasure on this trip. No, they didn’t have any idea who would want to harm them. Yes, they’d gotten married last night. No, they didn’t have any connection to the intruder. And the duct tape was something they’d gotten for their honeymoon. That was the last question on that subject.
“Why did you leave the pool area?” the police officer asked.
Gin opened her mouth, but once more Jason leaped in to answer first.
“That was my fault. I know we should have stayed and given a statement. My wife tried to assist the lifeguard,” he said, rubbing her hand where it rested on his thigh. “But I wasn’t in the mood to be widowed on our honeymoon. I just wanted her out of there.”
“Completely understandable,” the hotel manager said with a smile, preempting whatever the officer would have said. “We are so terribly sorry and we’d like to do everything possible to salvage the situation.”
Good luck, Gin thought. “Is the lifeguard okay? There seemed to be a lot of blood.” She let Jason pull her closer, offering comfort. If this mission fell apart, she would always remember how well he played his role.
After his act here, a real husband might be a bit of a letdown. She pushed the errant thought out of her head. This wasn’t the right time to lose focus.
“The lifeguard was stable when the paramedics transported her.” The head of security answered that one. “I’m sure she’ll make a full recovery.”
“That’s good news,” Gin replied.
“I’ll see that your statement is added to the official report about the shooting,” the police officer assured. “There may be some follow-up required if it turns out the incident at the pool is related to other recent crimes in the area.”
“Other crimes? Plural?” Gin had only heard about one possible strike, and a quick glance at Jason proved he hadn’t heard anything before he’d been drugged last night. “What do you mean? What’s been going on?”
“I’m not able to elaborate at this time,” he explained. “But there is an ongoing investigation related to other shootings.”
“Sorry.” Gin smiled. “Force of habit.”
“She started her career as a police beat reporter. That’s how we met,” Jason explained. “I was a security consultant for a business that had been targeted by a drug ring.”
She watched that sink in to all four faces and gave Jason bonus points for improvisation. She kept her mouth shut, but she would be digging into the details at the earliest opportunity. The ammunition in the bed had her wondering if any of the other shootings were better suited to the particular caliber Wallace had planted.
“Maybe we should just fly home early,” Jason suggested.
“No cause for alarm,” the manager intervened. “Here at the Palace we’ve doubled our security presence and coordinated with the Las Vegas police until this is resolved. You’ll be safer here than anywhere else on the strip.”
“I don’t know,” she hedged.
“As I said, follow-up may be necessary.” The police officer got to his feet. “I think it’s best if you stay in town at least through the weekend.”
“So let us pamper you.” The manager was all smiles. “I’ve got a penthouse with your name on it and a team of massage therapists standing by.”
“Seriously?” Gin squeezed Jason’s hand. “That’s tempting.”
“That’s Vegas,” the hotel manager added.
“What do you think, honey?”
“I suppose if we have to stay in town anyway...” He hitched his shoulders. “We may as well take them up on the offer.”
“It’s settled then.” The hotel manager reached for his radio, calling in help to move them to the penthouse.
* * *
JASON LET GIN handle the final exchange of information. Their luggage was whisked away ahead of them, and they were escorted by the manager himself all the way to their new door.
The elevator doors parted on a luxurious vestibule that was nearly as spacious as her original hotel room.
More than the guards standing at the fire exit and elevator, Jason noticed the penthouse was locked with a key.
“I’ve disabled the electronic lock for your room. Only the key will open it, and you and I have the only two keys.” He handed the brass key to Jason. “I hope that goes some distance to restoring your confidence in us.”
“Absolutely,” Gin said.
Jason nodded, simultaneously impressed and concerned by the extra precautions.
“When your room needs service, just call housekeeping and they will send someone right up to clean it at your convenience.”
He supposed that made sense, especially because the intruder had been dressed in a hotel uniform. Their original reservation would show them leaving in less that f
orty-eight hours.
“We’d rather not create any more trouble or drama for you and your staff,” Gin said.
“Please, this is not your fault,” the manager said, pushing open the door to the penthouse. “Crime is a part of the Vegas landscape, but I prefer to keep it out of my hotel. Please enjoy the rest of your stay.”
Gin gasped and Jason could hardly blame her. His suite a few floors down had been luxurious enough, but he’d only seen a room of this caliber in movies. There were multiple sofas, a kitchen, a dining area, a wet bar and two massage therapists standing like statues near the window.
“We can have dinner delivered at your convenience.”
Jason studied the manager instead of the room. “Why do I get the feeling you’d like us to stay tucked away up here for the rest of our stay?”
“Oh no, sir. That’s not it at all. Whatever suits you is what we will provide. I was just about to mention your credit line at the casino.”
“House money? Talk about above and beyond,” Jason said. He drew the heavier curtains together over the sheers, blocking out the late afternoon view of the city. It was stunning as the sun faded and the lights took over, but standing in front of an open window wasn’t his idea of a smart move, not even at this altitude.
“What my husband means is thank you.” Gin guided the manager toward the door. “We’re just a little overwhelmed by your generosity, but we appreciate it very much.”
Jason let her smooth over his deliberate cynicism while he explored the rest of the penthouse. He couldn’t imagine what this was costing the hotel. Two people could get lost in this place that was better suited to a celebrity traveling with an entourage than to a bride and groom.
Despite the ample space, the lavish décor and the hotel’s commitment to anticipate their every need, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d been neatly trapped. It was a luxurious cell, but it felt like a prison all the same. Being celebrity victims would only make it more of a challenge to do what they’d come here to do.
Well, what he’d come to do since his original recovery mission seemed to be a bust. He kicked that thought out of his head. There would be hell to pay when he got back to the office. Holt was pissed.
Jason decided he might as well make the most of the rest of the weekend. He wanted to enjoy the lush atmosphere, knew he’d probably never see another room like this on his own dime, yet he couldn’t. Not when what had begun as a simple recovery was spiraling out of control. Gin might not be the agent he’d been sent to assist, but she didn’t stand a chance with Gabriel Frost hunting her.
The irony of the situation was not lost on him.
Walking through the rooms, he didn’t see the beauty or design; he saw the hiding places and firing solutions, the potential injuries that every vase, table or chair could inflict. He knew the adrenaline letdown after the pool attack and the following fight in the room a few floors down was driving him closer to paranoia. But bullets were flying faster than chips lately.
Gin joined him as he closed the curtains in the second bedroom. “What is wrong with you?”
“We’re boxed in,” he whispered, matching her quiet tone. “There are more eyes on us now. It will be impossible to get anything done.”
“Just what do you want to do?” She stepped in close and wrapped her arms around his waist.
He had to remind himself it was an act for Sven and his twin masseuse waiting for them out in the main room. “You know what I mean. This is...” He shook his head. “Over the top.”
“So let’s adjust our priorities in light of the new circumstances. A massage is the perfect way to detox after what we’ve been through.”
“I was thinking ice packs and a beer.” He glared down at her but knew he couldn’t hold out long against the mischievous sparkle in her emerald eyes.
“You want a massage.” She caught his hands, laced her fingers with his. “You know you do.”
“Not really.” The last thing he wanted was to close his eyes. It seemed like every time he blinked he saw that terrible image of the bullet hole in the chair...the bullet that might just as easily have put a hole through her heart.
He pushed her hair back from her neck and examined the red scrape where Wallace had held the knife to her tender skin. Her life had been measured in millimeters today. It was a wonder she didn’t need a sedative. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m okay.” Her smile looked genuine enough. “But I’d be better with a massage.”
“You go ahead. I’ll keep watch.”
“But you need one, too.” She brought her hands to his shoulders and made little circles with her fingertips. “You’re all tense.”
“Can you blame me?”
“It’s complimentary,” she sing-songed. “That doesn’t happen every day. It’s the smart move.”
“Unless Sven and his twin are on the enemy’s payroll,” he whispered in her ear. “They could snap our necks and call it a day.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” She tugged his head close and kissed his nose. “Just do your doting husband thing and we’ll figure the rest of it out when they’re gone.”
“Gin,” he pleaded. He didn’t think it was possible for him to relax in the presence of strangers. “Reschedule for tomorrow.”
“Jason,” she mimicked his tone. “Our honeymoon’s been interrupted by a terrible fright and a burglary.” She touched her hand to her heart. “Come on, honey. This is the perfect way to reclaim our time. You know I’m right.”
He rolled his eyes but kept his hand in hers as he followed her out to the main room.
Sven and his brother were actually named Paul and Terry and not related at all. For the next ninety minutes, Jason experienced more relaxation than he thought possible with another man’s hands on him.
Gin kept up a light commentary for his benefit, and he decided to make it up to her later, assuming she would have preferred to simply sink into the experience rather than chatter for his comfort.
The massage therapists left them with advice to drink plenty of water, skip the alcohol and eat lightly tonight.
When they were finally alone, each of them slumped on the couch, he took a long pull on the bottle of water. “Eat lightly. That explains why the manager comped dinner. They’re planning on serving us twigs and leaves.”
Gin snorted. “Give it up, Mr. Cynical. The manager isn’t winning on any part of this deal.” She rolled to her back and the hotel robe slipped, revealing more of her creamy, toned thigh. “I bet a couple’s massage is a bigger investment than any of the fine dining options.”
“No bet. You’re probably right.”
“Trust me. I’m one hundred percent right on this.”
“Such an authority on decadence. Guess that means I’m not your first?”
She slanted him that sly look he found so intriguing. “First what?”
“Forget it,” he said, hiding the truth of his question behind a lazy smile.
No point explaining he’d meant first husband. That wouldn’t matter with Gin. Married or not, this was all temporary. With the help of his friend at Interpol, after they’d met in Colorado, he’d done enough digging to know Olin was her real name and that her cases had never intersected his. The recognition he’d sensed in Colorado last month had stemmed entirely from a long-distance surveillance photo taken when she happened to walk by a café his friend had had under surveillance.
To get his mind off of her tempting gaze and even more enticing bare leg, he reached for his phone and pulled up the police reports for the past few days. “What do you think they meant about other shootings in the area?”
“You’re going to make me think, aren’t you?”
“The guys didn’t specifically warn against it.”
“Maybe they should have,” she muttered, sitting up.
For a moment he regretted the change of subject if only for the loss of scenery, but then she came over and sat down beside him and the soft scent of
her washed over him.
“Might be easier if I get my laptop.”
“Nah, that’s too much effort right now.” She waved a finger at the phone. “What’s bugging you?”
“The shot at the pool.” He pulled up a website that posted local crimes according to police reports. “You were obviously the target.”
“Not so obvious.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve had some time to think it through. I know luck happens, and me suddenly reaching for your phone would have been unexpected, but why didn’t he just bury the second shot in my brain since he was all lined up and everything?”
Jason’s stomach bottomed out. She hadn’t said anything he hadn’t thought himself, but the finality, the harsh nature of her statement was somehow a thousand times worse when spoken. It shouldn’t be this difficult to regain his objectivity. He studied the sculpted ceiling, hoping it would be easier if he didn’t look at her.
Any way he looked at it she was right. “Not taking the kill shot doesn’t fit. When we caught Wallace in the room, he was shocked to see you.”
“I swear I’ve never met him.”
“I believe you.” But believing it didn’t change the fact that Wallace had apparently expected her to be dead and had planted the ammunition to frame Jason for the kill. After studying the bastard in Europe, Jason understood Frost and had learned a little about how he accepted contracts. “I’m wondering if the other shootings they mentioned are simply to divide the local investigation focus.”
“To lump my potential assassination in with other random lives cut short?”
“Maybe. Look.” He tipped the phone so she could see the screen. “There was a shooting death last night around 3:00 a.m.”
“Hmm.” She scanned the article. “Doesn’t say sniper.” She leaned back, turning the water bottle around. “If there was a sniper in Vegas, why didn’t the news report it?”
“They might have. You have to work pretty hard to get real news once you’re in a casino.”
“True, but it can be done. Due to the nature of my case, I’ve made the effort.” She sipped at the water. “Our respective offices know we’re here. If there was a sniper in the area, they would have told us.”
