by Debra Webb
Even expecting the security presence, it was a bit unnerving to step out into the vestibule and see the posted guard, but she recovered with a bright smile.
She cursed herself for choosing a sleeveless dress when Jason put his arm around her as they waited for the elevator. For show, she chanted in her head. The guards expected warm, familiar behavior from newlyweds and she had to play along.
The elevator arrived and another guard was waiting for them. It was a little much. Jason was right—the extra security would make her task more challenging. She’d worked in all kinds of conditions and under all sorts of security umbrellas, but having a private shadow hovering over them meant she’d have to get creative if she was going to catch this sale.
It was a relief to step out into the anonymous crowd and put some breathing room between them and the security detail.
“The Isely family was sidelined for five years when they tried to sell it last time,” he murmured into her ear as they strolled toward the restaurant. “Seems a little brash to return to business here of all places.”
She snorted, covering it with her clutch. “The initial deal for this product went sour, but they aren’t the sort to let anything shy of the apocalypse stop them.”
She shivered at her own words, recalling the fortuitous timing of seeing Jason at the bar when she needed to evade Isely. Unless. A terrible thought occurred to her. Maybe Isely had been tipped off about her and she’d been ushered toward Jason on purpose. Obviously someone knew Jason was here. That guy Wallace had planted incriminating evidence in his room. If that was the case, it was a newbie mistake to fall into a trap that resulted in more eyes on both of them. She couldn’t have made that kind of mistake...could she?
Jason’s warm breath brushed across the shell of her ear. “Smile, darling, or they’ll think I’m useless in bed.”
She complied immediately, feeling the heat of a blush on her face. The two kisses they’d shared were enough to convince her that the exact opposite would be true.
The maître d’ escorted them to a table in the true Vegas paradox of implying privacy while managing to display their presence to anyone watching.
“Does the seller know you’re here for the sale?”
“No. I’ve been in various disguises along the way. If they recognize me now—a highly doubtful scenario—our secret marriage and quick honeymoon are enough to chalk it up to coincidence.”
He frowned at her. “You don’t believe that?”
“Now who needs to smile?” She turned his hand over and stroked a slow path across his palm to his wrist. “We’ve seen each other around often enough to know it could happen. But, you’re right. I’m having some second thoughts.”
“That would be wise,” he agreed. “Otherwise, why shoot at you?”
“Maybe I was wrong about that and it was you they were after in the bar last night.”
“Anything is possible,” he said with way too much innuendo.
“Possible but not likely.” She couldn’t believe neither of them had recognized such an obvious manipulation...if that’s what it was. “You might not have noticed, being a slave to that newlywed glow, but I can get a little persistent and annoying at times.”
He stared at her for a split second and then roared with laughter, causing heads to turn their way.
“Oh, stop.” Was causing a scene part of his game? She leaned back, sipping her champagne and trying to catalog the faces aimed at them. “Stop it.”
“I can’t.” He gulped in air. “Sorry. I just—just can’t picture you a little bit of anything,” he finished breathlessly.
“Should I be flattered?”
“Yes, please.” He bobbed his head in the affirmative. “It was a compliment.”
She gaped as the man actually wiped tears from his eyes. It didn’t feel like a compliment. “Fine.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” He reached across the table, lacing his fingers with hers. “We’re not going to have our first argument in public.”
“I see no reason to argue at all.”
“So you’re an anomaly?”
She frowned at him.
“I thought redheads liked drama.” He scooted closer, nuzzling her neck. “And blondes are all about the fun.”
Oh! It was a performance. He wouldn’t have mentioned blondes without a reason. She tilted her head back, giving him better access and still managing to stay alert enough to scan the room. “I booked a facial for eleven o’clock,” she said, indicating the direction she thought he meant.
“That’s good. I’ll use the time out on the driving range.”
So they agreed about the woman waiting alone a few tables away. Playing it to the hilt, Gin used her phone to get a picture of their wedding rings, managing to get the blonde in the frame. She wasn’t sure where or who could analyze it for them, but that was a problem for later.
They parted long enough to listen to the evening’s specials and place their respective orders. And while every touch and little whisper through each course looked like a devoted couple lost in each other, they continued to exchange information and theories.
Unfortunately it kept her body running hot. If they’d stayed in the room, she could have tried to reclaim the ground rules. Out here, being a couple in love—or at least enjoying the lust of a honeymoon—was eroding her ability to resist him.
Too bad staying in the room wouldn’t get the primary job done. Well, she’d never been one to run from a challenge.
“We need to find out who she is,” she murmured as she scraped off a tiny piece of the decadent chocolate torte they were sharing. “I don’t like that neither of us knows her.”
“You want to give her a chance to poison me again?”
“It’s an option. I saved you once, and I can do it again.”
“Hmm. Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said with a wink.
Her mind went back to last night, when they’d shared a bed, though not in the intimate way she’d staged it for him. It was an image guaranteed to keep her up tonight. And more than a few nights in the future.
She let another sliver of the rich cake dissolve on her tongue. “I was thinking we should go dancing, gamble a bit and see who is most surprised to see us.”
“Other than Wallace?”
“He’d better be in custody,” she grumbled. It had required a great deal of concealer to cover the scrape on her neck.
“Then maybe we can pay a visit to security and ask to review the tapes from the bar.”
“I’m a tad overdressed for a visit to security. What happened to letting them handle it?”
“I don’t know.” He gazed at her cleavage then cleared his throat. “In that dress, we’re likely to get everything they have on the pool and burglary investigations. A reporter and security expert would naturally be curious.”
“Even a reporter would focus on her honeymoon. The hotel team said it was all in LVPD and FBI hands now.”
“As if any man would resist you if you asked nicely. Besides, you must have connections.”
She frowned at him. “Are you fishing? You know I don’t have connections or any backup here aside from you.” Reaching over, she brushed a crumb of chocolate cake from his lip. “What about you?”
“Not here, exactly.”
She gasped when he caught her thumb with a nip of his teeth and soothed it with his tongue. Could the man be any sexier?
“I was thinking of—”
“Lucas Camp,” she finished for him as the only possible answer dawned on her. Camp connected them both—loosely—due to his former position as the deputy director of Mission Recovery and his own alliances within covert agencies like her own CIA.
“There you go reading my mind.”
“If we called him, what would you expect him to do?”
“The man has friends everywhere. He practically introduced us.”
“True.” And he was inherently trustworthy. Jason seemed to be reluctant to trust his own team.
>
“Maybe he has insight we’re missing.”
It was possible. She knew Jason hadn’t told her everything about his reasons for keeping the note a secret. Now that she doubted her own anonymity where Isely was concerned, they probably needed someone on the outside they could trust.
She hadn’t seen Isely so far tonight, but that didn’t mean much. Since his father had died five years ago, he had become militant about his personal security and those he let in on his plans to rebuild the family business. Micromanaging a deal like the virus transaction didn’t fit the original profile she’d assembled on him, but people did strange things under duress.
Like get married.
Thoughts like that had to go—and quickly. She pulled out her phone.
“Is the virus moving?”
“Not yet. I’m just sending an email.” She held the phone so Jason could read over her shoulder as she drafted a note, attached the photo of the blonde and sent it to the email address Mr. Camp had used to contact her last month.
“Thank you.”
The sincerity in Jason’s voice startled her. The urge to comfort him was automatic and she patted his knee. “We’ll figure this out.”
Though they had a better chance if he’d tell her everything he knew. But then that would mean she would have to tell all she knew.
Eventually, she supposed.
Chapter Ten
When they finally called it quits on that amazing chocolate cake, Jason signed the check and they headed into the casino. He did his best to relax and blend in, but without Gin by his side he would have stormed out after only a few minutes. No matter how posh, how clean or how many years had passed, when he entered a casino he smelled stale booze, cigarette smoke and the unmistakable stench of losing. His father’s gambling addiction had destroyed his family and nearly broken his mom’s spirit in the process.
He wondered—again—if Holt had sent him here on some wild-goose chase as a test of his willpower and ability to overcome the ghosts of his past. If so, despite the supposedly failed recovery, he intended to pass the test and restore his reputation.
Winding through the craps room they settled in to watch a gambler on a hot streak. Jason recognized the men in the shadows who kept a loose perimeter around every move he and Gin made. Having such an attentive audience went against his most ingrained instincts, but he couldn’t argue with the precaution. Anything that kept her safe was fine with him.
He knew the manufactured background provided by Mission Recovery would hold up under scrutiny and Gin’s rash move to marry only bolstered his reasons for being in Las Vegas, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to come crashing down.
No fewer than six pairs of eyes were on them at any given time. More, if you counted the electronic surveillance he knew watched from behind the discreet black bubbles dotting the ceilings.
It wasn’t worth thinking about the cameras he couldn’t see.
“Do you need a drink?” Her hand linked with his, she leaned in close. He was starting to like the habit. “You’re twitchy.”
He smiled down at her. “Blame the extra security.”
“Aw. Got a case of performance anxiety?”
“Not even close.” He kissed the smirk off her face. “But it is our honeymoon. Shouldn’t we be upstairs, doing...” He didn’t finish the thought, too pleased by the soft pink color staining her cheeks.
Maybe he wasn’t the only one affected by this happy couple role-playing gig. When they were tucked into that booth, the floral scent of her perfume had been more enticing than the perfectly prepared steak. It wasn’t the smartest idea, but he was more than ready to toss the ground rules out the nearest window.
“You know I have a job to do.”
“Any messages?”
She peered into her clutch. From his vantage point he could see the little tracking icon. The virus remained stationary. “Nope.”
At least one of them had info that made sense because the deal was slated for tomorrow.
He leaned close to her ear as bets were placed on the next throw of the dice. “What do you think of making a side bet?”
She peered up at him from under her lashes. “Such as?”
He reeled in the request he wanted to make and opted for something less likely to scare her off. “A hard eight and we blow this pop stand and go dancing.”
“Pop stand?” she chuckled.
“Bet or no?” He called as the dealer said much the same to the gamblers surrounding the table.
“Says the man who doesn’t gamble.”
“You’re stalling.”
Her wicked smirk lit up her face. “You’re on.”
He grinned back. To the rest of the world he was amused by the player milking the moment for all it was worth before he sent the dice flying down the table. In reality, it was the anticipation of holding Gin close that put him in a good mood.
“Looks like I’m a lucky loser,” she said when the dice stopped and the dealer raked away the two chips she’d placed on the table.
“Let’s hope you still feel that way when we’re dancing.”
They made their way to the club, slipping through the crowd, the security team surrounding them but never crowding them.
“What do you think they’d do if we were attacked?” Gin asked.
“More than necessary considering what the two of us are capable of. If something does happen, we should probably let them take the lead.”
“It would be the polite thing to do because it’s their house.”
“Well said.”
Jason realized someone must have called ahead as they neared the club and a hostess appeared to escort them inside. “I could get used to this,” he admitted.
Gin nodded her agreement, but conversation halted as he swept her out onto the dance floor.
Thanks to a required cotillion class as a kid, he was probably better equipped for the structure of a tango or waltz, but he could hold his own with the steady beat that currently had the dance floor jammed to capacity.
Gin moved well to the music, and for a few minutes it was a relief to just be a couple out on a date. He couldn’t recall the last time that had happened.
He didn’t resent his career or the hard choices he’d made along the way. The various challenges were what got him fired up until the mission was complete. He just didn’t realize how long it had been since he’d had a different kind of fun.
When she fanned her face with her clutch and gestured to the bar, he nodded, ready for a cold beer. With his hand at her back they slipped through the crowd and when they reached the bar, he double-checked with her and ordered bottled beer for each of them. The bartender didn’t bat an eye when Jason requested the bottles be opened in front of them.
Gin elbowed him. “Paranoid?”
He smiled. It was becoming a habit when she was around. “Doesn’t mean they’re not out to get us.” He tapped his bottle to hers. “To paranoia.”
“Cheers.” She took a long drink, then patted the bottle like an ice pack along her low neckline and up over the place where Wallace had held the knife. “I haven’t danced like that in years.”
“Me either.”
“Why do you hate casinos?”
“That’s not an accurate statement.”
“Bull.”
He debated how much to share, knew it was better not to share anything that could be used against him later. The urge to tell her everything surprised him.
“Come on,” she prodded. “I’m your wife.”
He shook his head, still adjusting to the concept of wedded bliss. “My dad was a gambler. Always looking for the big score.”
“So you had to be Mr. Dependable in the family?”
“Something like that.”
She leaned forward, her hands on his knees, and he struggled not to stare at the sexy display of her breasts. Was that black lace under the dress?
“You’re not making this easy, sweetheart.”
“Look, my past is over and done.”
“But it made you who you are.”
“I made me.” He smiled to soften the contradiction. “With more than a little help from the U.S. Army.” The music changed to the slower pace of a love song and he seized the opportunity. Standing, he held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”
She tilted her head, blatantly studying him, and the little furrow appeared between her auburn eyebrows.
“I’d love to,” she replied, putting her hand in his.
When they were swaying to the music, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything more right than having Ginger in his arms. “Is this our first dance as husband and wife?”
She nodded and one corner of her mouth kicked up into half of her usual grin. “I’m sorry—”
“Shh.” He didn’t want to hear an apology right now. This marriage might not be destined to last, but he wanted to pretend, at least for tonight. “Then that makes this our song.”
“Oh, that’s not playing fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Not even close.” But she laid her head on his shoulder.
Mesmerized by the play of light on her hair, he found the various colors from deep gold to auburn that gave her hair such a rich glossy hue.
He pressed his lips to her hair with all the affection he would show if they were meant to stay together. If he’d thought about it, he would have called it sappy. Then again, they were in public and that had been the game plan.
“Do you really have a facial tomorrow?”
She looked up at him. “With our access, I can book one easily enough. Are you implying I need some work done?”
“No.” He ran his finger down the loose curl by her ear. “Do you golf?”
“Yes. Though it’s been a long time.” She gave a little sigh.
“Let’s go play tomorrow. We could use the fresh air and sunshine.”
She looked up at him, and he knew she saw more than he wanted her to see. “We can do that. The sale is an evening thing.”
