Ready, Aim...I Do!: Missing

by Debra Webb

  Jason knew better than to protest while she tried to minimize the damage. “I can buy us a couple of T-shirts.”

  “Don’t bother,” she said, wiping mascara from under her eyes. “Who are we here to meet?”

  Jason liked that we more than he should. “Just a contact.” He didn’t see anyone in the diner who fit the description in the Mission Recovery files. “He’ll be here any minute. Are you hungry?”

  “I could eat.”

  When they’d placed orders for bacon cheeseburgers, fries and milkshakes, she reached over and patted him on the knee. “You are going to talk to me.”

  He smiled, understanding it wasn’t a question. “Not here.”

  “That’s fair.”

  Her expression was ample warning that she wouldn’t be distracted this time. Jason was surprised that didn’t bother him. He clearly needed an ally—even though until this mission he’d preferred to work alone. He leaned close to her, his fingers tracing the fine bones of her hand. “Tell me something about you while we wait.”

  She sipped her water, and remembering her scorched throat, he felt like a jerk for making her talk.

  “I was recruited at university,” she said.

  Of all the things she might have said, that one startled him, but he didn’t show it. The timing of the recruiting wasn’t the shock, but her accent and phrasing raised more questions. She had an enviable range of authentic-sounding accents.

  “By whom?” She shook her head, her gaze locked on their joined hands. He reached over and gently tipped up her chin. “Tell me.”

  “IRA.”

  The Irish Republican Army was no easy group to get into. Or out of. It was hard to imagine the idealistic girl she must have been getting mixed up in the dangers of that world. He had a vivid image of her as a young girl in a school uniform jumper, red braids down her back and that pixie smile on her face. During his time with Interpol, he’d seen still photos of similar girls before and after the bombing they’d investigated.

  “You weren’t in deep.” It wasn’t a question. If she had been, she wouldn’t be here now.

  She shrugged. “Family connection.”

  That kind of background and hard-knock training would explain her indomitable spirit and headstrong methods in the field. She must have been turned into an informant for American interests somewhere along the way.

  He wanted the whole story but not at the price of her pained voice. Whether physical or emotional, he could tell this conversation was taking a toll.

  Rubbing her shoulder, he grinned at the waitress when their food arrived. “Dig in,” he said trying to send her the signal that nothing in her past mattered to him. Definitely not tonight, when they should be celebrating being alive and generally uninjured. “Want to prop up your foot?”

  She shook her head, her mouth full of burger.

  He had just poured the last of his chocolate milkshake from the stainless cup into the tall classic serving glass when his contact finally walked in.

  He slid onto the stool next to Jason, ordered coffee and a slice of cherry pie, and then placed a car key on the counter. “You’re all set, man. I even gave her a fresh coat of wax.”

  “Thanks.” Jason reached for the key and saw the man’s eyes go wide when he spotted the shiny gold wedding band.

  He leaned forward and gave Gin a long, appreciative look.

  “Nicely done, man.”

  Jason cut him a sideways glance. “Keep your distance.” The last thing he wanted was this guy sending details up the line to Mission Recovery before Jason had a chance to sort things out for himself. He’d never had to put an unplanned marriage on a mission report. He supposed he should be grateful she was CIA. At least their security clearances would match up.

  “Dude.” The guy shrugged a shoulder. “Whatever.”

  Gin elbowed Jason. “An introduction?”

  Jason shook his head. “Not today.” He pocketed the key and placed a couple of bills on the counter. “You ready?”

  “I am.” She showed off her to-go cup to prove it.

  “Want a lift?” He patted his shoulder.

  She shook her head. “I’ll risk it this way.”

  He gave her as much support as she’d accept as they went out to the parking lot. The sedan gleamed in the glow of neon from the signs fronting the truck stop. Jason resisted the urge to check the merchandise before he got in. This was a trusted Mission Recovery asset. The rifle, ammunition, infrared scope and binoculars, along with another sidearm and ammunition, would be hidden in the trunk and back seat. It was a risk, but one he had to take. If he was right about the sniper, time was running out.

  “Where’s the virus?” he asked as they approached the Strip.

  She checked her phone. “Not in the Palace anymore. It’s moving north.” She pounded a fist into her knee. “Damn it. I’ve missed the deal.”

  He hit the accelerator. “Thought that was tomorrow night.”

  “That’s what they told me.”

  “Maybe the seller got spooked. Or the buyer changed it up. Let’s go see.”

  “Hurry.”

  He couldn’t do much about the congestion. “You think someone has eyes on us and moved when you were out of range?”

  She sneered at the screen in her palm. “Has to be it.”

  Who knew them both and had the resources to pull it off? Someone on the inside. Betrayal prickled along his skin like the pressure of a sharp knife between his shoulder blades. He shifted in the seat, trying to shake it off.

  “What now?” Gin whispered into the silence.

  “The car is clean. We talk.” And try to find the point where her virus and his past intersected.

  “We?”

  “Well, you can listen.”

  She gestured for him to continue.

  “You might be right about the miss at the pool. This guy seems to be re-creating some of my hits.”

  “You killed a woman at a pool?”

  “No.” He flexed his hands on the steering wheel. “I was called off killing a woman on a beach.”

  “Not the same.”

  “Close enough.” It bothered him that his past had put her in danger and he struggled to push that back and stay focused on the primary issue.

  He slowed down as they hit the thicker congestion of cars cruising up and down the glaring canyon of the strip. It wasn’t fun, but it was relatively effective cover—for the moment.

  “Movement?”

  “No.” She frowned. “Still holding north and east of Caesar’s.”

  “I’m going to make a tour around the area, and let you confirm.”

  “Thanks.” She kept her screen in her lap. “Continue.”

  She’d been serious about not being distracted this time. “My cover of being here for the security conference should hold up. Unless someone tips the local police department about who I am.”

  “What’s your real-life connection to Redding?”

  He nodded. “Way back he was one of my instructors.”

  She sipped at her milkshake. “Which makes you think your cover is about to blow wide open.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it? Considering what I was sent to do.”

  “What you thought you were sent to do.”

  “Right.” Although he appreciated her quick understanding, affirming his theory of betrayal didn’t make it any more comfortable. And with every twist the inevitable conclusion loomed nearer. With Director Casey on his honeymoon and Holt the possible problem, Jason’s back was against the wall and he didn’t know which way to turn.

  He could wave goodbye to his career and any hopes of moving up if he became a suspect in any of these events.

  “Did you ever take anyone out by causing a traffic accident?”

  “Other than tonight?”

  “You didn’t kill anyone tonight.”

  “Not for lack of trying.” He hitched a shoulder. “You’re thinking of that accident that happened on the interstate two days ago.”


  “Hours after you arrived, you said.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “My cop buddy said the tire was shot out.”

  Jason cringed. “Yeah. I had a mission like that once.”

  “Hold that thought. The vial is moving again,” Gin said. “I want eyes on this. We need to know if this is the buyer.”

  There was that we again. “Which direction?” He looked around, knowing he wouldn’t be able to do much about it immediately. “We could walk faster than this.”

  “One of us could,” she grumbled.

  “True. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Same side of the street.” She pointed, her eyes still on the screen. “Are these places connected?”

  He looked through the windshield. At the snail’s pace, he had plenty of time to read the signs advertising various slots. “There are all kinds of marketing and security secrets in Las Vegas.”

  She snorted. “I’ve heard.”

  “Think either your seller or buyer likes slots?”

  “Huh?” She glanced up and followed his gaze. “That would be lucky. Let’s get in there.”

  “Thought our stench couldn’t blend.” They both looked pretty much like hell.

  “It’s slots. No one cares.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Which ID do you have with you?”

  “Only the FBI one.”

  “We won’t use it unless we have to.”

  “Planning to wing it again?” he asked, trying not to sound jealous. The way men reacted to her made him crazy.

  “No. Let’s check in as the reporter and her strapping husband.”

  He shot her a look. She winked. “It’s true enough. Then you can put me on a slot machine and herd the virus my way. Just for a visual.”

  “And checking in?”

  “Gives us free parking.”

  “Is the CIA pinching pennies now?”

  She nodded, then smacked his shoulder when he laughed. “Be thankful your division is under the budget radar.”

  “Duly noted.” He maneuvered toward the next valet stand.

  “Wait,” she tapped his leg. “Do you have anything in here that could, umm...”

  “Not that they can find.”

  “Good.”

  “What about our lack of luggage?”

  “We’ll worry about that after we find the virus.”

  “Got it.” In other words she really was winging it again. Not that he could blame her—they were running out of options.

  He pulled up to the valet stand of the Flamingo and handed over the key, then helped Gin inside to the registration desk. “We had a little mishap on the way from the airport,” she said to the clerk. “We lost our luggage and had to wait for a replacement rental car.”

  “We can send fresh items to your room, if you’d like,” the clerk offered.

  Gin glanced up at him and he nodded, adding a tired shrug. “That would be wonderful.”

  He liked her British reporter accent a little too much, and reminding himself to focus on business, he scanned the lobby.

  Gin provided a list of needed items to the clerk, accepted the keys and handed him one. Checking her phone, she looked him up and down and brushed at his jacket. “We’re as good as it’s going to get right now. Let’s do this.” She hobbled toward the end of a long row of slots.

  He set her up with a stack of tokens and she handed him the phone, the tracking signal flashing like a beacon.

  He wandered around the slot machines, flanking the signal until he spotted the likely candidate. No one he recognized. Checking faces in the vicinity, and relieved to come up empty, he started the process of herding the target in Gin’s direction.

  He hovered right behind the guy giving off the signal and pretended to talk on his phone. The guy looked to be in his early twenties and the poster child for nervous. His suit was black, and his skin looked as pale as the white shirt he wore. He moved to a different machine. A moment later Jason followed, pacing up and down the row, pausing at the end to drink a coffee a waitress brought him.

  Looking annoyed and a little nervous, the guy sporting the signal moved toward Gin’s row. For a second Jason thought he wouldn’t have to show the badge or gun. Then his next visual sweep landed on the blonde who had drugged him at the bar and had tried to break into the penthouse. Who was bankrolling this woman to be the common denominator between Gin’s walkabout virus and the sniper imitating him? And who was she informing about their actions?

  He bent down, pretending to find a token on the floor, and hurried after the beacon on Gin’s tracking app.

  He tapped the shoulder of the guy giving off the signal and made a clumsy offer of the token that revealed the gold shield at his waist. “You dropped this,” he said, holding it out.

  “Not mine,” his target grumbled.

  “I saw it fall.” Jason was earnest and sincere as he subtly nudged the guy back toward the row where Gin was waiting.

  “You can keep it.”

  “No, I can’t.” Jason leaned close and confided the truth. “I’m an officer of the court. Just here on a tip.”

  The ploy worked. The guy, who was basically a rookie kid, blanched and stutter-stepped backward. “I don’t want to be involved with anything.”

  Jason caught Gin’s sly expression over his shoulder as she trapped him.

  “Oh, but you already are,” she said with no discernible dialect.

  “No.” The kid looked around. “No. I’m just on vacation. I swear it.”

  Gin met his gaze and shook her head. “It takes all kinds. Come over here with us for a minute.”

  “I—I can’t. I have to get out of here. You should get out of here.”

  His eyes were wide with panic now, and his gaze was darting all over the place.

  “In just a few minutes,” Jason amended. “We think you might know who we’re looking for. We can do this here or at the bar.”

  “Here,” Gin corrected with a glare.

  The guy looked ready to burst into tears as she pushed him down onto the nearest stool and helped him play.

  Gin fed the tokens and asked questions while Jason kept an eye out for the blonde or anyone with too much interest in the three of them.

  “Are you the buyer?”

  He shook his head.

  “A courier for the buyer?”

  “Look happy,” Jason ordered as the machine paid out.

  The resulting smile on the kid’s face was closer to a grimace, but it was an admirable attempt.

  “Keep playing. And relax,” Jason suggested.

  “How’d you get the package?”

  “Look, I’m just a bellhop at the Palace. A woman gave it to me. Told me to carry this thing—”

  “What thing?”

  “In my pocket.”

  Jason pulled it out, showed it to Gin and replaced it when she nodded.

  “I was just supposed to carry it around for a few hours. Work my way down the Strip.”

  “And if you didn’t agree?”

  “If I don’t make it to The Sahara by five o’clock this morning, they won’t pay me. I need the money to get clear with my bookie.”

  Jason met Gin’s gaze and knew they were thinking the same thing again. This had been another test to see how they’d respond. He was tired of getting jerked around by Isely and his crew.

  Jason patted the guy on the shoulder. “Who’s meeting you at five?”

  “The woman who gave it to me said she’d be there.”

  “And she’s been following you?”

  “I think so.”

  “Stalking men—her favorite hobby,” Gin said.

  “When it’s time to move on I’ll get a text.”

  “Give my friend the package,” Gin ordered.

  Jason handed Gin the small case, which resembled an EpiPen a person might use for an allergic reaction, and then sent her a questioning look over the kid’s shoulder. She ignored him.

  “You just keep doing as
she says.”

  “What about when I have to give it back?”

  “Give her this.”

  Jason couldn’t see what Gin dropped into the guy’s pocket. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “Now go on and do your thing. When she pays you, settle your debt and then take a couple days off work.”

  All three of them played in silence for a few minutes before they told the kid to move on. Jason shifted to take the machine next to Gin’s. “What did you give him?”

  “A benign duplicate of the vial he is supposed to be carrying. No way to tell the difference until they go to use it. Or check the tracking tag.”

  “Why? Don’t you want the buyer?”

  “Not really. Other agencies can handle that. I just needed to know where it is. Now the virus is with me and off the market.”

  “So you’re done?” The realization landed like a sucker punch across his jaw. His ears were actually ringing and not just with the random bells and slot machine sound effects.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He stood up. “Just tired. It’s been a hell of a day.”

  “You’re right.” But she fed another token into the machine and watched it play. It didn’t win. She repeated the process.

  “Do you want help up to your room?”

  “My room? Not our room?”

  Her expression was inscrutable. Any attempt to interpret it would only be skewed by his desire for her and what might have been if they were normal people.

  The last thing he wanted was to leave her, yet...the best thing for her safety was for him to walk away. They’d been in more trouble together than either of them had been alone. Well, aside from the woman who’d drugged him. If he knew Gin was safely in her room, he could tail the woman and find out who hired her to get him out of the way.

  “You want to go after her without me.” Gin wasn’t asking.

  “No.”

  She drilled a finger into his chest. “Yes you do. I can see it all over your brooding face.”

  He trapped her hand against his chest. “You can’t walk and you’ve got what you came for. Your best bet is to rest up and then get out of town.”

  “No one tells me what I can and can’t do. I am perfectly capable of seeing this through.”