by Debra Webb
Police cars and emergency vehicles screamed to a stop in front of the Palace and fanned out. A helicopter lit up the rooftops on her side of the Strip with a roving spotlight until it found its target and held steady.
She sighed, moving with the crowd and squinting up at the lights and drama going on overhead. Of course, she realized it now. Jason had tricked her, and he’d done it so smoothly that she could only give him bonus points.
His assignment after the Riviera must not have been Paris after all. By putting her here, he’d effectively put her out of Frost’s reach while he’d gone hunting on his own. She didn’t like it, but she had to admit he’d been damn clever about it.
A voice barked orders from the helicopter, but here on the ground with the clamoring crowd, the words were impossible to make out. She could only imagine what was going on up there on the rooftop.
Suddenly the spotlight went dark, thanks to a bullet from Frost no doubt, but she caught the two muzzle flashes from the rooftop of the casino just up the block from the Palace. Gin held her breath. Had Jason just put Frost out of commission? Likely with the same ammunition Wallace had tried to plant as evidence against him.
When nothing moved and no other shots were fired, she relaxed. Jason had done it. Wrapped his case with an elegant symmetry she appreciated despite her strong objection to his overprotective methods.
It was a detail they would have to work out. If he had the guts to show up and marry her tomorrow, it would prove his dedication and courage. He had to know that after pulling this stunt, she’d be hard pressed not to rough him up a little before the ceremony. The man had to learn to respect her ability to watch out for herself and handle things on her own.
“Your new husband’s handiwork?”
Recognizing Isely’s cultured voice, she turned to face him. She’d been so distracted, it wasn’t a shock that he’d managed to sneak up on her. She ordered her heart rate to slow and slipped into operation mode. “I’m not married.” Yet. She slid her clutch over her left hand. “What do you want?”
“Merely to say hello. You are a hard woman to track,” he said his appreciative gaze sweeping her from head to toe. “I believe I prefer you as a blonde.”
“Too bad.”
“It is.” The crowd shifted again as people tried to get a better look at the commotion across the street.
“Thanks for making my Vegas vacation so exciting,” she said, daring to challenge him even as her nerves jangled.
“It was a pleasure. You have played a good game, my dear, but now I would like my product.”
She laughed. “Sorry. It’s long gone.”
He gazed at her purse then leaned in close. “My intel suggests it’s right here.”
She muttered under her breath and Isely had the audacity to scold her for her foul language. “Fine. Here. You win.” She shoved her glittery clutch into his chest. “It goes better with your tux anyway.”
When the crowd shifted again, she slipped along with it, ignoring the persistent ache in her foot. Putting distance between her and Isely and the vial of hair gel she’d changed out for the real virus was essential. He might have back-tracked the tag, but she’d had one trick left.
She grinned. Just for him.
As much as she wanted to stay and take the guy down personally, it was better to let the casino authorities get the credit. “That man,” she pointed in Isely’s direction. “He stole my purse!”
And wouldn’t they be thrilled by the card-counting app on the phone she’d dropped in his pocket. She watched a moment as security closed in on her nemesis, then she disappeared into the crowd and immediately turned her attention to more important, personal concerns.
Would Jason show up tomorrow or not?
Chapter Twenty
McCarron Airport, Las Vegas, Nevada,
Sunday, November 23, 8:59 am
Holt settled into his first-class seat and watched the flight attendant open the small bottle of whiskey and pour it into the glass. “Thank you,” he said with a curt nod.
A drink was his best hope of dulling the sharp pain behind his eyes and silencing the little voice in his head berating him for his mistakes. He’d flown in last night only to see the reports of a sniper in custody, but not the one he expected.
Hard to believe Jason Grant had not only slipped through an intricate web relatively unscathed, but come out the other side with a new bride. He checked his watch. They’d be toasting the happy union in just a few more hours.
He recognized the bulk of his irritation stemmed from the failed trip to Vegas. Oh, sure, Mission Recovery had captured a sniper and, with another vial of that dreaded virus off of the black market, the director would count it a victory—personally and professionally.
Any other time Holt would join the celebration, but not this time. He wanted Isely. He’d put every available resource into this operation, and leaving Vegas without a face-to-face meeting put him in the frustrating position of the underdog.
He knew his own team suspected him, was looking over his shoulder and waiting for him to slip up. He’d think less of them if they didn’t, but he berated himself for letting things get to such a delicate impasse.
Having to evade both friends and foes made it hard to see which of the dwindling options was best as he moved forward.
“Looks like you dropped your phone, sir.”
He frowned as another flight attendant handed him the device. It was a logical assumption because he was the only person in first class so far and the other passengers were boarding through a door behind him. “I would have missed this,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. He waited until she walked away before checking the inner pocket of his suit coat where he’d stowed his phone after clearing security. His phone was right there, so what was this?
It vibrated in his hand and the screen showed an envelope indicating a new text message, but the sender’s number was blocked. Holt opened it.
We had a deal.
Furious, Holt started to reply when another message came in.
Last chance.
As if he didn’t already know time was running out. Holt kept his cool, though he was tempted to stand up and search the plane until he found the sender. As much as he wanted to believe it was Isely, he knew better. Isely was cocky and determined, but he wasn’t dumb enough to lock himself on a plane with Holt for four long hours.
He refused to reply and was about to take the phone apart when another message arrived. This time it was one word, Beware, with a picture of Cecelia Manning, Director Thomas Casey’s sister.
Holt set the phone carefully on the armrest between the seats and sipped his drink. Whoever Isely sent to watch him would be disappointed. He refused to offer up any kind of reaction.
If Isely was still in the game, he’d soon discover Holt was more than eager to finish it.
He wasn’t worried about Cecelia Manning or anyone else.
A smile stretched across his face. “To next time.” He toasted the prospect of winning.
He hadn’t lost...yet.
Chapter Twenty-One
Happily Ever After Wedding Chapel,
Sunday, November 23, 3:25 p.m.
Gin stood calmly in the waiting room of Happily Ever After wedding chapel, which was just outside the door to the chapel itself, keeping her eyes anywhere but on the front door. She would not be caught pining for him.
Why were the only clocks in Vegas in hotel rooms and wedding chapels? She didn’t need a fancy one on the wall, with the hours marked by rosebuds, to know how many minutes had passed.
He was late.
She’d apparently been a fool to think this could work out. She’d compounded that foolishness with this dress and flowers.
Whatever she and Jason had shared over the past days, deception had been a big part of it on both sides. That was no foundation for a marriage, not even a marriage between spies. For a woman who knew how to control her nerves in all circumstances, a woman who’d cheated death a
few times over these past days, she couldn’t believe she was losing it over a wedding.
Her heart pounded harder with each passing tick of the clock. Her palms were damp and she knew no amount of training would compensate.
Love was the greatest joy and the worst pain she’d ever experienced. She peeked at the clock. Five minutes late. It might as well be a day.
He wasn’t coming.
Chin high, she told herself to march over to the desk, take her name off the list and leave. Just do it and don’t think twice. Don’t look back. But her feet, in the shimmery heels she’d picked up last night stayed rooted to the small square of carpet she occupied.
Silly feet. He wasn’t coming. He was getting even.
“Miss Olin?”
Oh. Her heart clutched. It was their turn and she had to either tell someone to go ahead of them or she had to just leave. Ridiculous emotions became tears, blurring her vision. She blinked rapidly. She would not leave this place with pathetic smears of mascara trailing down her face.
“Yes?” She managed to get the word past the lump in her throat.
“There’s a call for you.”
She forced her feet to move closer to the desk, knew it would take her by the wide front window. The jerk she loved probably arranged this so he could watch her misery through a sniper scope.
Deciding she’d use the time off she’d allotted for their honeymoon to track down Jason and make him pay, she accepted the call. “Yes?”
“You look stunning.”
She spun toward the window, but her glare faded when she saw him on the other side of the glass. Right there on the sidewalk. Her heart, full of hope, pitched to her stomach in another moment of fear.
“Y-you are coming in?”
His cell phone to his ear, a smile spread slowly across his face and she realized her only foolish thoughts had been her doubts.
“Bet on it. I wouldn’t miss this for anything. I was just afraid you’d given up on me and left.”
He knew her so well. Her eyes on him, she didn’t see the people in his wake until the small lobby was bursting with enthusiastic congratulations for both the mission and the wedding.
“We needed witnesses, right?” Jason introduced her to Director Thomas and his new wife, Jo, and then she smiled as she recognized Lucas Camp and his wife, Victoria Colby-Camp.
When Jason leaned over the flowers she held in her shaking hands and kissed her, the chapel receptionist scolded him for doing things out of order.
Laughter filled the air as they entered the chapel for the ceremony. They exchanged vows, grinning as each said ‘I do’ and slid rings onto trembling fingers, all under the caring watch of friends. Gin had never felt more loved.
She truly was Mrs. Grant now. And she’d not only gained a husband, she’d also gained a big family with the Specialists and the Colbys.
* * * * *
Missing
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Jonathan Foley—As one of the new Equalizers, Jonathan must help Melissa find her missing niece—but can he do it without losing his wounded heart?
Melissa Shepherd—As a nurse, Melissa attends to the sick and injured every day of her life. But she can’t seem to heal her own heart…the one Jonathan Foley shattered three years ago. No matter that it might cost her more than she can bear to pay, she needs him to help find her niece.
Polly Shepherd—This little girl is missing. Who will find her and bring her home safely?
William Shepherd—His child is missing. But did he have anything to do with it? Did he pull this disappearing act to punish his cheating wife?
Harry Shepherd—William and Melissa’s uncle. He will do anything to keep William home and away from serving as a soldier in Afghanistan.
Presley Shepherd—She swears she was at home when her daughter was abducted in the middle of the night, but is she telling the truth?
Reed Talbot—He is the chief of police. It’s his job to find this missing child, not some hotshot’s from out of town…but can he stick by his guns when the bodies start to pile up?
Carol Talbot—She lost her only child. Can she survive watching her husband investigate this too similar tragedy?
Johnny Ray Bruce—He is in competition with William for Presley. He intends to win…even if he has to do it with the nastiest kind of blackmail.
Stevie Price—He went missing the same day as the child. Is he a harmless mentally challenged man or something far more sinister?
Floyd Harper—He is the only witness to Stevie’s alibi.
Scott Rayburn—He’s the town’s rich boy lawyer. He knows everyone’s secrets. He’s about to reveal the biggest secret of all.
Slade Keaton—Slade isn’t his real name, but he now owns the Equalizers. But his primary agenda isn’t about the Equalizers at all…he has plans for the Colby Agency.
Victoria Colby-Camp—Has no idea that her world is about to be turned upside down.
Lucas Camp—Will do anything to protect his family.
This story is dedicated to the real Melissa and Jonathan. As you take each other’s hand in marriage, I wish you the most wonderful storybook ending of all!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
Chicago
Thursday, May 27th, 10:30 pm
There were better ways to die.
But never a good time.
Jonathan Foley wouldn’t have chosen to die in a vacant warehouse with the river lapping at its crumbling foundation. Definitely not while shackled to a cast-off swivel chair beneath the glare of a single bare bulb.
But life stunk that way sometimes.
“Amp it up another notch,” the punk gripping the defibrillator paddles ordered. Then he smiled at his prisoner. “Last chance, tough guy.”
Evidently the trigger-happy lackey was through playing. Foley braced for the electrical charge that would throttle through his chest the instant the paddles touched his naked skin. Nope, there was never a good time to die. But then he had accomplished his mission. This was likely as good a time as any. He lifted his gaze to the nimrod currently holding the power. “We both know I’m not going to talk.”
The jerk laughed, his pale blue eyes glittering with anticipation. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
The one manning the controls gave the appropriate knob a violent twist then checked the readout. “Ready,” he announced.
Jonathan’s jaw clenched and his fingers tightened on the arms of the chair, but he refused to close his eyes. He stared straight at the SOB with the paddles. Refused to allow even a glimmer of fear or defeat. This waste of DNA might kill him but he couldn’t make him cooperate. Better men had tried.
“Stand down.”
The sharply issued order echoed in the stale air of the long-abandoned warehouse, wiped the smile right off the paddle punk’s face.
Foley should have relaxed. After all, he was just a few volts from dead. This unexpected interruption provided a momentary reprieve. He shifted his attention in the direction of the footsteps coming nearer. Not that he needed visual confirmation. He knew the voice.
Victor Lennox.
Tall, distinguished, with just enough gray at the temples to lend an air of wisdom. Even at a time like this—in a place like this—the man sported a three-thousand-dollar black silk suit. No doubt the leather shoes he wore were handcrafted. Nothing was too good for a Lennox. A similarly dressed underling, briefcase in hand, rushed after him.
Well, well, Foley mused. Would wonders never cease? He’d thought Lennox was long gone by now. Yet, here
he was, in the flesh, assistant in tow.
“Sir,” the underling urged, “the Learjet is waiting. There’s no time.”
Lennox held up a hand, cutting off his much younger colleague. “Before you die,” Lennox said to Foley, his gaze narrowed with disdain and fury, “I have one question.”
Foley licked his cracked lips, noted the taste of blood and sweat. “For the past two hours I’ve been beaten—” his ribs ached with each indrawn breath “—shocked with ever increasing amperage and—” he jerked his head toward the punk with the paddles “—I still didn’t talk. What makes you think I have anything to say to you?”
“Let me give it another go,” paddle punk pleaded. “He’ll talk.” He smirked at Foley. “They always do.”
Lennox shook his head firmly from side to side. “Not this one.”
“Sir.” The assistant dared to intrude into the exchange yet again. “You must hurry.”
Lennox ignored him. “I did my research, Foley. I know all about you.” He made a disparaging sound deep in his throat. “And you’re right, you won’t talk.” He crossed his arms over his chest then reached up and tapped his chin with a finger as if mulling over the situation. “I have friends in places you can’t even fathom. I’m aware of your military career, Major Foley.”
One corner of Foley’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. “Then you know it was over a long time ago.” Bits and pieces of images flickered through his brain. He banished the memories.
“You endured days of torture,” Lennox went on as if recalling documents he’d only just recently read. “Never uttered a single word while every member of your reconnaissance team was executed right in front of you.” A hint of respect flashed in the man’s eyes. “Still you remained strong. Loyal to the bitter end. Didn’t let your country down.” He gave another shake of that distinguished head. “No, no. You didn’t talk then. You won’t talk now.”
