He pulled his cell phone from his pocket again and sent off a quick text message to Travis. After dropping MacGyver a couple of blocks from Wally’s shortly after one, his partner had been awaiting his call in a hotel on the Strip. MacGyver had volunteered to meet the PI at the tavern to find out what he’d learned about the kid they’d been hired to retrieve. Private investigators could be a flaky bunch, and he wasn’t surprised by this one’s lack of professionalism. Travis would, no doubt, be royally pissed off when he learned the guy hadn’t appeared for their scheduled meeting.
MacGyver couldn’t worry about that right now. He needed an extraction, and Travis was the man for the job.
Thirty-five minutes later, MacGyver was still sipping his second drink when the bartender set the eighth tequila shot on the table by the green-eyed lady. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her fight. Licking the salt from her hand, she gulped number seven with a quick motion that almost tipped her chair over. She was wasted.
The lime wedge she clutched in her left hand slipped from her fingers and slid down her chin. She lurched forward, apparently to catch it, missed, and, if her elbows hadn’t been braced on the table, she’d have done a face-plant right there. The biker boys, with the exception of the quiet one, were equally inebriated. They both snorted and sniggered, clearly satisfied with the direction things were going.
Was that why the congressman had wanted MacGyver to get her out of there? To rescue a drunk woman from the unscrupulous occupants of Wally’s Tavern? That wasn’t the type of work MacGyver had envisioned when Travis talked him into starting a private security company. They were damn sure going to rethink their client-vetting process.
Not five seconds passed before the bride jumped to her feet, slapped her hand over her mouth with a chest-deep groan and darted toward the bathroom. MacGyver had been expecting that, and it was about damn time. Hell, the woman must have a cast iron stomach. Seven shots and she could still walk. Well…sort of.
That was his cue. Time to go. MacGyver left the rest of his drink, dropped a few bills on the table and headed for the exit. With any luck, she’d stay close to the toilet for a while—long enough for him to get around back and crawl in through the men’s bathroom window. The first thing he’d done today, while waiting on the no-show, was to unlock the small, frosted-glass window and jerry-rig it so, hopefully, no one would notice. Yeah…he was paranoid like that, but old habits die hard.
The leader and the kid snickered, speaking in too-loud voices. The tall, muscular one kept an eye on the hallway that led to the bathrooms. He was the only one who took note of MacGyver as he left.
Travis’s rental car, a new blood-red Mustang, was parked along the semi-dark street a half block down. The guy didn’t know the meaning of inconspicuous. MacGyver fumbled for his phone, flipped to the text screen and typed IN THE ALLEY before hitting send. As he dashed around the corner of the building, he heard the car’s engine rumble to life.
The window was just as he’d left it. He had it open in a second and pulled himself up, dropping onto the yellowing, vinyl-covered floor without a sound. After peering out the door, he examined every shadowed corner before stepping into the alcove. Pressed against the wall, he could just make out the biker’s table, but the woman wasn’t in her seat. So far, things were going his way.
Across the hall, the women’s john was dimly lit and quiet as he turned the knob. MacGyver swung the door open just enough to enter, flattening himself against the wall. The putrid smell of vomit hit him like a force field.
Apparently she didn’t hear him enter. Bent over the sink with the faucet running full bore, she splashed her face with handfuls of water. Finally turning the spigot off, she leaned, one hand on each side of the sink, as though she didn’t have enough strength to stand on her own. The once-white dress hugged her back and hips to cascade sensually over her perfectly delectable ass, falling, in multiple lengths, just short of covering slim ankles.
On silent feet, MacGyver approached from behind. She must have heard him then or sensed his presence. Her head jerked up, and those gorgeous green eyes met his in the mirror, jolting him, and, for a moment, he nearly forgot why he was there. She whirled and opened her mouth, no doubt to scream, then closed it without making a sound. Considering who would have rushed to her aid, it was a decision MacGyver could get behind.
She backed away from him, leaning heavily on the counter. “What do you want? Get out. You’re not supposed to be here.” She spoke slowly, but her words still slurred.
MacGyver managed to suppress the irritation that threatened, continuing to advance one slow step at a time. “I thought maybe you could use a hand. You’re sick, you’ve had too much to drink, and, unless I’m reading you all wrong, I don’t think you want to rejoin your friends out there.” He watched her and spoke calmly, as though they were already friends who chatted frequently in the women’s john. “What’s your name, darlin’?”
She stopped, squared her shoulders and crossed her arms in front of her. “Well, it’s not darlin’, sweetheart.”
He raised one brow, and a grin broke free. “I’m Matt Iverson, but most of my friends call me MacGyver.” Holding out his hand, he waited.
She eyed his outstretched arm but made no move to touch him. The next instant, her hand flew to her mouth, and a groan vibrated through her. Stumbling to the toilet, she dropped to her knees on the filthy floor and proceeded to hurl her guts out. When she was finally reduced to dry heaves, MacGyver strode to the sink and soaked a thick pad of paper towels in cold water.
Behind him, the toilet flushed and another groan echoed off the walls of the twelve by twelve room. His mouth twitched at the corners, though he couldn’t help sympathizing. Her stomach was going to get worse before it got better, and tomorrow morning’s headache would likely be a doozy.
She was as still as death when he turned around, her forehead lying on the toilet seat. Hopefully, she’d passed out and wouldn’t remember any of this, or she’d probably scour all the skin off her face.
MacGyver knelt beside her, placing his free hand on her shoulder. She reared back, landing on her curvy little bottom, nearly toppling him over in the process. Bleary eyes met his for an instant before she covered her face and moaned.
As gently as he could, he peeled her hands loose and placed the wet paper towels in her palms. “Wipe your face. We need to get out of here before your friends come to see what’s taking you so long.”
Even buried in paper towels, the unladylike snort she issued was clearly audible. “We? I’m not leaving here with you.” She waved one hand at him dismissively. “If you’re planning to kill me, you’ll have to do it here. Believe me—you’d be doing me a favor.”
Smart ass. Anger tensed his jaw. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.” He cupped her chin in his hand and turned her head so she couldn’t look away. “You are leaving with me, even if I have to drag your ass. Maybe next time you’ll use your head and go somewhere else to socialize. Do you realize your friends out there aren’t going to let you go until you’ve paid big time for those drinks?”
Her lips thinned. “I don’t have much money, but they can have it all.” With two fingers, she pulled something not much bigger than a coin purse from her cleavage and jabbed it into his chest.
Shit! Drunk and naïve didn’t mix well. MacGyver rose, pulling her to her feet. He jerked the purse from her fingers, momentarily distracted by the pleasant warmth the article retained from its place of concealment. The smell of honeysuckle and rain permeated the fabric. The first hint of arousal slammed into him, catching him completely off guard, and angered him further.
With a snarl, he shoved the purse in his pocket. He gripped the woman’s upper arms and towered over her. “Honey, they want something from you for damn sure, but it’s not money.”
About three seconds passed while she stared at him with a quizzical tilt to her head before the l
ight of understanding dawned in her eyes. She recoiled, and he released her arms, snagging her hand in his.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Without giving her an opportunity to object, he started for the door, dragging her along with him. He maneuvered the woman behind him and to his right before reaching for the knob. The next instant, someone banged on the other side.
“Hey, sugar. We’re gettin’ lonesome out here.”
The kid. Was he alone? Even if he was, he wouldn’t be for long. MacGyver turned back to the bride and put a finger to his lips, praying she could see him through the glaze covering her eyes. Seriously questioning his rationale for getting involved when this clearly had nothing to do with his case, he gripped her shoulders and backed her against the wall behind the door. Mouthing the words stay put, he positioned himself between her and the exit.
He didn’t have long to wait. The kid tried the door and pushed it open slowly. As soon as he took a step inside the bathroom, MacGyver jerked the door the rest of the way open, causing the kid to lurch forward with a surprised expression widening his eyes. Immediately, MacGyver slammed the edge of the door into the kid’s head, and he stumbled sideways. MacGyver shoved the door out of his way and launched an uppercut to the kid’s jaw that nearly spun his head around, and he went down in a heap of lanky arms and legs.
MacGyver leaned against the doorframe and listened for sounds from the barroom. A low drone of conversation was all he heard.
“Okay, we’re clear. Let’s go.” Without looking, he held out his hand for the woman behind the door, but she didn’t respond. Doing his best to hide the impatience flooding through him, he yanked the door toward him and spotted her, sprawled on the floor, passed out in a pile of off-white fabric.
Huh! Figured that would happen sooner or later. This might actually work out better than if she’s awake.
He lifted her, tossed her over one shoulder and, after checking the hallway for activity, darted for the men’s bathroom. When he opened the window, Travis’s car blocked the alley, lights out, and he leaned against the building. His scowl drew the chocolate-brown skin of his forehead together as MacGyver handed the unconscious bride through the window. Her wet, filthy wedding gown was plastered to her body and reeked of vomit.
“What the hell, MacGyver?” Travis’s nose wrinkled as he stared at the woman’s pale features. “Who is she?”
“Don’t know.” MacGyver grunted as he landed beside Travis. “I got a text from the congressman saying to get her out of there and keep her hidden.” He lifted her slight weight from Travis’s arms, waiting for him to open the passenger door and lean the seat forward before placing her on the black leather. “Not sure what she has to do with finding Jeremy Dahl, but the congressman made a good call, because she was definitely headed for trouble. I couldn’t leave her.”
That was the truth, as far as it went, but MacGyver wasn’t willing to share the details with Travis—that he wouldn’t have abandoned her anyway, with or without their current employer’s directive. Why he made that decision wasn’t entirely clear to him, but something about those amazing eyes, the fresh tear tracks and her courage touched him in a way no one had for a long time.
Fuck that. Not going there. Lonely was preferable to having his heart ripped out and handed to him again.
“Where to?” Travis jumped behind the wheel.
“The hotel.” MacGyver avoided Travis’s gaze as the man swiveled toward him, one hand halfway to the gearshift. “Don’t attract attention, man. There’s a reason we came out the window, and I’d rather it didn’t follow us.”
“What’s wrong with her? Are you sure we shouldn’t take her to the hospital?” Travis jammed the car in gear and rolled to the end of the alley as quietly as possible in a souped-up Mustang. He made a left onto the street that ran in front of Wally’s, and everything appeared normal as they sped up, soon leaving the grungy tavern behind.
“Nothing wrong with her that a good night’s sleep and a little hair of the dog won’t fix.”
“Are you shittin’ me, MacGyver? She’s drunk?” Travis’s customary frown pinched his brows together as he glanced in the rearview mirror. “What’s with the wedding get-up?”
MacGyver shrugged. “Don’t know.”
Travis was abnormally quiet for the next fifteen minutes while they zipped through heavy traffic to reach the hotel where PTS Security had put them up. Vallegro Towers, with forty-some floors, over two thousand rooms and a spacious casino and showroom, was new and quickly making a name for itself among Vegas high rollers and visiting businessmen. They’d been lucky to get last-minute reservations.
There were half a dozen cars ahead of them when Travis pulled in front of the hotel and motioned to a valet. “Have you given any thought to how you’re going to get her inside without someone calling the cops?”
Travis had a point. Carrying an unconscious woman in a wedding dress would attract attention. The fancy hotel’s clientele would likely take one look at him in his worn blue jeans, ratty T-shirt and leather jacket and suspect he was up to no good. His dirty ball cap, pulled low over his eyes, and twenty-four hours of stubble covering his face would no doubt cement their opinions. The best defense is a good offense. He couldn’t make them invisible, so he might as well use the props he’d been given.
He turned toward Travis and pushed his cap farther back on his head. “You gotta tell ’em what you want them to think. Watch and learn, buddy.” MacGyver threw his door open and stepped out just as the valet tapped on Travis’s window.
MacGyver plastered a congenial smile amid his stubble, reached into the backseat and scooped the woman, whose name he still didn’t know, into his arms. She moaned and curled into him, hiding her face perfectly. One arm wound around his neck, and damned if it didn’t feel right. He laughed out loud as though she’d said something funny and planted a kiss beneath her ear.
“Excuse me. Pardon me, folks. My new bride had a little too much to drink at the reception and I need to get her to our room before she starts our marriage off by throwing up on me.” MacGyver chuckled, along with several of the people standing around him, until the doorman swung the door wide with a grin. MacGyver glanced over the top of the Mustang into Travis’s amused eyes. Hefting the woman closer, he strode into the lobby.
As they approached a group waiting for an elevator, he leaned over and spoke in her ear, but loudly enough for others to hear. “Hang on, sweetheart. We’re almost there. You’ll feel better once the world stops spinning. I promise.”
The woman moaned as though on cue.
MacGyver gave the people gathering around the elevator his most apologetic smile. “My wife was too nervous to eat, and all the champagne toasting at the reception went right to her head. She was even too sick to change into her honeymoon clothes. I think she’ll be okay, though, as soon as she can lie still for a while. I just hope she’s okay on the ride up in the elevator. We wouldn’t want to inconvenience you folks, would we, honey?”
He shrugged when her only answer was to burrow deeper into his chest. The elevator doors opened, and a half dozen people filed out. The strange looks he got from them were quickly explained away by helpful members of the first group.
Travis had caught up and stood a few feet away as though he wasn’t really with them. When it was his turn to step onto the elevator, he hesitated and turned to MacGyver. “You think she might puke in there? I don’t think I could handle that. I’ll wait for the next one.”
MacGyver nodded and let out a slow breath as, one by one, the people already on the elevator came to the same conclusion and stepped off. He hit the button for the fifth floor when he and the woman he held in his arms were the only ones left.
Silence settled around him and his unconscious bride as the doors slid closed and the elevator started up. She moaned and snuggled closer. He studied her face as a sleepy frown furrowed her brow. Th
e graceful curve of her neck drew his attention, within millimeters of his lips. Faint traces of her perfume tantalized him before being overwhelmed by other, less pleasant aromas. Uncertainty and something close to possessiveness tugged relentlessly at his tangled thoughts. What the hell was he doing? Considering the congressman’s mysterious text, she might be in danger from an unknown threat, but if he let the blonde bride stay in his life too long, he’d be in trouble too.
Chapter Three
MacGyver placed her gently on the king-size bed with its satin bedspread and bevy of pillows. For a few seconds, he stared at her perfect features. Her long blonde hair, done up in some kind of fancy braid, was tousled, windswept and wet. Fine strands clung to her cheek, and he reached to brush them away. Unbelievable, how soft and smooth her skin felt. Her full lips formed into a frown, and she whimpered before she rolled to her side and into a ball.
Damn—she’s cold. Wet from head to toe, she’d never warm up if he didn’t get her out of that dress.
Before MacGyver could decide how to handle that problem, the connecting door between his room and the next swung open, and Travis barged in as though he belonged there.
The big man slumped into one of the two armchairs that sat before the gas fireplace. “Tell me we got something from today besides a drunk woman in a bride’s dress.”
MacGyver turned the fireplace on and settled in the other chair. He scraped his hands over his stubble-covered face and shook his head. An hour or so with the runaway bride had gotten his adrenaline pumping and made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t since his fiancée dumped him while he was deployed. By the time Shelby’s Dear John letter had caught up with him in Bethesda last spring, she’d already married someone else.
Honor Among SEALs Page 4
