Vegas Wedding, Weaver Bride. Allison Leigh

to avoid that nightmare. Remember Rollie? The way his old lady was always harping on him? Deployments keeping him away from her and those kids she kept poppin’ out? Ask me, I bet more than one of them wasn’t even Rollie’s. Always said the smartest guys are the ones who don’t bother putting a ring on it.”

      Quinn didn’t entirely disagree. The divorce rate among special operators was astronomically high. He also knew many of the guys kept trying anyway. Maybe it was the hope to keep something normal in a world that was anything but normal.

      Some succeeded.

      More didn’t.

      For his part, Quinn had always figured that if he’d ever met a woman he wanted to marry, he’d expect to put as much commitment into that marriage as he had into his career.

      He’d just never met a woman that special.

      The folded marriage certificate inside his pocket felt like it was burning a tattoo into his butt.

      He shifted. “You got out a long time ago,” he reminded Mike, skirting the actual facts of the guy’s discharge. “What have you been doing since?”

      “Contract work.” Mike grinned. “Money is really good, dude. Still get to make bad guys dead, but the bennies are a lot better than Uncle Sam ever coughed up. You decide you want to make some real dough, say the word. You think the uniform is a chick magnet, you should see what a bankroll can do. I’ll make some introductions.”

      “If money had ever been my goal, I’d have become an officer like you were,” Quinn drawled. His first impressions of Mike Lansing had held up over the years. The hot five-mile walk from the marriage bureau building hadn’t made him want a shower as badly as sitting there with Mike did.

      Mike laughed again. “You’re a master sergeant now. Good reason to feel uptight right there. Must suck being stuck running the action from the ground.”

      Quinn hadn’t been stuck running things from the ground, but it was a definite possibility facing him. Even though every single member of the combat rescue team was valuable, running things from the ground wasn’t a role he relished. He’d spent too long in the action. Too long as a team leader.

      “Just say the word and I’ll hook you up with another hit that’ll have you loosening up again in no time.” Mike grinned, mimicking dropping something into his drink.

      His attention abruptly targeted on Mike. “Another hit. Of what?”

      “A little something I keep handy.”

      Quinn’s fists curled. “Exactly what little something?”

      “Nothing that’ll pop in a blood test,” Mike assured, as if that made everything all right. “Just an herbal cocktail I learned about last time I was in India. Makes life a little...brighter. Your sister thought it was pretty hilarious. She switched drinks with yours—” He broke off when Quinn stood and started walking away. “Hey, Sarge. Where’re you going?”

      Anywhere other than there.

      Quinn didn’t stop. Didn’t even bother looking back. If he did, he was afraid of what he’d do to the other man.

      Mike was a worm. Always had been and it seemed nothing in the intervening decade had changed.

      But the last thing Quinn needed was to be caught grinding his fist into a worm’s face. He didn’t need an assault charge haunting him, no matter how well deserved his actions felt.

      He strode through the casino until he located the elevators and went up to Delia’s hotel suite. Banged on the door. “Delia!”

      Relief hit him when she finally yanked open the door. She was clearly dressed for the swimming pool in a bikini and a flimsy cover-up that didn’t cover up a damn thing. “What are you doing here?”

      “Looking for you, obviously.” He sounded annoyed and didn’t care. Because he was annoyed. Not only at Mike’s stunt, but also with her. “What the hell are you walking around like that for? You’re practically naked.”

      Her eyebrows shot up and she propped her hand on her hip. She was dark-haired like him but that was about the end of the similarities. “I’m a long way from naked and I’m not exactly sixteen anymore, so can the protective growl!”

      He would always feel protective where Delia was concerned. Mostly because she was the baby of his family. But also—and he ordinarily said it with love—she was kind of a ditz.

      Their father was a pediatrician. Their mother was a retired psychologist. Their other sister, Grace, was doing her residency at Duke. Much to his father’s chagrin at the time, Quinn hadn’t taken the educational route, but he’d still made a career out of his military service and gotten a hell of a lot of education along the way.

      Delia, though? She seemed entirely happy coasting through life, never settling on anything or anyone for any length of time.

      “Did you see Lansing doctor my drink last night?”

      She pursed her lips. “Maybe.”

      God help him. He wanted to shake her. “Yes or no?”

      “Good grief, Quinn. Keep your shorts on.” She picked up an oversize shoulder bag sitting on a chair. A floppy hat and a rolled towel were sticking out of it. “Of course I saw. He put some drops in Penny’s drink, too.”

      “And you switched drinks.”

      “So?”

      He wanted to yell at her. But Delia never responded well to shouting. She just crumpled up in tears and shut down. “Are you crazy? I suppose you just drank it, too. Did he spike anyone else’s?”

      She glared. “No, I did not drink it,” she snapped. “I dumped them both in a plant by the table! And no, I didn’t see him do anything else.”

      “Did it occur to you to say anything? He could have been putting anything in our drinks. I can’t even remember coming back to the hotel last night.” But that wasn’t entirely accurate, either. Because already he had images hovering on the edges of his pain-addled brain. Vivid city lights. Penny’s blue gaze. A glossy limousine interior...

      “When was I supposed to tell you, Quinn? When you were busy feeling up Penny on the dance floor? Besides, the guy was all hands! By the time I got that dealt with, you and Penny had already disappeared!”

      “You could have found a way,” he said through his teeth. “You have no idea what a mess this has caused.”

      “Well?” She spread her hands, clearly waiting. “What mess?”

      He clenched his jaw, remembering his promise to Penny. “Lansing’s been a lost cause for ten years. But you’re my sister. You’re twenty-seven years old. You see something wrong, you speak up!”

      “At least I was more aware of what was going on than you were.” She snatched a small vial from her pool bag and thrust it at him. “I stole it from his jacket while he was trying to stick his tongue down my throat. You’re welcome.”

      He exhaled roughly, rubbing his hand down his face as he swore. At her. At Lansing. At the fact that he’d found himself married to a woman who was more appalled at the idea than he was. But mostly at himself. Because Delia was right. If he’d been more aware, none of this would have happened. “Thank you,” he muttered.

      Delia sniffed, clearly unimpressed as she shoved past him with her pool bag and strode away.

      “Perfect.” He opened the nearly empty vial and took a sniff, which told him nothing. He twisted the cap back in place and pocketed it.

      He realized he didn’t know the number of Penny’s room as he headed toward the elevator. He used the house phone to call the front desk and, thanks to the beauty of dropping his granny’s name, received the information he needed.

      He took the elevator down to Penny’s floor and knocked on the door. Given the way