Ready, Aim...I Do!. Debra & Regan Webb & Black

any outward sign of her distress. She had too much practice to give him that advantage.

      Immediately she considered her options. This was one of the most wanted and most evasive men of the criminal underworld. They’d almost caught him last month by accident, but somehow he’d slithered out of custody before the right authorities arrived.

      The player rolled again and won again, and in the subsequent roar of celebration, Gin slipped back and away, putting the other revelers between her and Isely.

      She tagged along on the fringe of a group of women cruising out toward the slot machines. If he was on to her, it would be obvious right away. Unfortunately, her worst-case scenario was confirmed when she spared a glance over her shoulder. It was too late to make a preemptive bold move, but it was still too soon to panic.

      There was always a way out.

      Well, almost always.

      She needed the right crowd or the right loner, she thought, turning toward the low lights of the nearest bar. And she needed one or the other right now.

      The crowd was light and most of the patrons were paired up or in small groups. Gin sought the solo acts. There was another blonde woman in a deep emerald dress, only a shade or so darker than Gin’s, who might do in a pinch. Gin had the long-lost school chum routine down to a science.

      But her first choice would be a man. Men were typically less suspicious and far less likely to admit they couldn’t remember a hot chick from a prior rendezvous. She spotted a man in the corner sipping a cup of coffee and squinting into a book that was most likely a tutorial on blackjack. Too serious and sporting a wedding ring, she crossed him off her mental list.

      Then she noticed the ideal candidate at the other end of the bar. She strolled right up to the only familiar face she could potentially define as a friend in this town and pressed a light kiss to Specialist Grant’s cheek. “Oh, the whims of fate,” she said in a flat Midwestern accent.

      “More like the whims of my boss,” he replied, signaling the bartender.

      “Have you been waiting long?”

      “A couple of days. What’ll you have?”

      “White wine,” she told the bartender. Taking the barstool next to Jason, she swiveled so her knees brushed against his thigh.

      He glanced down and then gave her an interested half-grin. “You don’t have to bait me.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      He leaned closer. “I’m a sure thing, remember?”

      She tipped her head back and laughed, playing along. “That’s good to know.” Studying him, she wondered how much he’d had to drink. Any alcohol beyond a few sips to set his profile meant he was here for pleasure rather than business. Grant, she suspected, wasn’t the sort to bend the rules on a mission. His brown eyes were a little unfocused, his pupils dilated. So maybe he wasn’t here on business. Still, even in the midst of tying one on, he was her best bet to get out of here.

      Using the mirror behind the bar, she checked for Isely. He’d stepped just inside the doorway and was checking out the milling crowd. He didn’t come closer, but she could feel his gaze land on her back. If he didn’t know for sure, he’d suspected she was trouble. Well, Jason Grant could help her prove otherwise.

      The bartender delivered her wine and she sipped, rubbing her palm across Jason’s knee. Isely had to believe she was involved with him, that they were simply a couple here to enjoy a long weekend.

      “Need a hand?”

      “Why, Mr. Grant, that sounds like a wonderful start. I think you’re just the lucky charm that would be helpful to me at the craps tables.”

      He shook his head. “I—ah, don’t gamble,” he mumbled with a laugh that sounded almost drunken.

      Alarms sounded in her head. A man who didn’t gamble didn’t do Vegas for pleasure. Something was wrong here. “Sweetheart, are you feeling well?”

      “Fine.” He picked up her hand and stroked her palm with his thumb. “Your hand is...is so soft.”

      And his was quite strong, but something was clearly wrong. Careful not to break cover, she scanned the room for whoever had drugged him. She needed to get him out of here before he was too loopy to walk.

      He started to slump to the side, and she signaled for the bartender to settle the tab. Jason managed a signature and she caught the room number he’d listed along with the drink tally. Two beers wouldn’t have put him in this state.

      “Why don’t we take a walk?” she suggested.

      “I’d like that.”

      “Good.” She looped his arm over her shoulder and with hers at his waist she steadied him as they maneuvered through the bar.

      The gun she felt in the waistband at the small of his back implied he was on the clock and only solidified her theory that someone had decided he was a target for something. As they exited no one seemed to care, not even Isely, but she couldn’t be sure because it took all her concentration to keep Jason upright. His height of just over six feet and lean but muscular build were far more appealing when he was supporting both on his own power.

      His hand slid down to cup her bottom and she jumped a little, surprised by his touch. She covered her reaction with a laugh. Maybe he was faking the drunk part. Was he taking advantage and hamming it up, or was there a real problem? It helped the cover, so she wouldn’t complain. She guided him toward the main entrance, hoping the fresh air and surroundings would help revive him if this wasn’t for show.

      “What did you have to drink, sweetheart?” she asked. The crowded streets and traffic noise meant no one could eavesdrop and she wanted as much information as she could get.

      “A beer. Not even. Oh!” He jerked a bit. “And you sent me a shot of tequila.”

      “Ah.” As they walked, she checked his pockets. He had his wallet and his room key. She must have interrupted before whoever started this had finished the job. Well, luck was certainly a lady for Jason tonight. She would ask him later why he thought the person who sent him a shot was her.

      “You aren’t really blonde.” He reached over and brushed at the blonde bangs of her wig.

      “That’s just for fun tonight, remember?”

      “Mmm-hmm. Where’re we going?”

      Back to his room if she could manage it. She risked another glance over her shoulder. Damned if Isely wasn’t still on her. What would it take to get rid of him?

      She’d worn a disguise, stopped shadowing his seller and left the casino where the transaction was slated to occur. “Give a girl a break,” she muttered, pausing to catch her breath. Her chosen method of distraction was turning into a serious problem.

      Next time, she was going with the old school chum routine. No hormonal interference with that diversion. Running into Jason had looked like a fun, sexy ticket out of trouble, but now he felt like a block of cement dragging her down. She leaned him against a palm tree and kept him there with a hand on his hard chest.

      She could leave him and call a cop to help him back to his room. Practical, but wrong. “Kiss me,” she said.

      “What?” His eyelids were droopy and his grin was that of a sweet drunk, and still it made butterflies circle in her belly.

      “Kiss me,” she ordered.

      “In a minute.” His hands were warm on her waist. “You hafta say ‘I do’ first.”

      She followed his gaze. They were standing under the bright neon lights of an Elvis-themed wedding chapel. To her left, Isely was only a few yards away. To her right, one of the brutal men she recognized from his personal security team was even closer and reaching into his jacket.

      Damn.

      Why couldn’t