Ready, Aim...I Do! Missing

By: Debra Webb

“That’s becoming a habit.”

Confusion showed on Jason’s face.

“You insisted on doing the same thing last night after the wedding,” Gin explained. “You carried me over the threshold.”

“I don’t remember that.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You should rest.”

“That’s why you brought me up here. To rest.”

He nodded, but he refused to look at her.

“I told you I’m not tired.”

“No. It’s obvious you’re wired. You should sleep it off.”

“We both know that’s unlikely.”

She tugged his shirt from his jeans and ran her fingertips along his warm skin. “We both could use a shower.”

She shrugged out of her jacket and let it fall to the floor. “Come on, Jason.” Why wouldn’t he make a move? “Come have some fun with your wife.”


Jason Grant—A Specialist and former military sniper. Holt has sent Grant out to assist an agent who has been compromised, but he finds himself the primary suspect when a sniper starts attacking civilians in the area.

Ginger Olin—A spy on the trail of a deadly new virus, she needs to identify the buyer, but she picks up an added assignment as authorities try to determine Grant’s guilt or innocence.

Emmett Holt—Deputy Director of Mission Recovery. Holt took Lucas Camp’s place when he retired. Some believe he will do anything to move to the top.

Thomas Casey—Director of Mission Recovery. Thomas is the consummate Specialist. He handpicks his people and is determined to protect his team.

Lucas Camp—Thomas’s closest friend. He will do whatever is necessary to protect his friend and the interests of Mission Recovery.

Victoria Colby-Camp—The semiretired head of the Colby Agency. She and Lucas can’t seem to stay out of the business of investigations.

Chapter One

Caesar’s Palace,

Thursday, November 20th, 9:48 p.m.

You’re next.

Jason Grant couldn’t stop thinking about the note he’d received last month. So far he’d come up empty trying to determine the source. He wanted to write it off as a prank, but it wasn’t the kind of humor any of his friends or associates indulged in. Although he knew he was considered the next in line for the deputy director post at Mission Recovery, it wasn’t how his bosses would announce a promotion.

If this current assignment was any indication, the reality appeared to be that he was next up to either get fired or die of boredom. The sport coat he wore suddenly felt too warm; the tie he’d already loosened still felt too confining.

He looked around the hotel bar. Too early for a big crowd, but there were plenty of people coming and going and gambling. His deep well of training-induced patience was running dry. Not a smart thing in his line of work as a Specialist, but true all the same. Although impatience wasn’t the ideal, he knew the value of being aware of his strengths and weaknesses throughout a fluctuating operation.

He signaled the bartender for another beer and thought about what he might have done to deserve such a low-level assignment.

Specialists were sent in to recover the impossible situations—not to sit back and watch for potential signs of trouble. Last month he’d been told to observe, and he had done so. Right up until the point when Director Casey needed hands-on assistance. This time it felt much the same, except he had no idea who might be in trouble. In fact, he had no idea what the hell was going on here.

All he’d been told was that the operative in place might need backup. He was supposed to hang out in and around Caesar’s Palace, observe and make himself available to get her out if necessary. They didn’t even tell him which her he was looking for.

It didn’t feel right. A lot of things in Mission Recovery weren’t feeling right these days.

Still, gut feelings aside, this was the job and here he was in Sin City. He’d found a cover story with a nearby convention on security systems and emerging technologies and booked an upgraded room in the Caesar tower, though he didn’t expect to see it much.

He tipped back the dark bottle of beer but didn’t risk drinking any more than the half bottle he’d already sipped away. Instead, his eyes scanned the constantly shifting crowd for any female who looked like a covert operative. Evening hours—really any hour in Vegas from what he’d seen so far—meant women were decked out like there was a Bond girl audition nearby. It made for colorful and entertaining scenery, but Jason was ready for action.

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