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See him and trap him.
Chapter 6
By the time the LVPD had finished asking him to repeat his statement a few dozen times, Gabriel returned to the Sunset Royale in search of his quarry. He stopped in the gift shop long enough to drop a twenty on four ibuprofen and a bottle of water for his screaming headache. Whatever cocktail they’d injected him with wore off after a couple of hours.
They’d dumped him in his apartment, which was only slightly better than a ditch somewhere. A series of phone messages had waited for him—most from his section chief, and two from agents he’d worked with previously. The amount of heat focusing in his direction meant it was time to take a step back and reevaluate.
What the hell was he doing in Las Vegas? He’d had the conference on his schedule. It would be great research for his advanced students. He also still had a lot of contacts in international commerce. Most of his long-term covers had been in mergers, acquisitions, along with imports and exports.
He wasn’t here for any of them.
Copper, whoever the hell she was, was in trouble. Downing the ibuprofen with the water, he studied the throngs of people coming and going. Despite the hundreds of cameras everywhere, Vegas was a great place to disappear. If he hadn’t seen the Asian beauty coming down the escalator earlier and crossing the lobby floor for the elevators, he would never have recognized her.
But he’d memorized that walk. He knew it better than he knew his name. Obsession was an ugly word, but at some point, he might have to admit his fascination with Copper bordered on obsession. His phone rang, and he tugged it out of his pocket. Only one person had his burner cell number, since he’d ditched his other phone at home. No way had they let him go without observation. If it had been him, he would have tagged the equipment, the clothes, and even his body, then let him go to see where he went.
He’d gone through airport security twice. Most of the x-ray machines scrambled body taggers. He’d left his gear at home and bought new clothes on the way. “Danvers.”
“I dropped a bag for you at the desk,” Art Sorenson told him. The rat king of San Juan had been in a spot of trouble during a bad deal with Russian Bratva. He’d given Gabriel info, and Gabriel relocated him. Fortunately, Reno was in driving distance to Vegas. “You owe me.”
“Really? I’m thinking that’s one less that you owe me.” He didn’t wait for a response and hung up. Stripping the battery from the burner, he dumped the phone parts in two different trash cans. As promised, a suitcase waited for him at the check in desk.
Clothes. Cash. Fresh ID. And weapons. Art provided a little bit of everything. Just because Gabriel hadn’t been in the field in a few years didn’t mean he was helpless. Whether Copper was in trouble or was trouble remained to be seen, but he planned to be prepared this time.
No more masked men getting the drop on him. Plus, he had handcuffs. If he had to, he’d tie her to a damn bed and handcuff her for good measure. One way or the other, he wanted answers, and he’d get them.
The door to his room was open.
Pulling the .45 from the side pocket of the suitcase, he checked the magazine and used the case to shove the door inward. Copper sat in the middle of the second queen-sized bed, farthest from the door.
Somehow, he wasn’t remotely surprised. Pushing the case to the side, he closed the door and flipped the security lock. Then he nudged the bathroom door open to check inside. Saying nothing, she watched him with too-quiet eyes as he verified the bathroom and closets were empty. He didn’t have a balcony, but he was only on the third floor. If he had to go out the window, the fall would break something, but it wouldn’t kill him.
Like him, she had a gun with her. But hers lay on the bed next to her, and she made no move to reach for it. She’d ditched the black wig and funky cosmetics—even the weird contacts changing her eye color. Once more, she was the coppery-haired goddess he’d held in his arms, fresh-faced, without a trace of cosmetics. Only her eyes betrayed her youth. The quiet storm in them beckoned him like a siren.
Fuck him if he wasn’t willing to risk the rocks to reach her.
Engaging the safety on the gun, he set it aside and sat down on the bed opposite her. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Her posture straightened. “I didn’t expect to see you in Las Vegas.”
“I’m sure you didn’t expect a lot of things.” Like him remembering his interrogation or shaking off their drugs. Counter-intelligence training prepared him for a lot of sick eventualities.
“I’ll give you that,” she said. “You need to go home.”
“No.” Was that the only reason she’d come to his room?
“You checked in under your name.”
“I have no reason to hide who I am.” He tried to gauge her reactions, but she played everything so close. Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes—they kept giving him little insights. Whatever had her unsettled reflected in her troubled eyes. “Why do you want me to hide, Copper?”
“Because I told you, it’s not safe around me. You’re a professor, Gabriel.” The sigh at the end of his name tugged at him, but he stayed right where he was. He didn’t want to miss a nuance of her expression.
“Professors can’t go to Vegas?”
She blinked, the corner of her mouth kicked higher, but she smothered the smile before it escaped. “You’re not just a professor.”
“No,” he said slowly. Fine, he had to give a little to get a little. “You’re not just a gorgeous woman who wandered my way by accident.”
“I won’t answer that.”
