MacGyver turned to watch the woman, using the pretense of talking on his phone. How was she involved with the congressman? Did she also know their missing person? Now that she’d patted the rain water from her face, MacGyver could tell her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy-looking. What? Not her dream wedding day? Was she married and sorry already? Or did she run before the deed was done? No rock sparkled on her ring finger, so he’d bet it was the latter.
Her head turned toward him, and she caught him staring. He didn’t look away and, for a heartbeat, neither did she. In that fraction of a second, she appraised him with definite mistrust, clearly not seeing any difference between him and the three dirtbags she was sitting with. The same flare of anger she’d pinned them with was now directed at him. Her expression hardened, and she lifted her chin ever so slightly, looking away. His smidgeon of apprehension rolled into a shitload of foreboding.
That right there—that spark of rebellion—is going to get her in trouble.
With a muttered curse, MacGyver returned to his table and signaled the bartender with his empty glass.
She’d have been better off going through with the wedding. A tropical honeymoon, even with a loser, had to be better than the clusterfuck she was inviting here. This wasn’t a damn sanctuary for lost and confused females. The woman belonged on the Strip. Even dressed the way she was, she’d have blended in there, and no one would have bothered her. But she had to show up at Wally’s.
Plenty of women had come and gone in the hours since MacGyver had arrived. Street-wise, savvy women looking for someone to buy their drinks, fully prepared—eager even—to pay the price expected.
Unless he was a terrible judge of character, this woman was none of those things.
MacGyver glanced toward the exit, half expecting whomever she’d come in here to avoid to be standing at the door. The small, dirty window framed only a dismal sky and the rain that continued to fall. Las Vegas normally received about four inches of rain annually, according to Google. Apparently they were going to get it all today.
PTS Security, owned by MacGyver and three of his friends, all former SEALs, had been hired to find the boyfriend of a California state congressman’s daughter. The missing person, Jeremy Dahl, had reportedly come to Vegas a few days ago and hadn’t been heard from since.
Maybe he was only blowing off steam—having one last fling before he said good-bye to his bachelorhood. MacGyver had wanted to suggest their client give the guy a little breathing room and call back if he was still missing in a week or so. Unfortunately, Luke Harding, another of MacGyver’s partners, was the son of a senator, who owed the congressman a favor, resulting in MacGyver and Travis not being able to refuse the job.
The private investigator had arranged to meet at Wally’s Tavern and pass on the information he’d gathered, then hadn’t bothered to show. MacGyver’s four-hour wait had been tedious, boring and frustrating. Things had picked up significantly in the last few minutes, however. It wasn’t every day he got a front row seat to watch a half-drowned runaway bride get sloshed. He had a feeling the boring and tedious was about to change.
The bride was getting into tequila shooting almost as if it wasn’t her first time. She licked a patch of salt from her hand, downed the shot in one gulp and chomped the lime wedge as though it was the only thing keeping the cheap tequila from coming right back up. Her success was rewarded by shrill whistles, pounding on the table and a slurred chorus of “Fuck, yeah!” from the boss man and the kid.
The third man sat quietly next to the blonde. MacGyver tapped his foot to the music and pretended not to notice him from a couple tables away. He only had a side view of the man’s face, but he could sense his tension. He wore leather chaps, a black bandana around his forehead and, most concerning, a Devil’s Doom rocker on the back of his vest. The outlaw motorcycle gang was hard core. Six feet four, give or take an inch, and at least two hundred twenty pounds of solid muscle, the man had clearly learned to pay attention to his surroundings. He also held his liquor a hell of a lot better than the other two.
MacGyver had known a lot of men with those attributes. Navy SEALs—teammates who’d watched his back through a shit-ton of missions to the Middle East. This guy was different…angry…on edge. Dangerous in a crazy sort of way. MacGyver had kept a wary eye on him since entering the joint, easily picking him out as the one to watch if there was trouble.
And damned if trouble didn’t walk right in off the street.
The kid pushed another shooter in front of the woman. She carefully moved the full shot glass away from her toward the center of the table and smiled. “I really need to go. Thank you, gentlemen, for your kindness and the drink. As you can tell by the way I’m dressed, I have someplace I need to be.” Her voice started strong but trailed off as she pushed her chair back.
What the hell was it in a woman’s upbringing that made her think she could politely talk her way out of a mess like this? No rationalmanwould try to reason with a horny, drunk biker dude. And certainly not three of them.
The bartender brought MacGyver’s fresh drink, mumbling something unintelligible. He snatched up the used glass, along with the bills MacGyver had placed in the center of the table, and hustled back behind the bar.
The woman was halfway to her feet when the third man’s hand snaked out, catching her wrist and jerking her toward him. She braced her other hand on the edge of the table and tried to wrest her arm from his grasp. Whether brave or foolhardy for making the attempt, MacGyver couldn’t decide, but the outcome was already a foregone conclusion.
MacGyver set his glass down and flattened his hands on the tabletop, ready to push himself to his feet. It was likely he was going to get his ass kicked, but what the hell. The need to protect had been ingrained in him by Uncle Sam and his mother before that. No way would he allow this scum to abuse and possibly rape the woman—not if he could prevent it.
The biker stood fluidly and pulled her toward him, bending her arm behind her back until she was pressed chest to chest against him.
“You’re hurting me.” Her total disdain for the man dripped from her words.
A growl came from MacGyver’s throat. A bully had always been one thing he couldn’t abide. His temper flared in an instant, and he started to rise.
In one swift motion, the man unfolded the woman’s arm from behind her and lifted her hand to his lips. His cocksure attitude fixed on her, openly daring her to object, he tongued the back of her hand, from knuckles to wrist. With a sneer barely hitching one corner of his mouth, he reached into the bowl beside the plate of lime wedges and sprinkled salt over his saliva. “My friends bought you some drinks. It’d be rude not to drink ’em.” His gravelly voice conveyed the silent threat of consequences for any further perceived slights.
Did not see that coming.Damned if MacGyver’s stomach didn’t roll over as though it washishand that’d been licked.
Green eyes angry, the woman sat as soon as the biker released her.
He shoved the shot glass toward her again. “Go ahead. See that you take all of the salt into that pretty mouth of yours.” He adjusted the obvious bulge through the front of his jeans and threw a wink at the kid. As he dropped into his chair, he signaled the bartender. “Bring three more…and another round for my friends.”
MacGyver relaxed into his chair again, settling his ball cap more firmly on his head. The woman wasn’t in any immediate danger, unless she was allergic to the alcohol being forced upon her. The congressman’s text had saidimmediatelyandcritical.MacGyver’s gut told him to get her out of there now, but caution dictated he give them a little more time. At least two of them were well on their way to drinking themselves into a stupor, which would even the odds and make it less likely the woman would be hurt in the confrontation.
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.