Las Vegas“M
r. Davis?” Shake stepped away from the cab rank outside McCarran Airport’s arrivals area and saw a sweet-faced blonde woman in jeans and a Marine Corps t-shirt walking his way. He smiled and decided the fulsome description Mike Stokey provided over the phone was surprisingly accurate. She offered a hand and gave his a firm grip. “You’ve got to be Shake Davis.” She laughed and leaned in to study his face. “Mike said to look for a big white-haired guy that looks like he really doesn’t want to kill you—but has a plan to do so in a heartbeat.”
“You’re safe, I assure you.” Shake chuckled and shook his head. “You’ve got to be Linda. Mike was dead wrong about me but he wasn’t lying about you.”
“The car’s over in short-term parking.” She pointed at Shake’s old parachute kit bag cove
