Killer Countdown (Man on a Mission)

by Amelia Autin

  Carly stared at J.C. in growing disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” she demanded. “I can take care of myself and have been doing so for eighteen years. I’ve covered two wars and—”

  “Three ‘police actions,’” J.C. said, cutting her off. “Yeah, I know.” His smile held a hint of admiration. Then the smile vanished. “But you’ve never been an assassin’s target. You’ve never had someone gunning for you. It’s not the same thing at all. Trust me, I know.”

  Perplexed, she asked, “How do you know?”

  His lips tightened. “Seven years ago. Colombia. Medellín Cartel. And that’s all I’m going to tell you.”

  Carly considered this. “How come you’re still alive?”

  He grinned suddenly. “Long story, which you don’t have time for if you’re going to make that press conference.”

  “I can be ready to leave in five minutes,” she said. She pointed to her emergency suitcase standing in the corner of her office, the one she kept packed and ready so she could leave at a moment’s notice.

  J.C. shook his head. “Not until we settle this security thing—you can’t be on the lookout for a killer when you’re covering a story.”

  Frustrated, she said, “What do you suggest?” Her eyes narrowed with determination. “I’m going, J.C., no matter what you say. This is my story.”

  “Let’s compromise. The network has a chopper standing by to take you to Philly—you’ll be safe enough on that. I can have someone from a private security firm meet your flight and guard you while you’re there, then put you safely back on board the chopper afterward. How’s that?”

  It was an acceptable compromise—Carly wasn’t stupid enough to risk her life unnecessarily, not when she could do her job and still remain fairly safe. “Works for me.”

  She called Shane from the helicopter as soon as she was strapped in, while the pilot did his preflight checks. But after four rings her call went to voice mail, and she figured he was probably in the Senate chamber where he couldn’t answer. So she left a message, telling him where she was going, that she didn’t know exactly when she’d be back but it might be late and for him not to wait for her. She’d take a cab from the heliport to Niall’s condo.

  She considered sending Shane a text, too, but decided against it—the voice message told him everything he needed to know.

  As the helicopter began its slow ascent, she pulled her notebook from her purse and began jotting down the questions she’d ask at the press conference as well as the points she wanted to make on camera based on the answers she was anticipating receiving.

  She spared one thought for Shane, remembering how he’d taken her back to bed early this morning and just held her. They hadn’t made love, they’d just...cuddled. And she’d fallen a little deeper under his spell.

  * * *

  Shane spent most of the day on a low simmer. Never boiling over, but he knew it wouldn’t take much to set him off. His staff—with the exception of Dee-Dee—gave him a wide berth, as if they sensed he was bottling something explosive inside and wanted nothing to do with it or him.

  His wrath wasn’t aimed at the four men whose names were written in Carly’s notebook, although he’d started the day with a cold determination to discover which one had betrayed his trust. But his conversations that morning with the FBI and the agency had taken the edge off his anger where his staffers were concerned, and right now they were the least of his worries.

  No, his ire was reserved for one quietly beautiful, blue-eyed brunette who’d made a mockery of his attempts to protect her. Who’d gone off cool as you please to cover a story, leaving Shane a message that she’d get herself back to the security of the condo on her own. Every time he thought of her message, he ground his back teeth until his jaw ached.

  Part of Shane knew he was overreacting—until a week ago he’d barely been aware of Carly’s existence, and only from seeing her on TV. But now that he knew her...now that he’d held her in the stillness of the night...now that his life had forever been changed by the way her eyes smiled before her lips did...he couldn’t bear the idea of anything happening to her. Especially not because of him. If he hadn’t been at the Mayo Clinic last Saturday, she wouldn’t have been there. If someone hadn’t tried to kill him, she wouldn’t have tried to catch the would-be killer on her smartphone. And if he hadn’t been so damned sure he could keep her safe when she wasn’t at work, he would have hired bodyguards to watch her every minute of every day until the man trying to kill them was caught.

  He’d called Carly’s producer at the network...for all the good that did him. J.C. Burrows had been closemouthed until Shane admitted Carly herself had told him where she was heading. Burrows had then condescended to inform him the network had hired some rent-a-cop to protect her while she was in Philadelphia—as if that was good enough against a hired killer who might very well have her in his sights.

  Shane texted Carly three times throughout the day just to make sure she was alive, and her replies had told him she was. But he didn’t trust himself to call her. Didn’t trust he’d be able to keep the anger out of his voice, which he needed to do because Carly didn’t belong to him, much as he wanted her to. She hadn’t given him the right to care about her. Worry about her. In fact, she’d given him no rights at all where she was concerned—except sexually. He could take her to his bed...but he couldn’t take her to his heart.

  And that thought was killing him.

  * * *

  It was close to six-thirty when the cab Carly was riding in pulled up in front of the condo building. Night had already fallen, and though she wasn’t normally nervous at night, she slid her .22 out of her purse and into her overcoat pocket, then flicked the safety off. She hadn’t taken the gun to Philadelphia—she’d left it in a locker at the heliport. But she felt a little safer now that it was back in her possession.

  She paid the cab driver, grabbed the small suitcase from the seat beside her, glanced around to make sure no one was hiding in the shadows and slid out of the cab. Her purse was slung over her left shoulder, and her right hand was buried in her coat pocket, her fingers wrapped around the comforting touch of steel. But her heartbeat accelerated uncomfortably just the same. She didn’t dawdle once she was out of the cab, just entered the condo building as quickly as she could.

  She identified herself to the guard on duty because she didn’t have a key to Niall’s condo or the passcode to the elevator. The guard said, “I’ll have to call to confirm, ma’am.” He picked up the phone. “It’ll just take a minute.”

  Carly hoped Shane was already upstairs because she really didn’t want to wait in the lobby for his arrival. The well-lit interior turned the tall glass windows into mirrors, and she couldn’t see outside. That made her nervous. Made her heart jump. And made her breath come a little faster.

  “You can go up, ma’am,” the guard told her. He held out a piece of paper. “Here’s the code for the elevator. Key in the code before you press the floor number.”

  Shane and J.C. are right, Carly acknowledged, putting the safety back on her .22 as she rode up in the elevator. She hated admitting they were right and she was wrong—but it was different when you were a killer’s target. She could take care of herself under normal circumstances—but these weren’t normal circumstances. She’d been on edge all day, even with the temporary bodyguard provided by the network. Even though nothing untoward had happened. She’d tried not to let that feeling interfere with her job performance, but she wasn’t sure she’d been 100 percent successful. She was still jittery.

  Shane was waiting for her when she got off the elevator, and she’d never been more thankful to see anyone in her life. She dropped the suitcase, threw herself into Shane’s arms and surprised herself by bursting into tears.

  * * *

  Shane held Carly tight as she sobbed and sniffled and cried herself out—which
took about a minute and a half. Then she pulled away in obvious embarrassment and fumbled in her purse, but he anticipated what she was looking for and handed her the clean hanky from his pocket.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, wiping her eyes and face and wiping away what little makeup she wore at the same time. “Sorry for crying,” she said, stiff with what looked like shame over her weakness. “But you’re right—we have to catch him because I can’t go on like this.” She blew her nose with emphasis, then seemed to realize what she’d done and glanced contritely from the decidedly soiled cloth in her hand to Shane’s face. “Sorry about your hanky, too. I’ll buy you a new one.”

  That was the moment Shane fell in love with her.

  He’d been falling in love with her since they’d met in his hospital room, of course. And he’d known all day he wouldn’t be this angry with her seeming carelessness over her own safety if he didn’t care so much. But this moment—with Carly so ashamed because she’d cried, her pride in tatters yet having the grace to admit she was wrong and offering him an apology over something as meaningless as a dirty hanky—Shane knew there could never be another woman like her in the whole world. Not for him.

  * * *

  They were sitting in the living room, their arms wrapped around each other and Carly’s head on Shane’s shoulder when he confessed, “I was so angry with you today for going out where you’d be a sitting duck, when you know what this guy is capable of. It was like when you ran after the sniper to try to film him. Reckless.”

  “It’s my job. You can’t ask me not to do my job.”

  “I’m not.” Shane was silent for a moment. “But I can ask you to be careful, to not take unnecessary risks.”

  “Is that what you were doing when you joined the marines? When you saved that woman five years ago? Not taking risks?”

  “Unnecessary risks, I said. Every risk I’ve taken has been necessary. At least... I think that’s true.”

  “Yes, but who decides what’s necessary and unnecessary?”

  “I do,” he said promptly, then laughed ruefully and Carly laughed with him. “Okay, so that sounds pompous and self-important, along the lines of ‘If I ran the world...’”

  “That’s pretty common, so don’t beat yourself up over it,” she said. “We all think our own judgment is better than anyone else’s.”

  He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can’t make you do anything, Carly. And I hope I wouldn’t even if I could. All I can do is ask, so I’m asking. Please be more careful. It matters to me, more than you know.”

  “I will.” She raised her head so she could look him in the eyes. “You too, Shane. I’m counting the days until you’re no longer a target. We’re at T minus four days...but until then please don’t take any risks, whether you think they’re necessary or not.”

  Compunction prevented him from agreeing to her request the way she’d agreed to his—how could he promise not to take risks when he intended to make himself a target?

  A knock at the door saved him from having to answer. A quick glance at his watch told him it was seven on the dot, and—oh crap!—he hadn’t told Carly.

  She sat up straight. “Are you expecting anyone?” she asked in an undertone, as if she didn’t want whoever was outside to hear her and know someone was in the condo.

  “Yeah, I am.” The knock sounded again. “I meant to tell you...but you’ll know soon enough.” He kissed her quickly, then went to answer the door.

  Chapter 16

  Carly stood nervously, buttoning her blazer and tugging down her black pencil skirt—which had somehow ridden up her thighs—as she wondered who this could be and why Shane hadn’t mentioned someone was coming over.

  Male voices from the entryway—deep male voices that sounded impossibly alike—exchanged badinage and...laughter?

  Before she was ready Shane was back with another man, a shade taller than he was but with the same broad shoulders, same narrow waist and hips. Only instead of the power suit Shane wore to perfection, this man was wearing faded jeans and an olive-green Henley, his shearling jacket hanging open. His light brown hair was shaggy, not the near-military cut Shane sported. But his dark brown eyes were familiar to her and she instantly knew who this was.

  “You must be Niall Jones,” she said, moving forward and offering her right hand. “I’m Carly Edwards.”

  The man’s hand enfolded hers with a firm handshake she also recognized. He glanced at Shane, who shook his head. “I meant to tell her, but ran out of time. She must have figured it out on her own.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Edwards,” said the stranger who wasn’t a stranger. “But now I have to ask. How’d you know who I was?”

  “It’s Carly, and you have Shane’s eyes.”

  “Ahh.” He nodded, admiration evident. “You notice things, Carly, and you’re quick. I like that.”

  She let a tiny smile escape. “I knew a guy in Afghanistan who said you were either quick or you were dead.”

  A look of surprise flitted across his face for a second, then he said, “That’s right, you were an embedded reporter in Afghanistan, weren’t you?” He smiled, and Carly realized Niall and Shane shared another family trait—charm. He could charm the birds from the trees with that smile...or a woman’s clothes from her body. “I was there myself a million years ago,” Niall continued. “Shane, too.” He glanced at his brother, then returned his appreciative gaze—and killer smile—to Carly.

  Shane moved to Carly’s side, sliding an arm around her waist, and she could have sworn he was staking a claim. “Yeah, that’s something we have in common,” he told Niall. The glint in his eyes and the way his chin lifted were dead giveaways she wasn’t mistaken—Shane was giving his brother a definite “hands off” warning.

  If Carly had been a different kind of woman, she would have purred at the two very male animals facing off over her. As it was, she wanted to kick Shane. Kick Niall, too, for that matter. She wasn’t a prize to be won, and she had no intention of letting either of them think she was.

  She moved away a little, enough so Shane’s arm fell from her waist, but her quelling expression informed Niall she was immune to his charm, too. “I have to thank you for letting us stay here,” she told Shane’s brother. She lifted a hand to encompass their surroundings. “You have an impressive home—for a fortress.”

  The charming alpha male smile morphed into one a mischievous boy might use. “You’re welcome. I knew from the news coverage about the first attempt on Shane’s life, but he downplayed the danger. Then when I badgered him after the second attempt, he finally broke down and asked for my help, so I knew it had to be pretty serious—you might have noticed he has a slight tendency to think he can handle everything on his own.”

  Carly’s eyes slid toward Shane, then back to Niall. “A slight tendency, yes,” she agreed drily.

  “I had to finish a job in...well, anyway, I had to finish a job, but I flew back to DC as soon as I could. Sorry, bro,” he said softly, regretfully, looking at Shane. “It was a long flight and I barely made it back in time.”

  Shane shook his head. “You’ll get no complaints from me.”

  Niall returned his attention to Carly. “I had a hunch—which I didn’t tell him about—and as soon as I got off the plane I headed to his house. I was just in time to see someone walking out, and I—”

  “It was you?” Carly caught her breath. “You’re the one who reported the bomb?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t know it was a bomb, of course, and I didn’t have time to check it out. But I knew whoever it was had no business being in Shane’s house, so I called Shane to warn him and stayed on the guy’s tail. Followed him right to your town house, which I didn’t know was yours.” He grimaced. “Pissed me off no end when my phone call to nine-one-one didn’t get faster results. The guy was in and out o
f your town house in five minutes. I followed him back to his truck, and was faced with a dilemma. Continue to follow him? Or go back to meet the first responders at your place and sign the affidavit for a search warrant.” He shrugged. “You know what I decided.”

  Overwhelming gratitude surged through her. Not so much for what Niall had done to save her, although that was part of it, but that he’d been instrumental in saving his brother. She took two steps forward, placed her hands on Niall’s arms and kissed his cheek. “I can never thank you enough for saving Shane,” she murmured as she released him and stepped back. “And for saving me.”

  The wicked gleam returned to Niall’s eyes, and he tapped his other cheek. “You can try,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

  Shane cleared his throat ominously, and Carly couldn’t help but smile. She knew Niall was just teasing—using her to get his brother’s goat. That close bond of brothers only a year apart not unusually also contained a little one-upmanship. A little competition. Okay, maybe a lot of competition, but friendly, not adversarial.

  “Let’s sit,” Shane said abruptly. Niall took the recliner, while Shane drew Carly to his side on the couch opposite, and this time she didn’t protest. His brother might be amused at triggering latent jealousy in Shane, but she didn’t want any part of it—she’d never believed that inciting jealousy in a man belonged in a serious relationship.

  Serious relationship. That’s what she and Shane had. Forget that they’d only known each other eight days. Eight days? she asked herself suddenly, and counted back, confirming that yes, she’d walked into Shane’s hospital room eight days ago. But the amount of time she’d known him didn’t matter. She knew him. She knew the man he was. The man he tried so hard to be. And he knew the woman she tried to be, too.

  Much of the time they’d spent together had been fraught with danger, and practically from the beginning Shane had done his best to protect her—even when he barely knew her—but that wasn’t what drew her to him. Not entirely. It wasn’t just his stellar character, his strong moral compass, although that was part of it, of course. It wasn’t that he was a hot stud who could turn her on faster than a light switch, either—not that she was complaining. And it certainly wasn’t the star quality attached to his being a US senator—although the drive and determination that had pushed him into the role appealed to her. It’s a combination of all those things, she acknowledged. And one thing more. Shane, for all his physical and moral strength, for all his courage, wasn’t invulnerable. Not just to the malady he’d been diagnosed with, but emotionally, as well.