Killer Countdown (Man on a Mission)

by Amelia Autin

  A thought crept into her mind on catlike feet and refused to leave, no matter how she tried to nudge it away. He loves you, Carly. He won’t say it—because you told him you didn’t want his love. But he loves you.

  Suddenly the conversation Shane and Niall had been carrying on while she was lost in her thoughts impinged on her consciousness.

  “Are you crazy?” Niall was asking. “Or do you think I am? I’m not going to let you do that.”

  Shane’s response was low and implacable. “It’s the only way. If Carly’s right, once the pipeline vote is cast I’m off the hook—there’s no need to kill me. But she’ll never be safe...until this guy is locked away.”

  “Do what?” she asked, glancing from Shane to Niall.

  “Idiot here thinks I’m going to let him act as live bait to draw out the hit man,” Niall said fiercely.

  Her gaze swiveled sharply back to Shane as she placed a hand over his heart. “You can’t.” Breathless. Panicked. “No risks, remember? Necessary or not.”

  Shane’s hand gently closed over hers, intertwining their fingers. “I never promised,” he said, his voice very deep. “It’s the only way, Carly.”

  All she could think was that she couldn’t lose Shane, too. Losing Jack had devastated her. Losing Shane—the man she’d tried so hard not to love—would destroy her. She couldn’t let it happen. “No. You’re not doing this.”

  He kissed her hand, then lowered it to her own lap. “Yes,” he said softly, “I am.”

  He stood and shifted his attention to his brother. “You can help me or not,” he said, his voice as hard as steel. “But you can’t stop me. If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone else who will.”

  “Damn it, Shane!” Niall stood in confrontation.

  “It’s not open for discussion. Yes or no?”

  Niall’s voice was tight with frustration. “Yes, damn it. Of course yes. You know I can’t say no.”

  Carly watched as a faint smile touched Shane’s lips, and he held out his left fist to his brother. The two men fist bumped, then did some kind of complicated hand gestures she figured were left over from their childhood. Then Shane said, “Knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

  “Damn it, Shane,” Niall repeated, still upset. “I’ll never forgive you if you let yourself be killed.”

  Shane’s smile spread. “Now that,” he said with deliberate provocation, “will be entirely in your hands, bro.”

  * * *

  Niall had headed out an hour later, after he and Shane had worked out a few specifics. He’d declined when his brother had reminded him the condo had two bedrooms, saying, “I’ve got other plans.” The very male gleam in his eyes had sent a clear message those plans involved a woman. “Besides,” he’d added, glancing at Carly, “three’s a crowd.”

  After he’d left, Shane had gone into Niall’s study and quietly closed the door—to do what, Carly had no idea. She’d gone into the kitchen to see about a late dinner, needing something to distract her from the fact that Shane was going to do what he was going to do, even though she’d begged him not to. Well, not begged, she acknowledged after a moment’s reflection, as she pulled another frozen meal from the freezer—pot roast this time. She’d flat out told Shane, You’re not doing this. To which he’d replied in a voice that brooked no gainsaying, Yes, I am.

  Would it have made a difference if she’d begged? she wondered. If she’d made it a choice between her and his decision to deliberately let himself be a target...to save her?

  She read the instructions on the back of the pot-roast package, cracked the lid, popped the box in the microwave and keyed in the time. Then she leaned her hands on the counter and bowed her head, tears of shame forcing her eyes closed.

  * * *

  Shane sat at Niall’s desk and dialed the number for his press secretary, Mike Adamson. “Is that request for Sunday still open?” he asked when Mike answered the phone and identified himself. Shane had been invited by Old Town University yesterday to fill in for one of the speakers on a panel who’d had to back out at the last minute for personal reasons. The topic—Climate Change: Fact or Fiction?—was one of his hot button issues. But Shane had originally declined at his staff’s insistence—they didn’t want him appearing in public if he didn’t have to. But now...

  “I think so,” Mike replied. “I don’t think they’ve lined up anyone else yet. But are you sure you want to do this?” Unspoken were the discussion at the staff meeting yesterday and its conclusion.

  “Sure.” Shane’s mind was already plotting ways and means.

  “Let me make a call and get right back to you.” Three minutes later Shane’s cell phone rang. “They’re thrilled you can make it after all,” Mike said. “Want me to let Denise know?” Denise was Shane’s part-time speech writer. Shane wrote a lot of his speeches himself, but he usually gave them to Denise for final polishing. And she occasionally composed speeches for him when there just weren’t enough hours in the day for him to do everything.

  “Would you?” Shane asked now. “We’ve got that policy paper she can use as a starting point, and the press release you wrote two months ago. If she can put something together for my review by tomorrow night, that would be great. I know tomorrow’s Saturday, but—”

  “Don’t worry,” Mike interrupted. “She’s not doing anything special.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Well, uh...” Mike fumbled for words. “Because she and I were just going to hang out together. Maybe take in a movie. But this is more important.”

  Well, well, well, Shane thought, amused. His press secretary and his speech writer. They were perfect for each other, he realized now, but it had never occurred to him before. “If you’re sure Denise won’t mind...”

  * * *

  Carly gripped the counter, holding back the tears with effort. You can’t, she told herself. You can’t ask Shane to be less than the man he is. Less than the man you love.

  She’d come close this evening. Horribly close. Just because she was afraid of losing the man she loved—again—she’d wanted to diminish him. Wrap him up safe and secure and tuck him away where he couldn’t get hurt so her heart wouldn’t break.

  But just as he’d known he couldn’t ask her not to take any risks, especially where her job was concerned, she couldn’t expect that of him, either. In his mind this was a necessary risk, because by his very nature he was a protector...and because he loved her.

  Carly wiped the tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands—she’d cried more in the past week than she’d cried in the eight years since...Jack. Since she’d encased her heart in ice after Jack’s death.

  Loving Shane had melted that ice. Had drawn her emotions back to the surface from the dark place where she’d buried them, and now the least little thing seemed to set her off.

  Not that this was a little thing. It wasn’t. But she had to love Shane as he was. Which meant being vulnerable again. Which meant letting him do what he needed to do because of who he was. Which meant...risking everything.

  On that note she set her mouth in determined lines. Then she went looking for Shane.

  * * *

  Shane hung up the phone on his fifth and last call. After locking down the speech invitation with Mike, he’d called the four men on the suspect list. He’d let them know exactly where he’d be Sunday afternoon. Exactly when. One of them—he didn’t know which one—would get the ball rolling. Would contact the would-be killer...and set Shane up to be assassinated.

  Which one? he wondered. It hurt not knowing because he’d trusted these men. Laughed with them. Strategized with them. Except for Terry, they’d all been with him since the beginning. Not that long as political careers went, but still...

  He didn’t know what—if anything—the FBI had uncovered so far on the four suspects. Susp
ects? he asked himself, but was forced to admit that’s what they were. And that reminded him that when this was all over, things wouldn’t be the same. There was no way the other three wouldn’t learn they’d been suspected, right along with the man who was guilty. Which meant it would be a long time before trust would be restored...both ways. If it could ever be restored.

  A tap on the door interrupted his thoughts, then the door opened and Carly stood there. “We need to talk,” she said. And from the deadly serious expression on her face, he feared the worst, mentally girding his loins against what he thought she might try to convince him to do.

  “Come on in.”

  She walked in, not bothering to close the door behind her. She glanced around the room, then took a seat in front of the desk, facing him. “Why do I feel as if I’ve entered a time warp into the future?” she asked, her lips curving upward with a touch of humor.

  Shane’s lips twitched in response. “Maybe because Niall was always hooked on sci-fi and fantasy?” He relaxed slightly. “Niall and I used to tease Liam that he was born in the wrong time—that he was a swashbuckling twelfth-century knight-errant who somehow ended up in the twentieth century. But Niall was just the opposite. He was born to roam the stars as a kind of intergalactic Wyatt Earp, bringing law and order to lawless galaxies...but the technology doesn’t exist yet.”

  “How about you? Who was your childhood hero?”

  He hesitated. “Didn’t have one.”

  She cocked her head to one side and considered him. “Now you see, you shouldn’t have hesitated before you answered. That gave you away.” Her eyes held understanding. “You had a hero. Who?”

  There was just a hint of coaxing in her voice, and Shane wasn’t proof against it. “George Bailey.”

  “It’s a Wonderful Life?” she asked. “That George Bailey?”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t volunteer anything more, but somehow Carly knew.

  “Because he made a difference,” she said softly, her eyes glistening with tears she blinked back. “Because he was an everyday hero.”

  She made a little hiccupping sound. “Oh, Shane.” Her gaze met his, and there was something in those tear-damp blue eyes that made him feel invincible. As if he could accomplish anything. As if he were her hero. “I—” She stopped, swallowed hard, then said, “I owe you another apology.”

  “Why?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t tell you.”

  He stared at her, perplexed. “Why can’t you?”

  “I’m too ashamed,” she admitted finally, her voice very low.

  Something dinged from the direction of the kitchen, and Carly jumped up. “Dinner’s ready.” She practically ran from the room.

  Shane went after her, and caught her before she’d gone ten steps. He grasped her arm and swung her around to face him. “Carly.”

  Then he was kissing her because he couldn’t not kiss her. Because the hard hot knot of need that gripped him suddenly had to find release somehow, release that could only be found in Carly’s arms. And she was kissing him back, her body plastered against his as if she wanted to crawl inside his skin to get closer.

  He tried to lift her up so she could straddle him, but she made the little strangled gurgle of laughter deep in her throat that he loved, and said, “I can’t. My skirt’s too tight.”

  He reached behind her and made quick work of the zipper, sliding the skirt over her hips until she could wriggle free. She was already unbuttoning her black blazer, which she shrugged off and dropped to the floor. Leaving her standing there wearing a semi-sheer pale blue blouse—through which he could see the outline of her bra and a hint of cleavage—a black-and-red scarf, pantyhose and the tiniest scrap of satin and lace. All of which he wanted to tear off.

  “One of us is overdressed,” she said with fake solemnity, and Shane realized this time it was him. He stripped in nothing flat, watching as Carly did the same. She had no false modesty—and he loved that about her. She knew what she looked like without clothes and was proud of how she’d kept herself in shape. Not that Shane would have cared one way or the other—a few pounds here or there wouldn’t have made a damned bit of difference to the desire that raged through him. He just wanted in.

  “Bedroom,” he managed to say when Carly placed her hands on his shoulders and hopped as he lifted her naked body to his. “Condom.”

  Those were the last words he spoke...until he moaned her name at the end.

  Chapter 17

  The pot roast was cold and dry by the time they made it back into the kitchen, but Carly added a little water and put the box back into the microwave for a couple of minutes. “It won’t be gourmet, but it should be edible,” she told Shane. “Wine will help.”

  She went to the pantry and came back with another bottle of wine, a merlot this time—Tire Pé Diem. She removed the cork and opened the microwave, splashed a little of the wine over the meat, then restarted the microwave. She turned and caught Shane watching her, an amused smile on his face. “What?”

  “Cook much?”

  She shook her head. “But I do know how to pair wine with food. And I know how to add a little zest to stuff from the freezer. My mom taught me the basics of cooking years ago, but I never was all that interested. Jack was—” She cut off what she had been about to say, and turned away to grab wineglasses from the cabinet.

  Shane came up behind her and put his hands on her arms. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

  Her hand was trembling a little as she poured the merlot into the wineglasses. “Do what?”

  “You don’t have to pretend Jack never existed. Not with me.”

  She put the bottle down because she was in danger of dropping it. Then she turned around and looked directly up at him. “You said it was a hell of a thing to learn I’d almost married someone else. I didn’t want to...” She trailed off, unsure exactly what she wanted to say.

  “Yeah, but you said that was a different woman.”

  “Yes.” She tried to make sense of her chaotic thoughts. “But when Niall was here...”

  “Ahh.” Shane smiled and slid his hands down to her waist. “Now the light dawns. You thought because I was jealous of the way Niall looked at you that I’m jealous of Jack.”

  “Aren’t you?” She hadn’t meant to ask him that question. Okay, yes, she had meant to, but not so bluntly. Now that she had, though...

  His smile twisted a little. “I’m only jealous because you loved him enough to marry him. Not for any other reason.”

  That sounded suspiciously like a declaration of love, and Carly’s heart leaped. She loved Shane. Despite her brain’s insistence that she protect her heart, she just hadn’t been able to do it, and she loved him more every hour. If he loved her, too...

  The microwave dinged again, and the moment was lost. Shane turned away to take the pot roast out and put it on the counter, then served up generous helpings for both of them and set them on the table. Carly brought over the wineglasses, then fetched the silverware and napkins. She found it surprising and a little intriguing that Niall had cloth napkins, not paper ones. And again she wondered if that was Shane’s preference, too. So she asked him.

  “Yeah, we get it from our mom. She always had cloth napkins, so paper ones seem chintzy and not very substantial.” He forked a bite of meat and chewed thoughtfully. “You’re right. It’s not gourmet, but it’s not bad. And the wine does help.”

  “Tell me about your mom.” She couldn’t help the little pang of pain that always hit her when she remembered her own mother, who’d died when she was seventeen, along with Carly’s father. In a way it was good for them they’d gone together, because they’d loved each other so much. But that had meant Carly and Tahra had been orphaned in one fell swoop—and Tahra had only been ten at the time.

  She brought her atte
ntion back to Shane. “Five kids,” he was saying. “Four strapping boys and then finally the little girl she’d always wanted. She’d never admit it,” he said, sipping at his wine, an appreciative expression on his face. “But we all knew.” He chuckled softly to himself. “Keira wasn’t the daughter she’d expected, though. Far from it.”

  “How so?” Carly’s plate was almost untouched, so she quickly took a bite.

  “Oh, I think my mom was looking forward to ribbons and bows, that sort of thing—the kind of girl she’d been raised to be. But Keira wasn’t interested in anything ‘girlie.’ She was a scrapper. I think my dad had a lot to do with that.”

  “In what way?”

  Shane said reflectively, “My dad was an old-school marine. You know the type. Tears were for sissies. Don’t get me wrong—we all loved him, and when he passed away, it just about killed us. My mom, too. But he wasn’t perfect. And one of his...well, imperfections, had to do with how he saw gender roles.”

  “I see.”

  “I wonder if you do.” His face took on a thoughtful mien. “Growing up, my brothers and I didn’t give Keira much respect. We loved her, but she was a girl, even though she tried to be one of the boys.” He ate the last bite from his plate. “Keira always had to fight for respect. She was ten when I left home, but she was feisty even then, and only became more so as she got older. She used to try to scrap with Alec and Liam, but they knew better—Dad would have killed them.” He smiled slightly. “I quickly learned in the Corps that my attitude toward women—which I’d gotten from my dad—needed a little—” he cleared his throat “—adjustment.”