Killer Countdown (Man on a Mission) Page 15

  * * *

  Carly slipped from the bed as quietly as she could so as not to wake Shane. She grabbed her robe from the chair beside the bed, belted it firmly around her waist, found her slippers, then crept from the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.

  She padded to the table by the front door where she’d left her purse and pulled out a pen and her notebook. She always thought better with them. Her mini recorder was great for recording conversations with her interview subjects, but her notebook was where she made sense of everything. And she needed to make sense of something now because she couldn’t sleep until she tried.

  She headed for the kitchen, debating whether she wanted to make a pot of coffee or not, and decided against it. Not that the caffeine would keep her awake—she could drink coffee any time of the day or night and it didn’t bother her—she just didn’t want to waste the time right now. An idea was buzzing in her brain and she needed to get her thoughts down on paper ASAP.

  She sat at the kitchen table, opened her notebook to a fresh page and started jotting down random words and phrases. Every so often she circled one, then drew a line connecting it to another. And another.

  She propped her elbow on the table and leaned her head on one hand—thumb beneath her chin, two fingers supporting her cheek, her ring finger across her lips—as she stared down at what she’d written. She shook her head a couple of times and drew Xs over a few words and phrases, then wrote something else in their place.

  The hair on the back of her neck began to rise as a picture started taking shape. She scribbled one word and circled it three times, then drew lines from it to the rest of her notations. “It fits,” she whispered. “Oh my God, it all fits.”

  “Can’t sleep?”

  Carly jumped and gasped when Shane spoke from the doorway, fear-induced adrenaline coursing through her body. “Oh my God,” she breathed, “you scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He pulled out a chair and took a seat across from her, then tapped a finger on her notations. “What are you working on?”

  She glanced from his face to her notebook, and back again. “I think I know why you’ve been targeted. And it doesn’t have anything to do with the New World Militia.”

  In Carly’s experience men had a tendency to dismiss a woman’s ideas, especially if they contradicted his. That was one of the main reasons she’d switched from her previous network to her current one, even though some people might have viewed the move as something of a demotion career-wise. As much as she clashed with J.C. at times, he never dismissed her ideas. He challenged them, made her defend them, but he never dismissed them out of hand.

  So she knew an instant of surprise when Shane didn’t automatically dismiss her statement. But then she chastised herself for lumping Shane in with the rest of mankind. That’s not who he is and you know it in your heart. She couldn’t have loved Shane if he was like that.

  “So if it’s not the New World Militia,” he said, his words slow and measured as he obviously tried to read her notes upside down, “then who?”

  “Follow the money,” she said softly, holding his gaze.

  It took him a minute, then his eyes widened in disbelief. “The pipeline?”

  She nodded. “Not retaliation. Just greed.”

  He looked blown away. “That’s...not possible.” When she just continued to stare at him steadily, he said, “I’m not even the leading voice of the opposition to the pipeline bill.”

  “But you are the pivotal vote,” she reminded him. “As it stands now, the vote is split right down party lines, and you’re an independent. But it’s not just that. You’re passionate and eloquent in your opposition, and you’ll sway others to your side.” She thought for a moment. “Remember what you told me about the people who came forward to testify in that domestic terrorism case, the ones who said your actions that day inspired them to have the courage to speak up?” She put her hand on his. “You have that effect on people, Shane. You make them examine their consciences. You make them do things they might not otherwise do.”

  He was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “That might be true, but it doesn’t track. There were two assassination attempts before I went public with my opposition. So no one knew how I intended to vote.”

  “No one?” She gave him a skeptical look. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Only my—” He stopped short.

  “Only your...staff?”

  “Oh God.” He closed his eyes, and Carly’s heart went out to him. When his eyes opened again, there was something cold and hard in their depths that hurt her, because she knew the potential betrayal of his trust devastated him.

  She squeezed his hand in encouragement, and said, “Who knew? All your staff? Or just certain ones?” She turned to a clean page in her notebook, swiveled it around and gently pushed it in his direction. She held out the pen. “Write down their names.”

  He took the pen from her, but didn’t start writing. “Not Dee-Dee,” he said, and the note of thankfulness in his voice wasn’t lost on her. “She probably guessed, but she didn’t know—not until I returned from Arizona.”

  “Okay, that’s good. She’s probably in the clear. Who else?”

  “Not Mike Adamson, my press secretary. There’s a lot I don’t tell him until I’m ready to go public. Not because I don’t trust him, but because he gets asked a lot of questions by the press, and I don’t like to put him in the position where he has to dissimilate. If he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, and he can answer with a clear conscience.”

  “That’s two who probably didn’t know and couldn’t betray you. Now tell me who for sure did know...because you discussed it with them.”

  * * *

  Shane stared over Carly’s shoulder, remembering the strategy session in his office two weeks before he’d flown out and checked himself into the Mayo Clinic. Then he glanced down at Carly’s notebook, clicked the pen in his hand and wrote six titles, followed by six names.

  Chief of staff—Marie-Therese Guidry.

  Deputy chief of staff—Bobby Vernon.

  Chief counsel—LaWanda Jackson.

  Legislative director—Hank Warren.

  Senior legislative assistant—Miguel de Santos.

  Legislative correspondent—Terry Chan.

  “That’s it,” he said. “That’s everyone who knew for certain.” Then he grimaced. “Of course, any of these six could have mentioned it to someone else, either on my staff or off it. There’s no way to know for sure.”

  “Let’s assume for now these six are an all-inclusive list,” Carly said with practical matter-of-factness, “because we have to start somewhere. Now of these six, who would you rule out?”

  “The two women,” he replied immediately.

  “Because they’re women?”

  “No,” he said patiently. “Because Marie-Therese is an ardent environmentalist who opposes ANWR drilling,” he explained, referring to drilling for oil in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. “So of course she’s against the proposed pipeline that will have such a devastating environmental impact. And LaWanda is the one who ferreted out the money men behind the pipeline bill. Half of what I know about the bill’s supporters and its egregious clauses comes from them.”

  “Okay, I’ll buy that,” Carly said. “That leaves four. Are there any you would cross off the list?”

  He thought long and hard, then shook his head with real regret. “No. I...no.”

  She ran her pointer finger over her bottom teeth, then tapped them with a fingernail—a little habit she had when she was thinking hard, he realized suddenly. Then she said, “If you can’t rule any of them out, are there any you’d particularly rule in? And before you answer that,” she rushed to add, “ask yourself if any of them expressed dissatisfaction with the way
you intended to vote, and tried to get you to change your mind. Put that on one side. On the other, have any of them shown signs of unexplained affluence? Money they shouldn’t have?”

  “Miguel,” Shane said slowly, thinking back to the strategy session. “He kept emphasizing the jobs the pipeline would create, never mind the drawbacks. But that’s not unusual for him—that’s sort of the role he has taken on, playing devil’s advocate.” He thought some more. “Hank came into quite a bit of money recently, but it wasn’t unexplained. His father died, and Hank’s an only child.”

  Shane paused, and Carly said, “Keep going. What about the other two?”

  “There’s Bobby. But with him it’s not unexplained wealth—just the opposite. He’s paying child support to two ex-wives, and he always seems to be strapped for cash. But I’ve known him since high school—we played football together—and I can’t believe...”

  He seemed lost in thought, and after a minute of silence Carly asked, “And the last guy? Terry?”

  “Terry’s the newest member of my staff, so if I had to pick one it might be, I guess I’d pick him for that reason—although it doesn’t seem fair to suspect him for that reason alone. But the other three have been with me since the beginning, when I ran for the House. Terry just came on board nine months ago when he graduated from college. I don’t really know much about his private life. He’s kind of a loner.”

  Shane scoured his mind for anything else, but came up blank. “That’s all I can think of.”

  “That’s okay,” Carly reassured him. “Four names. Four suspects. It could be any one of them, or it could be none of them. Turn their names and the new theory over to the FBI first thing in the morning, and let them take it from there.”

  “And the agency,” he reminded her.

  “And the agency,” she agreed. “Although if the New World Militia isn’t involved...” She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t have to. If that was eliminated as a possibility, the agency would probably defer to the FBI and bow out of the investigation.

  Carly yawned suddenly, glanced at the clock on the microwave and made a face. Shane’s gaze followed hers, and he saw it was past two. He stood and held out his hand. “Let’s go back to bed,” he invited. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight.”

  She yawned again. “You’re right.” Her eyes met his, and there was contrition in those bright blue orbs. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice very quiet yet full of understanding as she rose and took his hand. “I know this isn’t something you wanted to hear.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and she did the same to him. There was such consolation in her embrace, such silent caring, and all at once Shane wondered how the hell he’d ever survived without Carly in his life. She’d become the most important person in his world so quickly, he’d been blindsided.

  Would he change it if he could? Hell no! He’d been alone for so long he’d almost forgotten what it was like not to be alone. Not to have to deal with life’s hard knocks on his own. He’d almost forgotten the tender comfort of a woman’s presence.

  His life was now divided into two distinct parts, as if a line of demarcation separated them. BC—before Carly. And now. He wouldn’t trade now for anything you could offer him, not even freedom from the seizures and the diagnosis that had brought his world crashing down on him a week ago.

  Then he wondered what the hell he was going to do when she called it quits. Because even though what was between them wasn’t just sex, even though they were far beyond casual bedmates, the bottom line was Carly had never retracted her emotional distance requirement. Which meant at some point she would be gone. Leaving him bereft...and devastated.

  Carly raised her head from his shoulder, disrupting his desolate thoughts, and said, “At least now we have a deadline. And in a funny way, that’s a good thing. If you’re not dead before the vote on the pipeline bill, killing you no longer matters. You’ll no longer be a target. When is the vote?”

  “Tuesday...assuming the debate ends by then, which the president pro-tem assures me it will be.” Then he added, “But even if I’m in the clear, that doesn’t mean you’ll be.” His face hardened to match his voice. “You saw him, Carly. He thinks you can identify him. Which means we have to catch him. Otherwise...”

  He couldn’t fathom letting anything happen to her. He hadn’t protected Wendy fifteen years ago—he would protect Carly no matter what. Even if it meant putting his life on the line to draw the assassin out. Even if he died for it.

  Chapter 15

  Shane was just taking his seat on the Senate floor when his smartphone dinged for an incoming text. He usually switched the notification sound off and the vibrate on when heading down to the floor, but he’d forgotten this time.

  He glanced at the text, then cursed silently. U R right. Plates stolen.

  It was too much to hope for that whoever was following him last night would have slipped up enough to use his own license plates, especially since Shane already knew the hit man had used stolen plates before when he’d left the bombs at his house and Carly’s. But it would have made tracking him down a lot easier. And a lot less deadly.

  He already knew the answer—who but the would-be assassin would use stolen plates?—but beneath his desk he surreptitiously tapped out, FBI? Agency?

  No. Just the one word, but it decided him.

  He glanced left and right, but no one was paying him the least attention. As was often the case, senators filed in late and took their places as if they had all the time in the world. Shane never did that, but he was the exception rather than the rule.

  Need another favor, he typed.

  He smiled to himself at the response. Tell me something I don’t know. Before he could reply, another text arrived. My place. Tonight. 7.

  He replied, You’re not working?

  24/7. Window.

  Shane chuckled softly, shaking his head. So Niall had a window of opportunity with his job, did he? As if Shane were stupid enough to believe that.

  The good news was that he didn’t need to rely on the FBI or the agency to set up the sting. Not that he didn’t trust them, but he didn’t need someone telling him he couldn’t put himself out there as live bait. Because he had every intention of doing just that to catch the hit man before he could kill Carly.

  * * *

  Carly looked up from her desk when J.C. stuck his head inside her door. “You’re early...for you,” he said, moving to fill the doorway. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. The senator is a robin, and night owl you is rolling over and exposing your tender underbelly in surrender.”

  She told him what he could do with himself, and he merely laughed before taking a seat in front of her desk. “But you are sleeping with him, right?”

  She ignored the question. “What do you want, J.C.?” she asked pointedly. “And you’d better have a good reason for being here. Because, you know, I could file a sexual harassment claim. And don’t think I won’t.”

  He grinned unrepentantly. “Overnights are in. I thought you might be interested.”

  That made her sit up. “What do they say?”

  “We smeared the competition. Your interview with the wife and kids was the kicker. Especially spliced in between those scenes from the dash-cam video. The viewers were riveted.”

  Carly allowed herself a tiny smile. That had been her idea, and J.C. had enthusiastically endorsed it. “So what’s our follow-up?” she asked.

  “Philadelphia mayor and chief of police are holding a press conference this afternoon. Damage control. Too little, too late, but...” He shrugged. “I’ve got a crew standing by in Philly to cover, but I’d rather it was you.” He glanced at his watch. “You’d have to leave within the hour, though, to make it...if you want to go.”

  She frowned. “If I want to go? What kind of questi
on is that? Of course I want to go.”

  “You don’t have to check in with the senator first?”

  “What century are you living in, J.C.?” she asked fiercely. “This is my job. I don’t need to ask anyone’s permission to do my job.”

  J.C. held up both his hands, palms out. “Hang on, Carly. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “Look, the FBI was here early Monday morning. And again Wednesday.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll be honest. I pretty much refused to answer their questions on Monday because I could tell from the get-go they were leaning toward the bomb in the senator’s car being some kind of publicity stunt. How do you think I found out so quickly that morning and called you?”

  “I...” She was nonplussed. “You have sources, J.C., just as I do. I never really thought about it.”

  “I knew it wasn’t a publicity stunt, and the FBI should have known it, too—the assassination attempt in Arizona should have clued them in if nothing else,” he said drily. “Unless they thought that was a stunt, too.” His expression left no doubt what his opinion on that theory was. “And I’d met Senator Jones the day before, so I knew the FBI was barking up the wrong tree. Besides, I know you. You’d never lend yourself to something underhanded like that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But after the bombs were left in your homes...the FBI seemed to take the threat more seriously. And they wanted to know whatever I could tell them about what you witnessed in Arizona. Journalistic confidentiality be damned.” He snorted. “I told them they should view the video you made of the sniper—which they already had. And I said they should talk to you directly. Then I told them to bugger off.”

  Carly bit her lip to keep from laughing because the offensive slang phrase was so unusual coming from J.C. “Thank you,” she said politely when she had herself under control.

  “You’re welcome. But I didn’t tell you this to earn your appreciation. I’m concerned for your safety, Carly. I’ve tried to keep an eye on you here—and besides, this building is pretty secure—but my sources indicate you’ve spent your nights with Senator Jones. And that, let me tell you, has taken a load off my mind.”