Killer Countdown (Man on a Mission) Read online

  “What am I when I’m not a white knight?”

  “Well, sometimes you’re a hot stud.”

  If he’d been drinking something, he would have choked. As it was, he spluttered with laughter. But something about the mischievous expression on her face stoked his male ego...which needed stoking after his earlier confession about what he saw as his weakness. “Thanks for the compliment... I think.”

  “It is a compliment...as if you needed one after all the times I...we...” Her cheeks were tinted with a hint of pink.

  “So what am I when I’m not a white knight or a hot stud?” He was trying to keep it light, but God help him, he needed to know.

  Her eyes softened. “You’re a man I admire tremendously. A gentleman with a strict moral code, who believes passionately in right and wrong and who’s willing to fight the good fight even when he knows he might not win...this time. A man who doesn’t give up, though. Who never surrenders. Not perfect, but you try.”

  His heart swelled with love...the love Carly had professed she didn’t want. He wanted to say something in response, but the only words that came to mind were the words he was forbidden to say. He brushed her hair gently away from her face, tucking it behind one ear. “Thank you,” he said, clearing his throat as he finally found the words that hit the right light note. “That means a lot coming from you.”

  Her lips turned up in a faint smile, but her eyes were vulnerable when she asked, “So how do you see me?”

  A darling, he wanted to say. The only woman I want from now until eternity. But he couldn’t say those things. He could only think them. “Tiger shark,” he said at last. “But that’s a compliment—you never give up, either. You’re smart. Very smart. And ethical. Stubborn as hell...but not too proud to admit your mistakes. A true lady.” His voice dropped a notch. “With a body I can’t stop thinking about.”

  The vulnerability in her eyes vanished, and she drawled in that soft Virginia accent she used when she wanted to tease him, “Well, at least you didn’t list that last thing first.”

  * * *

  “I’m going with you,” Carly told Shane on Sunday, after lunch. “And that is that.”

  “Not in this lifetime,” he responded, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.

  “I’m not letting you make yourself a target without me.”

  He caught her arms with his hands and shook her. “This is not happening,” he said harshly. “The only reason I’m making myself a target is to catch this guy before he can kill you. That means you stay here!”

  Her face was as determined as he felt. “I know why you’re doing this, and I’m not trying to stop you. I want to, but I won’t. But you’re not taking this risk without backup.”

  “I’ve got Niall. I don’t need you.”

  Hurt flashed in and out of her eyes so quickly he thought he must have imagined it. Then her face turned stony. “Fine.” Her lips barely moved. “You win again, Shane.” She pulled free from his grasp and ran into the bedroom. Then he heard the unmistakable click of the door lock.

  He stared at the locked door for a moment, pain clawing through him like a wild thing. Carly didn’t understand. If anything happened to her, the sniper might as well put a bullet through him, as well, because his life would effectively be over.

  Just tell her, an insidious little voice in the back of his skull whispered. You may never have another chance.

  Shane moved to the door and placed his palm flat against it, as if he could touch Carly through the barrier. “No,” he whispered, fighting the temptation. He couldn’t tell Carly he loved her, then deliberately put himself in harm’s way. I’ll be damned before I’ll hurt her the way Jack did. It wasn’t the same situation—he wasn’t committing suicide, leaving Carly to pick up the pieces of her shattered life alone—but it was close enough. If something went wrong, Carly wasn’t going to have deal with the death of another man who’d professed to love her. Not happening, he told himself silently. Not. Happening.

  There was a sharp rap at the front door, and Shane glanced at his watch. It was twelve-thirty. He and Niall had arranged to go to the university together, early, and his brother was nothing if not precisely on time.

  * * *

  The doors to Adams Hall weren’t open to the public yet, but a locked door had never stopped Marsh. He retrieved his already-assembled AS50 well before one, but left the case inside. He wouldn’t need it. With an economy of motion he moved into place in the corner of the balcony, the spot nearest to the staircase he’d decided would be perfect to accomplish this job and escape capture. One without the other would be meaningless to him.

  He removed his raincoat and laid it to one side. The raincoat would conceal the rifle until he was ready to use it. He fit the rifle in the curve of his shoulder and sighted down the scope, taking careful aim at the lectern that—as he’d expected—had been set up near the front of the stage, off to one side. Also as he’d expected, from this vantage point he had a clear shot.

  The rifle felt a little off, and with a tiny frown Marsh double-checked, but yes, it was still loaded. He was going to remove the cartridges to be sure, but the sound of footsteps on the stage made him quickly and surreptitiously move into the shadows as a man and woman walked out. He watched as the two people placed five name tents on the table, then arranged water glasses and what appeared to be pads of paper and writing utensils on the table in front of each chair.

  “We’ll put out fresh water right before we start,” the woman said, her voice echoing in the empty hall as she and the man left.

  Marsh waited for five minutes, until he was sure the couple wouldn’t return. Then he sighted through the scope again, reading the name tents on the table. Bingo! There was the senator’s name on the far right. Which meant he might not need to wait for him to speak at the lectern after all. He’d have to play it by ear, but if the opportunity arose, he’d take it.

  He slung the rifle’s strap over his shoulder, then put his raincoat back on. For the next few minutes he practiced shrugging the raincoat off, lifting the rifle and fitting it into his shoulder, all in one motion, then taking the shot. Again and again. Both at the table and at the lectern.

  Precision was his goal. Precision, practice and careful planning, all of which he’d learned in the military. All of which was how he’d avoided prison all these years.

  He rehearsed the next steps in his mind. Drop the rifle as soon as the shot is taken. The crowd will be screaming, confused, rushing to get out before they become targets, too. Join the frantic melee on the staircase, one of the escaping crowd. Then out the door, using the crowd as a shield. Toss the gloves, but not in the nearest Dumpster, the one behind the student union. Then walk calmly to the parking lot. Retrieve your truck. Drive sedately off the campus, across the Potomac and safely home in Virginia.

  Marsh smiled to himself. He’d already emptied his bladder and had drunk nothing today so he wouldn’t have to worry about that. He didn’t worry about the rifle case, either. It was hidden, but if it was found, it would reveal exactly nothing to investigators. The same went for the rifle and the raincoat. The serial number hadn’t been removed from the weapon, but that didn’t matter. The serial number could never be traced back to him. And he’d purchased the raincoat four years ago at a Goodwill store. Untraceable.

  He buttoned his raincoat over the rifle carefully, then glanced down, assuring himself there were no visible bulges that might alarm anyone who saw him.

  He was ready.

  * * *

  The minute Carly stormed into the bedroom and locked the door in a fit of pique, she turned around and pressed her body against the door, face and palm, too, and she cried inside, Oh, Shane, Shane!, although she didn’t shed a tear. She wanted so desperately to tell him how much she loved him, to beg him to please be careful—if anything happened to him the sniper might as we
ll put a bullet through her, as well, because her life would essentially be over. But she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t do anything that might distract him when he walked into Adams Hall.

  And she couldn’t bear to sit home and wait passively while he risked his life for her. To keep her safe. Not just because he loved her—and he does, he does! her heart insisted—but because he was a protector down to his marrow. He would make himself a target for her even if he didn’t love her, and that made her love him all the more.

  The longer she stood there, the more determined she grew that Shane wasn’t going to do this on his own. The hell with his brother—Niall couldn’t have eyes everywhere. She was going, and that was that.

  Through the bedroom door Carly heard a faint rap that sounded like a knock at the front door. Then she heard low-pitched male voices from the other room—she couldn’t quite make out the words, but she knew it had to be the two brothers. She waited until the sound faded away, until she heard the tiny metallic click indicating the front door being secured behind the two men, ensuring her safety.

  Then she unlocked the bedroom door.

  Chapter 20

  “You’re strapped, right?” Niall asked Shane for the third time.

  He couldn’t keep the exasperation out of his voice. “How many times are you going to ask me that? Yes, I’m strapped. And before you ask, yes, I’m wearing a bullet-proof vest, too. Although that won’t do me much good if he goes for a head shot.” He glanced at his brother. “Is everything in place?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t even have to call in any favors.” Niall turned the corner, then stated, “I didn’t see Carly at my condo. She still with you?”

  Possessiveness flashed to life. “Yes, and I’ll thank you to keep your thoughts off her.”

  Niall chuckled softly, stopped his truck for a red light and looked over at Shane. Then the smile faded from his face and he said, “You’re serious.”

  “As serious as a heart attack.”

  “I never thought... I mean, you’ve known her what? A week?”

  “Ten days.” Ten glorious, incredible, indelible days. Ten days etched in gold against the stark black and white his life had been for years.

  “It doesn’t sound like you. I mean, you and Wendy knew each other for years before you got married. Besides, it’s fifteen years since Wendy...well...since she died. I figured you were never going to get over losing her, and...well...hell, you know what I mean.”

  Shane didn’t say anything at first. “It knocked me off kilter,” he finally admitted. “Especially how fast it all came down. Part of it’s the situation—not that how I feel about Carly is due to someone trying to take me out—but the swift intensity...yeah.”

  The light changed to green and Niall shifted into gear. “You going to ask her to marry you when this is all over?”

  The tightness in Shane’s chest had nothing to do with what he wanted. Only with what he knew he could have. Carly cared—he knew that. That whole emotional distance thing had been a load of crap from the get-go. But whether she’d ever let herself care enough to fall in love with him the way she’d been in love with Jack? That was a whole nother thing.

  And then there was his epilepsy. Even if she grew to love him anywhere close to how he loved her, could he ask her to marry him? Maybe if he didn’t feel so helpless every time a chill struck without warning. Maybe if the seizures were under control. But that was a big maybe.

  “Maybe that’s a question I shouldn’t have asked,” Niall said quietly. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  “It’s...complicated” was all Shane could think to say.

  “You’re not sure you love her enough for forever?”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Then what? You think she doesn’t love you?” Niall kept his eyes on the road, but there was something in the set of his jaw that tipped Shane off that his brother refused to believe it. “I saw the way she looked at you Friday night, Essbee,” he said, using the nickname from their childhood only he used, the initials of Shane’s given names—S.B. “And I heard her say you weren’t doing this.” Niall darted a glance at him. “Seemed pretty obvious to me, and it didn’t take any special black-ops skills to see it, either.”

  Shane desperately wanted it to be true, but... “It’s not that easy.”

  His brother grunted, but Shane wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by it. A long silence was broken by “She try to change your mind about today?”

  “No,” he said, remembering. “She didn’t.” He’d thought she was going to. When she’d shown up in Niall’s office Friday night, he’d been sure she was going to force him to choose between her and his plan to catch the hit man. And he’d wondered ever since—if she cared for him the way he wanted her to—why she hadn’t. She wouldn’t have changed his mind, but...

  “That’s one brave woman.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Thought you were smarter than that, Essbee.”

  “Just spill it.”

  “Takes a brave woman to stand by and let someone she loves risk his life without trying to stop him. Like Mom. She loves us—and it would kill her to lose one of us—but she never tried to stop us from being ‘one.’”

  The reference to Edward Everett Hale’s famous “I am one” quotation about making a difference in the world streaked through Shane’s consciousness like a lightning bolt. Their parents had thought the idea was so important the entire quotation hung above the fireplace at home—almost before Shane could read, he could recite it by heart. I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do. And by the grace of God, I will.

  “You really think...?” He couldn’t finish the question.

  “Hell yeah.”

  Overlaid against his brother’s emphatic agreement, he suddenly heard Carly saying, I owe you another apology. And when he’d asked why, she’d said, I can’t tell you... I’m too ashamed.

  Ashamed because she loved him and wanted to keep him safe, wanted him to sit back and let someone else take the risk, even if that was the coward’s way? Ashamed because for a brief moment she’d wanted him to be less than the man he was? And when she’d realized what she was doing, she’d backpedaled and apologized?

  Then the words she’d uttered just before he’d left today flashed into his mind. I know why you’re doing this, and I’m not trying to stop you. I want to, but I won’t.

  Adrenaline surged through every part of his body at the realization. If Niall was right, then Carly didn’t just care for him, she loved him enough to let him do without protest what he had to do...because he couldn’t do less. Because he was “one.”

  * * *

  Students filed noisily into Adams Hall, accompanied by faculty and the general public. If the weather had been better or worse, the crowd would have been smaller. A warm, sunny day would have driven most people to the parks to enjoy the extra-early gift of springtime weather. A snowy or rainy day would have kept many of them home with a good book or watching a basketball game on TV. But the weather—sunny and cold—was perfect for maximum attendance at the panel discussion on a topic that was polarizing, both on campus and with the voting public.

  The cold outside meant Adams Hall, with its high, arched ceiling, was chilly inside. Chilly enough for many in the crowd to keep their coats or jackets on, at least until more people showed up and their combined body heat warmed up the large space. Marsh didn’t smile, but he could have. He would not stand out in the crowd by keeping his raincoat on. It hid his deadly intentions.

  And that was a good thing.

  * * *

  “Taxi!” Carly’s voice was loud and shrill as she flagged down the first cab she spotted. She jumped in, glad to be out of the sharp wind.

 
“Where to, ma’am?” the driver said with a musical lilt to his voice that Carly pegged as probably Jamaican or Bahamian—but definitely from the Caribbean.

  “Old Town University. Adams Hall.” She referred to the piece of paper she pulled from her pocket, and read him the address.

  The driver wrote the destination on his trip sheet, then depressed the meter’s flag. “Do you mind if I turn on some music?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb.

  “So long as it’s not rap.”

  The driver laughed. “Oh no, ma’am.” And soon the sounds of reggae filled the cab’s interior.

  I was right, Carly thought with a tiny smile. Caribbean for sure.

  Almost immediately she tuned out the upbeat music, because her mind was focused on only two things—making sure Shane was safe, and making sure she didn’t put him in more danger by becoming a target herself.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated on that moment a week ago Saturday when Shane had been shot at and she’d chased after the sniper. She wasn’t a stranger to gunfire, so while the shots had startled her, she hadn’t been frozen with fear, either. She’d grabbed her smartphone and had done what she’d done her entire adult life—she’d gone after the story.

  She visualized in her mind every move she’d made, every step she’d taken, right up until Shane had tackled her as the shot from the sniper’s rifle whizzed harmlessly overhead. But in those seconds before, she’d seen the man’s bearded face. Had captured him on video.

  The tech guys at the network had done their best to blow up and enhance the images, but the end result really hadn’t been sharp enough to see the details she remembered now. The deep-set eyes. The shape of his body. The way he pulled the rifle into his shoulder and took aim all in one smooth motion. Practiced. Professional.

  She’d told all this to the Phoenix police, of course, and to the FBI. And she’d worked with a sketch artist. But the sketch artist couldn’t possibly capture the way the man moved.

  And suddenly Carly knew if she saw this man again, if she saw him running or taking aim, she would know him. The hat and the beard were probably disguises, so she couldn’t let herself be fooled into looking for them. No, she needed to search for those deep-set eyes. The stocky build. The smooth way he moved.