Killer Countdown (Man on a Mission)

by Amelia Autin

  He stood right where he was in the foyer, unwilling to make himself at home without Carly there, but glanced at his watch. Plenty of time. He took off his overcoat and slung it over the banister railing, then his eye caught the antique mirror beside the clock and he moved toward it, making a minute adjustment to his bow tie.

  That’s when the sudden chill hit him.

  Shane froze. Not because the chill and the goose bumps incapacitated him, but because he’d believed the doctors at the Mayo Clinic when they told him the seizures would be controlled by the medication he’d been prescribed. Yeah, he’d only been taking it for two and a half days, but still...

  “Damn it,” he whispered. “Damn it all to hell and back.”

  “Shane?”

  He whirled around. He hadn’t heard Carly come down the stairs, but there she stood at the foot of the staircase, her hand clutching the banister, her eyes wide in a face from which all color had fled. “It’s happening, isn’t it?”

  A statement, not a question. And Shane knew she knew. He didn’t confirm it, but he didn’t deny it, either. He waited a few more seconds, and the symptoms disappeared, as always.

  “I thought you said the seizures were controllable.”

  He nodded slowly. “But I didn’t tell you the medication has to build up in my system. Two days isn’t long enough. A week. Two weeks. Possibly more. The doctors weren’t able to give me a set time frame.”

  She put a hand over her mouth for a moment, her eyes meeting his in empathy. Eventually she drew her hand away and said, “I’m so sorry, Shane.”

  He shook his head. “Nothing to do with you. I’m just impatient, I guess. I want it to be over now.”

  She moved until she was standing right in front of him. He had six inches on her normally, but her heels gave her added height. Her hands cradled his face, then she touched her lips to his. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, her breath catching in her throat. Then her hands were sliding down, over his shoulders, over his chest. “I know bad things happen to good people, but it just doesn’t seem fair that—”

  Her left hand paused at the lump beneath the right arm of his tuxedo jacket. “What on earth...?”

  Shane stepped back from Carly. “I’m strapped for a left-handed draw because I’m left-handed,” he told her, his voice suddenly cool. “And yes, I have a permit for it. I can’t carry a handgun into a government building, so I haven’t worn it recently. But after yesterday I’m not going anywhere unarmed if I can help it.”

  To his surprise, Carly suddenly laughed. She tried to hold it back, but it bubbled out of her, and her eyes danced with merriment. “Oh, Shane, I should have known.” She bent down, grasped the hem of her sapphire-blue gown, and tugged it upward, revealing those long, lovely legs he’d first admired in his hospital room. She kept raising the hem until she revealed something else. A gun strapped securely to her right thigh.

  “Are you kidding me?” Shane could scarcely believe it. “You’re packing?”

  “I have a concealed carry permit, too, which I got a little while ago,” she admitted, letting her hem slide back down her leg. “And thank goodness I did. But I’ve had my twenty-two for years, and I know how to use it. I told you, I’ve covered two wars and three ‘police actions.’ And DC isn’t the safest city for a single woman to live in.”

  “Were you armed when—”

  She shook her head. “I have a permit for DC, and while some states do have reciprocity, including Arizona, it’s not easy transporting a gun on an airplane even if you do have a permit for it. Whenever I leave the country on assignment, though, my twenty-two goes with me.”

  “So you were going armed to the embassy tonight?” he asked.

  “I might have to check my gun at the door,” she told him. “I totally get that. But I’m not risking anyone taking another shot at you if I can prevent it.”

  * * *

  From the shelter of his darkened truck halfway down the block, Marsh Anderson watched Senator Jones walk out of the town house, a woman on his arm. Then he did a double take when the couple passed under a street lamp right before the senator held the door open for his companion and helped her into the car he’d parked at the curb a few minutes ago.

  Marsh smiled grimly. Both of his targets together—the senator and the reporter. He’d trailed Senator Jones here, expecting him to head for the Zakharian embassy—the insider had insisted that’s where he was supposed to be from seven to ten—so he’d wondered when the senator had driven to Georgetown instead of heading for Embassy Row.

  He’d almost been tempted to try installing the little surprise he had for the senator’s car when Jones had entered the town house, but his caution had paid off. He would have needed more than the few minutes the senator was out of sight.

  Marsh was nothing if not resourceful. He had to be. Paid assassins were only paid in full when their targets were dead. And his reputation was only as good as his last kill. Some assassins were expert marksmen. Some had a light touch with gelignite and detonating cord—common explosives. Some were even stupid enough to dabble in plutonium and similar heavy metals that were as dangerous to the killer as they were to the target.

  Marsh wasn’t stupid. And he had no intention of dying. So he had no plans to ever get anywhere near anything that could kill him as easily as it killed his target. But gelignite and det cord? If you knew what you were doing, which Marsh did, you could take care of two problems—a junior senator and a nosy journalist—at the same time.

  Marsh started his engine and put his truck into gear as soon as the senator’s car pulled away from the curb. Then quietly...from a safe distance...followed his targets.

  * * *

  The reception was in full swing when Shane handed his invitation—along with his Beretta M9—to one of the guards on the door at the Zakharian embassy. He glanced at Carly, who handed over her .22 without a word...and without having to pull up her skirt.

  His eyes asked the question, and she whispered in his ear, “I put it in my coat pocket when we were in the car.”

  After they checked their coats, she placed her hand on Shane’s arm and they both passed through the portable metal detector without setting off any alarms. They circulated for a couple of minutes, then joined the receiving line. At the far end stood a tall, regal-looking man in a white dress uniform with a diminutive, dark-haired woman at his side, also in white, wearing the most spectacular diamond tiara Carly had ever seen atop her raven tresses.

  Her mouth dropped open for a moment, then she closed it. “That’s not—you didn’t tell me the King and Queen of Zakhar were going to be here.”

  The corners of Shane’s mouth twitched into a half smile. “Don’t you stay abreast of the news?”

  That had been strictly true when she’d been a national correspondent—everything had been connected, and her job had depended on her being in the know. Always. But she’d switched to investigative journalism last year, which had freed her to concentrate on one story at a time, and she’d quickly grown to love it. “I usually do,” she explained to Shane, “but not when I’m focused on another story.” She didn’t have to tell him what story that was.

  “He was here to meet with the president—there was a state dinner on Friday to which I was invited...but had to decline for reasons you already know. She’s here because she goes almost everywhere with him, although they don’t travel with their son.”

  “I understand why, but it must be difficult for her—for them,” she corrected quickly, “to be away from their baby.”

  “They don’t do it often. This is the rare exception. After they leave here he’ll address the United Nations tomorrow before they head home to Zakhar.”

  “How do you know so much about them?”

  “Unlike you, I do keep abreast of the news.” When she shot him a dagger look, he chuckled
. “Okay, I’ll confess. My brother Alec, who’s the regional security officer at the US embassy in Zakhar, is friends with the king.”

  Carly blinked. “Alec Jones is your brother?”

  “You know him?”

  Her brain was working furiously. “No, but my sister, Tahra, works for him in Zakhar, and I covered a major story he was involved in—the human trafficking case.”

  “Small world.”

  “Then that means Liam Jones is your brother, too?”

  “Right again.”

  Her respect for Shane grew. “You have an amazing family.”

  “You know Liam?”

  “I interviewed his wife after the trial. She was the primary witness in that case and an incredibly brave woman. I don’t know if I would have had the guts to testify in open court to what she went through.”

  “Yeah, Cate’s pretty terrific.”

  “I only exchanged about ten words with your brother during that interview. What I remember most about him was how he sat quietly beside his wife, holding her hand the entire time. Her story had to have sickened him just as it did me, but he didn’t flinch once. Just held her hand and squeezed it reassuringly from time to time.”

  “Sounds like Liam.”

  “Didn’t he save her life twice? Once by taking a bullet meant for her?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah. Liam always was a bit of a white knight.”

  Her tone was dry when she drawled, “It must run in the family.” Shane had no snappy comeback, and Carly got the impression compliments of that nature made him uncomfortable. She filed that little tidbit away to consider later and changed the subject. “I had no idea you were related to Alec and Liam.”

  “I didn’t know your sister worked for Alec, either.”

  “It is a small world, just as you said.” She tilted her head to one side as she tried to figure the odds.

  “Smaller than you think.” She raised a questioning eyebrow, and he told her, “Alec’s wife, Angelina, heads up the security detail for Queen Juliana,” he said, slanting his head in the queen’s direction. “I kid you not,” he assured her. “I’ve never met either of the royals myself, but I figure Alec and Angelina are why I was on the guest list for the state dinner, and why I was invited to tonight’s reception.” He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “A junior senator from Colorado doesn’t rate otherwise.”

  She didn’t know why she did it, but she leaped to his defense. “That’s not true. You haven’t been in office very long, but you’ve made an impact. That domestic terrorism bill you cosponsored was—”

  “Shot down.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t give up,” she argued. “A revised version is on the agenda for the upcoming legislative session, and—”

  “Will probably be shot down again. I’m a realist, Carly,” he said gently. “Stubborn about what I believe in, but realistic enough to know when I’m tilting at windmills.”

  That made her ask, “Then why do you keep doing it? Tilting at windmills.”

  “Because I can’t not do whatever I can to make the world a safer place.”

  She suddenly remembered his wife and unborn son had been killed by terrorists fifteen years ago, so she didn’t pursue the discussion further. Some wounds shouldn’t be touched, she acknowledged. She cast around in her mind for another topic of conversation, and her gaze fell on Zakhar’s royal couple, much closer now that she and Shane had been shuffling along in line as they spoke.

  “I wish I’d known they’d be here,” Carly said in a rueful undertone. “I wish you’d told me. I would have—”

  “You’re perfect as you are.” His eyes, those beautiful brown eyes, softened. “You take my breath away.”

  She gazed up at Shane, suddenly caught in a trance where everything around them faded into nothingness. The quiet, sincere way he’d uttered that sentence gave it far more importance than the words themselves, and Carly’s stomach quivered. Something else quivered, too. That had never happened to her in the middle of a conversation, not even with Jack. “Shane, I...” She couldn’t continue because suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

  He stared back at her, and she knew he was as entranced as she was. Then he seemed to shake it off. “Come on,” he urged, but his voice wasn’t quite steady. “We’ll lose our place in line if we don’t keep moving.”

  Carly let Shane draw her forward, but she scarcely knew what she was doing because her thoughts were swirling so chaotically she couldn’t really focus on anything but him. All she could feel was his arm beneath her hand, his body next to hers. All she could hear was his voice in her ears.

  Desire curled in her belly. Desire she hadn’t felt in forever. It was crazy. Crazy. She didn’t sleep around. Especially with men like Shane. Carly had had exactly two lovers in the eight years since Jack died. Two. Six months with one, eight with the other. Both men she had known for a while and liked. Respected. But both had known going in that Carly had boundaries they were never going to cross. It wasn’t just sex with them, but...

  Both times Carly had ended the relationship when the men had shown signs of wanting permanence. Which was never going to happen, not with them. She hadn’t broken their hearts—she’d made sure of it. And both men had ended up marrying women she knew, women who were right for them, something Carly could never have been. She still saw both men socially, still maintained casual friendships with them and their wives. There could have been awkwardness, but she’d made sure there wasn’t because everyone had known her heart belonged to Jack. Still. Always.

  Only...what she was feeling for Shane threatened that. Which was crazy. She’d known him three days. Three days. Not only that, he’d suffered a traumatic brain injury similar to Jack’s. Which meant it was possible he’d end up the way Jack had, and she’d end up the way she’d been eight years ago—devastated, guilt-ridden and alone.

  Not going to happen, she admonished herself, frantically trying to rebuild her protective walls, walls that somehow crumbled to dust when Shane was around.

  It’s just sex, she thought feverishly. You haven’t had sex in three years—that’s all it is. Shane is a walking advertisement for everything good about men, and you’re feeling needy. So take him to bed, let him put out the fire he started and cross him off your list.

  Carly realized with a start that they were nearing the front of the line. Bodyguards stood at the elbows of the king and queen of Zakhar, their eyes hard and watchful. And an aide also stood ahead of them, taking names and announcing them to the royals.

  “Senator Shane Jones and Ms. Carly Edwards,” Shane murmured when it was their turn. The aide dutifully repeated his words, then King Andre Alexei IV was shaking her hand.

  “Ms. Edwards, so glad you could join us,” he said with a faint smile that seemed sincere.

  Carly managed a slight curtsy. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  She moved on to Queen Juliana, who clasped her hand, saying, “I’ve met your sister, Tahra, Ms. Edwards. A very sweet young woman.” Before Carly could express her surprise that the queen knew of her family connection, Queen Juliana added, “Tahra talks about you a lot—she’s very proud of her famous sister.”

  Carly responded suitably, but she couldn’t help overhearing the exchange between Shane and the king.

  “Senator Jones, I was sorry you were unable to make dinner at the White House Friday night—I specifically asked for you because I wished to make your acquaintance,” the king was saying. “I am so glad you were able to be here tonight. Your family speaks highly of you, and praise from them is praise indeed.”

  Shane laughed softly. “I’m the oldest of five,” he admitted, then added tongue in cheek, “I’ve brainwashed my brothers and sister into thinking I can do no wrong.”

  The king laughed. “Hardly that. But I would enjoy talking with you—” he glanced down
the receiving line, which still had a long way to go, then sighed ever so softly “—once my duty here is done. Please do me the honor of staying until we have spoken again.”

  After Shane had shaken the queen’s hand, he and Carly moved away, then wandered into the next room, which was resplendent with lights. Shane snagged a glass of champagne for Carly, but declined one for himself. Surprised, she asked, “You’re not drinking?”

  “I’m driving.”

  “One drink shouldn’t—”

  “And one of the side effects of the medication I’m on is an increased tendency toward sleepiness. No,” he reassured her when her eyes widened with alarm, “if I felt at all sleepy, I wouldn’t have driven here. But alcohol can have the same effect, so I’m not risking it.” His voice dropped. “I’m not risking you, Carly.”

  Just like that, her thoughts skidded down the path they’d taken earlier. She’d never made love with a man whose first and last inclination was a fierce protectiveness of those around him, and she couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like. She’d never been a fairy-tale kind of woman. Had never needed rescuing—she could rescue herself, thank you very much! But there was something particularly appealing about an everyday hero. A man who didn’t have to think about being heroic, he just was—heroism came as naturally to Shane as breathing.

  And Carly knew she was in trouble.

  Chapter 6

  Marsh slid out from beneath Senator Jones’s shadow-black Ford Mustang GT, levered himself up and dusted off his clothes with his gloved hands. He’d stealthily followed the car when one of the valets parking cars at the Zakharian embassy had taken the keys from the senator and driven the Mustang to this location. He’d patiently waited for almost an hour, until no more vehicles had arrived for at least twenty minutes. Then he’d gone to work.

  He’d originally intended to wire the bomb to the ignition, but had been forced to rethink that when the car had been valet parked. Fortunately, he was a man who always thought two steps ahead, and he’d had a battery-operated remote detonation device with him. He’d wait until the senator and the reporter were safely inside the Mustang, trail them for a couple of miles to a fairly deserted area, then...