by Amelia Autin
A tiny smile played over Niall’s lips. “That all the heroics this afternoon weren’t necessary.”
Carly took another sip of her coffee. “What do you mean?”
“In addition to the FBI agents staking out Adams Hall, who I called in just as we planned, there were no real bullets in Marsh Anderson’s sniper rifle.”
“What?” Shane’s attention was jerked away from Carly onto Niall, and he sat up straight, bringing Carly with him. “I heard the—”
“‘Sound and fury,’” Niall said, quoting Shakespeare. “‘Signifying nothing.’” He smiled lazily at Shane. “There was gunpowder in the cartridges, but no real bullets. You really think I’d let someone take a shot at you, Essbee?”
Carly glanced up at Shane, her eyebrows raised in a question. “Essbee?” she inquired, looking like a hound on the scent.
Or like a tiger shark smelling blood in the water, he thought humorously. “It’s S.B. Short for Shane Breckenridge,” he explained before Niall could. “And don’t ask,” he added when she opened her mouth.
“Okay, I won’t.”
That meek acquiescence might last all of a day, he told himself, holding back a chuckle with an effort. Carly was many things, but meek and acquiescent weren’t among them.
Carly turned her gaze back on Niall. “What do you mean, there were no real bullets?”
“I searched Adams Hall last night,” Niall replied. “I figured, professional like him, he’d want to stash his rifle there ahead of time, just in case there was some kind of metal detector or body search at today’s event. Took me a couple of hours, but I finally found it.”
“And?” Carly asked.
“And it was already assembled, ready to use. I removed the cartridges from the rifle, took ’em apart, removed the bullet tips—that’s the projectile part of a rifle cartridge,” he explained for Carly’s benefit, “replaced them with fakes, put the cartridges back together, then reloaded them in the rifle. Did the same with the remaining cartridges in the box.”
When Carly just stared at him, Niall said, “I was a leeettle concerned he might detect the slight weight difference—the fake bullets don’t weigh quite the same as real ones—but he didn’t. I couldn’t use blanks,” he explained patiently. “For sure he would have noticed.”
“You mean I shot an unarmed man?” Her dismay was obvious.
Niall shook his head. “Not unarmed. He would have killed Shane in a heartbeat if he’d had his way. I just made sure he couldn’t, that’s all.”
“But how did you know—” She caught herself before she finished the sentence. “You were a sniper in the marines,” she said, nodding to herself. “That’s how you knew what to do. That’s how you knew what he would do.” She was silent for a moment, and when Shane looked at her, he saw growing frustration on her face. “Why didn’t you at least tell your brother?” she demanded of Niall. “I get that you weren’t going to tell me, but why did you let him think—”
Silent laughter, which Shane tried to restrain but couldn’t, convulsed him for a moment. Carly punched him on the arm—and not the light tap she’d given him once before, either. “What’s so funny?”
“I should have known,” he said, his eyes brimming over with humor as they met his brother’s eyes. “Payback for being an idiot, right? For making myself a target?”
Niall just grinned. Carly glanced from Shane to Niall and back again. “Is this some stupid guy thing?” she asked pointedly. “Because I have to tell you, no woman would even think of pulling a stunt like that.” She rounded on Niall. “Yes, and you’re forty years old,” she accused him, her eyes narrowing. “Not a kid. Don’t guys ever grow up?”
Shane took Carly’s coffee cup from her and placed it on the end table beside him. Then he cradled her face in his hands and kissed her. When he finally raised his lips from hers, her eyes were dazed, her cheeks flushed. But she still retained the ability to say, “And don’t think you can distract me this way, Marine, because I—”
He kissed her again. And again. Until she melted into his embrace and kissed him back. Until he forgot where he was. Until he forgot his own name.
“Jeez,” his brother said from somewhere far distant. “Get a room, would ya?”
Chapter 22
Not quite six weeks later
Carly hung up the phone with Shane, a slight, puzzled frown between her brows. This was the third time since his return from Arizona that he’d made an excuse not to see her, and she didn’t know what to make of it.
Despite maintaining separate residences—Shane’s political advisors had been adamant he couldn’t publicly flaunt cohabitation with a woman not his wife, even in this day and age—they’d been practically living together for the past six weeks. They’d given each other keys and they hadn’t slept a single night apart, which—given how much Shane had suffered when he found out which one of his staff was the traitor—had been a blessing for him. Not that he would admit it, of course. He’d acted as if he wasn’t devastated...even though he was.
The day after the pipeline bill was narrowly defeated, Marsh Anderson—his arm still in a sling from where Carly had shot him—had taken a plea deal in exchange for naming names. Including those he referred to as the Agenda Men, and the name Shane had most wanted to know—the man who’d betrayed him.
But then Shane had fought believing it. Bobby? Bobby? He’d gone to high school with Bobby Vernon, he’d told Carly in a state of shock. Had given his friend a job over more qualified men when he’d first been elected to the House of Representatives because Bobby had worked hard on Shane’s first election campaign and Shane was nothing if not loyal. And Bobby had gotten up to speed so quickly Shane hadn’t had to think twice about keeping him on as deputy chief of staff when he’d moved to the Senate.
Carly had grieved for Shane, for the loss of his trusted staffer and friend. There were no words she could have said to him to cushion the blow, and Shane wasn’t the kind of man who could talk out his grief. So all she could do was hold him. Love him. Be a constant, reassuring presence in his life.
She’d even turned down a story J.C. had offered her that would take her out of the country—and she’d only ever done that before for her sister, Tahra. That, more than anything, had convinced Carly she truly loved Shane. Totally. Completely. She loved her job...but it didn’t need her the way Shane did.
So they’d spent every night together...until Shane had flown to Arizona a few days ago for a follow-up visit with his neurologist there. The Mayo Clinic had given Shane the name of a highly regarded neurologist in the DC area for emergencies, but apparently whatever was wrong with him required a trip out west.
Carly had wanted to go with Shane, but he’d declined her offer. She’d been hurt—she’d admitted as much to herself at the time—but then had reasoned he was entitled to his privacy...if he wanted to keep this private from her. Which, apparently, he did.
Shane had flown out Thursday evening and had flown back Friday afternoon. Friday night, he’d pleaded exhaustion. She’d offered him some TLC but he’d gently turned her down, and Carly hadn’t pushed. Saturday he’d claimed Niall was in town briefly, and he wanted to devote the day and night to his brother—some one-on-one male bonding time. Again Carly hadn’t protested, because if her sister Tahra had been visiting, she would have wanted to spend time alone with her without male distraction.
But today was Sunday. And Shane hadn’t even bothered to come up with a lame excuse. He hadn’t lied to her, she’d give him that. But all he’d said was “I can’t, Carly” in a tone that brooked no argument. Then he’d disconnected, as if that was the end of it.
He’s avoiding you, she acknowledged. Any other man and she would have gotten the message loud and clear—the cold-shoulder brush off. But Shane wasn’t like that. If he didn’t love her, he’d be a man about it and tell her t
o her face. So whatever the problem was, it didn’t have anything to do with how he felt about her. Which only left one explanation.
For just a moment, burning anger and a sense of injustice took possession, and her lips thinned. What kind of woman did Shane think she was? Did he think she’d crumble at the first sign of trouble? And who the hell gave him the right to make unilateral decisions about them both that affected her?
But then she realized Shane had taken her words to heart when she’d told him all those weeks ago they had to keep an emotional distance. He saw her exactly as she’d told him she was—an emotional coward. A woman who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—be there for him when the chips were down.
He has to know that’s not true, she protested silently. He had to know emotional distance had quickly gone south when they’d both accepted you couldn’t overrule your heart with your head no matter how much you tried. But Shane was a protector. Would he sacrifice what he wanted, what would make him happy, if he thought Carly would be better off without him?
“In a heartbeat,” she whispered to herself. “And that’s exactly what he thinks he’s doing—protecting me.” A part of Carly was touched, but a bigger part just wanted to slap Shane upside the head and knock some sense into him.
If he thought she would let him just walk away to keep herself from being hurt again, he had another think coming. “They don’t call me Tiger Shark for nothing, Shane,” she muttered. She was already moving toward the front door closet, her purse in one hand, her car keys in the other. She grabbed a light spring jacket from the closet and had barely shrugged into it before she was out the door.
* * *
Shane was sitting in his family room, an unopened book in his lap, doing nothing except staring at the fire in the fireplace. The main reason he’d rented this older house in Virginia, instead of an upscale condo in DC like Niall, was because of the wood-burning fireplace, which reminded him of the one in his parents’ home in Denver and the one in their family’s cabin near Dillon Reservoir in the Rockies.
A real fire was a lot more work than a fake gas log because he had to haul the wood into the house and clean the ashes out of the grate, but it was worth it. Usually. Now the fire leaped and crackled, as usual, and the dry apple wood he paid extra for was doing its best to hold a conversation with him. But he wasn’t really hearing the hiss and pop, just as he wasn’t really seeing the flames. He was hearing Carly’s voice in his ears, seeing her face in his mind.
Juxtaposed with his memories of Carly was the recent one of Dr. Rachel Mattingly, his neurologist at the Mayo Clinic. Whose voice and face were filled with gentle concern and regret as she said, “We’ve increased the dosage steadily and we’ve given it enough time. I think we have to admit this medication isn’t going to work for you, and try something else.”
Which meant a brand-spanking-new prescription bottle now resided on the counter in the master bathroom next to the old one that hadn’t worked. He’d been taking the new medication since Friday evening, but they hadn’t taken him off the old one, not cold turkey. “Ramp up and ramp down” is how Dr. Mattingly had described it. Steadily increasing the dosage on the new medication while steadily decreasing the dosage on the previous one. Another six weeks before he’d know if the new medication alone worked any better at controlling the seizures—and the “chilling” symptoms.
In the meantime the seizures could continue. Hell, if the new medication didn’t work, they could go on indefinitely. And as the doctors had told him back when he’d first been diagnosed with epilepsy, while the seizures up until now hadn’t caused any damage visible on his MRI, that could change. Uncontrolled, they could transform from tiny seizures to big ones, and they could migrate from one localized area in his temporal lobe to other areas in his brain. Causing damage. Irreversible damage.
His dreams had come crashing down around him. He couldn’t fool himself into believing he had things under control any longer. He couldn’t keep Carly dangling on a string, either. He couldn’t make promises his brain might not allow him to keep. He loved her too much to ask her to tie herself to a man who could end up the way Jack had...or worse. Better to ease himself out of her life. Better to free her to find a man who didn’t have a giant question mark hanging over his future.
Only...why the hell did it hurt so much? When he thought of Carly with another man, his heart ached and throbbed like a broken bone that refused to heal, denying him sleep.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was being deprived of Carly’s presence in his life. Not being able to reach out his hand and touch her. Just touch her. Not seeing her blue eyes lighting up with humor, or hearing that gurgle of laughter she couldn’t suppress. Not expressing his love in the way he loved best—the way that made her sigh and moan and call his name in ecstasy. Not holding her as she slept, breathing in the scent of warm woman that was uniquely Carly. Not being with her, keeping her safe.
What else could he do, though? What the hell else could he do except set her free?
At least she was safe...for now. Marsh Anderson, who’d pled guilty, was in jail and would stay there for a good long while. And Bobby Vernon wasn’t a threat to Carly, even though his trial was months if not a year or more away, and he was out on bail in the meantime.
Thinking of Bobby reminded Shane of how he’d finally accepted the betrayal. He’d made sure to be in the courtroom when his deputy chief of staff was arraigned. He’d tried to give Bobby the benefit of the doubt—Shane really believed in the “innocent until proven guilty” concept—even though the evidence was piling up against him. But Bobby had refused to meet Shane’s eyes at the arraignment, and in that moment he’d known his onetime friend was guilty as hell.
He still didn’t know for sure why Bobby had done it—you couldn’t ask a man who’d yet to be convicted that question—but the extensive investigation had revealed the answer most likely was...money. The Agenda Men, as Marsh Anderson referred to them, had had too much at stake with the pipeline bill, and they’d offered too much money for Bobby to resist.
Betrayed for money, Shane thought sadly. He didn’t know how he would have gotten through these past weeks without Carly’s support and understanding. Without her quiet comfort in the still of the night when memories of the Bobby he’d known in high school kept Shane from sleeping.
But all that was at an end. There would be no more Carly to call him “Marine” in that teasing way she had. No more Carly to grumble and groan when he woke her in the predawn hours—until he convinced her sleepy, early-morning sex was the best way to start the day. No more Carly to keep all the demons in his life at bay.
No. More. Carly. Period.
The pealing of the doorbell and a rapping on the front door jerked Shane out of his bleak contemplation of the sacrifice he was being forced to make. Before he could answer it, he heard the unmistakable sound of a key in the lock. He reached for his Beretta...which wasn’t there. He’d stopped wearing it after Marsh Anderson had been caught.
He jerked the door open, ready to physically confront whoever it was, then stared in surprise at the sight of Carly on his doorstep, her hand reaching for the doorknob. “What the hell are you doing here?” They weren’t the words he’d intended to say the next time he saw her. But then, he hadn’t been prepared for her, either.
Then he realized she was steaming angry.
“You...you...man!” she blazed, pushing him backward with the flat of her hand as she forced her way into his home. She slammed the door shut behind her, then confronted him again. “What is wrong with you?”
Despite himself he laughed. Carly could always make him laugh, even if laughter was the furthest thing from his mind. “You mean, other than being a man?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” Then she shook her head. “No, not just that. That’s part of it, of course, you stupid, stubborn man.” She poked him in the chest
. “Don’t pretend you’re trying to find a graceful way out of a relationship you no longer want. Don’t pretend you’re trying to let me down gently.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
She ignored his question and poked him again with her pointer finger, sharper this time. “Don’t pretend you don’t love me to distraction, either, because I’m not buying it.”
He steeled himself, knowing he’d never have a better opportunity. “I don’t love you.”
“You liar,” she hissed. “You coward.”
No one had ever accused him of cowardice, and the word stung. “Coward?” he demanded. “I saved your—”
“Don’t wave your hero credentials in front of me,” she threw at him. “You are a coward. An emotional coward. The same way I was for all of about one day.”
That froze him in his tracks for a moment, but he made a quick recovery. “Just because I don’t love—”
She cut him off. “Don’t even go there,” she insisted. “You love me, but you’re afraid. And that makes you stupid enough to try to protect me.” She used protect as if it were an insult. She suddenly stopped, closed her eyes and held up her hands, palms out. Telling him to wait. Just wait. From the varied expressions flitting over her face, Shane could tell she was trying to get control of her emotions.
When she finally opened her eyes and spoke again, she was much calmer. “I’m not stupid, Shane. It didn’t take me long to figure out why you’re trying to push me away. What you’re afraid of, deep down. You received some bad news from your doctor at the Mayo Clinic. Because of that, you’d rather sacrifice what we have than risk being a burden on the woman you love.”
She’d cut right to the heart of the matter in her insightful way. “Carly, I...”