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Shane shook his head. “It wasn’t that kind of a smudge. This was dried dirt. There was no reason for that area to be smudged when the rest of the car was still clearly speckled, unless someone had grasped the panel. I can’t tell you how I knew in that instant my car had been tampered with, I just did. That’s the only conscious thought I had. And I knew I had to get Ms. Edwards out of the car and far away from it as soon as possible.”
Shane fought off a wave of tiredness, praying he wouldn’t experience a seizure in front of these FBI and ATF agents. It wasn’t likely—he rarely had more than one a day, and he’d already had one in Carly’s town house this evening. Could he hide the symptoms? Hell yeah, he’d been doing it for months. Still...it was a concern. Even though he’d already given Carly the interview this afternoon—which would have aired tonight—he wasn’t about to let strangers see him as anything less than perfectly healthy. Especially men who were already suspicious of him for God knew what reason.
The reminder of Carly made him ask, “Has Ms. Edwards been released yet? I’m responsible for her, and I need to make sure she gets home safely.”
“We’ll check, Senator,” one of the agents replied before he headed out of the room. He returned a minute later. “She’s just leaving now—signing for the release of her weapon. One of our agents will be driving her home. Did you—”
Shane interrupted him. “I want to talk with her. And I need my Beretta back, too.”
* * *
Carly turned and saw Shane approaching. And despite being so sleepy she could barely keep her eyes open, warmth suffused her at the expression in his eyes. An expression that conveyed how worried he’d been on her behalf. Worry that was only partially lessened by seeing her. Something about that protective attitude appealed to her far more than she’d ever thought it would.
Long before her parents died when she was seventeen, Carly had always been the one doing the protecting. Looking out for her little sister, Tahra. Fighting battles for every underdog who came into her orbit. Standing up to bullies. Challenging the status quo when that meant someone else’s suffering.
After her parents died and Carly assumed sole responsibility for Tahra, she’d only grown more protective of her sister...and everyone she knew. Which was one of the reasons she’d blamed herself for Jack’s death—how many times had she told herself she should have been on the lookout for the warning signs?
Carly had never stopped to think that protection was a two-way street. That in a strong, healthy relationship, both parties should have each other’s back. No one had looked out for Carly in so long she’d forgotten what it felt like.
And what it felt like with Shane was incredibly...comforting.
“You okay?” he asked softly as he came up to her.
“Fine,” she answered automatically. Then amended, “Tired. Really, really tired.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He grinned suddenly. “Want to blow this hotdog stand?”
That idiomatic expression from her childhood made her laugh, and she responded in kind with a phrase her father had often used. “I’ll give you a bright, shiny nickel to get me out of here.”
“Deal,” he said promptly. “Let’s get a cab.”
“The FBI offered me a ride home.”
“That’s more than they offered me.” He let his gaze slide over her, and teased, “Maybe I should have worn blue.”
She laughed again, wanting to hug him for making her see the humor in an otherwise tense and trying situation, and her eyes twinkled at him. “Maybe you should have.”
He shook his head with mock regret. “Nah, I can’t compete with you in the evening dress portion of the competition.” His lips twitched as if he were holding back a smile. “And I doubt I’d be able to win the swimsuit competition, either.”
Carly caught her breath, because suddenly the expression in Shane’s eyes changed from teasing to something else. Something hot. Something tempting. Heat flashed between them, and her knees did that little wobbly thing she’d already noticed he could engender in her without half trying.
