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“Hang on a sec,” he told her, blowing his whistle to get the agents’ attention, then signaling for them to come over.
“Ms. Edwards,” he said, indicating Carly when two agents responded with alacrity. “She’s the home owner.” He moved back to his original post in the middle of the street, just out of earshot.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to come with me,” said the FBI agent.
“Why? What have I done?” were the first words out of her mouth. Then she said to the ATF agent, “Wait, I know you. Weren’t you interrogating me after the attempt on Senator Jones’s life?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said without even the hint of a smile.
“What’s going on? Why is my house being searched?” And being Carly, she had to add, “Do you have a search warrant?”
The two agents exchanged glances, then the man from the FBI removed something from an inner pocket and handed it to her. “Search warrant,” he said. “Ma’am.”
She stood and read the thing in its entirety, as an icy wind blew down the street, making her shiver. Or maybe it’s not the wind, she acknowledged. Because there in the middle of all the legalese were words to the effect that the FBI had good reason to believe a bomb had been planted in her town house. Target? Her and anyone visiting her.
Shane. Oh my God—Shane. That’s all she could think of in that instant. Another attempt on his life.
She raised frantic eyes to the two agents. “Senator Jones,” she blurted out. “If there’s a bomb in my home, has anyone searched Senator Jones’s home?”
The FBI agent spoke for both men. “Ma’am, we can’t give you any information on an ongoing investigation.”
“That’s not why I’m asking,” she said urgently. “He’s the real target. Someone has to warn him.” She fumbled in her purse for her smartphone. “Oh my God,” she breathed as she realized her phone had somehow been turned off. She frantically turned it on and scrolled to find Shane’s cell phone number in her contacts, her fingers trembling. “Oh my God.”
The ATF agent put a hand over both of hers, preventing her from completing the call. “He’s safe, ma’am,” he assured her. He glanced at the other agent, then back at her. “This is not for publication—I know you’re a reporter, and this can’t go beyond here,” he insisted, drawing a circle in the air indicating Carly, the FBI agent and himself. He overrode the other agent’s angry protest to say, “They already found and disarmed a bomb in his home.”
For the first time in her life Carly’s knees buckled, but she caught herself and stiffened her knees before she could fall. She had more difficulty dealing with the sudden lightheadedness that struck without warning—not even when word had come about Jack had she reacted this way...as if she might faint. And that realization terrified her nearly as much as the idea that something bad could have happened to Shane.
But she didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on that, because her phone suddenly dinged for an incoming text. She glanced down and saw she had several from Shane, time-stamped throughout the past hour. She clicked on the last one and read, Get out of your house NOW!
Carly had barely processed Shane’s warning when the attention of the two agents was drawn to something behind her. She swung around, her heart thumping in her chest, and saw television trucks approaching...including one from her own cable network.
“Keep them back,” the FBI agent barked to the DC policeman standing outside the rope cordoning off the street, and the cop quickly advanced on the approaching TV reporters and their camera operators.
“You’d better come with us, ma’am,” the ATF agent said quietly, taking Carly’s arm and attempting to lead her away. “You don’t want to get involved in that circus.”
She’d just opened her mouth to argue that freedom of the press was not a circus, it was a necessary adjunct of democracy, when a car squealed around the corner and jerked to a stop at the first parking spot it came to. A man jumped out. The TV cameras all swiveled in his direction and followed him as he raced toward Carly, his open overcoat flying behind him.
