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“You can go up, ma’am,” the guard told her. He held out a piece of paper. “Here’s the code for the elevator. Key in the code before you press the floor number.”
Shane and J.C. are right, Carly acknowledged, putting the safety back on her .22 as she rode up in the elevator. She hated admitting they were right and she was wrong—but it was different when you were a killer’s target. She could take care of herself under normal circumstances—but these weren’t normal circumstances. She’d been on edge all day, even with the temporary bodyguard provided by the network. Even though nothing untoward had happened. She’d tried not to let that feeling interfere with her job performance, but she wasn’t sure she’d been 100 percent successful. She was still jittery.
Shane was waiting for her when she got off the elevator, and she’d never been more thankful to see anyone in her life. She dropped the suitcase, threw herself into Shane’s arms and surprised herself by bursting into tears.
* * *
Shane held Carly tight as she sobbed and sniffled and cried herself out—which took about a minute and a half. Then she pulled away in obvious embarrassment and fumbled in her purse, but he anticipated what she was looking for and handed her the clean hanky from his pocket.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, wiping her eyes and face and wiping away what little makeup she wore at the same time. “Sorry for crying,” she said, stiff with what looked like shame over her weakness. “But you’re right—we have to catch him because I can’t go on like this.” She blew her nose with emphasis, then seemed to realize what she’d done and glanced contritely from the decidedly soiled cloth in her hand to Shane’s face. “Sorry about your hanky, too. I’ll buy you a new one.”
That was the moment Shane fell in love with her.
He’d been falling in love with her since they’d met in his hospital room, of course. And he’d known all day he wouldn’t be this angry with her seeming carelessness over her own safety if he didn’t care so much. But this moment—with Carly so ashamed because she’d cried, her pride in tatters yet having the grace to admit she was wrong and offering him an apology over something as meaningless as a dirty hanky—Shane knew there could never be another woman like her in the whole world. Not for him.
* * *
They were sitting in the living room, their arms wrapped around each other and Carly’s head on Shane’s shoulder when he confessed, “I was so angry with you today for going out where you’d be a sitting duck, when you know what this guy is capable of. It was like when you ran after the sniper to try to film him. Reckless.”
“It’s my job. You can’t ask me not to do my job.”
“I’m not.” Shane was silent for a moment. “But I can ask you to be careful, to not take unnecessary risks.”
“Is that what you were doing when you joined the marines? When you saved that woman five years ago? Not taking risks?”
“Unnecessary risks, I said. Every risk I’ve taken has been necessary. At least... I think that’s true.”
“Yes, but who decides what’s necessary and unnecessary?”
“I do,” he said promptly, then laughed ruefully and Carly laughed with him. “Okay, so that sounds pompous and self-important, along the lines of ‘If I ran the world...’”
“That’s pretty common, so don’t beat yourself up over it,” she said. “We all think our own judgment is better than anyone else’s.”
He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can’t make you do anything, Carly. And I hope I wouldn’t even if I could. All I can do is ask, so I’m asking. Please be more careful. It matters to me, more than you know.”
“I will.” She raised her head so she could look him in the eyes. “You too, Shane. I’m counting the days until you’re no longer a target. We’re at T minus four days...but until then please don’t take any risks, whether you think they’re necessary or not.”
Compunction prevented him from agreeing to her request the way she’d agreed to his—how could he promise not to take risks when he intended to make himself a target?
