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“Do what?” she asked, glancing from Shane to Niall.
“Idiot here thinks I’m going to let him act as live bait to draw out the hit man,” Niall said fiercely.
Her gaze swiveled sharply back to Shane as she placed a hand over his heart. “You can’t.” Breathless. Panicked. “No risks, remember? Necessary or not.”
Shane’s hand gently closed over hers, intertwining their fingers. “I never promised,” he said, his voice very deep. “It’s the only way, Carly.”
All she could think was that she couldn’t lose Shane, too. Losing Jack had devastated her. Losing Shane—the man she’d tried so hard not to love—would destroy her. She couldn’t let it happen. “No. You’re not doing this.”
He kissed her hand, then lowered it to her own lap. “Yes,” he said softly, “I am.”
He stood and shifted his attention to his brother. “You can help me or not,” he said, his voice as hard as steel. “But you can’t stop me. If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone else who will.”
“Damn it, Shane!” Niall stood in confrontation.
“It’s not open for discussion. Yes or no?”
Niall’s voice was tight with frustration. “Yes, damn it. Of course yes. You know I can’t say no.”
Carly watched as a faint smile touched Shane’s lips, and he held out his left fist to his brother. The two men fist bumped, then did some kind of complicated hand gestures she figured were left over from their childhood. Then Shane said, “Knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
“Damn it, Shane,” Niall repeated, still upset. “I’ll never forgive you if you let yourself be killed.”
Shane’s smile spread. “Now that,” he said with deliberate provocation, “will be entirely in your hands, bro.”
* * *
Niall had headed out an hour later, after he and Shane had worked out a few specifics. He’d declined when his brother had reminded him the condo had two bedrooms, saying, “I’ve got other plans.” The very male gleam in his eyes had sent a clear message those plans involved a woman. “Besides,” he’d added, glancing at Carly, “three’s a crowd.”
After he’d left, Shane had gone into Niall’s study and quietly closed the door—to do what, Carly had no idea. She’d gone into the kitchen to see about a late dinner, needing something to distract her from the fact that Shane was going to do what he was going to do, even though she’d begged him not to. Well, not begged, she acknowledged after a moment’s reflection, as she pulled another frozen meal from the freezer—pot roast this time. She’d flat out told Shane, You’re not doing this. To which he’d replied in a voice that brooked no gainsaying, Yes, I am.
Would it have made a difference if she’d begged? she wondered. If she’d made it a choice between her and his decision to deliberately let himself be a target...to save her?
She read the instructions on the back of the pot-roast package, cracked the lid, popped the box in the microwave and keyed in the time. Then she leaned her hands on the counter and bowed her head, tears of shame forcing her eyes closed.
* * *
Shane sat at Niall’s desk and dialed the number for his press secretary, Mike Adamson. “Is that request for Sunday still open?” he asked when Mike answered the phone and identified himself. Shane had been invited by Old Town University yesterday to fill in for one of the speakers on a panel who’d had to back out at the last minute for personal reasons. The topic—Climate Change: Fact or Fiction?—was one of his hot button issues. But Shane had originally declined at his staff’s insistence—they didn’t want him appearing in public if he didn’t have to. But now...
“I think so,” Mike replied. “I don’t think they’ve lined up anyone else yet. But are you sure you want to do this?” Unspoken were the discussion at the staff meeting yesterday and its conclusion.
“Sure.” Shane’s mind was already plotting ways and means.
“Let me make a call and get right back to you.” Three minutes later Shane’s cell phone rang. “They’re thrilled you can make it after all,” Mike said. “Want me to let Denise know?” Denise was Shane’s part-time speech writer. Shane wrote a lot of his speeches himself, but he usually gave them to Denise for final polishing. And she occasionally composed speeches for him when there just weren’t enough hours in the day for him to do everything.
