“I knew it wasn’t a publicity stunt, and the FBI should have known it, too—the assassination attempt in Arizona should have clued them in if nothing else,” he said drily. “Unless they thought that was a stunt, too.” His expression left no doubt what his opinion on that theory was. “And I’d met Senator Jones the day before, so I knew the FBI was barking up the wrong tree. Besides, I know you. You’d never lend yourself to something underhanded like that.”
“Thanks.”
“But after the bombs were left in your homes...the FBI seemed to take the threat more seriously. And they wanted to know whatever I could tell them about what you witnessed in Arizona. Journalistic confidentiality be damned.” He snorted. “I told them they should view the video you made of the sniper—which they already had. And I said they should talk to you directly. Then I told them to bugger off.”
Carly bit her lip to keep from laughing because the offensive slang phrase was so unusual coming from J.C. “Thank you,” she said politely when she had herself under control.
“You’re welcome. But I didn’t tell you this to earn your appreciation. I’m concerned for your safety, Carly. I’ve tried to keep an eye on you here—and besides, this building is pretty secure—but my sources indicate you’ve spent your nights with Senator Jones. And that, let me tell you, has taken a load off my mind.”
Carly stared at J.C. in growing disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” she demanded. “I can take care of myself and have been doing so for eighteen years. I’ve covered two wars and—”
“Three ‘police actions,’” J.C. said, cutting her off. “Yeah, I know.” His smile held a hint of admiration. Then the smile vanished. “But you’ve never been an assassin’s target. You’ve never had someone gunning for you. It’s not the same thing at all. Trust me, I know.”
Perplexed, she asked, “How do you know?”
His lips tightened. “Seven years ago. Colombia. Medellín Cartel. And that’s all I’m going to tell you.”
Carly considered this. “How come you’re still alive?”
He grinned suddenly. “Long story, which you don’t have time for if you’re going to make that press conference.”
“I can be ready to leave in five minutes,” she said. She pointed to her emergency suitcase standing in the corner of her office, the one she kept packed and ready so she could leave at a moment’s notice.
J.C. shook his head. “Not until we settle this security thing—you can’t be on the lookout for a killer when you’re covering a story.”
Frustrated, she said, “What do you suggest?” Her eyes narrowed with determination. “I’m going, J.C., no matter what you say. This is my story.”
“Let’s compromise. The network has a chopper standing by to take you to Philly—you’ll be safe enough on that. I can have someone from a private security firm meet your flight and guard you while you’re there, then put you safely back on board the chopper afterward. How’s that?”
It was an acceptable compromise—Carly wasn’t stupid enough to risk her life unnecessarily, not when she could do her job and still remain fairly safe. “Works for me.”
She called Shane from the helicopter as soon as she was strapped in, while the pilot did his preflight checks. But after four rings her call went to voice mail, and she figured he was probably in the Senate chamber where he couldn’t answer. So she left a message, telling him where she was going, that she didn’t know exactly when she’d be back but it might be late and for him not to wait for her. She’d take a cab from the heliport to Niall’s condo.
She considered sending Shane a text, too, but decided against it—the voice message told him everything he needed to know.
As the helicopter began its slow ascent, she pulled her notebook from her purse and began jotting down the questions she’d ask at the press conference as well as the points she wanted to make on camera based on the answers she was anticipating receiving.
She spared one thought for Shane, remembering how he’d taken her back to bed early this morning and just held her. They hadn’t made love, they’d just...cuddled. And she’d fallen a little deeper under his spell.