Killer Countdown (Man on a Mission 6)

Did she love him? That was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Niall thought she did, and Shane knew his brother was rarely wrong. But there was always a chance she didn’t love him. In which case he’d have to be a gentleman about it, even though that was the last thing he wanted to do. Despite the possessiveness that dug its talons into him whenever he thought about any other man touching Carly, he’d have to find a way to let her go.

* * *

The panel moderator made introductions all around, then ran through the agenda and the order of the opening speeches, which had been decided by lottery that morning. “You will be seated at a table stage right—that’s the left side from the audience’s perspective. I’ll be standing at the lectern stage left. I’ll introduce you in order to the audience with the short bios you provided. Please remain seated, but feel free to acknowledge any applause.

“After the initial introduction, when I call your name, please move to the lectern for your opening remarks. As was already communicated to you or your staff, you will each have up to six minutes. I’m afraid we must strictly adhere to this limitation in order to have time for the prepared questions and for the open-mic questions from the audience.”

He then went on to explain how the prepared questions had been chosen from the dozens submitted by members of the debate club. “I’ll pose the questions from the lectern, but to save time your answers should be delivered from the table—we have microphones set up at the table for this purpose,” the moderator said to Shane and the other four panelists. “We would like each of you to have an opportunity to answer every question, but in order to do that, we ask that you keep your answers to one minute or less. If you go over ninety seconds, I will politely interrupt and ask you to wrap up your comments. If you choose not to answer a particular question, just say ‘pass’ and I’ll move on to the next panelist. Is all that clear?”

Shane glanced around, but all he saw were heads nodding, so he said for all of them, “Crystal clear.”

“Are there any questions?” When none were forthcoming, the moderator said, “Thank you all in advance for participating. We’re looking forward to a lively discussion.” He smiled and held out a hand, indicating one of the debate club members who’d been introduced earlier. “Please follow Sandra Beckett. She’ll take you where you need to go. I’ll be there shortly.”

Shane’s eyes were watchfully alert as the panelists followed Sandra into Adams Hall through a door from outside that led directly onto the stage. Just because he and Niall had anticipated he’d be targeted on the stage didn’t mean the hit man might not try something they hadn’t planned on. But all was serene, and Shane brought up the rear of their little group, then closed the door behind him.

The panel took their assigned places at a long table covered with a red tablecloth—name tents made it easy to find who sat where. Microphones, pitchers of water, glasses, notepads and pens were all neatly arranged at each place. Shane noted they’d been seated in the order in which they would speak, with the first speaker at the far end of the table. Which meant Shane was closest to the lectern.

* * *

The cab stopped, and the driver said, “This is as close as I can get, ma’am.”

Carly handed him the two bills she already had in her hand, saying, “No change. Thanks.”

She slid out of the cab, buttoned her coat against the wind that was still blowing, and wrapped her scarf around the lower portion of her face. Then she pulled her hat brim lower, and joined the throng of people hurrying into Adams Hall.

* * *

As he took his seat on the stage, Shane sought out the four men on his staff he’d asked to be present this afternoon—Bobby, Hank, Miguel and Terry. They were all sitting together, third row back, right on the aisle. He smiled and nodded when he caught their eyes, although smiling was the last thing he wanted to do. One of them had sold him out. Which one?

Then he searched for his brother. At first he couldn’t see him—Shane made two full passes over the balcony and was on the third circuit before he spotted Niall, dressed like a workman in faded jeans and a worn jacket, leaning casually against one of the pillars in the far back on the left side. At least, he appeared to be leaning casually to the uninformed eye. But Shane knew his brother. And he knew that air was misleading.