beard—but Shane couldn’t swear to it because he hadn’t really seen the man’s face. Yes, he’d seen the getaway vehicle, but he hadn’t caught the license plate number. And there were probably a million white pickup trucks out there.
He didn’t even struggle over the decision to disclose what Carly had said, that she’d caught the man on camera, although she wouldn’t thank him for it. Yes, she’d earned her scoop—by risking her life—but public safety trumped it. The shooter had been aiming at Shane, but anyone in the vicinity could have been gravely injured or killed. It was a miracle no one had been. Carly’s camera footage was critical evidence, and whatever the police and the FBI could glean from viewing it was more important than an exclusive news report...even if it meant confiscating her iPhone.
Shane didn’t see Carly again before he left for the airport, although he thought of her constantly as the limo ferried his aides and him from the police station to Phoenix’s Sky Harbor International Airport through the Saturday afternoon traffic. He caught his flight by the skin of his teeth, dashing through the hallways once he got past the TSA checkpoint, his aides scurrying to keep up. “Last call for flight...” was just being announced when he arrived at the gate, and Shane heaved a sigh of relief. There were later flights to DC out of Sky Harbor, but this one was nonstop.
Carly’s face rose in his mind once more as he handed his ticket to the smiling airline attendant and moved down the jet bridge before he tried to banish her from his mind. He quickly stowed his carry-on in the overhead compartment and took his seat in coach, his entourage settling in around him. Used to be members of Congress flew first-class as a matter of course, but Shane had never thought that was a proper use of taxpayer money, so he always traveled economy. And he was paying for this flight for himself and his aides out of his own pocket—no way could he justify this as anything other than a personal expense.
He chuckled softly to himself as the plane took off. And that’s another thing, he thought. One of the Phoenix policemen questioning him this afternoon had asked why Shane didn’t have a bodyguard or two keeping him safe, but the FBI agent had dismissed that question out of hand, already knowing the answer. Members of the Senate and the House of Representatives didn’t have taxpayer-provided bodyguards—that was a public misconception. Only the president, vice president and presidential candidates had Secret Service bodyguards. Any bodyguard Shane had, he would have to pay for himself. And since he wasn’t independently wealthy, that wasn’t an expense he’d wanted to incur.
But he might have to rethink that position, at least temporarily. He had no idea why anyone would want to kill him, but there didn’t need to be a reason most people would understand. He wouldn’t be the first politician targeted by a crazed gunman with a perceived grievance. Not to mention the successful and unsuccessful assassination attempts on several US presidents over the years, despite the best protection the Secret Service could offer.
His own sister, Keira, had taken a bullet meant for another man who’d been targeted for elimination. And all because he’d brought down the New World Militia and its founder, David Pennington, years ago.
That thought gave him pause. Could this attempt on him have anything to do with that organization or a similar one? His public stance on terrorism—both foreign and domestic—had made him a few enemies, he had to admit. Was that the reason?
I wonder if Niall has any vacation time coming to him. The brother closest to him in age was a black-ops warrior—not really the name for it, but that’s how it was referred to by the public. Niall had been a marine sniper years ago before he’d left the Corps to take up an even more dangerous calling. But that didn’t really qualify him as a bodyguard. If you need a bodyguard, Alec or Liam would be better suited to the task, he reminded himself. Both of his younger brothers had been Diplomatic Security Service—DSS—special agents for years, although only Liam still worked as a bodyguard now. Alec was the regional security officer at the United States embassy in Zakhar.
But Alec and Liam were both married. Niall wasn’t. Shane might call on Niall to help him out in this crisis, but he’d have to think long and hard before he put one of his baby brothers—married baby brothers, each with a baby of his own—in harm’s way.
Shane laughed beneath his breath, imagining what Alec and Liam would say to that. He was so caught up in his inner musings that it barely registered when the seat-belt light was turned off and the announcement was made that portable electronic devices could now be used. It wasn’t until a soft oath from his press secretary, Mike Adamson, impinged on his consciousness that he realized the man had availed himself of the airplane’s Wi-Fi and was looking with dismay at something on his laptop screen.
“What?” Shane asked Mike, then nudged him to get his attention when the other man’s earphones prevented him from hearing Shane’s question. “What is it?” he asked after Mike removed the earphones.
“See for yourself,” Mike replied, handing both the laptop and the earphones to Shane.
He clicked to restart the news video. It only took a few seconds before he was swearing internally, although he had enough restraint not to curse aloud—he’d long since learned that wasn’t acceptable from a public figure in a public place.
“An assassination attempt at the Mayo Clinic in Phoenix, Arizona, was foiled today by Colorado’s junior senator, retired Marine Lieutenant Colonel Shane Jones, in a scene reminiscent of his heroic rescue of a pregnant woman during a domestic terrorism incident five years ago,” Carly Edwards told the TV camera, a microphone in her hand.
Then a video began playing as Carly’s voice continued. “The alleged assassin escaped by running through a small park north of the clinic, to the parking lot, and from there to parts unknown via truck. The footage shown here was taken with a smartphone by this reporter, who just happened to be a bystander when the incident occurred. The Phoenix police warn that the suspect is armed and should be considered extremely dangerous—no one should attempt to approach or apprehend him. Anyone who recognizes the alleged shooter—described as a stocky white male of average height between the ages of forty-five and sixty—or the white getaway truck, is urged to call the Phoenix police or the FBI—” two phone numbers scrolled beneath the video “—or Crime Stoppers to report anonymously.” Another phone number came up.
Carly appeared on the screen again. “Once more, please note the suspect is armed and extremely dangerous—do not approach. Stay tuned to this station for updates on this developing situation. Back to you, Phil.”
“I thought the police would confiscate her smartphone,” Mike muttered to Shane when the video clip came to an end.
Shane’s smile was grim as he removed the earphones. “She’s a smart lady. She probably knew they would. I’ll bet you anything you want to name she emailed the video to herself or her news agency before they had the chance.”
“No bet.” Mike thought for a moment. “The reporters will be all over you, wanting a statement. We’d better have one ready.”
“Yeah. Want to work one up?”
“No problem,” Mike said. “But what are you going to tell them?”
Shane considered this. “Probably the best thing to say is the Phoenix police and the FBI have asked me not to discuss the details of the case—which is perfectly true.”
“Yes, but...” Mike trailed off.
“But why was I at the Mayo Clinic in the first place?” Shane finished for him.
Mike’s eyes met Shane’s. “You haven’t even told us. Well,” he amended, “you haven’t told
