Hearts Under Siege (16 page)

“But Christopher truly was extraordinary. Most of you could list what made my brother special.” He nodded at a group sitting halfway back on his left. “His high school baseball team rode his glove to three championships.” Then at someone in the center section. “His teachers praised his work ethic and dedication to good grades.” Brady smiled, and the softness that entered his eyes told Molly he was looking at Jessica. “And his wife—well, Jessica married him because he was sweet, and doting, and loved his family.
Then
she found out about all the stuff that made him normal.” More laughter, and Molly swallowed hard, her throat already burning with tears.

“But Chris was never more extraordinary than he was as my brother.”

She realized Brady hadn’t mentioned Chris’s job. Come to think of it, no one had come through the receiving line who’d said they had worked with Chris. Wouldn’t SIEGE have sent people? If not those who’d actually worked with him, like his handler or supervisor, at least some facilitators or even a conduit or two to fake it. With all the time Chris had spent at work, it looked very odd that no one had come to pay tribute.

Brady was telling a story about the baseball team, when as a prank Chris had sabotaged Brady’s glove during tryouts. While he spoke, Molly tried to figure out a way to search the crowd without being noticed. She couldn’t move across the doorway, and that would only allow her to see half the seats, anyway. Behind the casket, the walls were angled in three parts, instead of one flat wall, presumably to frame the display. The far wall had a small, high window with a heavy velvet drape on the other side of it.

As Brady transitioned to a more heartwarming story about Chris helping him with a bully, Molly headed down the hall. It got darker the further she walked, obviously meant to discourage guests from going that way. The hall had rooms off it to the left, but Molly ignored them and continued to the end, where the shadows were deep enough to make her squint. The wall in front of her had a heavy, floor-length drape hiding a window to the outside. She pulled the drape away, letting in a flare of daylight that allowed her to see better. She spotted a door to her right that hopefully led to the room with that little window overlooking the casket. She gingerly tested the handle. It turned easily and silently, so she opened the door and slipped inside. The room had no lights, no unbarred windows, and she couldn’t see a thing. But she could hear Brady’s voice on the other side of the wall, muffled though amplified by the microphone.

She stood still, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness. Slowly, shapes became detectable. A sofa, a small desk. And a glow of light seeping around a curtain on the wall. She went to it and carefully ran her fingers down the soft, old fabric, feeling for a center seam. She didn’t find one. She’d have to peek in from the side.

She tweaked the drape enough to see half the gathered people, a sea of black and navy and gray. Jessica’s head was bowed, her shoulders shaking, and Donna and Rick each had an arm around her. Most of the faces were pointed toward Brady. Molly studied the ones she didn’t know. Some she recognized after scrutiny, usually as old friends, looking a decade older than when she last saw them. Others she remembered from the receiving line and dismissed as not being coworkers.

In the very back of the room, in the last two rows, sat half a dozen strangers with ramrod spines and stoic faces. Their expressions and manner of dress, and the way they held themselves were familiar, though. They might be facilitators or administration from SIEGE. She studied their faces. She might have seen that one guy in the lobby when she was in New Rochelle. She hadn’t paid much attention to anyone walking through. With a tiny gasp, she recognized the supplier who’d retrieved Brady’s pistol in South America. And there, on the end, was Ramona Aldus, the facilitator who’d assured her everything was aboveboard, with the exception of Chris being dead. She looked different. Instead of the elegant ponytail, her hair had been scraped back into a tight bun that altered her features slightly. The glasses were bigger, less stylish. She raised a hand to scratch her cheek, and Molly saw that her nails were still bright red.

She moved to the right side of the curtain, careful not to brush against it and make it wiggle. The left side of the gathered crowd was much like the right, only without the rod-spined group.

Brady finished his eulogy and stepped around the podium, his back blocking Molly’s view. She needed to get back out there. But as Brady crossed to his seat and cleared her range of vision, her gaze landed on a figure out in the reception area. The figure was lurking, obviously to see without being seen, and just as clearly trying to disguise himself, with a hood up and sunglasses on, hands shoved deep in coat pockets.

Molly dropped the curtain and dashed toward the door. A stupid move, given the complete lack of light. Her toe caught and she flew forward, landing hard on her stomach, her hands scraping across a rough carpet. She lay for two precious seconds, lungs empty, and hoped no one had heard the fall. She managed to scramble to her feet and get to the door without hitting anything else. Then a mad dash up the empty hallway, her feet thumping against wooden floorboards under worn Persian rugs. She flashed past the doorway to the main room too fast to see anyone’s reaction, but seconds later, footfalls came up behind her. She had no doubt whose they were.

Her hand caught the molding to swing her around the archway into the lobby. The hooded guy was nowhere in sight. She kept going, turning the front door handle as she shoved through and stumbled out onto the front walkway.

He was gone.

“Dammit!”

“What the hell?” Brady landed next to her, his tie askew, and looked up and down the street. “Who were you chasing?”

“I don’t know.”
Damn
. She was too out of breath for that short of a dash. Maybe because of getting the wind knocked out of her when she tripped. Or maybe because she’d gone a week without running or working out. She shoved her hands against the stitch in her side and sucked in a bigger breath.

“Why were you chasing someone in the first place? And where were you? You missed the eulogy.”

“No, I heard it. You did a good job.” She scanned up and down the street again and crouched a little to see into the driver’s side of a passing car. Little old lady. Not the lurker. She quickly explained what she’d seen, finishing as Rick came striding out and joined them.

“What in blazes is going on? I would have expected you two to act like that fifteen years ago, but not now. Not here.” He scowled fiercely at Molly, then at Brady, before his expression cleared. “All right, that’s done. Tell your mother I ripped you a new one,” he said to Brady. “And now, tell
me
what’s really going on.” He waited while Molly and Brady exchanged a silent look, but not long enough for the look to be interpreted.

“Was Christopher murdered?” Rick asked tightly.

Molly jolted. Her heart slammed twice before settling into a faster-than-normal rhythm.

Before she could recover, Brady answered honestly. “We don’t know. Something’s wrong, but we haven’t gotten any answers yet.”

Rick kept his gaze steady on his son. “But you’ve been trying to find out.”

“Of course.”

“And it has something to do with SIEGE.”

The shock she’d felt a moment ago was static electricity compared to the lightning bolt created by Rick’s statement. But then an overwhelming sense of, “Oh, yeah. Of course” dissipated it. Chris, Brady, why not Rick, too? In fact, Dix had mentioned being a legacy. Maybe SIEGE was all about family ties.

Brady hadn’t batted an eyelash. She’d already seen that his spy skills weren’t strong enough to hide personal shock. After a few seconds, it became clear Brady wasn’t going to call his father on the revelation. How long had he known?

She remembered that he’d been trapped by his father the night before. His mood had been strange when he brought her tea. He must have found out just last night. Why hadn’t he told her?

Molly turned to Rick and demanded, “How do you know about SIEGE?”

Rick’s face was expressionless, but his eyes twinkled. “How do
you
know about SIEGE?”

She felt a smirk tug at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t.”

“Exactly.” Rick sobered and waved a hand. “We’ll discuss this later. But now tell me why you ran out of there like bats out of hell.”

She hesitated, but he was right. This was much too public a place to demand to know if
he
had been a frigging spy, too. Maybe still was. “I saw someone,” she stated evenly. “Lurking back here in the foyer. It looked suspicious.”

“Could you tell who it was?” Brady asked. “Was it—” He couldn’t finish the question. Molly didn’t know if it was emotion or discretion he swallowed back, but she knew he was asking if it could have been Chris.

“No. Too short, too squirrely. I don’t know, maybe it was just some kid looking for drugs or something.” As unlikely as that seemed. Father and son seemed to agree, both shaking their heads.

“Too coincidental,” Brady said.

“Coincidences happen,” she countered. “But it was still odd. Especially the way he left. He didn’t know anyone had spotted him.”

“He probably heard your feet pounding down the hall.” Rick scowled at her. “Must be a conduit,” he grumbled, but before Molly could respond in affront, Donna hurried outside to them. Her face was white, her mouth pinched, the lines in her forehead etched deeper than they’d been even this week.

“What the
hell
are you all doing?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Get your asses in there.” Her laser-strong gaze zeroed in on her son. “This is the hardest day of my life, and you, young man, are not making it any easier.” She whipped around and stormed back through the door.

“Crap.” Brady closed his eyes and swiped a hand over his face. “Why didn’t she just punch me in the damn gut?”

Molly rubbed his back. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and they followed his father back into the building.

Once they got inside, though, Rick pulled her away from Brady and led her over to a corner of the wide lobby. “Did you see the person leave? The one you were chasing.”

She shook her head. “I saw him up here, but by the time I got down the hall, he was gone.”

“So he could still be in the building.”

She grimaced, feeling stupid. “Yeah. Or he could have been and gone out another exit by now. Or—” She slipped past a few people who were coming out of the viewing room and stepped to one side of the door, where she could see the entire room and both exits. With people milling around, those who were going to the cemetery standing in groups, those who weren’t inching toward the exit, it would have been easy for the hooded person to blend in unseen. But there was no sign of him.

Molly’s cell phone buzzed in the pocket of her skirt, just as she caught a glimpse of movement behind the casket. She ignored the phone and started moving in that direction. The prevailing flow of foot traffic was against her. She tried to avoid sharp cuts or obvious dodges, which meant staying close to the wall and making slow progress. Through a gap between black suits, she could see a shape like a pointed hood jutting above the far side of the casket, at about the spot where the latch was.

Her phone buzzed again. A natural need to answer warred with the urgency of catching the Hoodie and finding out what he had to do with Christopher. The phone only stopped buzzing for a few seconds before it started up again. But she was so close now…

With a lunge, she came around the side of the casket and caught the arm of the person kneeling there, startling him so much he fell back onto one elbow. The hood slid off bright blond hair, the sunglasses knocked askew and no longer hiding eyes. It was a girl. A very
young
girl.

“Who are you?” Molly demanded, more confused than anything else.

The girl scrambled to her feet, but Brady appeared on the other side of the coffin, blocking her exit. She spun wildly, searching for a way past them both, but she was trapped.

“Please! Let me go! I wasn’t hurting anything, I promise.” The girl, who looked about fourteen, half-hid behind a flower display, as though she didn’t want anyone in the departing crowd to see her.

“Who are you?” Molly asked her again, keeping her voice low. She doubted the girl had any connection to Chris’s death, but she’d been acting so suspiciously it demanded an explanation.

“I can’t tell you.” The girl’s voice had gone high and scratchy. “Please, just let me go.”

“What’s your name? Your first name,” Brady amended, moving closer to her. When his body blocked her from a view of the room, she seemed to relax a little.

What the hell was going on?

“Shae,” the girl offered, possibly thinking if she cooperated a little, they’d let her go more quickly. She glanced around nervously.

“Do you know the man this funeral is for?”

Shae looked up into Brady’s face for the first time. Her fair complexion went completely white, and Molly eased to her side, worried she was about to pass out.

“I…um… No. I mean, yes. I mean— No, I don’t know anyone here.”

Well, that clarified things. Molly’s phone buzzed again. Frustrated, she pulled it out and checked the display. Dixson.
Crap
.

“Hello?”

“What the hell, Byrnes, I’ve been calling you nonstop. Where the hell are you?”

Sudden cold anger made her tone arctic. “I’m at Christopher’s funeral.”

Silence. Then a soft curse. “I’m sorry, I forgot the time.” His remorse, however, was fleeting. “You and Brady need to meet me at Westchester County Airport right now.”

“Airport?” Molly looked around. The Fitzpatricks were talking to the driver of the car that had taken them to the funeral. They were almost ready to go to the cemetery. Jessica sat forlornly in a chair next to them, dabbing at her eyes and nose with a handkerchief. “Why?”

“I have information, and you and Brady have to leave immediately to act on it.”

Adrenaline surged, tearing her in two directions. “Dix, we have the burial.”