Hearts Under Siege (4 page)

She sighed, and it wasn’t Molly. Not the Molly he knew. There was no exasperation or affection in the sound. Only…sorrow? He refocused on her rather than on her presence, and fear, an unfamiliar emotion, shot through him. Her normally brilliant blue eyes were flat, her always milky skin so pale the shadows under her eyes looked like someone had punched her. Her mouth dragged down at the corners, deep lines etched on the sides.

Something was very wrong.

“What is it?” He stepped forward to close his hands over her shoulders, and when she seemed to droop under them, he tugged her into a hug. “Molly, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong? Why are you here?” His brain ground back into gear, enough so he couldn’t stop to let her answer. “You’ve been following me all day. How the hell did you stick to me like that? Why didn’t you just approach me? Why didn’t you call me?” But the last one, at least, he could answer himself. “Okay, right. I’m not in contact. They’d have needed to set up a bridge. But that doesn’t explain…anything.” He let her go. “I’ll shut up now. You talk.”

Her movements stiff and weary, the opposite of her grace and speed when she’d first hit the room, she eased down onto the end of the bed, one of only two pieces of furniture in the one-room apartment. “I’ve been trying to catch up to you all day. I didn’t want to take you by surprise, you might have killed me.”

That was true, but how would she know that? He held his tongue, waiting for answers to what he’d already asked, rather than pile on more questions.

“You could have shown yourself. I’d have recognized you instantly.”

Her mouth managed to flick upward on one side. “I don’t exactly blend in. I didn’t want to be a target.” She sighed and drooped even more. “And to be fully honest, the longer it took me to get to you, the more I wanted to put it off.”

Brady frowned. “Why were you trying to get to me in the first place?”

You know why
. He stubbornly ignored the voice in the back of his head, the one telling him there was only one reason for her to be here.

“Sit down.” She patted the bed next to her.

He almost refused again, but she’d become so diminished in the few minutes since their fight, he gave in. The mattress bowed and slid them together, thigh to thigh, and an energy he’d never felt before sparked for an instant before it suffocated under inappropriateness.

“Brady, I have bad news.”

His throat closed. He wanted to tell her to spit it out, not try to prepare him or cushion it. But there was no way to do that, he knew that from experience. She knew it, too, goddamn her, and instead of holding it forever, as part of him wanted her to, she said it. The words he’d expected since he recognized her, the only reason she would have gone to all this effort to see him in person.

“Chris is dead.”

And his world imploded.

Brady didn’t remember going to his knees. He just found himself there, some tiny sharp hard thing digging into one of them—probably what brought him out of the dark ball of pain that had engulfed him. Molly remained on the bed but had wrapped herself around him, and his arms were tight around her, a pose that brought back a flicker of memory, of pain that was laughable compared to this. White agony ripped him apart, her words echoing not only in his head, but through his entire body.
Not Chris. Anybody but Chris
.

Molly was talking. Murmuring. Comfort sounds rendered meaningless by her own raw anguish. She’d lost a brother, too, and somehow, that realization was like a balm, taking away the edge, bringing him back to solid ground. He was gripping her so tightly he had to be hurting her, and when he forced his arms to loosen, they cramped. He needed—something. Anything but this static, throbbing mess.

“How?” he rasped, settling back on his heels, unable to rise or move even the short distance back to the bed.

“I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me.”

His head came up. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t my parents—”

She shook her head. “Not them. The facilitators.”

He shook his head. That word made no sense, not coming out of Molly’s mouth. The foundation of his world had disintegrated so completely that
nothing
made sense anymore. The edges of his vision closed in, and he reached for it, welcoming the darkness.

…

“Brady.” Molly cupped his jaw in both hands, frightened at the glaze that had just come over his expression. He couldn’t do this now. No one had been in the hallway when she checked, but they could have heard the scuffle and called the police. They could
not
afford to be detained here. She had to get him pulled together enough to get out of there.

She patted his cheek, but of course it did nothing. “
Brady
.” He didn’t move. She needed to shock him somehow. As if he weren’t already in shock.

Kiss him, or hit him?
She bit her lip. Nope, she couldn’t do it. She hauled her hand back and slapped him hard across the cheek. Awareness jolted into him, but instead of reacting violently to the strike, he folded his hand around hers and just held it.

“What happened?” he asked.

Molly took a steadying breath. “Jessica called me three days ago. Someone came to her house to tell her Chris was dead, but wouldn’t tell her how. Someone else went to tell your parents.”

A metallic
bang
echoed outside the room, probably in the stairwell across the hall. Brady jerked to his feet and pulled Molly up with him. “We have to get out of here.”

“No shit.”

“Stay behind me.”

She obeyed, pulling her hood back up to shadow her face and tugging her sleeves down over her hands. They made their way out of the tenement and up the street. Once they were a few blocks away, Brady pulled her into the entryway of a boarded-up building.

“Tell me.”

She didn’t know where to start. She had stayed in touch with the Fitzpatricks over the last three days, making sure they were okay, that Jessica was holding on. Brady’s sister-in-law had been hospitalized for monitored sedation the first night, and after that she’d managed to pull herself together enough to function. A little. His parents were desperate to have Brady home, and Molly had promised to get him there as soon as she could. But he was deep, and it had taken a day to get down here, another day to track him down, and all of today to get close enough—and strong enough—to deal with this.

There was so much to say, so much he didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure how to stick to the Chris-related parts. “I don’t know anything. Where it happened, or how, or where he is now. Your parents are with Jessica. She’s in bad shape.”

“Of course she is,” Brady murmured, the words thick with sympathy.

Molly hated the twinge of jealous annoyance that generated. This was not the time, for God’s sake. But she’d known all along where Brady’s focus would go. He’d need an outlet for his own grief, and Jessica needed him. Molly would be on the outside. Again.

It’s not about me
. She forced herself to continue. “No one would tell them where you were or how to get in touch with you. Your parents didn’t want you to hear the news from a stranger.”

He shifted and reached for her hand, his head coming up so his hazel eyes, now a desolate gray-blue, met hers knowingly. “
You
didn’t want that. I can calculate travel times, Moll. You were on your way here as soon as you heard and knew I was out of touch.”

She shrugged a little, not sure what to say.

“Thank you.” He took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around her. She closed her eyes and clung to him, feeling his body shudder.

After a few seconds he pulled away. “I know there’s a lot more to this. You have a lot of questions to answer. But we need to get home.”

“Yes. They need you.”

“Us. They need us.”

She didn’t dispute his assertion, but she wasn’t part of the family anymore. She was a friend. One who could help them, but only on the fringes. When they got back she’d be shuffling condolence casseroles, making funeral arrangements, ensuring everyone ate and slept and took their medications. She didn’t mind that. She
wanted
to do those things, but couldn’t help feeling it was inadequate, that they needed, and that she could do, so much more. But that was probably just because of the lack of answers.

“Let’s go.” He took her arm, started out of the alcove, then stopped again. “Wait. Dammit. I have a meet. I should keep it.”

She frowned. “Your parents need you home.”

His jaw flexed. “I know. But this is important, and a lot of effort will have been wasted if I don’t make this last meet. It won’t take long.”

She wasn’t going to be able to convince him otherwise. “When?”

He glanced at his watch, swiping away the rain that beaded on its face. “An hour.”

“Okay. That won’t significantly hold us up. I can go gather your stuff and meet you. Airport?”

He thought a second, then shook his head. “No. Here.” He hunched over a small pad he pulled from his jacket’s inside pocket, writing down information with a tiny pen. “The first address is my hotel and room number. Everything’s in the closet.” He hesitated like he was going to tell her something else, but continued, “The second address is where to meet me. I’ll have a car there. We’ll drive to the next city. It’s about two hours away, but we can get more direct flights from there. It’ll be faster overall.”

“Okay.” She took the paper and shoved it into her pocket, though she’d memorized the addresses as he wrote them. “Be careful.”

“I will. You, too. This country—”

“I know.” She hugged him, then even harder, betraying her worry over his meet. “How long before you’re done?”

“The meet itself should be quick. So give me an hour and a half.”

“And if you don’t show up, take off without you?” It was a lame, half-hearted joke, and he didn’t smile…or answer.

Walking away from him felt like ripping out part of her heart. But she focused on her tasks.

His hotel was small but high-end, the concierge eyeing her suspiciously when she entered the front door. She waved the key card Brady had given her, and he nodded, looking appeased. In a place like this, she hated being cornered in an elevator, so she took the stairs up one flight to Brady’s floor. His room was right next to the stairwell. Of course. She slipped into the room without anyone seeing her, the entire hotel quiet.

“What a slob!” she muttered. Well, not really, but saying it made her feel better for some reason. She went to the closet first and found a leather duffel and a few clothes hanging from the bar. It took seconds to pack them, along with the pants draped across the unmade bed, the underwear under the desk, and the extra shoes in the corner. Another minute and a half for the toiletries and ditty bag, two minutes to scan and search for any obvious items scattered around the small room.

She had tons of time left. Brady would call to check out of the hotel, so she set the key card on the desk and slung the bag over her shoulder, ready to head out.

Then halted. Nope, this wasn’t right.

Of course Brady didn’t want to tell her what else needed to be done, but she couldn’t leave it
un
done. She dropped the bag and knelt next to the bed, shoving her arms deep between the mattresses. Nothing. She went all the way around the bed without finding what she was looking for. Dammit, her arms were too short. She stood and heaved the mattress up. There it was, in the middle—a small gun case. She couldn’t hold up the mattress and reach it with her hand, so she stretched out a foot and slid it closer, then pulled it out and let the mattress fall. The weight of the case told her the weapon was inside. For a second she was furious with him, going to a meet unarmed, but schooled her emotions. He knew what he was doing, far better than she.

She sat at the desk and used the secure satellite phone she’d taken from Brady’s DC apartment to make a few calls. Half an hour later, she was at an outdoor café, the case in a tote at her feet, waiting for her contact. He approached, right on time, and the hand-off went smoothly, the only hiccup the troubled grief she saw in his eyes. As her contact passed, hooking the tote she lifted by the straps with her foot, there was a flash when she imagined them hugging, offering condolences to each other. Then he was gone.

But word had spread, and he clearly knew why she was here, turning in the weapon he’d secured for Brady when he entered the country. The grief she knew had been mirrored in her own eyes would be confirmation, and word would spread further still. There was danger in this work, but nevertheless, loss of a SIEGE agent was rare and sent ripples through the whole community, even though most members of the organization wouldn’t know which of their own had gone down, nor that Chris had even been one.

It was almost time to meet Brady. Molly finished her coffee, glad the rain had stopped, and stood to orient herself. The meeting location was north, about half a mile, and she decided to walk. She didn’t want to arrive too early and linger, calling attention to herself in a city where everything moved, albeit at a different pace than she was used to.

Hefting Brady’s duffel and her own smaller bag over her shoulder again, she headed down the street, matching her stride to those around her, weaving through the crowd with purpose but not intent. The sidewalks thinned as she passed an invisible line from “safe” city central to a more hard-knock area. For a moment she worried she’d gone the wrong way. But no, there was a street sign, and she was in the right place. Just a few more buildings, and—

Brady exited an alley about fifty feet in front of her. Glad he was safe, Molly smiled, but instincts she hadn’t known she possessed broke her into a run as she registered a movement across the street—a figure with a gun in an upper window. She didn’t shout, but Brady took off toward her, as if her running was a signal. A report echoed off the buildings around them. Chips flew from the brick over their heads as they collided, each struggling to push the other to the ground and neither doing more than ducking enough to keep their heads from being blown off.

“Get down, dammit!”