Hearts Under Siege (8 page)

Molly kept her opinions to herself. Okay, so Jessica
wasn’t
dumb. And Molly considered her a friend. But she didn’t like the way Jess had handled Brady’s declaration, way back when, and she was afraid of how she would use him now.

Which brought her back to the news she’d kept to herself. Crap. She hated this.

“Brady.” She took a deep breath and said his name again when he just stared blankly into the soup.

“What?” He blinked up at her.

“I have to tell you something.”

Fear flickered across his face before he visibly steeled himself. “What?”

“It’s Jessica. I don’t think your parents know yet—or they didn’t before they got the news about Chris.” More fear, and this time not so easily dealt with, so Molly hurried to explain. “She’s pregnant. About two months along.”

“She’s—” Brady stared at her, mouth open in shock, before he turned away and ran his hand down his face. “Oh, man. No wonder… Did Chris know?”

“Yes, but no one else.”

“Except you.” There was just a hint of accusation in his tone, but he didn’t look at her.

She would not feel guilty. It had not been her decision to keep it a secret, or even to know the secret. “Jessica wanted someone with her at the doctor, and Chris was out of town.”

“Of course he was.” There was more accusation there, but he immediately seemed to regret it. “How far along is she?”

“Two months,” Molly repeated gently. “It’s a delicate time. I was worried when she first got the news about— Well, she was so hysterical. But being with your parents helps. They probably know now. She would have had to tell them at the hospital.”

“Yeah. Mom said something I didn’t get, but now—” He moved quickly to pull the pan off the stove as it bubbled up to the top. “I can’t even imagine how hard this is for her.”

Molly listened silently, assembling sandwiches, while Brady went on about poor Jessica. She was Molly’s friend, a raw new widow, facing being a single mother. The weight of all that would be devastating to anyone. Even if Brady had never declared his feelings for Jessica, it would be natural for her to latch onto him right now, and for him to offer whatever she needed from him.

Being jealous of that would make Molly an evil person.

She finished the tray and hefted it to follow Brady, carrying his lone soup bowl, back into the living room.

“Heavens!” Donna jumped up and took the soup bowl from Brady. “Help her! I can’t believe you let her carry that heavy thing all by herself.”

Brady quickly turned and grabbed the tray. “Sorry. I was a little distracted.”

The wry twist of his mouth, the sincerity in his eyes, soothed Molly’s disgruntlement. A bit. “It’s fine. I would have said something if I couldn’t handle it.” And maybe she wanted to wallow in her martyrdom, just a little. She stifled a sigh. She really needed to get over herself. How was now any different from twelve years ago, when she’d been in love with her best friend, plotted 24/7 how to get him to notice her, only to have him fall instantly in love with a woman he couldn’t have?

You had sex, idiot. That’s what’s different
.

Oh, yeah.

She handed out sandwiches, accepting Rick’s thanks and Donna’s praise for remembering what everyone liked. She gave Jessica a spoon, since Brady naturally hadn’t thought of one, and rolled her eyes at him when he thanked her, all sheepishly charming but hovering over Jessica like a daddy emperor penguin.

“Aren’t you eating, dear?” Donna asked Molly, concerned. “You need food more than any of us.”

“Of course I am.” She hadn’t even considered eating, but she supposed it set a bad example not to. Plus, all she’d had since leaving South America was airplane snacks. She reached for the last ham and cheddar, her hand colliding with Brady’s. She slapped it automatically.

“You already had one!” she chided. “Take the turkey.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Everyone chuckled at the veneer of “old times,” and fell silent for a moment while they ate. Then Donna cleared her throat, and Molly knew it was time for a more serious discussion.

…

Brady didn’t really listen while his mother talked about funeral arrangements and making a list of things that needed to be taken care of, such as insurance. SIEGE would be handling most of that stuff, though she didn’t know it. They had a very efficient office staff, which was good for Jessica.

Not that she’d see it that way, he thought grimly. She looked so frail. She couldn’t have lost so much weight in the last few days, but he didn’t want to touch her for fear of breaking her. She’d balanced her soup bowl on her lap, but her hand trembled as she tried to bring the spoon to her mouth. Broth splashed back into the bowl, a few drops landing on her pants.

In a flash, he was on his knees, taking the bowl gently from her. “Let me help,” he murmured.

“Thank you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and only half as substantial. “It’s good.” She managed a tremulous smile, and Brady’s heart cracked.

“Are you still on…medication?” He hoped they’d given her something safe for the baby. Normally she’d have made sure, but from what Molly had said, Jess might have been too hysterical to mention it. He’d glanced at her belly only once, and she wasn’t showing much, despite her thinness.

Jessica swallowed. “No, it was just that one night, and they had me in the hospital so they could keep an eye on the baby.” She acted like she thought Brady already knew, had known before now, so she must have told his parents. Or maybe she didn’t have the capacity to think that far into the topic. Or maybe Molly had said she would tell him, but had held off without Jessica knowing.

He scowled internally and fed Jess another spoonful. None of that mattered. Just the here and now.

“Did they say the baby’s okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine.”

“A girl.” His cracked heart now felt like slivers had been shoved into it.
Selfish bastard
. “Chris always wanted a daughter.” Okay, that was a stupid thing to say. How the hell did he know what Chris wanted? So he’d mentioned it in those demented, rambling, lovesick phone calls he’d made to Brady back in college—that didn’t mean he’d still felt that way. But how could he not? As frail as she was, Jessica was still beautiful, now in an almost ethereal way.

A snort that sounded suspiciously like Molly’s echoed in the back of his head. But he couldn’t help it. He’d always thought about Jessica in ridiculous terms.

“It’s too soon to tell, really,” Jessica admitted. Talking about the baby seemed to be giving her strength. “I just feel like she’s a girl.”

“Then she probably is,” Brady murmured absentmindedly. He was going to be an uncle. Not the same set of responsibilities being a father would bring, but certainly more now that Chris was gone. Wow. An image flashed into his head, a tiny little girl with wispy blond hair and her father’s dark blue eyes. Too many emotions pierced him at once, and he pushed them aside, concentrated on the present, the woman beside him.

After he’d fed Jessica about half the bowl, she sat back against the sofa cushions, her hand over her abdomen. “That’s all I can do for now. Thank you, Brady.” She reached out to pat his arm. He twisted to put the bowl on the coffee table and regained his seat on the sofa.

“I still feel like I’m underwater.” Jessica leaned against his shoulder. “Most of the time, I can’t process that he’s gone, that I’ll never see him again. Then suddenly the pain paralyzes me and I don’t know how I’m going to make it.” She broke into tears and covered her face. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry.” He wrapped his arm around and pulled her to his chest, where she sobbed into his T-shirt. Her hair was soft and fine under his hand.

After a moment he realized his parents and Molly had fallen silent and were watching. His father looked weary, his mother anxiously concerned. Molly wore the implacable mask of a SIEGE agent, but Brady thought he could see pity and compassion behind it. He frowned at her. Which emotion was aimed at whom? He didn’t need her pity. And he wasn’t going to think about why she thought he deserved it.

After a minute, Jessica’s cries faded. She was too weak to sustain them, he thought.

“Come on.” He moved to rise and lift her to her feet. “You should lie down.”

“I’ve spent most of the week in bed.” But she let him support her down the hall to the back bedroom. “Your parents are so good to let me stay here. I can’t face…can’t be—” She let out a sob and he hugged her, letting her regain her composure before they walked the last few feet into the bedroom.

The bed was unmade, its mess testifying to her restless sleep—or wakefulness. Brady hurried to straighten and smooth the covers, fluff the pillows, and help her lie down. She curled on her side, facing the edge, one arm protective across her abdomen, the other hand gripping his.

“Don’t leave. At least for a few minutes.” Tears sparkled in her eyes.

“I’ll stay as long as you need me.” He gently pulled his hand from hers so he could drape a blanket over her.

She reached for him again and drew in a deep breath. “I keep thinking of silly things,” she said, her voice high and tight. “Like how he won’t make me potato pancakes on Sunday mornings anymore. The Sundays he’s home. He was gone all the time, Brady.” She paused to swallow. “I was lucky to get him a full week before he left on another business trip. But when I asked him to cut back the traveling, he said he couldn’t. It was too important.”

Brady used his own implacable mask to hide the anger burning at her words. He understood what SIEGE meant, how many people had been saved by the intelligence they gathered and distributed. He knew firsthand the holes in a guy that could be filled by that kind of career. But Chris shouldn’t have had holes to fill. He had the most amazing woman in the world as his wife. A child on the way. Friends and family. What had been so compelling about his job that he’d refused his wife’s wishes?

Chris might have told Jessica he couldn’t cut back his travel, but that was a lie. No assignment was mandatory. SIEGE demanded a lot—secrecy, loyalty, a belief in bigger things like patriotism and the greater good. But the company operated on the belief that their people were more likely to fight for those things if they had smaller things to fight for, too. Personal stakes created greater bonds than global ones.

So what the hell had compelled Chris to spend so much time away from the woman he loved?

“Was it always that way?” he asked.

She shook her head. “He’s always managed to be here for important things. But he only traveled about half the time. It’s been increasing for about a year now.”

“Since you decided to get pregnant?” he guessed.

She nodded again, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He said he’d be able to eliminate the travel completely by the time the baby was born, but Brady,” she cried, “it’s too late. If he had been here, he wouldn’t have died.”

Brady didn’t tell her that people died at home, too, that Chris’s insistence on travel hadn’t killed him. It was logical, but only partly true. It hadn’t been the travel, it had been the mission.

“Please, Brady, hold me.” The plea broke his heart again—how many times was this woman going to do that to him?—and he toed off his shoes before climbing onto the bed behind her. It should have felt wrong, as she rolled over and snuggled into him, her sobs subsiding. It shouldn’t have felt like welcoming her home, not under these circumstances. But God help him, when she shifted closer, pressing her face to his chest and her knee between his, he wrapped his arm across her back, tucked her head under his chin, and moments later, fell asleep with the woman he loved in his arms. And nothing had ever felt so right.

Chapter Five

Molly struggled through most of the to-do list she was writing for Donna before the other woman noticed that her eyes wouldn’t stay open.

“Oh, sweetheart, what am I doing to you?”

Molly pried her eyelids open and frowned at Donna. “What?”

“I shouldn’t be so heartless, putting you to work after you spent the last three days traveling, bringing Brady home.”

Among other things
. “It’s okay,” she said aloud, to keep herself from mentioning the fighting and the guns and the sex. “I didn’t sleep last night, though. I think I’d better go find a ho—”

“If you finish that word, young lady, I will wash your mouth out with soap.” Donna surged to her feet, purpose giving her movements a little strength, her cheeks a little color. “You’ll stay here with us. I know we’re a little crowded, but it’s better to be with family right now.”

Her voice broke on the last few words, and Molly didn’t have the heart to decline. She let Donna lead her up to the third floor, where they’d set up a couple of twin beds under the eaves. They were draped in red and blue quilts. A small white table between them held two cute lamps, with Brady’s old stereo on the lower shelf. Bookcases flanked the doorway, stocked with old picture and chapter books. It was so clearly set up in the anticipation of grandchildren that tears filled Molly’s eyes.

“You can use the main bathroom on the second floor.” Donna patted her shoulder in sympathy but kept her face turned away, probably to keep herself from breaking down again, too. “You’ll share that with Brady. We have our master bath, and Jessica has the little bathroom behind the kitchen. You know, Rick said this house was too big when we bought it.” She smiled at Molly and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Now I’m thinking it’s just right. You let me know if you need anything, all right?”

“Of course. Thanks, Donna. I’ll probably sleep straight through until morning. Then I can get started on some of this.” She waved the pad she still held, frowned at it, and dropped it on top of the bookshelf so she could go downstairs for her bag and to use the bathroom.

She realized, after she’d gone all the way through the quiet house and back, that Brady wasn’t in the upstairs guest room. Nor was he in the living room or kitchen, where she’d stopped for a glass of water, nor outside near the cars, where she’d gone to retrieve her stuff. He’d never come out of Jessica’s room after going to help her lie down.

“It’s fine,” she muttered, jaw muscles clenching enough to hurt. She yanked on the water spigot in the sink to scrub her hands. “She needs comfort. Brady’s like Chris, that has to be comforting.” Molly struggled not to let jealousy override compassion and pity. Compassion for Jessica, newly widowed and soon to be a single mom, and for Brady, who’d lost his brother and faced the downside of keeping himself from his family. The pity was for herself, for being so pathetic and mean. And she did feel all that. Really. Except the pity. She’d done nothing to be pitied for.

So she loved the wrong man. Hardly unique.

By the time she’d finished washing up and trudged back up the stairs to the attic, the jealousy had ebbed, leaving only concern. Her friends were both vulnerable, both cared for each other in multiple ways…it was natural they’d turn to each other. But would it last, whatever they were finding down there in that back bedroom? Was Brady destined to be crushed when Jessica couldn’t handle the guilt, or decided she didn’t love him? Would Brady take over everything for Jessica, letting her wear the title of Fragile Princess indefinitely, so she never built the strength she’d need to raise her child?

“Not my problem.”

Molly sank into the surprisingly soft pillow and fell asleep immediately. The first few hours were probably restful. She didn’t remember by the time she woke to early morning sunlight filling the room. But in the last however-long, right before she’d awakened, her brain had been working overtime.

The house was still quiet, so she took a brief shower, dressed, and headed out in her car before anyone else emerged. Donna’s to-do list would wait. Molly had dreamed all morning about Christopher’s accident, of the little bit that had been told to the family. It nagged at her. She didn’t know why, because nothing in itself stood out as odd. Chris may or may not have had an accident, or been killed by someone else, or gotten caught up in something that had nothing to do with him. It could be anything, and SIEGE was going to reveal nothing to family members who had no clue about Chris’s secret life.

They probably wouldn’t reveal it to her, either, but she had to try. In the years she’d been a conduit she’d made some quiet, solid connections. She’d never made an error with anything that passed through her hands, had been constantly available, insisted on training beyond what they usually gave to staff at her level, and therefore gained a lot of respect. Add that she’d never demanded anything of SIEGE, only gave to the organization, and they kind of owed her.

That was one way to look at it, anyway.

She pulled into a Starbucks and, after buying coffees doctored to everyone’s individual tastes and all the croissants in the case, she got back into her car and called headquarters. Wherever that was.

“Dixson.” Her handler’s mellow, smooth voice came across as cautious. Molly smirked. He knew why she was calling.

“Byrnes. Protocol ten.”

“Standard.”

Molly keyed in a code on her cell phone designed to scramble her signal so no one could intercept and hear what she and Dixson said to each other. He was doing the same on his end, and once she heard the triple-click that told her it was engaged, she relaxed.

“Checking in,” she told him, though that was the least important reason for her call. “I retrieved Brady Fitzpatrick. We’re in Connecticut now. I don’t know when I can reopen the shop—”

“Don’t worry, Byrnes, you’re on bereavement leave. We’re using other conduits while you’re away. A local is checking on your shop periodically while you’re gone. Just pass-bys,” he assured her when her protectiveness spiked. He knew her well, and she had to smile.

“Thanks, Dix. That makes things easier.”

“How are you holding up?”

Molly let her head drop back against the headrest and stared up the visor while she fought the tears and raw throat that welled at his sincere concern. No one had asked her that. No one. They’d assumed they knew how she felt, been aware of her fatigue, and shared their grief with her, but it was different to have someone actually
ask
.

She swallowed a few times, then croaked, “I’m doing okay. You know. It’s…hard,” she finished lamely. Of course it was hard. She cleared her throat. “What do you need from me?”

“Well, we hate to ask you to work…”

“Sure you do.” It was easier to talk now. She sat up and checked her surroundings. “You want me to handle the exchange of the intel Brady brought back.”

“Actually, that’s exactly what we want you to do.” He sounded proud. “Are you okay with that?”

“Of course. But I’d like to do it differently.” She braced, hoping he’d go for this. “I want to bring it in myself.”

To his credit, Dixson didn’t hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I need to talk to someone about Christopher.”

Dixson sighed. “That’s not a good idea, Molly.”

The need to know more, the sense that something wasn’t right, grew more powerful. “Why not?”

“You’re not family.”

She made a deprecating noise. “I know more than the family does already. Come on, Dixson.” Her heart began to pound. “Let me come in. Let me talk to someone, get more than the vague, meaningless official statement. Something. This isn’t the usual casualty,” she pointed out, striving to balance logic and emotion. “His brother and I both belong to SIEGE.”

She bit back more argument and left it there for Dixson to roll around. He took four breaths before heaving a sigh. “All right. I’ll text you the address in New York. But don’t expect a lot of answers,” he cautioned. “It’s not up to me, what you get told.”

“No problem,” she said lightly, adrenaline gushing through her system and making her want to jump and yell. She curbed the urge for at least the semblance of calm. “Thanks, Dix.”

“Don’t thank me.” He grumbled something uncomplimentary and hung up.

Molly grinned at the phone, but it faded under the returning weight of grief and obligation. Getting a meeting guaranteed her nothing, but her expectations weren’t high. She just wanted an opportunity.

Her phone beeped. She checked the text and found a time—four o’clock that afternoon, surprisingly soon—and an address in New Rochelle, New York, only about half an hour away from the Fitzpatricks. She’d thought he meant New York City, but it probably made more sense to house the headquarters of a non-government spy agency off the beaten path.

It was nearly eight, and the others were probably up and moving around by now. She started the car and headed back to the house, her body growing heavier with every mile. Oh, well. At least Donna’s to-do list would keep her busy and make her feel useful.

…

Brady woke with a start, adrenaline drenching his system when he didn’t immediately know where he was. The light in the small room was dim. Blue wallpaper with tiny white flowers, one window with dark-blue drapes pulled closed, blocking out the sunlight. Someone in bed with him…

His first thought was
Molly,
but his second called him an idiot. The woman he could barely see, her back to him, a blanket draped over her, was blond. Jessica. Of course. He stifled a yawn with his right wrist while checking his left for the time. Eight twenty-seven. Had to be morning, since there was some light filtering past the edges of the curtains. They’d slept all night, and judging by her position, Jessica hadn’t moved at all. Hadn’t—

He lurched upward and swung over to check her pulse and breathing. Both were normal, thank God. Unlike his. He eased off the bed and hurried out of the room before his racehorse panting woke her. His thundering heart had calmed by the time he reached the kitchen. A good thing, since Molly stood there unloading croissants from a white bag onto a plate. Five Starbucks go-cups stood lined up along the counter.

“You’re awesome,” he assured her, checking the marks on the cups to find his grande café Americano. “How do you remember this stuff after—” Wincing, he sipped to keep his big mouth occupied.

“After so much time?” she finished for him. “It’s easy when you’re so fucking predictable.”

“I am not!” he defended automatically, but had to concede when she looked pointedly at the cup. “Okay, about some things I am.” He shifted uncomfortably when her eyes flicked for a nanosecond toward the back bedroom.

“How’s Jessica?” She plopped a croissant on a paper towel, grabbed her cup, and sat down at the table in the breakfast nook.

He snagged his own pastry and joined her, part of him acknowledging how good this felt. Natural. “She seems to have slept well. Other than that…I don’t know. She’s…” He shrugged, but Molly nodded.

“What’s the plan for today?” He couldn’t stand more sitting around and wallowing.

“Your mother gave us a list. She’s a little bugged about how long it’s taking to get his body back here, so we have to check on that. Jessica needs to go home, go through the mail, pack a new bag. She needs to refill her prenatal vitamins, too—she’s only got one left.” She rattled off half a dozen other things, without even stopping to think about it.

“I can take Jess over to the house, get her prescription.” He tore a piece off his croissant and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly, waiting. He could barely stand the weight of Molly’s reaction, but when he finally dared to lift his eyes to hers, she wasn’t looking at him.

“Fine. I’ll make phone calls. Your parents started the funeral arrangements—Jessica hasn’t been able to handle it. But I think your mother would have wanted to do it, anyway, so it works out. I’ll drop the intel you brought back at a nearby conduit.” She shrugged. “And we need to write an obituary.”

Guilt filled him. She was taking over, doing his job. He knew she was doing it because she loved them, and she alone had the strength to pull them through, but she was
his
friend, and he hadn’t been a very good one in return for a long time. Then, to top it off…

“Moll.”

She froze, narrowing her eyes at him. “What?”

“We have to talk about the other night.”

“No, we don’t.” He’d never heard her voice so hard. She drained her cup and stood. “It didn’t happen, Brady.” Her bright blue eyes flashed at him, daring him to push. “I know what it was. We don’t need to break it down into its parts.”

He couldn’t help but snicker at the word “parts.” Molly shook her head and laughed. “You are such a
guy
.”

“I know.” He stood and reached for her, but she grabbed her paper towel, wrapped it around her cup as she moved away from him, and dropped everything in the trashcan by the back door.

“You go take care of Jess. I’ll get started on these phone calls.” Then she was out of the room. And he’d let her go.

It wasn’t right. He needed to apologize, to explain what had happened, but what good would it do if she already knew? And she knew. She’d always known. So maybe it was better to honor her wishes and pretend it hadn’t happened.

Okay, then. Moving on. He took care of his own trash and prepared a croissant for Jessica, carrying it and her coffee back to her room. And despite the reason for it, despite how difficult going to their house was going to be, he couldn’t help but feel some small anticipation about spending the day with Jessica.

…

Molly pulled up to the gate barring the entrance to the parking lot at SIEGE HQ—or Global Information Exchange, their cover company and the name on the big sign out front—and waved her generic-looking ID badge in front of the scanner. At the beep and flash of the display, she pressed her left thumb to the print scanner.
Welcome, Agent Byrnes
flashed briefly before the gate lifted and she pulled into the normal-looking parking lot. Did every SIEGE location have her data, or was it only programmed in here today because she was expected?