Fallen (34 page)

A key chain crowded with novelty charms and discount cards lay on the bed, too, nearly obscured by the rumpled sheets. Curious, Ryan picked it up and shuffled through the items that included a tiny enameled heart, a whistle and miniature flip-flop …

Ice water moved through his veins.

The last charm bore the logo from The Grindhouse.

Movement reflected in the bureau mirror. Ryan dropped the key chain and whirled, his hand reaching for the off-duty gun he wore holstered under his shirt.

“Don’t.”

Molly stood in the room’s threshold, her blond hair wild and unkempt around her shoulders. Clad in a sweat jacket with the hood down and jeans, she gripped a handgun fitted with a silencer in both hands, pointing it at him. Ryan froze, his heart slamming into his ribs.

“Easy,” he rasped, feeling the blood drain from his face. He slowly moved his hands out to his sides. Shock made his ears ring. “Molly … you
know
me. Don’t do anything you’ll regret, all right?”

As she stared at him with a sullen expression, his mind raced.
Her
duffel and key chain. She was on her way out of town. Adam
had
seen her last night. He guessed she’d gotten into the house somehow before him. His arrival had surprised her, and she’d hidden, leaving her belongings out in the open in her haste.

There were probably things in the duffel, souvenirs, which would link her. When he had come across it, she’d had no choice but to show herself.

Adrenaline pumped through him. She’d been right there in front of them, hiding in plain sight. Female, not male. They’d ignored the credit transactions from McCrosky’s since it was a given any cop in downtown had been there.

Ryan suspected why she was here now.

He spoke calmly despite the heavy thudding of his heart. “Adam’s badge was on him last night. It’s not here … That
is
what you’re looking for, isn’t it?”

Her eyes were wet, her mouth pinched. Molly gripped the gun harder. “Take your gun out slowly and put it on the floor. I’ve seen your backup through your shirt before, so I know where it is. Don’t make me hurt you, Ryan.”

When he hesitated, she snapped, “Do it!”

Muscles rigid, he kept one hand in view while he carefully reached under his shirt for his gun. He went onto his haunches and placed it on the carpet, then rose, his mouth and throat dry. Disbelief still tightened his skin.

“Can we talk about this?” Ryan asked gently. “Molly … you’re not well. Let me help you—”

“Why are you here?” she demanded. “Is Adam dead?”

“He’s in a coma. He’s in bad shape.” He kept his tone even, aware showing any anger could be a fatal mistake. “Do you want to tell me
why
, at least?”

She chewed her trembling lip. “He was just like the rest of them. He used me and then he lied to me. I hope he
dies
.”

His nerves zinged with electricity. Ryan took a cautious step closer, his hands remaining poised at his sides. Molly liked him, he knew that, and he hoped he might get her to let her guard down long enough to disarm her.

“How is he like the rest of them, Molly? Adam’s my little brother. Help me to understand—”

“You
know
how!” Agitated, her high-pitched voice split the air. “They all want to screw me. They act like I’m someone special until they get what they want!”

Her lip curled back in disgust. “And then they go home to their stupid wives and girlfriends, smelling like sex. Like
me
.”

You do that and I’ll fucking kill you.

Nate had been talking to Molly on the phone that day. She must have called him, threatening to approach Kristen Weisz. As she railed, Ryan took another cautious step closer
.

“I have feelings! I’m not some whore they can just shove their cocks into and then pretend like nothing happened!”

“You’re upset. You have a right to be,” Ryan said soothingly. “No one should treat you like that.
No one
.”

She changed her grip on the gun to one hand, using the other to wipe at her watery eyes. He was less than five feet from her now.

“You always treated me good, Ryan. At Nate’s wake, after the way you protected me from Seth … I
thought
you liked me,” she said, sniffling. “I wanted you to like me so much.”

“I
do
,” he stressed, reaching a hand out to her.

Her mouth went slack. Something shifted in her expression, the vivid green irises transforming into brittle glass. Without warning, she fired. Ryan felt the impact in his side, a cutting pain that doubled him over before dropping him. His breath froze inside his lungs. Through his shock, he saw Molly staring down at him.

“You’re a liar like the rest of them.” Her voice was cold. “I know you’re back with your bitch ex-wife.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Panic made him
lightheaded. Body wet and shivering, he created a seal over Tyler’s mouth and nose. Two rescue breaths. He watched the small chest lift. Then thirty compressions, fast and hard. Again.

With each press on his sternum, he made a bargain with God.

Please don’t take him. I’ll do anything.

Tyler lay on the concrete, his dark hair wet and skin tinged blue against his sodden pajamas. Tears blurring his vision, he stopped CPR long enough to search for breathing or a pulse. Some faint proof of life. Wiping water from his face, he screamed out hoarsely again for help.

He did the breaths and compressions, two and thirty, two and thirty—fingers numb with cold and fear choking him as emergency sirens began to wail in the distance.

In his torment, his eyes were drawn across the pool and its half-sunken tarp in the frigid water. Adam stood on the other side, watching him. He clutched Tyler’s small hand.

Tyler grinned his little-boy grin and waved.

Ryan winced and pulled his head upright, the dream disintegrating at the white-hot flare of pain. Molly was on her knees beside him, pressing one of Adam’s T-shirts against his side. Her long hair brushed his chest.

He must have passed out. Ryan swallowed roughly, disoriented. He sat on the floor, his back against the bed’s railed footboard and his jean-clad legs sprawled on the oatmeal-colored carpet.

The metallic scent of his blood made his stomach clench.

Eyes watering, he tried to wrench away from her painful ministrations. His skin prickled as he realized his wrists had been bound to the footboard’s legs with plastic zip-ties, the kind used to subdue arrestees. Whether they had been taken from his pocket while he’d been out or had been among Adam’s things, he didn’t know.

The carpet held a rusty trail of blood. Vaguely, Ryan remembered being dragged on his back. Which meant a through-and-
through. He flinched, perspiration popping out on his forehead as she pressed another shirt into place on top of the other one.

“Your back’s bleeding, too.”

“I need to see the wound, Molly,” he panted. “See how bad it is—”

She hushed him, her face inches from his. Late-afternoon sunlight filtered in through the window, highlighting the amber flecks in the green eyes rimmed by black lashes. She appeared calm, even serene now, her agitation gone. “Don’t squirm. You’ll only make it worse.”

Ryan grimaced against the pain radiating in his side. Molly had already proved herself a good shot. If she’d wanted to kill him, she would have. “Listen to me, all right? I need you to call 9-1-1. You don’t have to be here. You can take my SUV and go.”

She sat back, staring inquisitively at him as she brushed her hair from her eyes. She’d removed the hooded sweat jacket, revealing the short-sleeved top she had on underneath it.

“I’ve never hurt you, Molly. You
know
that.” He swallowed with effort. “I need help.”

With a resigned sigh, she reached for something behind him on the bed. Ryan’s blood ran cold as he saw what she held. His shield. As she studied it, her eyebrows drew pensively together.

“She’s old. She’s not even that pretty.” Frowning, she ran the tip of a bloodstained fingernail over the gold metal. “Is it because she’s a doctor?”

Ryan drew in a labored breath, closing his eyes against a wave of dizziness. He needed to keep talking, keep a rapport with her and not drift into unconsciousness again.

“What …” He wet his lips as he gathered his strength. “What do you know about Lydia?”

The feel of cool fingers sliding through his hair made him shiver, as did the closeness of her voice.

“I know
everything
. What a heartless bitch she is. How she left you after your little boy died. She doesn’t deserve you.”

He forced his eyes open, recognizing the editorial. “Who told you that? Adam?”

Molly shrugged. “He didn’t like her showing up, either.”

She had to be talking about Nate’s wake—the night Lydia had come by. Ryan recalled Molly eavesdropping on them on the patio … as well as the hooded figure he’d glimpsed on the street when he’d gone out to his car. The one he thought had been watching him. The kitchen at McCrosky’s had a rear exit. It would have been possible for her to temporarily slip outside.

“He took me home, but he was more interested in bitching about
her
than anything.” With a huff, she toyed with the buttons on his shirt. “We finally started messing around, but just when things started getting hot, he made up some excuse and left. I don’t think he could get it up.”

She leaned closer, her intimate whisper against his ear making Ryan’s flesh pebble.

“Lydia’s so cold she even shriveled
your brother’s
dick.”

She sat back on her heels and smiled at her own joke before her features morphed into petulance again. Picking up his shield from where she’d placed it on the floor, she examined it in her palm, frowning hard. “
You
were supposed to take me home that night, Ryan. Not Adam. You
wanted
to. I could see it in your eyes and the way you were standing so close to me. The way you protected me from Seth. Everything would’ve been different if
that bitch
hadn’t shown up.”

“Different?” Ryan repeated hoarsely.

She leaned forward again to touch his face. “It was
our
chance. I have a secret … I’ve always had a crush on you, Ryan. I like you more than any of them. And I know you would’ve treated me right if you could’ve just come out of your shell. I kept waiting for you to make your move, but you were just too shy to go after what you wanted.”

She shook her head. “The number she did on you … it hurt your confidence.”

“Molly,
please
. If you like me so much, call for help. This … isn’t good.”

She said nothing in response. He had a rising sense he would die here.

“I pretended Adam was
you
the night he took me home. I wanted him to really fuck me. Get rough with me, you know?”

Her forehead creased faintly as she glanced to the cotton garments covering his wound. Blood—a round spot of it, the size of a half-dollar—had already begun leaking through. Ryan felt cold, his skin clammy. Anxiety traced over him. “I’m going into shock, Molly. Is that what you want?”

She pensively chewed her bottom lip. Without another word, she rose to her feet and left the room.

The zip-ties cut into Ryan’s wrists as he pulled at them. He felt stupid and angry that Molly had blindsided him. That she had hidden her psychosis from a bar full of trained detectives and police. He leaned sideways, testing the strength of the bed’s metal feet, then winced at the hot flash of pain the movement created. It took his breath away, narrowing his field of vision.

Don’t pass out again.

Head leaned back against the footboard, he tried to console himself with the fact that he hadn’t been the only one who’d been fooled. John Watterson and Nate, Matthew Boyce, Adam—they’d all been much closer to Molly than he had, apparently. He tried to picture Nate at The Grindhouse with her as his clandestine date, paying her way in and pretending to like her music so he could screw her. Ryan shook his head. He’d thought he and Kristen were stronger than that.

That lay had gotten him killed.

A trickle of sweat rolled down his temple as she returned with a few towels. His mind turned to Lydia and their too-late reconciliation, his belly knotting with regret. If he died, Ryan feared she wouldn’t survive another loss.

Molly sank down beside him.