Hearts Under Siege (11 page)

“Where are you going?” he interrupted. “It’s only eight o’clock.” He narrowed his eyes when she stood, not looking at him. “Molly.”

“I have some arrangements to take care of. Some stuff to pick up.” She carried her detritus to the bin by the back door and almost made her escape to the porch. Brady caught her arm as she pushed through the screen door.

“Where are you going that you don’t want me to know?” She kept her head down, and he worked through the possible— Oh.
Hell
. “You’re getting his body, aren’t you?” The excitement at Jessica’s imminent appearance was instantly gone, replaced by a pressure in his chest. He didn’t give Molly a chance to answer, knowing he was right. “Why? Let the funeral home do it.”

“I can’t.” She looked up at him now, finally, anguished but honest. “I have to do it myself, Brady. I just…have to.”

He understood. But there wasn’t a chance in hell she was going alone. He started to follow her and got as far as the top step of the back porch before he registered his bare feet, and from there, the running shorts and ripped T-shirt he’d dragged on when he got up this morning.

“Wait for me,” he ordered.

“Brady, no.”

He ignored her protest and turned her to face him, patting the pockets of her hoodie, then her jeans.

“What are you doing?” She jerked away and he grabbed her around the waist with one arm, digging for the lump that had to be her keys.

“You’re
not
leaving without me.”

She drew in a sharp breath and he froze, suddenly registering their position. He’d dragged her to his body. Her left breast was squashed against his chest, her left leg between his, the fingers of his right hand only inches from…well, they were buried deep in her pocket. Instead of releasing her, his arm around her back tightened, bringing her even closer and pushing out her breath. Her long black eyelashes swished upward, exposing a plea he couldn’t interpret. Did she want him to let her go…or kiss her?

Kiss her
.

He didn’t analyze the whisper, or consider what it meant. It sounded like a reasonable suggestion. He actually bent his head before a different, louder voice inside him yelled
Are you fucking crazy?
He jerked upright and let go of her, pulling the keys free as he did and pretending for all he was worth that the keys had been his goal all along.

“I’ll be right back. Stay here on pain of death.” Then he escaped inside the house, striving to regain his breath and his freaking sanity.

…

Holy. Fucking. God.

Molly sank onto the top step of the porch and dropped her forehead to her knees.
What the hell was
that?

Brady had almost kissed her. This time in full control of himself. No, maybe not. He was trying to stop her from going to get his brother’s body without him, and that had to have dredged up more pain and turmoil. Maybe it was a knee-jerk comfort response. Like programming. But God, she could still feel his hand in her pocket, inches from—

“
Guh
.” She straightened and rubbed her hands on her jeans. Then there’d been his lean, hard body full length on hers, which definitely remembered what he’d felt like naked and wanted to feel it again.

Think of something else.

She’d seen the look on his face when Jessica came out of the bedroom. Molly had immediately needed to escape, to avoid watching him fawning over Princess Jess again, to keep her crushing pity at bay. She hurt terribly for Jessica, for her loss and everything she must face all on her own, but at the same time, Molly had no patience for the other woman’s weakness and dependence. This wasn’t how Molly would have predicted her friend would react to tragedy.

Ten years ago, Jessica had graduated from interior design school and launched right into her own business, ignoring anyone who told her it couldn’t work, that she didn’t have the experience to make a success of it. She had succeeded, joining two dozen local organizations, building relationships, doing a couple of pro bono jobs to create references and referrals. Molly never knew if she eventually grew tired of the business or if it just petered out, but about three years ago Jessica had shut it down and become a housewife. Maybe she and Chris had been having problems trying to have kids; Jess had never confided that deeply in Molly. Their conversations became all about Chris and his “work,” and dinner with his family, and a little bit about Jessica missing her own family, who lived too far away to visit often. Then she’d gotten pregnant, and it seemed everything was perfect again—at least as far as what Jessica wanted.

Now Molly knew Jess had lost herself, had tied her identity too closely to Christopher, and with his loss, was truly floundering. Molly would be a better friend if she helped Jessica find her way again…but that would mean getting in Brady’s way. At the rate he was going, he was just going to slip right into Christopher’s place and rescue the damsel in distress.

Let him. It’s what he wants.
What he’d always wanted, since that stupid day at the train station.

Who was she to decide it was wrong for either of them?

Before she could answer her own question, Brady emerged from the house, now wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt and carrying her keys.

“Ready?” he asked.

“You don’t have to go,” she told him. “The casket will be latched. It’s not like an identification or anything, and I have the power of attorney your parents drew up.” It gave her authority to handle all the stuff that Jessica was unable to, and Donna and Rick shouldn’t have to.

“He’s my brother,” Brady gritted out, not looking down. Molly stood, and regretted it when he continued, “You’re not even family.”

If the words had been borne on the edge of a blade, they couldn’t have sliced deeper.

She couldn’t move, staring at him as he went down the steps, oblivious to her pain.

But then he said, “You shouldn’t be shouldering our burdens. Not alone.” He was halfway down the sidewalk when he realized she wasn’t there. He turned. “You loved him, too, Molly. I know this isn’t any easier for you than it is for us.”

That wasn’t the balm it should have been. “It is,” she said softly, still battling the hurt. She took a deep breath. “Not easy, but not as hard. I loved him, yes, and he was like a brother to me, even if he wasn’t my brother.”

Brady winced, as if suddenly realizing how he’d sounded. “I didn’t—”

“It’s not the same. I know that, and that’s why I wanted to do this for you. I wanted to spare you.” She blinked and refocused on practicalities and conspiracies. Going alone wasn’t just about sparing him. The facilitator had alleviated her vague uneasiness yesterday, but a tiny spark still lingered. She had to put it to rest, and hoped to do that today. It would be a lot harder to accomplish if Brady was with her.

“Oh, Moll.” He came back to the porch and up a step, wrapping his arms around her in a hug. She rested her chin on his shoulder, inhaling deeply as she hugged him back. He smelled of deodorant and shaving gel, the same ones he’d used since college, even though he hadn’t had time to shower yet today and certainly hadn’t shaved.

“I love you, Moll. You’re still my best friend, even after all I’ve done.”

“I love you, too, Brady,” she whispered. And just wished he meant it the same way she did.

…

“Have you talked to your parents lately?” Brady asked after they’d been on the road a few minutes.

Molly grimaced. “I don’t really want to talk about my parents.”

“And I don’t want to talk about anything related to Chris or his death or my family or—”

She managed a laugh. “Okay. Yes. I talked to them right before I left for South America.”

“Shall I explain what ‘anything related’ means?” He gave her a mock glare.

“Sorry. Anyway, I call them regularly. It’s a duty.”

“And?”

“And Dad is on disability, has been for five years. He’s a total cliché. Lazing around the house while Mom works her ass off, or so she says, at the dry cleaner. All they do is complain about each other.” She didn’t bother trying to keep the bitterness from her voice. Brady knew the score. Had always known.

“And ask for money?”

“And ask for money. Of course.”

“Do you give it to them?”

“Sometimes.” She looked out the side window, not wanting his judgment. “Christmas, birthdays, Mother’s Day, and Father’s Day. Never just money.”

“You don’t owe them anything,” Brady said gently enough that she turned back.

“I do. Not much,” she acknowledged. “But they did enable me to get through college.”

“You got through college on your own,” he corrected firmly. “Hard work and top grades. Scholarships.”

“And financial aid because they were such losers.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Well, they did spawn one hell of a kid. I don’t know how you turned out so great.”

“I do.” She waited until he looked at her, one eyebrow lifted. “It was you.”

He turned back to traffic, looking uncomfortable. “My parents, you mean.”

“All of you. If all of you hadn’t given me an escape, showed me what a real family could be like, that it was possible to be a different kind of person, I’d never have become who I am.”

She thought about that as they drove on, Brady now intently following the GPS instructions. In truth, the Fitzpatricks’ influence was as deep and pervasive as her parents’. They’d lived as neighbors the entire time she was growing up, and early on, the mothers had been friends. Or at least friendly acquaintances, with their kids only a few months apart in age and play dates so easy. Her own mother probably had been decent when Molly was an infant and toddler. She didn’t remember, but pictures showed her smiling and doting, only looking hard and cynical and tired of life as the years wore on.

Molly only really remembered the fighting, though. That her parents were still together was her life’s greatest mystery. She couldn’t blame either of them more than the other; they just clashed, repeatedly and unstoppably. Maybe they loved each other, maybe it was habit or codependence. Who knew? The bottom line was that the older she’d grown, the more time Molly had spent at the Fitzes’. And the more they became her true family, no matter what Brady said.

And then she chose the same college Brady went to. It had a great music program, but if he’d gone somewhere else, Molly wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have followed him anyway. And though she had other friendships, spent years away from Brady and his family, toured the world and had her own career that had nothing to do with them, she’d still wound up in a new career inexorably tied to Brady’s and Chris’s.

True, they’d never come through her shop, never used her as a conduit, hadn’t known—until now—that she was one. But she never would have been SIEGE without them.

Being SIEGE meant having a greater purpose, doing things that served the world at large, not just herself or culture or the arts or the soul, depending which perspective you took on the musical world. But it had also kept her connected to Brady, when their relationship had been stretched to the barest of threads.

Was that bad? Wrong? Would a psychologist label her choices unhealthy?

Brady cursed. “GPS should stand for ‘Great Piece of Shit.’ ” He stabbed at a button. “This can’t be right.”

Molly brushed his hand aside. “I’ll do it.” She navigated menus back to the main route. “Take the next right, and the building is on the left.”

“Fantastic.” He blew out a breath. “You’re awesome.”

She sat back, smiling.
Screw psychology
.

The building where they were to pick up the body was a hangar near a private airstrip, which further confirmed Molly’s belief that Chris had been out of the country when he was killed. She didn’t know why that mattered so much. Most fieldwork was done outside of the US, after all.

Brady parked and shut off the car, but sat staring at the ugly building. Molly could imagine what he was thinking—that it was an ignominious place for his brother to be resting. That he didn’t want to face the proof, the irrefutable evidence that would make it all real. That no brother, especially a younger one, should have to deal with something like this.

“I’ll go,” she started to say, but he spoke at the same time.

“We can’t put a casket in this car.”

He said it matter of factly, but with a hint of surprise that made Molly want to roll her eyes.

“I know that.” She held back the “dipshit.”

“Then—”

“The funeral home is meeting us here,” she admitted. She’d hoped he wouldn’t ask, at least not this soon. She didn’t want to start up the “Then why are we here?” discussion again. But Brady just nodded, still staring at the sheet-metal structure in front of them, his hand on the keys but unmoving. Molly waited patiently, letting him work up to it. For her part, she was itching to get in there…but just as willing to put it off forever.

They sat for a few minutes, the only sound their breathing. Molly went into a kind of Zen state, her brain powered down, her senses full of the scent of the man next to her, the size of him filling her car. Not in a sexual way, just full awareness of his presence. She let herself connect with him while they sat there.

A plane buzzed into view, coming in for a landing on a strip beyond the fence enclosing the hangar, and Brady drew in a deep, sharp breath. “Okay, let’s go.”

She started to get out of the car and halted, one foot on the ground, when Brady grabbed her hand. He didn’t say anything, only squeezed and let go before shoving open his own door.

They walked together to the glass entry on the side of the building, Brady’s stride strong and fast, as if he was now determined to get it over with. She hurried to keep up, the pulse in her throat beating an urgent rhythm.

A man in a dark suit that fit his ramrod spine perfectly met them inside the door, which opened onto a large storage area. The walls were corrugated metal, the floor concrete, the room full of parts and equipment and boxes and pallets.

“How may I help you?” the man asked with an air of already knowing, but not comfortable with that knowledge.