Hearts Under Siege (18 page)

Molly would have declined, but the woman wasn’t going anywhere, so they both asked for water and waited until she’d finished their aisle and moved away. Once she had, Molly seized the opportunity to change the subject.

“Which do you think is more likely?” she asked Brady before he could speak. “That Chris is alive or that he was murdered?”

Brady had sat up straighter to open his snack and water, so now he loomed over her, not at all distracted. The tenderness in his eyes as he looked down at her unnerved her, but she forced herself to keep her own gaze steady and not falter under her discomfort.

Brady, probably understanding how confused he was suddenly making her, settled back and finally looked away.

“Honestly, the odds seem pretty even at this point.” He offered her his nuts. She declined, and he went on, “I’m afraid to concentrate too hard in either direction.”

“I know. Going through all this once was bad enough, but to have to do it all over again…” She reached for her water, trying to block out an alternative to her earlier vision, of the Fitzes destroyed, fragmented, full of dark pain.

That made Molly think of Jessica, which brought her back to her own feelings for Brady, and what he’d been trying to say to her. She tried to turn her brain in another direction, but she couldn’t help herself. She had to ask.

“Jessica’s not doing very well,” she began.

“No.” Brady heaved a sigh, and cradled his water bottle against his torso. “I don’t know how to help her. And if she finds out about Shae—”

“She seems to be clinging to you.”

“Yeah.” His tone revealed nothing. It made Molly want to growl at him. Maybe poke him for good measure. Hard.

So she’d just go for it. “It looks like you’re getting a second chance.”

“Does it?” He actually sounded amused, damn him, and his eyes twinkled when he turned his head to look at her.

“Don’t act like this is funny,” she spat out. “The past twelve years might be worth all the pain if you actually end up with her. It’s all you’ve wanted since the instant you laid eyes on her.”

The twinkle faded. “The past twelve years will never be worth it. I did too much damage, to all of us.” He drew a deep breath and faced forward. “If I’d been more mature, spent some time with them as a couple, or even with Jess on her own, I might have realized things a little more quickly.”

Molly’s heart rate picked up. Brady declaring feelings for her was a tangled mess of issues. But Jessica was the knot in the middle. Was he really starting to untie it?

“What kinds of things?” she managed to ask with a little more whispery hope than she’d have liked to show.

“Things like…she’s very high maintenance.”

Her heartbeat slowed. Big shock. That didn’t mean anything. “We’re all high maintenance.”

Brady gave her a lopsided grin. “
You’re
not.”

“Of course I am. You just haven’t been in a relationship with me to find out.”

His gaze went soft. “Moll, I’ve been in a relationship with you my entire life. You are the lowest-maintenance chick I’ve ever met.”

She shook her head, wondering what perverse devil’s advocate in her drove her to protest, but he didn’t give her a chance.

“David Scott.”

“Who?” But she blushed, knowing exactly who he was talking about.

Brady knew it, too, and didn’t bother with reminders. “You know why he really broke up with you?”

She knew damned well why. “Because Laurie Hatterly shook her booty at him at the frat’s Monopoly party, and she had a better ass than I did.”

“Nope. She was just an excuse because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” The corner of his lip curved. “You made things too easy.”

“No, I didn’t,” she scoffed. “I was anything but clingy, and I didn’t mother him or anything.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. You were comfortable hanging out with him, doing whatever. You didn’t care what it was. You didn’t make demands or force him to do what you wanted to do. If he wasn’t interested in something you liked, you did it without him. He wasn’t used to that.”

“That makes no sense at all,” she grumbled, but of course it did. She knew guys wanted to be needed, and she had never been very good at needing anyone but herself. Wanting, yes. Needing, no. It was probably why her few attempts at dating since That Christmas hadn’t progressed very far.

“Anyway.” Brady shook his head with a hint of wonder. “If I’d stuck around, my crush on Jessica might have died a natural death.”

“Crush?” Molly was getting sick to her stomach with all these ups and downs.

He turned to her again. She kept her eyes on his mouth, unable to meet his gaze.

“Yeah. Crush. I love her like a sister-in-law, Molly. I want her to not be hurting. Not be alone. But I don’t want to be the one to make it that way for her. I don’t want to be with her. Not anymore.”

And with those words, Molly’s world shifted irrevocably.

Again.

Chapter Twelve

Customs went smoothly, but slowly, so Molly and Brady barely had time to get to the café where Dixson had sent them. Dix hadn’t told them how to identify the man they were meeting, so Molly hoped he knew to look for them. She was glad Brady had experience with this kind of stuff. When people came into her store, a defined set of code phrases helped her identify who people were and why they were there.

It was like a symphony, where every musician knew their own parts and how the sections came together, but didn’t have to know the details of the other sections.

Brady’s work was more like improvised jazz, where the players followed each other and made things up as they went along.

As they settled onto chilly iron chairs at a cold bistro table on the deserted sidewalk, Molly decided she was much better off as a conduit. She’d leave the field to Brady. Symphony was definitely a better fit for her.

About ten seconds after they sat down, a waiter came out to take their order. He looked annoyed that they were forcing him to come outside where it was too cold for al fresco dining. They ordered coffee, and he quickly went back inside.

She stifled a yawn and tried to look like a tourist instead of someone waiting for a rendezvous. It was Sunday in the business district, so things were pretty darn quiet. Few people were strolling along the sidewalk. Traffic was also light. The fountain in a cement courtyard across the street danced in the sunlight, but no one sat around enjoying the sparkle.

She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She hoped the waiter didn’t dilly-dally with the coffee to punish them for being outside.

“We should call your mother,” she said to Brady, so they looked normal, engaged in conversation.

He grimaced. “I don’t think so. Better to ask forgiveness—”

“Yeah, I don’t think she likes that saying.”

Their shared smile was interrupted by a man dropping into the third seat at their table.

Molly couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen him approach. He was a few inches taller than Brady sitting, and his knees touched the top of the table, so his legs were long, too. Unlike most very tall men, though, he wasn’t lanky and bug-like, but broad and solid. He wore khakis and a denim jacket over a T-shirt. Nothing that would stand out. But his close-cropped hair was bright blond, his face rugged with a prominent brow ridge. In short, not the kind of guy who blended into any crowd. Yet Molly, who’d been paying attention, hadn’t noticed him until he’d appeared at their table.

“You’re Code 11.” He looked at Brady, then at Molly, after giving the designation Dix had provided for them.

Since he was still looking at her, she nodded once. “So you must be T-59.”

His nod was even more abrupt than hers, and he said nothing more. A moment later the waiter came out with three mugs of coffee. Brady handed him some cash he’d exchanged at the airport and told him to keep the change. Looking less disgruntled, he thanked them, hesitated as if about to ask if they wanted anything else, thought better of lingering, and went back inside.

There were no pedestrians for a block around, but T-59 didn’t say anything. He leaned forward and sipped his coffee, making a pleased noise that made Molly try hers. It was good coffee.

Finally, Brady said, “You have information for us.”

T sat back. “I may.”

“You work for Global.” Brady named their cover employer.

“I do.”

“In what capacity?”

T gave him a
you-know-better-than-that
look, but his hand twitched toward Brady. She took that to mean he was a field agent, or had been.

“You knew what Fitzpatrick was working on?”

At the use of Chris’s name, T’s eyes went dark, and though his forehead didn’t move, the brows seemed to have grown. Molly shivered at the subtle glower, but Brady appeared unperturbed. He waited patiently until T nodded.

“And?”

T shook his head. She figured he was afraid of being overheard. No one was close by, sure, but parabolic microphones didn’t have to be. She surreptitiously scanned the rooftops all around them and didn’t see any silhouettes or glints of light, and no open windows in the buildings. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything, either.

Brady set a small device on the table. Molly had no idea what it was, but T visibly relaxed. He leaned in and motioned them closer. She shifted her chair and rested her forearms on the table, as if she was simply huddling around her hot coffee.

T kept his voice low. “Fitz was investigating someone in Global. Someone high up.”

“Stationed here?” Brady asked.

“No. HQ. But the trail led him here. Fitz was good. I was suspicious about the accident, but couldn’t be sure someone had found out what he was doing and taken care of him.”

“What made you suspicious?” she asked.

T shrugged. “Where it happened, the injuries on the report. I saw the car. I was curious,” he answered Brady’s unspoken query. “I managed to get a look at it before it was crushed. The impact zone didn’t really match the injuries on the official in-company report.”

“No police report?” Brady asked.

“None.”

“Why not? Don’t they have to report to a fatal accident scene?” Molly didn’t know how things worked in Canada, but that seemed like a no-brainer.

“Normally, yes.” T didn’t elaborate, leaving them to make their own interpretations.

“Do you think he was murdered?” Brady asked outright. Molly held her breath.

“I do.”

She jolted, even though she’d expected that answer. But Brady didn’t react at all, just continued seeking answers.

“And you think they retrieved what they were after—the evidence he’d gathered on them.” That one wasn’t a question.

“The originals, yeah.” He drank more coffee. “Any agent worth his salt would have kept copies.”

“But for copies to be of any value,” she mused, “he’d have had to let someone know they existed.”

Brady grunted, his body jerking as if something had hit him, and yanked his phone out of his pocket. After a few seconds of hitting buttons, he cursed. “I need a computer.”

T drained his coffee. “Anything else from me?”

“Do you have anything else to tell us?” Molly asked.

He didn’t crack a smile. “Just to watch your backs. If the person he was investigating gets wind that you’re on the case—”

She stood when he did, blocking his path. Brady was still fiddling with his phone and hadn’t caught the hint. “Do you know who that is?” she demanded quietly.

All hint of wariness dropped from T’s face, leaving only sincerity. “No. But it’s someone high enough to have a lot of power, and either no conscience or a wealth of desperation.” He slipped past her, and seconds later, she couldn’t tell which person on the street was him.

“I need a computer,” Brady repeated, getting to his feet. His expression was twisted, anguished.

“To use, or to buy?”

“Buy.”

“There’s an Apple store up the street. I saw it on the way here.”

“That’ll do.” They started walking. Molly found it tricky keeping up with Brady’s long stride without looking like a little dog trotting next to its master. He didn’t seem to notice, and she didn’t think it was a good time to question either his pace or what he’d found.

“What was that device you put on the table?” she asked instead.

“High-frequency disruptor. If anyone was using mechanical means to listen to us, they’d only get feedback, whether it was from a distance or something planted near us.”

“You field agents get all the cool toys.”

Brady rewarded her with a smile, slowed his pace a little, and took her hand so they could walk side by side.

An hour later, they were set up in a random hotel room with Brady’s new top-of-the-line laptop. He’d also taken them down an alley to a small electronics store that he’d heard about, where he’d bought some software and more gadgets that were clearly not meant for the general public. The gadgets were now set up and working to jam any signals in or out of the room, and he paced while the laptop installed the software.

“We’re good for now,” he said, “but I’m going to need to shut the jammers down while I download the software updates and then go online, because I’ll need the wi-fi for that. So start talking. Spill whatever it is eating you.”

So he
had
been paying attention.

“Just tell me what you thought of at the bistro that made you so grim and desperate for a computer.”

His smile faded. “Chris and I had a secret system of communication. A way to leave each other messages we didn’t want to risk anyone else seeing.”

She stretched out on her stomach on one of the double beds so she didn’t get in the way of his pacing. “Why? You guys didn’t know you both worked for SIEGE.”

“He might have known. I don’t know.” He rubbed his forehead. “But anyway, it started when we were kids. And lately, we’ve used it to talk about gifts and stuff, and for family discussions he didn’t want Jessica to see, or whatever. I usually check it when I come back from a mission. I never thought—”

His last mission had ended with the news that his brother was dead. There wouldn’t have been reason to check after that.

“Why couldn’t you just check on your phone?” Molly doubted method was important, but Brady was getting increasingly agitated the longer this took. Keeping him talking seemed like a good idea.

“The mailbox I use for him has a login for an encrypted site. E-mail isn’t safe.”

Hence the laptop, and the encryption software he’d bought. “How long before the laptop is done updating?”

He checked the progress indicator, which didn’t seem to be moving. “At least an hour. This stuff is heavy duty.”

She groaned. “I need something to do. Maybe I’ll go shopping.” Not her favorite task, but they needed clothes and toiletries.

Brady knew it and threw her a bone. “No sense shopping until we know if we’re staying. We might head straight to the airport after we read what he’s sent. If he’s sent anything.”

The thought of getting back on a cramped, stale airplane so soon made her slightly queasy. She reversed off her belly and scooted back to lean against the headboard, grabbing the TV remote off the nightstand. “All right. Option two it is.”

He came over and sat on the edge of the bed next to her thigh. He pulled the remote slowly from her hand and replaced it on the table. “Or option three.” His voice rumbled through her body, and her eyelids drifted to half-mast.

“Brady…”

It was only half a protest. She was so tired. Tired of staying rational and protective. Of trying to make sure they didn’t let the situation dictate feelings that weren’t real.

Fuck it.
Her
feelings were real, and had been for decades. Maybe Brady was honestly, finally seeing her differently.

“Molly.” He shifted up the bed. One arm crossed over her body, his fist bracing next to her hip. “Even with everything that’s happening, I can’t stop thinking about your mouth.”

“Ha!” slipped out before she thought it through. But Brady only smiled a slow, lazy smile that sent desire rolling through her gut. “Seriously,” she snarked out of pure desperation. “You
never
stopped?”

The smile became less predatory, more genuine. “Okay, I stopped. Occasionally. But it keeps popping into my thoughts. And right now it’s either think about your mouth, or about what message Christopher sent me that I can’t access right now.”

That hurt. Almost as much as it did to pull away from him. “So, I’m just a distraction.” She shoved at his arm and wiggled off the bed on the opposite side. “TV is a more appropriate way to take your mind off your brother, Brady.”

She stomped off toward the bathroom, but he caught her before she got halfway there and swung her around into his arms.

“That is
so
not what I meant.” He held her easily, even as she pushed against his chest. His rock-solid chest. “Moll, come on. Stop and listen to me.”

It would have been very easy to do that, but capitulation meant losing herself to him. She’d been on the verge of that their whole lives, and had always known that wasn’t the way to get what she longed for. The vision she’d had on the plane, the family—that was
real
. Fantasy, maybe, but worth holding out for. Worth ensuring that if Brady chose her, he did it deliberately and 100 percent.

She’d almost lost the struggle, almost accepted what little she could get as better than nothing. But with a few words, he’d flipped her from lethargic acceptance to panicked resistance. If she gave in, she might never get the fantasy. And Brady might never decide that was what he really wanted, too.

She kept pushing and twisting until he let her go. She backed up a few steps, her chest heaving, eyes burning again. “I can’t play with you, Brady.”

Now hurt glimmered in his eyes, but he quickly masked it. “That’s not—”

“It’s what you implied. I don’t know if it’s proximity, or convenience because Jessica’s morally unavailable, or—”

“I didn’t mean to imply that,” Brady said, cutting her off, his tone hard now. “You inferred it because you won’t talk about it. About us. You won’t listen to me. You’d rather—”

“Don’t tell me what I’d rather!” she half-shouted. “You have no idea what you’re slicing open.”

The silence rang in the echo of her admission, and regret flowed into those slices.
Too late
. She’d flung away the barrier keeping Brady oblivious to her feelings, and she knew there was no way he’d let her get away with ignoring or denying what she’d just said.

He stood stock still, his blue-hazel eyes intent on hers. “Tell me, then.”

Molly pushed an unsteady hand through her curls. She didn’t try to dissemble. “My world crashed to a halt the day you told Jessica you were in love with her,” she admitted. Brady’s mouth fell open. She held up a hand and didn’t let him respond. “I’d known, of course, since that very first day. But she wasn’t available, and I thought you’d get over her and move on. Instead you were open and honest with her.” Her throat started to close, the words quavery, but she forced herself to continue. “The bitch shattered you, but left the door open. She let you believe she cared about you more than just as her fiancé’s brother. So you know what? I don’t think you’d have gotten over her any faster if you’d stuck around. She’d have strung you along, manipulated you. Maybe not intentionally, maybe out of misguided kindness, but the result would have been the same.”