Saints & Spies

by Jordan McCollum

  Arms raised in a surrender pose, Zach stepped inside the open door — and stopped. The hostage cowered on her knees in front of Murphy.

  Lucy.

  “Nice jacket,” she said shakily.

  What was she doing here? He amended his last prayer and turned to the man holding his sister at gunpoint.

  Molly collected the last paper from the printer tray. It was done. Almost. She folded the paper in thirds and slipped it into an envelope. Now she just had to deliver it.

  She labeled the envelopes — one for Father Fitzgerald, one for Father Tim. Tim’s told him everything he needed to know: she understood his message, she wished things were different, but they weren’t. Everything he needed to know — except that she loved him.

  He didn’t need to know that.

  And he didn’t need to know he was the reason her letter to Father Fitzgerald cut so deeply into her heart: her immediate resignation.

  Molly squared her shoulders and faced the door. But she couldn’t force her feet to move.

  What if she just slipped the letters under the door, or left them in the mailbox?

  Molly tucked the envelopes into her handbag. The flap of one envelope slid along her finger, slicing into her skin. She sucked in air through her teeth, then popped her finger in her mouth. She checked the wall clock. Quarter of ten. She wouldn’t bother him tonight — if she could even gather the courage to face him again.

  No. Even if she didn’t dare to say the words, she needed to give the message to Tim in person. It was the least she could do for him.

  She looked over the office. She could collect her things Monday. After she gave them her letters.

  Time to go home. She collected her handbag and remembered her coat was still in the school, probably locked there. She’d have to hurry to her apartment, so. Molly hugged her arms tight around herself and stepped out into the cold.

  “Got your Big Mac.” Zach shook the greasy bag. He’d managed to edge a couple feet into the room, but Murphy wasn’t exactly rolling out a welcome mat.

  Murphy narrowed his eyes and brandished his flashy silver revolver. “Didn’t I warn you about going to the Feds?” Behind Murphy, his wife Claire whimpered on the couch. Their son Ian slung a protective arm around his mother.

  “They called me. They wanted me to make sure you, Claire, Ian and Miss Saint were all okay.” Zach pitched his voice for the hall to apprise the negotiator of the full situation.

  The mobster still hesitated.

  Zach shook the bag. “Do you want your food or not?”

  Murphy finally waved for him to come in. Zach gave Murphy the fast food before turning to his sister. “You all right, Lucy?”

  Her only answer was a sob.

  “Luce.” He slowly approached to kneel by her.

  Murphy settled at the white tiled kitchen island. “Back off, Father.” His mouthful of hamburger undermined his threat.

  “Hey.” Zach waited until Lucy met his gaze. “‘Thine adversity and thine afflictions.’” He hoped Lucy remembered the rest of the Doctrine and Covenants verse: shall be but for a small moment.

  She pursed her lips despite the tears glistening in her eyes. “I don’t know how that collar’s affecting your brain, but remember how Joseph ended up?”

  Martyred at the hands of a mob. Shot to death. Zach glanced at Murphy’s gun.

  “You’ve said your piece,” Murphy called. “Now get away from her.”

  Zach stood. “You know, Doyle, it’s not too late.”

  The mobster rolled his eyes and chomped away at his burger.

  “You haven’t done anything we can’t walk away from here,” Zach tried.

  “You don’t know anything about what I’ve done.”

  Zach folded his arms across his chest. “I do have some idea. The school’s trust.”

  Murphy waved the last bite of his Big Mac. “That’s nothing.”

  “Right, sure. So we all walk out of here, and what will they do?” He laughed. “I mean, school lunches? Who could go down for school lunches?”

  “Not me.” Murphy crumpled the wrapper and tossed it over his shoulder into the kitchen, then started on the next burger, still holding his gun.

  “Exactly. Come on, Doyle, I know these people. We can all walk out of here, just start with a show of good faith. Send out Ian.”

  Murphy snorted. “Ian’s going with me.”

  Practically glowing with defiance, the teenager nailed his father with a hard stare.

  “Then send Lucy.”

  “She’s my bargaining chip.”

  Zach remained focused on Murphy and slid his hand into his jacket for his gun. Too soon to draw, but if he pushed Murphy — he had to get Lucy out. “I’ll take her place.”

  “No.” He tossed the last bites of his second burger in the bag and stood. “Nobody’s going anywhere,” he said, jabbing the counter with each word.

  Lucy cowered away from him. Zach stepped closer to maneuver himself between her and Murphy. Murphy contemplated the countertop. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

  “It can all end now.”

  “Yeah, if I’m willing to go to jail.”

  Lucy grabbed Zach’s ankle. He glanced down, but she didn’t look at him. He checked the direction she was staring, but the empty white wall held no answers. He turned back to Murphy. “These people cut deals all the time,” Zach said. “And it’s better than the alternative, isn’t it?”

  “You ever been in prison?” Murphy barked a laugh and shook his head. “I did everything right. Played all my cards right.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “Quit encouraging him.” Lucy released his ankle long enough to punch his calf. Zach concentrated on keeping his heart rate under control and not kicking his sister in response.

  Murphy ignored her. “It’s still going to work out. You’ve got nothing.”

  “Even more reason to talk to them. You haven’t done anything we can’t walk away from, and nothing else will stick.”

  “What do you know, anyway?” Struck by sudden inspiration, Murphy wheeled on Zach. “You. You did this.”

  Lucy’s nails dug into his skin. Zach wrapped his fingers around his weapon’s grip. “Come on. Me?”

  Murphy would not be soothed. “This all happened after we talked to you.”

  “Doyle,” Zach tried again in his best let’s-be-reasonable voice.

  “You just said you know them. You called them, didn’t you?” Murphy’s voice dropped to a calculating growl. He circled toward Lucy.

  Zach pulled his gun from the holster, but kept it beneath his jacket. “Hey, now.”

  “Didn’t you?” Murphy turned his gun on him.

  “Doyle.” He kept his voice calm despite the fear freezing his lungs. “Lower your weapon.” Lucy’s claws had to be drawing blood by now. He shook loose and stepped out of range.

  Murphy came even with Lucy. “This isn’t basketball, kid. Prove this isn’t your fault.”

  “Dad.” Ian rose from the couch, leaving his mother cowering alone. “What are you going to do? It’s bad enough to say that crap about Father Patrick — you want to shoot a priest, too?”

  The distraction gave Zach the chance he needed. “Rabbit!”

  Murphy whirled on him. Suddenly it felt like it would take SWAT years to get there. Murphy took aim again — at Lucy.

  Zach didn’t even have to think. He charged straight at Murphy. The mobster looked up. Panic flashed in his eyes, and he tried to target Zach. But he didn’t have time before Zach plowed into him.

  A gunshot rang out.

  Finally, SWAT men poured through the door and around Zach, poised to use their confuse-and-subdue tactics. Hands pulled Zach up, patted him over for wounds. He couldn’t take his eyes off Murphy. The man was face down in cuffs before Zach fully registered what happened.

  He’d done it. He’d taken out a mobster. In nine weeks, no less. And h
e’d saved Lucy.

  Or had he? Zach looked around for his sister. She was nowhere in sight. He craned his neck to see past the agent shouting in his face. The guy grabbed Zach by the shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  Zach pushed past him. Of course he was okay. They’d just checked him out. Murphy had missed him.

  What about Lucy? “Where’s the hostage?” he called.

  Sellars stepped into the room. “Gotta admit it: you were made for this job.”

  “Maybe we should wait before we make that call. Where’s the hostage?”

  Sellars pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “They ran her downstairs. Ambulances in the parking lot.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “I — I dunno.” Sellars held his temple. “Haven’t heard.”

  Zach pushed past the ASAC and ran for the stairs.

  Molly reached her block and slowed. What were all these people doing here so late — and film crews? And —

  Red and blue lights. At least three police cars flashed their light bars beyond the gathering crowd.

  It was finally happening. They were finally being arrested. All of them. Molly came to a full stop and craned her neck to see past the press. Was Special Agent Sellars here? Had her information helped?

  She hoped so. She inhaled, the feeling of triumph filling her lungs. Father Tim was safe now. Forever. The thought was a minuscule Band-Aid on the open wound in her heart. Now she really could leave him.

  Molly watched a moment longer, but she couldn’t see anything beyond the crowd. Then she’d leave the police to their work — and she’d join their ranks as soon as she could. Molly started for her parents’ house. At least she wouldn’t have to spend the weekend alone.

  Zach reached the parking lot and almost crashed into Ian Murphy. The teenager paused in front of Zach, gaping. “I can’t —” Ian shook his head. “I can’t believe my dad would try to kill a priest. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.” Zach patted him on the shoulder, then shoved past him. Where was his sister?

  Outside, the parking lot swarmed with law enforcement — cops, FBI, SWAT, plus EMTs and ambulances grinding the snow on the ground into messy slush. A huge mass of onlookers stood just outside the police perimeter, with local news crews forming miniature oases in the crowd.

  Zach turned his back on the cameras and scanned the faces of people within the perimeter. He stopped someone in SWAT gear. “Where is Lucy Saint?”

  “Zach!” Lucy pushed between two cops, a smear of blood down one cheek. She dropped the blanket around her shoulders and threw her arms around his waist.

  Zach pulled her off to examine her wound. “Can we get an EMT?”

  “Quit trying to be a hero.” She waved a hand at the approaching medic. “I’m fine.”

  The EMT raised an eyebrow. “You’re covered in blood, miss.”

  “No, I’m fine,” she insisted. “There’s not a scratch on me.”

  “Don’t listen to her.” Zach shook his head. “She’s in shock.”

  The medic shone a light on Lucy’s temple. With an impatient frown, she submitted to his exam.

  “Nope,” the EMT said. “Not a scratch.” He disappeared into the nearest ambulance and returned with a wet towel.

  “Told you so.” Lucy took the towel and wiped at the blood with a smug lift to her chin. “He grazed Claire Murphy.”

  His own wife. Zach shook his head and addressed the medic, pointing at his sister. “Treat her for shock.”

  Lucy pursed her lips but trailed behind the EMT to the ambulance for an oxygen mask. Zach grabbed the blanket she’d dropped and joined his sister on the ambulance bumper. He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. “We’re going to need a statement.”

  She nodded.

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  She lifted the oxygen mask. “I’m fine, Zach. I’m not in there anymore. Anything’s better than that. Well, almost anything.”

  He didn’t dare ask, but she answered the obvious question anyway.

  “Remember that time we had to share a room? I was seven, you were eleven — it was the longest six months of my life?”

  Zach scoffed. “You could be a little more grateful, you know? Or did I not just save your life?”

  “While you are obviously my hero —” She paused to dramatically roll her eyes. “ — I knew they wouldn’t send you in without a vest.”

  “What if he’d shot me in the head?” He glared at her until the EMT stepped between them. Zach took that as his cue to leave. “I have a lot of paperwork.” He stood.

  “Zach?” Lucy called after him. He doubled back. “Thank you. Seriously.”

  “Yeah, well, I won’t be getting you a Christmas present, or a birthday present, either.” He sighed, releasing the tension in his chest. “Glad you’re okay.” He started away again.

  “Wait, where are you going?”

  “I don’t want to talk.”

  “I was just held at gunpoint for an hour, Zach. You don’t have to say anything.”

  He stared at her in silence for a few seconds. He hadn’t forgotten that she was more than a foot shorter than him, but somehow the streaks of blood still on her face and the oxygen mask made her seem even tinier than she was. Or would she always be seven years old to him?

  Lucy waited almost a full minute before she began the conversation on her own. “Ian Murphy changed his mind about college. Claire saw me at the talent show and asked me to come over afterward to discuss their options. Kinda wish I’d said no.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Speaking of college, did you hear? Duke and Kentucky are scouting DeWayne.”

  “Ian and DeWayne. Your college thing worked.” He scanned the crowd. No Molly.

  “Not for everyone. Brandon Lonegan yelled at me right after. I started bawling, Paul tried to make me feel better, and . . . we kissed.”

  Zach grimaced. “Explains why you two freaked out.”

  “Knew it couldn’t end well.”

  “Still sucks. I’m sorry.” He finally joined Lucy on the bumper again. Being with his little sister was almost as good as being alone, even if she wasn’t the person he wished he were comforting.

  Really? Somewhere in his heart, he’d actually hoped Molly was being held hostage by a murdering mobster just so he could have some chance with her? She didn’t deserve that. And he didn’t deserve her.

  Lucy hugged her knees to her chest, like she could make herself even smaller. “Still think you won’t be coming for Christmas? We’re meeting at Tracey’s — it’s less than six hours away.”

  He wished. “No. I’m going back to D.C. Probably ASAP.”

  She nodded again, then finally rested her head on his arm. “I’m glad you were here, at least.”

  He tucked his arm around her shoulders. “Me too.”

  Zach glanced back at the stucco building. Even if they’d just — maybe? — arrested Father Patrick’s murderer, one more person still wouldn’t get closure.

  Sellars managed to give Zach a minute to say goodbye to Lucy when they dropped her off at her apartment, then they headed out. “We can put you up in a hotel downtown,” Sellars offered.

  So he could just disappear on Molly? “I have some things to take care of at the church.”

  Sellars nodded, quiet. He said nothing on the drive back to the church. In the parking lot, he turned to Zach.

  How could he tell Molly goodbye? His stupid plan tonight had backfired; he couldn’t leave things like that.

  He could leave her a note. No idea what he’d say, but at least it was an idea. “Um, it might take me a while to wrap things up here. Why don’t you come back in the morning?”

  Sellars slowly lifted one eyebrow, then pressed his fingers to his temple on the same side. “If you really want.”

  “Yeah.” Zach got out and trudged through the snow to the parish house. He shook his head and shut the front door behind him.<
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  “Timothy.” Father Fitzgerald stood by the coffee table, clenching and unclenching his fists. His posture matched the reproving tone of his greeting. Like it hadn’t already been a long night, here Zach was again like a curfew-breaking teen.

  Fitzgerald jabbed a thumb in the direction of the school. “What was that?”

  Zach was sorely tempted to tell him to mind his own business. “What?”

  “Am I blind or just stupid?”

  “Bruce, what are you talking about?”

  “You think I didn’t see what you did at the talent show tonight?”

  Right. That. Zach played innocent. “Sang a song?”

  “What did it mean?”

  Zach shrugged. No way Fitzgerald could’ve known what he’d sung. “It was hard enough to learn to say it.”

  “Then why were you staring at Molly the whole time?”

  “Because it’s an Irish folksong?” Zach reined in the urge to roll his eyes and started for his room.

  Fitzgerald gave no heed to his explanation. “And why did Teresa Hennessy tell me she saw you leaving Molly Malone’s at ten o’clock last night?”

  Why couldn’t Teresa have gotten nosy five minutes sooner and seen his arrival, too?

  “What are you doing, Tim?” Fitzgerald moved toward him and ticked off his complaints on his fingers. “You’re out till midnight or later every night again, you have this proclivity for women’s apartments — have you even been meeting with Cally Lonegan?”

  Zach gave in and rolled his eyes. He did not have the patience for this. At least he wouldn’t have to put up with Fitzgerald anymore.

  “Answer me!”

  “Keep your cassock on. Nothing happened.”

  “That poor girl probably thinks she’s in love with you, or you’re in love with her.”

  Molly had to know that, but Zach clenched his jaw to keep himself from firing back. Glowering, Fitzgerald closed in on him. Zach fell back on reflex, checking possible escape routes — door behind him, his room to the right, the hall to the side door to the left. He took a step to the side to keep from getting cornered against the door. Not that he had any reason to worry.