Saints & Spies

by Jordan McCollum

  This wasn’t what she’d expected. She shivered, pulling her focus back to the freezing present and the man in front of her.

  “I’m covert. Even my family doesn’t know what I do.”

  He was that covert? And he’d still almost told her? She ignored the twinge in her chest.

  “Remember in Catch Me in Zanzibar, how Frank runs into Katya in Stone Town and she’s happy to see him?” Zachary half-smiled hopefully.

  She turned away to keep herself from falling for that smile again. “And remember how I said that book wasn’t very accurate?” And Katya later tried to shoot Frank.

  “I told you how I felt before I left.” He waited until she met his gaze. “I’m so sorry, Molly.”

  She bit back a sarcastic retort, but let the sentiment show in her eyes.

  Zachary took a deep breath. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “But you did.” She spun away and took another sip of her thick hot chocolate. Couldn’t he see how deeply his lies cut?

  “Please look at me.”

  Molly fixed him with a suitable glare.

  He came to stand a meter in front of her and stuck out a hand. “Hi, I’m Zachary Tyler Saint. I’m from Virginia, and I like basketball and my job, which I might lose for talking to you.”

  Molly ignored his hand and the twinge of guilt at his last statement.

  “Fine, I’ll do your part,” Zachary said. “You’re Molly Malone, you’re from Ireland, and you like traditional dance and spy novels.”

  She leaned against the railing. So he knew one or two facts about her. So what?

  “Okay, my turn again. There’s one more thing you should know about me.” Zachary contemplated his hot chocolate for a long time before meeting her gaze again. “I’m a horrible, selfish person, who told himself flirting with you would help his case, but in reality, I was lying to myself, too. I flirted with you because I wanted to. Because I’m in love with you.”

  Molly turned to the back garden, clamping down on the excitement racing through her veins like sweet, pure adrenaline. He was a liar; he’d just admitted it. Sure, he’d only done it because he had to for his job, but that didn’t mean she should believe him now. She set her mug on the snow on the railing to rub her hands over her arms. “I don’t even know you.”

  He came to lean against the porch railing next to her, facing but not looking at her. “But you know me, Moll. We’re only missing some details.”

  “Details.” She sighed and shook her head. “Your name, your religion and your occupation are all details?”

  “Even my family doesn’t know my occupation, but you know all that now.”

  Could it be that easy? Could it really be possible?

  Zachary cleared a place for his mug by hers on the railing. “If you want me to leave, I will.”

  He was willing to give up his first Christmas with his family in years — for her.

  So what? A frigid gust blew a burst of fresh snowflakes between them.

  “I understand if you hate me,” he said. For the first time, she recognized the pain in his voice.

  She couldn’t let him think that. “I don’t hate you, I just . . . can’t believe anythin’ you say.”

  “Yes, you can. Molly, you wanted — you wanted me then. Didn’t you?”

  She stopped her hand halfway to her other elbow and closed her eyes. Her heart and lungs squeezed in her chest. How could she answer that question when he was standing there staring at her with those same knowing eyes — the ones that had known her from the first moment they’d met? How could she pretend she didn’t want him then, that she’d never felt anything? At last, she nodded.

  “And now?”

  Of course she still wanted him. She wanted it so badly that it cut her heart all over again just to look at him. She kept her back to him, watching the snow blowing on the house. Finally warm, she pulled the collar of her coat up to keep the wind out.

  In a low voice, Zachary began to sing. Why did he have to choose this song? He started with the chorus — about her. If I had to choose from the pretty young women of the world, Dark Molly of the glen would be my choice.

  Molly wheeled around. Zachary’s gaze locked on hers. The pain was still there — but more than that. A familiar longing — one she could fill.

  He kept singing the verse that began “Me without a wife, I won’t be all my life.”

  Then the reason that look was so familiar struck her — he had the same look in his eyes at the talent show. And she felt the same way.

  He’d tried to tell her.

  Zachary continued with the next verse, Dark Molly telling her suitor to leave. Could she tell Zachary to leave her again? Her heart twisted in a knot. She had a second chance. They both did. And the choice was hers.

  Could she let him leave again? Molly squeezed her eyes shut at the thought, forcing out a tear. He was the same person. It was in his eyes. She turned back to face him and the yearning in his eyes, a yearning she knew all too well. He loved her, and not just as part of an act. She dared to inch closer to him as he began the next verse.

  “Is go ceillí, múinte, cneasta a dúirt sí liom ar maidi — ”

  “Tá a fhios agat go bhfuil grá agam duit,” Molly provided a last line for the verse.

  Stopped mid-song, Zachary creased his brow. Oh, he didn’t really speak Irish.

  “Ah, the song says ‘Dark Molly of the glen has my heart, she never had any disgrace; so . . .’” She reviewed the last line he’d sung. “‘So sensibly, politely, decently, she told me this mornin’ — ’”

  He nodded. Obviously he knew the meaning of those words; that had to have been why he’d chosen the song. “And you said?” he finally asked.

  The vise around her heart crept open. “You know I love you.”

  The smile began at his lips, but in a split second his entire countenance sparked with hope. He tentatively reached out to twine one of her curls around his finger. “Moll, I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

  “I know.”

  Zachary brushed the snow from her hair, then combed her curls behind her ear. He searched her face intently, his fingers lingering at the back of her neck. She knew that look, too.

  He was going to kiss her. Her pulse raced in her throat. She tilted her chin up.

  Sure enough, he began to lean down the next instant — but as he had before, he hesitated at the last second before she closed her eyes. “I love you, Molly Malone.”

  “I love you, too, Zachary Saint.”

  “Say that again?”

  Would he really make her wait longer for something he’d teased her with for months? “I love you?”

  “Well, yeah, that part, but — say my name?”

  His real name, one without a title and calling that would keep them apart? Gladly. “Zachary Saint.” His name — his real name — sounded as free and easy as laughter.

  His smile barely registered in her mind before he finally bridged the gap that had separated them for so long, and kissed her.

  THANK YOU FOR READING!

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for reading Saints & Spies! This book is a true labor of love: it took seven years to bring it to you, and a major detour where a trade publisher accepted it, but we couldn’t agree on their contract. Now it’s finally in your hands! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it and sharing it with you.

  I’ve done all I can to make this book as enjoyable as I can for you. Can you do me a quick favor? If you’d be willing to review this book online, it would help me secure advertising spots and spread the word about this book. Additionally, if you send me a link to your review, I’ll send you an invitation for a free review copy of my next novel. You can email me your link (or for any other reason! I love hearing from readers!) here: Jordan@JordanMcCollum.com.

  Looking for more to read? There are two more novels in the Saints & Spies series, coming soon! In the meantime, check
out my previous series, Spy Another Day, if you haven’t already. If you join my reader’s group, you’ll get a free ebook to get you started in the series! You can join me here: http://jordanmccollum.com/group/

  Thank you again for all your support, and I hope to entertain you again soon!

  Coming soon!

  Surveillance. Special Agent Zach Saint shifted against the gray upholstery. He’d already done time in surveillance squads, but thanks to court dates for their regular surveillance, here he was again. Two hours and thirty-seven minutes of sitting in downtown Chicago, trying to seem inconspicuous in their car, staring at nothing, waiting for Irish terrorists.

  Today, they weren’t so much terrorists as regular people running errands.

  Zach rubbed his hands together, though staying warm was a lost cause. Next to Zach, Supervisory Special Agent Xavier Mason sipped his coffee without taking his eyes off the street. “See the Bulls game?”

  “Nah.” College ball was more his thing. “They win?”

  Xavier snorted. “Fourth loss in a row.”

  Zach suppressed a wince. That record took him back to his own college team. He scanned the sidewalk down the block. The Canavans were still in the brick tailor shop. Even terrorists had to shop. And eat. And bank.

  For two hours and — he checked the dash clock — forty minutes.

  Sometimes the hardest part of surveillance was staying awake.

  Zach rubbed his eyes, refocused on the street, and continued the world’s slowest conversation. “Think they’ll make the playoffs?”

  “Not at this rate.”

  Down the block, the tailor shop’s wrought iron security gate swung open. Zach grabbed the binoculars from the console between the seats. A stout woman with dark auburn hair and a taller, craggy-faced man stepped out of the building. The target couple. Zach reached for the keys in the ignition. “Eyes on.”

  Xavier raised his camera and peered through the viewfinder, sweeping the lens across the scene. “Wait. I’ve only seen pictures, but isn’t that your . . . Molly?”

  What? No. Last he’d heard, the FBI assigned Molly to Arizona. Zach swung the binoculars to follow Xavier’s line of sight.

  He spotted her in front of the bright yellow burger shack at the corner: tall, beautiful, dark curls that bounced with her springing step. Yep, definitely Molly, but she hadn’t been “his” for a long time. Seeing her hit him like a no-look pass straight to the gut.

  Molly rounded the corner, heading toward their target. What was she doing here?

  Maybe visiting her parents. Zach held his breath. If she passed the Canavans, he could imagine this hadn’t happened. He wouldn’t have to see or talk to her, and he could keep doing his job and pretending to forget her.

  But could it be a coincidence his Irish ex-girlfriend was walking right toward Irish terrorists? Zach slid the binoculars toward the target couple. Still headed Molly’s direction.

  Every step brought them closer together — and pulled Zach’s ribs tighter. Ten steps apart. She passed the nail shop. Five. They passed Subway. Molly came even with the Canavans, and time seemed to stop.

  Molly kept going. The Canavans didn’t acknowledge her. Nothing. Finally they passed one another.

  She was safe.

  Before Zach could release a breath, Grace Canavan stopped short and turned back. And Molly did the same, turning to the target couple.

  So much for the day going well. With the way things worked in the Bureau — and his life — Zach figured he might see Molly again. But he didn’t think it’d be while she was talking to suspected terrorists.

  Much as he wanted to act like he’d never seen her, no way would he leave her out there, alone and unprotected. Urgency pushed him into action. Zach reached for the door handle. “You drive.”

  Xavier caught Zach’s sleeve without taking his eyes from his camera. “Do not approach, Z.”

  “She’s got no idea who she’s dealing with.” He knocked X’s hand away and stepped out of the car into the sharp cold. He needed a heavier jacket. He needed a cover.

  He paused at the street vendor on the corner to buy two pretzels — and buy himself one more minute to pick an identity, someone with a right to jump into their conversation, or at least something to tip Molly off that this was bad. She might’ve done an Irish step dance on his heart, but he couldn’t leave her alone with terrorists.

  The target couple was too busy chatting to notice him until he slung an arm around Molly like she’d never left. He finally settled on a cover: deep South. “Here ya go, darlin’,” he drawled.

  Molly looked up at him with a spark of surprise in her deep blue eyes. Did she have to be even more beautiful than he remembered? She hesitated a moment before smiling and accepting one of his pretzels. Good recovery.

  Zach let go of Molly only long enough to offer the target couple his hand. “Jason Tolliver.”

  “Is this your man?” the stout woman gushed in a thick Ulster accent, clapping her hands over one of Zach’s.

  “That’s me.” Zach grinned and hoped he covered the flinch at “your man,” although he couldn’t be sure whether Molly had mentioned a boyfriend. Either that, or Grace was guessing, or maybe using the Irish equivalent of “that guy.”

  “Brilliant.” Grace beamed at him. “You’re a lucky one, are you not?”

  “I know it. Now, who’re y’all?”

  The woman shook his hand again, even more emphatically, her dark auburn bob bouncing from the effort. “Grace Canavan.”

  “Ed.” The man gave a curt head shake, a standard Irish greeting, his weathered face impassive.

  “We’re friends of Molly’s parents.” Grace turned to her husband. “When did we last see the Ryans?”

  Ryans? Molly’s last name was Malone. Zach kept his expression unchanged, and his mind on his mission: get Molly out safe. “Great to meet y’all, but we really gotta run.” He slipped his arm from Molly’s shoulders to take her hand.

  “Actually, Jason, we were just catchin’ up,” Molly said. He’d forgotten how much he loved her Dublin lilt — but not so much her talking with terrorists. “It’s been — what, twenty years?”

  “We did see you only a few years ago, in Dublin.”

  Despite her gloves muffling the sound, Molly snapped like you’ve got me there. “How could I forget?”

  Zach picked up on a tiny undertone of tension in her voice and shifted closer. If she insisted on staying, the least he could do was protect her.

  Down the street, the church bells of Holy Name Cathedral pealed. The place Zach had begun his FBI career in Chicago was giving him the perfect excuse. “Molly, darlin’, we’re gonna be late for Mass.” He met her gaze, trying to urge her along without attracting the Canavans’ suspicions.

  “Jason.” Each syllable was a prelude of practiced patience. “Surely five minutes won’t hurt.”

  His stomach dropped an inch. If she was this set on talking to them, could she know who they were? And if so, what was going on here?

  He wasn’t about to be the last to know. “Hey,” he said, “why don’t you get their number and we all can catch up later?”

  A heartbeat of silence, and mettle flashed in Molly’s eyes. He’d been on the receiving end of her determination more than once — when she was the one trying to keep him safe.

  Wait. That wasn’t happening here. Right?

  Then Molly smiled. “Sure now.” She released his hand and got her phone to trade numbers with Grace. “I’ll be seein’ you soon, I hope?”

  “Aw, sure look it,” Grace said. Which didn’t mean yes or no, but probably meant no if she wasn’t saying yes.

  “We’ll give y’all a call,” Zach said, like Molly hadn’t tried to cut him out. “See ya.” As soon as her phone slid into her purse, Zach took her hand and tugged her away. They walked to the end of the block, eating their quickly cooling, over-salted pretzels in silence.

  He had to say something about
what he’d done. Using a cover had to be a huge red flag. Her insistence on talking to them certainly sent him the same warning.

  Of course, the things they hadn’t said today were only the tip of a much bigger iceberg.

  They rounded a corner, and Molly withdrew her hand from his. She shook a few wind-whipped snowflakes from her dark curls, like that was the reason she’d pulled away.

  What did he expect? She didn’t want to hold hands with the guy who’d dumped her six months ago. Zach stuffed his hand into his pocket.

  Molly finally spoke. “Watchin’ the Canavans, are we, ‘Jason’?”

  “Yes, we are. They could have your badge for consorting with suspected terrorists.”

  She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look at him. “Think this is all a coincidence?”

  Zach had sensed something else was going on but — “You’re here on assignment.”

  Why hadn’t anyone warned him?

  “Naturally. Headin’ back to the office?”

  “Yep.” He led her across the street and tossed the wrapper from his pretzel in a trash can.

  She fished in her purse for her phone. “I’ll have my parents meet us there.”

  Could her parents be the Ryans? Though he’d known Molly for over a year, he still had a lot to learn.

  But he’d already figured that out the hard way.

  He walked on, pretending it made no difference that he was once again inches from the one that got away — no, the one he’d had to let go.

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