by Eden Butler
He likes her passion. It is something he’s noticed more than once. Mollie is fierce in her loyalties, about her friends and family and the way she holds this small town in her heart, the genuine upset she feels at things here being disturbed, only made Vaughn like her more. “You’re something else.”
She pushes his hand off her knee, but there is smile working over her mouth. “Don’t be an ass. I’m seriously upset.”
“I know you are. I like that you’re upset over an old church fire.” Vaughn shifts the gear, coming to a stoplight just near the police precinct. “I like how much you love this place.”
He thinks her blush is pretty, that her eyes shine brighter when he pays her a compliment. Mollie seems to sense his pleasure, the way he smiles wider the redder her face gets. “Anyway, is Viv meeting us at the precinct? “
Vaughn clicks on his turn signal, waiting for the light to change before he heads into the parking garage. “I didn’t talk to her. Emily called, said that the cops have someone in custody.” He glances at her, giving her a wink. “You’ll get to see your boyfriend Jimmy again.”
“Shut up.” Vaughn’s mock hurt at the way he feigns an injury has Mollie’s laughter filling the cab. “I still can’t believe it’s the same guy.” She wrestles with her seatbelt when Vaughn slides into a parking spot near the elevators.
“How would you?” He leans toward her, releasing the latch on the seatbelt that’s giving her trouble, but he doesn’t back away, lingers so their faces are close together. “Beautiful women like you should be used to flirty assholes.”
Vaughn inches closer, loving the smell of her airy breath as Mollie cocks her eyebrow. “And what are you? You a flirty asshole too?”
“Around you, yes.” He kisses her, takes a small nibble on her bottom lip and then backs away, realizing what he just said. “Well, I don’t think I’m an asshole. Maybe a dumbass about you, but not an asshole.”
“Aw,” she says, pinching his cheek like he’s five. “My sweet little dumbass.”
“Absolutely.” He moves in again, means to deepen the kiss he’d just given her, but Mollie blocks his approach with her fingers over his mouth.
“Simmer down, Semper Fi. We’ve got a bad guy to finger.”
Vaughn’s laugh is loud and Mollie’s eyebrows disappear behind her bangs when she realizes what she just said. He returns her cheek pinch. “Later. I promise.”
Mollie’s hand is small; there is a faint scar just above her pinky on her right hand and he likes how she lets him hold it, how she isn’t one of those women who doesn’t like public displays of affection. He pulls her close as they walk toward the elevator, his arm stretched out over her shoulder, her hand at his waist just below the gun tucked in the waistband. He is thinking about her smile, how it’s something he’s always loved about her, how since their stay in the mountains, it hasn’t faltered once.
When they reach the elevator, push the button, Vaughn leans down, unable to keep his lips from hers for more than a few seconds and he pulls back, eager to see that smile again, but she looks over his shoulder, eyes rounding, and opens her mouth to yell, to warn him. He jerks around quickly, staring at Jimmy, moving fast, swinging his hand back to knock it across Vaughn’s face.
“No!” he hears Mollie scream. She angles back, hands outstretched and Vaughn moves, head swimming a bit by Jimmy’s slap.
“Mollie… shit!” Vaughn shakes his head, dizzy. Jimmy jumps, and he and Vaughn become a tussle of limbs and movements—fists flying, knees coming up to strike. Vaughn is larger, his reach wider, but Jimmy is quick, a wiry son of a bitch who fights dirty. Behind him, Vaughn hears Mollie’s small cries and prays she will stay out of the fray.
Jimmy lands an upper cut to Vaughn’s jaw when his mind is distracted by Mollie, by keeping her away from the fight, and then the bastard lands an elbow right into Vaughn’s still healing shoulder.
“Fuck,” he cries, cradling his injury.
There is a click, the echo of a gun going off and both Vaughn and Jimmy are stilled by Mollie over them, gun lowering from the direction of the ceiling where she squeezed off her warning shot, to point right at Jimmy’s chest.
“You don’t wanna do that, darlin’.” The man approaches, and Vaughn suppresses his pain, fear fueling him and he is on his feet, slowly moving toward Mollie. Jimmy in no longer concerned by Vaughn, his eyes are glaring at Mollie’s gun, hands up but even Vaughn can tell this guy isn’t threatened by Mollie hoisting his .45 at Jimmy. “That’s a big piece for someone so little.”
“Fuck you, asshole, I know how to use it. How the hell did you get out of custody?” Mollie keeps Jimmy in her sights, gun still on him as she moves slowly toward Vaughn.
“Never was in custody, darlin’.” There is a large knot forming on Jimmy’s cheek, a red and pulsing thing that Vaughn had given him. Vaughn thinks he hears something behind him, but he trains his attention to Mollie, to reaching for her as they move closer toward each other. The noise, the distraction all vanishes from his thoughts when Vaughn feels the quick thud against the back of his head and he is falling, face connecting with the cement floor.
In the distance, he hears the clang of a pipe and then the rustle of feet as a small figure runs from them, distraction accomplished as Jimmy lunges for Mollie, wrestles her for the gun. Vaughn’s head feels like it’s in a vice, throbbing, splintering, it seems and then Mollie screams—the sound akin to rage, fury.
And then, the gun fires.
“Mollie!” Vaughn manages to make it to the wall and slide up it, steadying himself against the white brick. His heart pounds in his throat and as he struggles to walk, like a drunken sailor caught on a high-sea hurricane, Vaughn’s quick pulse only thunders harder. “Mollie. Shit!” Then he hits his knees the pain in his head crippling him.
Mollie stumbles, wrenches back when Jimmy reaches for her and Vaughn sees the blood seeping through the guy’s shirt, just above his wrist. Still, the asshole won’t back down, but then, neither will Mollie and Vaughn’s heartbeat pounds in his chest when they fight over the gun again. Mollie lands on her ass when Jimmy overpowers her and she immediately crawls back, hands moving like a crab, heading toward Vaughn.
Above them Jimmy lifts the .45, and points it straight at Mollie’s head. “No,” Vaughn shouts, pulling all his energy into staggering in front of Mollie, shielding her from Jimmy’s aim.
“Hey!” Vaughn can see a man, just in the corner of the building, near the elevators. Vaughn’s body is too weighted, too cumbersome to lift more than an inch from the ground. But he sees that Jimmy’s attention is distracted, that he swings his hand around and redirects the aim of the gun. “Take it easy, man,” the faceless man says. “You don’t wanna do this.”
Jimmy’s smile isn’t kind, that much Vaughn can tell. He’d seen expressions like this before, from suicide bombers and insurgents who thought it was an honor to die for their beliefs, who wanted to take as many Americans with them as possible. Jimmy wears that same expression when he looks at the faceless man. “Yeah. I so do.” And with the echo of the gunshot and Mollie’s loud scream bouncing around the parking garage, the faceless man falls to the ground.
Vaughn hears Jimmy’s boots against the ground as he walks toward them and the Marine feels Mollie tense at his side, but then there is a whirl of light, the high pitched squeal of a police cruiser moving toward them and then Vaughn can’t see Jimmy’s weathered boots anymore.
Mollie circles around Vaughn, laying his head in her lap. “It’s okay.” He feels a kiss, right on his forehead and then hears, blissfully, tires squealing, doors slamming shut and sees the .45 on the cement as cops run away from them, toward wherever it was Jimmy must have run. “He took off, baby. That asshole got away.”
“What about the other one? The one that hit me?” He can’t manage more than that, but Mollie already reads him well; she catches his meaning.
“I don’t know. Didn’t get a look at them, but they knocked you over the head and ran.”
She paused, looks toward the elevator. “That guy from your sister’s office. That Alex guy. He was coming out of the elevator, tried talking some sense into Jimmy. That asshole shot him.” And from the dimming light of the parking garage, Vaughn spots the high polished shoes and crisp starched pants.
“Dammit.”
“Facial lacerations and a concussion He needed stitches on the back of the head where he was hit. All in all, not anything life threatening.” Mollie and Viv walk with the elderly doctor down the hallway, bypassing two nurses who run toward a room with the echo of an alarm ringing out. “He’s lucky we got to him when we did. He lost a lot of blood.”
Viv’s shoulders relax and her hold on Mollie’s hand relaxes a bit. Mollie had never expected the woman to reach out to her, certainly not to hold her hand, but she suspects the fear Viv felt at losing Vaughn had made her forget professionalism. No one remains calm when they think someone they love is dead or dying. Mollie has seen that too often in her life to think differently.
“Thank you, doctor.” Viv offers the man a nod and then pulls her hands to her face, covering her tears with her fingers.
“Here.” The handkerchief is old, one Evelyn McShane had given Mollie when she was fifteen. It’s seen many fits, many mascara smearing moments.
“Thanks.” Viv pats her face dry then notices the monogram on the fabric. She fingers the double MMs and quirks her eyebrows at Mollie.
“Mojo didn’t give me that, if that’s what you’re thinking.” When Viv offers it back to her, Mollie stuffs it in her pocket. “It was from a woman who was the only real mother I’ll ever have. She had it monogrammed with my initials for my fifteenth birthday.”
Viv’s mouth is set firm, but there is a softening at Mollie’s revelation. Mollie thinks she spies a small flicker of sympathy in the glossy shine of the DA’s eyes.
“I’m glad you’re okay. Mojo will be happy,” Viv says.
Mollie follows Viv toward Vaughn’s room. “How’s my dad?” Mollie asks. It’s killing her that her father is free, stuck in some safehouse and she can’t be with him. For once she’d like to talk to him without having to monitor what she says, to speak about who and what she wants without the judging eyes of a prison guard focused on them.
“He’s good. I’ve got a doctor coming in everyday to check up on him.” Viv laughs, resting her fist under her chin as they stop in front of Vaughn’s open door. “He doesn’t like that and he really doesn’t like the fact that the doctor won’t let him have a beer.”
Mollie joins Viv to lean against the door jamb, watching Vaughn’s large chest moving up and down. He has a row of stitches arching around his left eye. “Daddy hates doctors. He always said that they play guesswork. Well, educated guesswork.”
“That’s the truth.”
“Don’t let him give you shit about the beer.” Mollie meets Viv gaze, hoping the woman understands her meaning. “He’s a loud bastard sometimes, but he’s all bark. You tell him yourself that he can’t have the beer. He’s completely useless when a pretty woman is around.”
Unexpectedly, Viv blushes and Mollie notices the pinking skin moving down her face, toward her chest. “Well, I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
“What about Alex? Did he have any family?”
Viv’s face falls and she pulls her attention back to her brother. “No. He was too busy jumping when I barked to have a social life and his folks have been dead since he was eighteen.”
When Viv rubs her temple, Mollie throat tightens. “He saved my life.” She turns toward Vaughn’s bed. “He saved both of our lives.”
Viv touches Mollie’s arm, gives it a gentle squeeze not unlike how Vaughn did in the car a few hours before. “I’m glad for that. I just can’t figure what he was doing there.”
“This whole mess is confusing. Vaughn said Emily called telling him that Jimmy was in custody. That you guys wanted me down at the precinct to identify him.”
When Viv stands up straight, head whipping toward her, Mollie’s hands shake and tight knots form in her stomach and the sudden, unexpected realization of the truth hits her. “She’s the mole?”
“Shit,” Viv says, immediately pulling out her phone. Before she speaks into the receiver, she flags down two troopers standing down the hall. They’d been there since Vaughn was brought in, likely on Viv’s direction. “Don’t you freaking move from this room, I don’t care who tells you to leave.” Phone at her ear, she turns, nods at Mollie. “And don’t you leave either. I want someone with you 24/7.” Another minute passes before Viv disconnects her cell. “She isn’t picking up. I would have never thought—” She immediately opens her message app and starts moving her thumbs across the screen.
“Viv, what about my dad?”
“Don’t worry about him, honey. He’s well protected. We’ve got guards on him.” She looks up from her text. “And I trust them. These are people I’ve known my whole life, a few troopers my dad trained, a few that I know I can trust. Mojo is safe. I promise you, Mollie, no one can touch him.”
When Mollie looks down the hall, gives a quick glance to the two beefy troopers standing on either side of the door, Viv pulls on her arm. “Listen to me, Mollie, I made a promise to your dad. Not one damn thing is going to happen to you. He’s all you have.” The woman looks around the trooper at Vaughn inside his room. “No one understands that better than I do.” An alert sounds on Viv’s phone and her gaze returns to the screen. She nods once then deposits her phone into her bag. “I’ve got to go, but I mean what I said. You stay with him. Please? I need you to do that for me. Don’t leave this room until I come back.” When Mollie hesitates, doesn’t answer quickly enough, Viv pulls on her arm again. “Promise me, Mollie?”
“Yeah,” she says, meaning it. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Vaughn wakes with light brown hair against his face. It reminds him vaguely of his leave in Thailand and the sweaty black braid of the girl he met the night before when something called Dragon Venom burned his throat and his senses. Half an hour after drinking the vile stuff and Vaughn would have given that girl anything she wanted. She settled for his body, at least for that night.
But Mollie is not some random Taiwanese girl who couldn’t pronounce his name. She isn’t like anyone he’s ever known and so he doesn’t mind that she fell asleep against him on the uncomfortable hospital bed. He doesn’t mind the low, wheezing snores that move from her nose or the drool that dampens his gown.
He does mind the thick erection that strains against the blanket. Sighing, he adjusts himself, tries to move over, to give Mollie more room, but the movement has her stirring, has her wiping the moisture from the corner of her mouth.
“Hey,” he says when she looks up at him. “Sleep well?”
“Vaughn.” Then Mollie rushes to sit up, tries to jump off the bed, but he clamps his arms around her waist.
“Where you going?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.” She looks behind her to the hard plastic recliner that is extended in a pathetic excuse for a bed. “That thing was so hard and my back still aches a little from the wreck.” When Mollie turns back, brushes her arm across Vaughn’s leg and notices his morning issue, her voice dips and Vaughn loves the way it sounds sultry and tempting. “And you looked too good laying here all alone.”
“I’m glad you joined me.” He moves to kiss her, then thinks better of it. His mouth feels dry and he’s pretty sure fuzz has grown on his teeth. “They leave me a toothbrush?”
Mollie hops down from the bed and shuffles in the bathroom, coming back through the door holding up a toothbrush and small tube of paste. “You need help?”
“I think I can manage.” Vaughn swings his legs over and leans against the IV rod as he moves into the bathroom, taking Mollie’s offered shoulder to support himself when his head begins to swim. Before they reach the bathroom, he notices the window in the door and the trooper who eyes him. “What’s with the security?”
Vaugh
n likes Mollie hovering over him. He finds it funny that this tiny woman, who is generally fiercely independent and full of piss and wind most days, sits him down on the edge of the tub, fixes his toothbrush and hands him a glass of water so that he isn’t forced to stand in front of the sink. As he brushes, she cleans the counter and tosses the plastic cup wrapper into the bin. “How much do you remember?” Mollie leans against the sink watching him brush.
The cold lid of the toilet clicks against the tank when Vaughn opens it and he spits, taking the towel Mollie offers him. “I remember you getting knocked down and then hearing a gunshot.” He darts his gaze to her, moving his eyes up and down her body. “You okay?”
“Not a scratch.” He doesn’t like that she frowns, doesn’t like how she lowers the toilet lid to sit and immediately grabs his hand. “That Alex guy, from Viv’s office?” Vaughn nods. “He interrupted Jimmy.”
“Oh.” Vaughn tosses the toothbrush onto the sink, but doesn’t release Mollie’s hand. Concentrating, he tries to remember Alex being in the parking garage. He has a vague recall of someone drawing that punk Jimmy’s attention away from Mollie, but the harder he thinks, the quicker the pounding drum in his head beats. “Is he okay?” As soon as he asks, Mollie’s expression tells him all he needs to know. “Shit.”
“According to the cops, Alex called 911 before he interrupted Jimmy. They think he must have heard the shouting and immediately dialed the number.”
Vaughn had never liked Alex. He always thought the guy exploited his position in Viv’s office for his own benefit. But, looking down at Mollie’s hand, watching how steady her fingers are, how whole and safe she looks, Vaughn can’t help but feel gratitude. Alex may have been a little shit, but when it mattered, he had sacrificed without hesitation. He did what anyone with an ounce of courage would do, same as Tony Williams, same as Vaughn’s father.