by Dee Holmes
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Other Books by
Title Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Copyright
“You refuse to have feelings for a woman, don’t you?”
Molly wearily pushed open her door and made her way to the house. It wasn’t large, but it had a cozy cottage look, and she could envision paint and flower boxes filled with impatiens.
Hunt stood very still with his back to her, his hands low on his hips as he faced a shadowed doorway. Their two bags sat in the middle of the living room. Even in the dying light of early evening, she could see that he was keeping his fury restrained.
“What is it? she whispered.
“There are two bedrooms, but one doesn’t have a bed. That’s what it is.”
For a second she missed his point, then it hit her. “At least they’re twin beds.”
She grinned, amused and a little flattered that the arrangement had caused him such turmoil. Suddenly he aeemed vulnerable, and for Hunt, she guessed, that wasn’t a pleasant experience. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dee Holmes, a much-published author of both fiction and nonfiction, won her first major award—a RITA—back in 1991 for her first novel. Happily married, Dee makes her home in Rhode Island and is the mother of a grown-up son and daughter.
Books by Dee Holmes
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Protecting Molly McCulloch
Dee Holmes
CHAPTER ONE
MOLLY MCCULLOCH in the arms of a gangster?
Hunt Gresham stared for a full thirty seconds without blinking. Standing on the tiny balcony off his bedroom, holding a half-finished bottle of beer, he’d been unable to drag his gaze away from the open windows of her apartment across the courtyard. God, he had to be seeing things.
Molly was young and attractive with long cinnamon-colored hair that she wore in a single thick French braid. Hunt thought the braid emphasized a carefree youthfulness. Or maybe he just associated braids and kids. Molly, however, was no kid.
Since their collision a few weeks ago in the courtyard that separated their apartments, Hunt had deliberately avoided her. Not because he didn’t like her, but because he was afraid he might like her too much.
Complications and involvement with a woman—any woman—wasn’t on his list of retirement plans. In fact, it wasn’t on a list of any of his plans. He’d chalked up his imagination overload to an aberration, or given that he was nearing forty, an approaching midlife crisis.
If Molly had been hugging a professor, or a grad student whose exposure to the seedier side of life had been limited to TV—that he could buy. However, Molly even knowing Vern “The Spider” Wallace, let alone being a girlfriend, astonished him.
Now her arms were so tight around Wallace, Hunt thought she’d never let him go.
He damned his curiosity. Or maybe it was nosiness. Even disbelief.
Whatever it was, he went into his bedroom and dug a pair of binoculars out of a box he still hadn’t unpacked. He’d moved to the Massachusetts college town of Woodbriar a month ago, in late July. Because he was a criminologist—and because his sister, Denise, was the lecture coordinator—he’d been invited to give a series of law enforcement lectures at Woodbriar College.
Earlier in the year, he’d taken early retirement from the Boston Police Department. It was a decision he’d toyed with for two years after his wife’s death from breast cancer. He’d been devastated. The relentless passion for justice that made him a tough and thorough cop had been lost when Kristin died. That loss had slowed his reflexes and muddied his instincts. A few run-ins with Internal Affairs had strained his relationship with other cops and with the department. Then had come the mistaken release of a small-time thug who had been a key to a year-old investigation of organized crime figures.
Hunt had been startled by his own ineptitude; he’d believed the thug’s story and okayed the release, but later, when he relistened to the taped interview, even he could hear the holes in the alibi. He began to wonder if it was simple carelessness or if he had a death wish. “Time to get out and move on,” advised his partner, Sean Sullivan. Hunt agreed. A cop with bad judgment was a hazard to himself, but most of all to the men he worked with and the citizens he was hired to protect.
Financially, he was comfortable, and he was looking forward to the slow pace of teaching a criminology course here at the college. His personal life was hollow and sterile, but he preferred it that way. He guarded himself well, absolutely refusing to get involved in anything potentially complicated.
He reminded himself of that resolve as he tried to ignore the questions his mind conjured up at the sight of Molly with a hit man.
“Why in hell do you care if she’s involved with Spider Wallace?” he muttered aloud as he removed the glasses from their case. Just because Hunt had concluded from his own limited knowledge of Molly McCulloch that she was the last sweetly innocent woman on the planet? Just because seeing her now with Wallace destroyed that illusion?
“Damn.”
He returned to the balcony. The powerful glasses brought her in so close he felt he could have reached out and touched her. She was no longer hugging the gangster. Hunt caught only a momentary close-up of Wallace before he stepped back into the shadows of the apartment’s interior. Molly, however, hadn’t moved from the windows.
She wore a pink cotton shirt tucked into a white flared skirt. The outfit was appropriate for a summer tour guide at the local historical society. Nothing about it suggested that she was a woman about to meet her lover. Rather, she was a study in innocence and vulnerability.
Hunt lowered the binoculars but didn’t move back into his bedroom, although he knew he should. His upcoming lecture series still needed hours of work and organizing. Yet, despite wanting to make himself blind to anything that even smelled like trouble, here he was watching and wondering.
Don’t be an idiot. Turn around and forget what you just saw. He drained the bottle of beer he’d left on the balcony and took an unsteady breath. It’s none of your business who she messes around with. Hell, it wasn’t even his business if she messed around at all.
“Damn.”
Disgusted that he couldn’t talk himself into forgetting what he’d just witnessed, he stalked back to the bedroom and tossed the binoculars aside. He snatched up the portable phone and punched out Denise’s number. Molly and Denise had been friends since Molly had been hired as the college housing coordinator two years ago.
While he listened to the rings, he returned to the balcony. Molly’s curtains swayed in the slightbreeze. Neither she nor Wallace were near the windows.
Hunt dropped into a white resin chair and stretched his legs out. His faded jeans were soft and torn, and his stretched-out T-shirt was a faded red. His dark hair was carelessly brushed back, and a shadow of whiskers indicated he hadn’t shaved s
ince yesterday. Denise had given him some dress-code hints for visiting lecturers, which he fully intended to comply with, but until classes began, Hunt didn’t even want: to think about wearing a coat and tie.
Just as he didn’t want to think about what he was doing right now.
Finally, his sister answered.
Never one to bother much with chitchat, Hunt said, “Denise, I’ve got a couple of questions for you.”
“Well, hello, to you, too.”
“Sorry.” Hunt knew she’d been struggling with her two sons, who were peppered with the measles. “How’re the boys?”
“Driving me nuts. How would you like to be stuck with two cranky kids, all the wrong video games and no husband to help because he had an unexpected business trip?”
He winced at her strident tone. He loved his sister, but sometimes he thought she was too tough on Clay. Still, even though Hunt had zero experience with kids, he knew his nephews were a handful even when they were healthy.
“Look, if there’s anything I can do…” he began hesitantly.
“You?” Denise sounded stunned.
“Yeah, me. I can always bring riot gear to protect myself.”
She laughed. “Sometimes I think I need some.” After a pause, she added, “Hunt, I love you dearly, but unless you have an instant cure for the measles…Oh, never mind. I guess I’ll manage. What did you call for?”
Hunt sighed in relief. Honestly, he felt much surer of himself dealing with Spider Wallace. “It’s about Molly McCulloch.”
“She’s too young for you.”
“I don’t want a date with her, I just want some information.”
“About what?”
“Does she have a boyfriend who doesn’t live around here?”
“What an odd question.”
“Humor me. Odd questions used to be my specialty.”
“Is this a cop question?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
Denise sucked in a breath. “Is Molly in some sort of trouble?”
“Probably not. I don’t really know.” Even to himself he sounded unsure. “It’s more than likely there’s a good explanation or I’m dead wrong, but just in case…Does she know a man named Wallace?”
“Hmm. Let me think a minute. There’s a Wallace Opalmyer in the science department….”
“No. Last name Wallace. He’s got short brown hair, big shoulders and a tattoo of a spider on his left forearm.” Hunt hadn’t seen the tattoo today, but he knew of the identifying mark from police files.
“Definitely not the kind of man Molly would be seeing.”
“I just saw her in his arms.”
“You’re not serious!”
“Very. I was on my balcony, and she and this guy were standing by the windows of her apartment.”
There was a few moments’ silence, then Denise said, “Molly is twenty-eight and single, and I guess if she wants to invite a guy with a spider tattoo to her apartment it’s no one’s business.”
Hadn’t he been telling himself the same thing for’ the past ten minutes? Yet here he was speculating. and worrying. “If this is the Wallace I think it is, Denise, the spider tattoo is the least of Molly’s problems.”
“You’re making this sound very mysterious.”
He took a deep breath and plunged in. “The guy looks like Vern “The Spider” Wallace. I never dealt with him personally, but I’ve seen photos and I know his history—none of it complimentary. He’s well known from Suffolk County to the North Shore. Cops have arrested and charged him a few times, but they’ve never had the witnesses or the solid evidence to get a conviction.”
“Wait a minute. Slow down. Arrest? Evidence? Get a conviction? You’re saying that Molly is with a criminal?”
“A professional hit man.”
After a gasp, Denise burst into laughter.
“I don’t recall saying anything amusing,” Hunt muttered.
“I’m sorry, but Molly and a hit man…” More laughter. “Oh, Hunt, now I know you’re wrong. It’s just too ridiculous to be believable. I mean, she was involved in a crusade last spring against violence on television.”
Hunt scowled. His instincts about Molly agreed with his sister’s, but he also knew what he’d seen. “Maybe she doesn’t know what Wallace does for a living.”
“Molly’s a good friend and I know her to be levelheaded. Maybe you misunderstood what you saw.”
“Maybe.”
“I can tell by the skepticism in your voice that you don’t think you’re wrong.”
“I’d like to be.”
Denise thought for a few seconds. “All right, let’s say you are right. Molly has an idealistic streak. Maybe she knows who he is and she’s trying to reform him.”
“Reform him? Come on, Denise. I’m not talking about some glib-talking lounge lizard. This guy contracts to kill people for money.”
For the first time, Hunt heard real alarm in Denise’s voice. “Then you have to do something.”
“Yeah, but what is the question.”
“You’re the cop.”
“Ex-cop.”
“That, my dear brother, is beside the point. If this Spider person was holding a gun on her, you’d go.”
“That’s different. A gangster hugging Molly isn’t a crime.”
“Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself? You wouldn’t have called me if you weren’t worried. In fact, I think I hear a strong streak of protectiveness in your voice.”
“Not a chance.” He said it too quickly, but maybe his sister wouldn’t catch the defensiveness. Protective indeed. It was just a leftover instinct from being a cop. A natural reaction to seeing someone like Molly with scum like Spider Wallace.
“Well, I hear more than a nosy neighbor jumping to dramatic conclusions.”
“You hear annoyance that I even called you,” he grumbled, furious that he’d allowed himself to worry about a woman he barely knew. He wanted to think it was merely an objective concern. Yet the reality was that Molly wasn’t just any woman, and it bothered the hell out of him that she might be intimately involved with a gangster.
Denise said, “Why don’t you call her?”
“And say what? How’s your love life? Or better yet, I could ask if Wallace takes his weapon to bed. No double meaning intended.”
“Then pay her a visit. You’ll probably find out that you just thought this guy was Wallace.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Denise did have a point. At this juncture, Hunt was drawing a lot of conclusions based on a few glances into Molly’s apartment. If he’d seen the tattoo, he’d clearly have a stronger reason to be suspicious. However, a visit would seem odd without a valid reason.
Then he recalled with a partial smile that his apartment’s air conditioner hadn’t been working right. While Hunt was aware that Molly didn’t handle the details of on-campus housing and off-campus apartments, she wouldn’t think it was odd if he asked who to see about getting the AC fixed.
“Hunt?”
“What?”
“I think you’re very sweet to be so concerned about her.”
“Sweet, huh.”
“I know you don’t believe you could ever care about anything or anyone after losing Kristin.”
Hunt stiffened. “An off-limits subject, Denise.”
Undaunted, Denise continued, “Her death affected you more deeply than even you realize. Clay and I have both hoped something or someone would change that. At least this concern for Molly shows you feel something.”
“Denise.” His voice was laced with ice. “Back off. If you were anyone but my kid sister, this call would have been history forty seconds ago.”
“Okay, okay, but I won’t apologize, and if you’d let yourself, you’d agree with me.” One of the kids screeched in the background. “Coming, Andy,” she shouted to her oldest son. Then to Hunt, she said quickly, “I’d better go. The kids are at it again.” Hunt heard a crash and then a yowl. “Oh God, that better
not have been my new lamp. Let me know what happens, okay?”
“Yeah. Take care of yourself. Clay won’t want a frazzled wife when he gets home.”
He pushed the disconnect button and continued to stare at the windows. The curtains fluttered as a slight breeze broke through the August afternoon heat.
He wondered if they were in bed. He couldn’t imagine Molly with Spider Wallace; the idea was ludicrous. Or was it that Hunt didn’t want to believe she’d have sex or be in love with a killer. Not Molly McCulloch—too innocent, too honest and too deserving of better…
Hell, what was he doing? He barely knew Molly except for his meeting with her to arrange for his off-campus apartment. And the afternoon he’d stopped to watch her play tennis. Later they’d had iced tea and talked about their favorite professional tennis players. Then, of course, there’d been that collision when they were crossing the dark courtyard. But those three incidents were the sum total of their acquaintance.
He wasn’t counting the night he’d stood in the dark on his balcony and glimpsed her in one of those shorty nightshirts. He’d been so disgusted with himself, he’d stayed off the balcony at night ever since, and he’d made it a point of walking in the other direction when he saw her.
Until this episode with Wallace.
Denise was right. He should go over there and see for himself. It sure wouldn’t be the first time he was dead wrong. And this time he wanted to be.
THE HALL OUTSIDE Molly’s apartment was dim and cool, but Hunt felt a line of sweat trickle down his back. He’d considered bringing his revolver, but nixed the idea. A neighbor looking to get his AC fixed wouldn’t be carrying a gun. The last thing he wanted to do was make Wallace suspicious and put Molly in unnecessary danger.
Taking a deep breath, he rehearsed his excuse and knocked.
He heard footsteps, and when she opened the door, the first thing that went through his mind was relief. She was wearing the same skirt, shirt and sandals. Obviously the two of them hadn’t been rolling around in bed. For reasons he didn’t want to think about, he was inordinately pleased.