Protecting Molly Mcculloch

by Dee Holmes

  “Hunt! What a surprise. How nice to see you.”

  “Molly, I’m sorry to disturb you.” He glanced beyond her, his gaze sweeping what he could see of the apartment’s interior. It was close to five o’clock, and the sun had moved deeper into the western sky. Molly had closed the blinds, throwing the rooms into shadow. Hunt saw no sign of Wallace.

  “You’re not disturbing me. In fact, lately, I’ve gotten the distinct impression you’ve been avoiding me.”

  “Avoiding you?” He brought his gaze back to her. The question had come out of nowhere, and yet Hunt heard no coyness or even expectation in her tone.

  “I know you’re busy getting ready for your lecture series, but the last few times I’ve seen you, you seemed to walk the other way.”

  Hunt hadn’t thought he’d been that obvious. Now he felt as if he owed her an apology. “Just things on my mind, I guess.”

  “Probably.”

  They stood there in the doorway, barely a foot of space separating them. How could he have forgotten how pretty she was or how good she smelled? Without wanting to, he recalled their collision in the courtyard. Her body against his as he steadied her, the brush of her cheek across his hand, the flowery scent of her hair. The entire episode had lasted less than thirty seconds, and yet it was imprinted on his memory.

  Hunt took a step back.

  Molly touched his arm and the coolness of her fingers made his pulse leap.

  “What did you want?”

  No involvement with you, dammit. None. Zero Zilch…. “I came about my apartment. The air conditioner isn’t working right. It’s either freezing me out or refusing to work at all.”

  Molly frowned. “I’d specifically requested that the owners upgrade the ACs in these buildings. Your apartment was on the top of the list. Gary Hoagland, the man who handles these things, assured me all the units had been replaced or fixed.”

  Hunt shrugged. “I should have mentioned this sooner, but, to be honest, I’ve been so involved with my work…”

  “Well, of course you have, and besides, this should have been handled weeks ago.” She urged him inside. “Let me give Gary a call. At least he can fix it temporarily. Tomorrow I’ll find out if we can get a new one installed for you.”

  “That would be great,” he murmured as he followed her into the large living room. It had a livedin look without being cluttered. Plump cushions on a blue-and-white slipcovered couch. Wicker side tables with matching ceramic lamps. A tree in a tub in one corner, a family of glass squirrels at its base Overhead a ceiling fan cooled the room. Everything looked and felt normal and low-key.

  No sign of Wallace, and Hunt could hardly search the rooms. He was beginning to wonder if he’d imagined the entire thing. He crossed to the windows where he’d seen Molly standing and looked over at his own apartment. No, he’d seen what he’d seen. Undoubtedly, Wallace didn’t want any close-up encounters with Molly’s neighbors. Reasonable enough if he was who Hunt thought he was.

  On the phone, Molly said, “Gary? This is Molly McCulloch. Hunt Gresham is having problems with his air-conditioning. He’s in 3D of the Oaklawn Complex. He’s here now. Yes. I’ll let you talk to him.”

  Molly held out the receiver to Hunt, but covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “He sounds a bit under the weather. You know, a few too many beers. If he can’t fix your unit, I have a fan you can have for tonight.”

  Hunt took the phone, explained his problem and, after a short conversation, extracted the promise his air conditioner would be fixed or replaced.

  “That seemed too easy,” he said after hanging up. “I’m not sure if we made progress or if Gary was counting the number of full beer cans he had left.”

  “I’ll double-check tomorrow to make sure he didn’t forget.”

  Hunt wanted to ask about Wallace. Her demeanor didn’t signal any problem. She was calm, sure of herself and smiling.

  Hunt was running out of conversation and a reason for remaining. “I really appreciate the help. From my balcony, I noticed you had company, so the last thing you probably needed was a neighbor with a problem.”

  “Yes, I do have company. Someone very special.” Excitement lit up her face. “He’s a little shy, and when you knocked, he ducked into the bedroom.”

  Wallace, shy? That had to be the understatement of the year. Hunt was at an impasse when Molly grinned. “Would you like to meet him?”

  It was what he’d come for, wasn’t it? “Sure,” he said, hoping he sounded casual.

  “Help yourself to a cold beer. I’ll be right back.”

  In the refrigerator was what looked like a summer supper for company. Fancy salads, a tray of expensive cold cuts, a cheesecake and a bottle of unopened champagne. Hunt also noted a box of Godiva chocolates.

  All Hunt knew about Godiva chocolates was the price tag. Molly didn’t strike him as the type who would buy them for herself, and the box was unopened. A gift from Wallace?

  He took out a bottle of beer, uncapped it and took a long swig before returning to the living room.

  Molly appeared with a reluctant Wallace. One glance, and in those few seconds of eye contact, Hunt knew he was right. Standing just a few feet from him, beside a grinning Molly, was Vern “The Spider” Wallace.

  He wasn’t a particularly imposing figure—he looked more like a vinyl-siding salesman than a gangster. His hair had been freshly cut, and he wore light chinos and a blue sport shirt. His eyes were disturbing, though. Sharp, cold, assessing, as if their depths masked a thousand secrets.

  Yet when he looked at Molly, they softened with affection. Clearly he wasn’t pleased Hunt was there, but for Molly’s sake, he was trying not to show it.

  Molly stepped forward, so much pride on her face that even a blind man would have seen it.

  “Hunt, I want you to meet my brother, Vernon Wallace.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  ONCE THE INTRODUCTIONS were made, Molly invited Hunt to stay, but he sensed her heart wasn’t in it. Obviously, she wanted to spend time alone with her brother.

  Hunt and Wallace exchanged looks, both men too savvy to miss the implication of Hunt’s hanging around. And since Wallace had done nothing but come to visit his sister, Hunt had no right to initiate questions or indulge his curiosity. For that matter, he wasn’t even a cop anymore. And if he’d never been one, he would be on his way right now without ever noticing the ruthlessness in Wallace’s eyes. An iciness that said “Get lost, buster,” in no uncertain terms.

  Hunt mumbled something about expecting a phone call and retreated with a jumble of thoughts that promised to keep his mind occupied for the rest of the evening.

  Back in his apartment, he tried to concentrate on his lectures, but by eight that evening, he gave up. The AC quit—again—and cursing himself for forgetting the fan Molly had offered, he tried to reach Gary Hoagland. No answer. If the maintenance man didn’t show tomorrow, Hunt intended to call someone else to fix the damn unit and pay for it himself.

  Wearing only a pair of faded denim cutoffs, he went to the kitchen, opened the freezer side of the refrigerator and stood in front of the misty cold air. Spotting a pint of chocolate chip ice cream, he took it out, closed the door and, a spoon in hand, returned to the balcony.

  Digging into the cold carton, Hunt ate ice cream and allowed the summer evening sounds and activity to drift over him. Car stereos, parents laughing at the antics of their toddlers, traffic on the nearby street, a game of catch between two kids in the courtyard. Hunt watched them, recalling those summer nights of baseball with his kid brother, Luke. He lived in the Midwest now, where he’d moved five years ago to escape the hectic life here on the East Coast. Luke had married Natalie, his college sweetheart, had three daughters, two German shepherds and a small-town medical practice. Dr. Lucas Gresham. Hunt still couldn’t imagine his brother, who almost blew up the chemistry lab in high school, doing anything as delicate as surgery. But then, before he became a cop, Hunt hadn’t known the difference between an assaul
t rifle and a shotgun. Now he knew more about guns and killing and horror than he’d ever wanted to know.

  One learns these things and then one moves on, he thought philosophically. As he had done when he retired.

  Glancing in the direction of Molly’s apartment, he wondered what kind of kid Vern Wallace had been. What had he and Molly done together as children? Probably fought, like most siblings. Hunt and Luke had scrapped often, and they’d teased Denise when they weren’t ignoring her.

  He finished the ice cream, set the carton on a side table and slid down in the white resin chair, his legs stretched out, the cooler evening air drifting across him. Molly’s apartment was dimly lit, but an occasional shadow indicated she and Wallace were still up. Hunt watched without seeing anything specific and growing more annoyed with himself that he was so curious.

  He was oddly relieved “Spider” Wallace was Molly’s brother; it was less disturbing than the alternative. One can’t choose a sibling but one very definitely chooses a lover. His image of Molly as young and sweet and vulnerable was once again solidly in place.

  Nevertheless, he was puzzled. Since he’d never heard she even had a brother, had Molly deliberately kept Wallace a secret? Possibly. Having a brother who contracted to kill people for bucks was hardly campus small talk. Yet she hadn’t acted nervous when Hunt appeared. In fact, she’d been upbeat and excited. She knew Hunt was an ex-cop—that in itself should have made her wonder if Hunt might recognize Vern. Surely if she’d feared a confrontation or a barrage of questions, she wouldn’t have insisted the two men meet.

  And the last names. McCulloch and Wallace. Since he knew Molly had never married, had Wallace changed his name? Or maybe they had different fathers. Hunt made a mental note to call his expartner, Sean Sullivan, in Boston and ask him to pull Wallace’s record. Once he had a few answers, he’d be satisfied. Just a natural curiosity. Molly with a hit man would make anyone curious; he was just lucky he had the contacts to get information. Comfortable, cooler now, he folded his arms across his chest and dozed.

  Later, in the dark, he awoke suddenly, blinking. He’d heard something. Then he heard it again. Someone was knocking on his apartment door.

  Rising, he shoved a hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes, squinting at his watch. It was nearly’ ten o’clock.

  He pulled open the door just in time to see a retreating back.

  “Molly?.”

  She turned, gripping a midsize window fan as if it were a piece of luggage. “Oh, Hunt, I woke you, didn’t I? I’m sorry. When I knocked the second time and you didn’t come, I realized you’d probably gone to bed.”

  “Here, let me take that.” He set the fan down near the door. “I was on the balcony trying to cool off. Guess I dozed off.”

  She’d changed to white shorts and a roomy blue T-shirt with a Narragansett, Rhode Island, logo of a sailboat in full sail. On her feet were navy tennis shoes and low-cuffed socks. The outfit gave her an athletic look of good health and clean living. When she drew close, her scent was light and delicate, like a distant meadow of wildflowers.

  Hunt stared in unabashed enchantment, propping his shoulder against the doorjamb in the shadowy light of the hall.

  “That’s the fan I promised you,” she said awkwardly. “I meant to give it to you this afternoon, but you left so quickly…then I forgot until Vern said something about being too warm and…uh, anyway, you have it now.” She was backing away as she spoke. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.” Her voice was nervous, her hands clasped, and when she looked at him, she quickly glanced away.

  Hunt guessed that, she too, had been caught by the tension that seemed to come out of nowhere. It startled Hunt and reminded him once again why he’d avoided her since that courtyard collision.

  “Thanks a lot, Molly. It will at least move the air in the bedroom.” Though it was the perfect opportunity to say good-night, he didn’t want her to go. “So, how’s the visit with your brother going?”

  Instantly, she grinned. “We’re catching up. It’s been a long time.”

  Hunt nodded. “Yeah, I know what that’s like. I have a kid brother in the Midwest. We don’t see each other often and when we do, it’s a lot of late-night gabbing.”

  She relaxed a little. “Luke, right? The doctor?”

  “How did you know?” It was weird that she knew about his family and he knew nothing about hers.

  “Denise brags about him just like she brags about you. When you agreed to do the lecture series, she was so excited. She talked and talked about herbrother the cop.”

  “Ex-cop.”

  She took a step toward him and that scent of wildflowers wafted pleasantly around him. “I’m planning on sitting in on your lecture series. Being a cop must have been exciting and dangerous.”

  “Dangerous, sometimes, but most of the time it’s not as exciting as it looks on TV.”

  “Are you sorry you retired?”

  “No.” He straightened. “Listen, we don’t have to stand out here in the hall. Do you want to come in? I have beer and soda, and I think I have some cranberry juice.”

  She hesitated, and for a moment he thought she would say yes. “Can I take a rain check? I mean that sincerely. I’d love to get better acquainted, you know, maybe become friends…find out what it was like for you being a cop, but right now I want to get back. Vern is only here for the weekend. I wanted him to stay longer, but he said he has to get back to work.”

  “Hey, I understand. Sure. We can get together another time.” Hunt was stunned by his disappointment. Now that it was her turning him down, he didn’t like it much.

  But instead of leaving, she came closer. Hunt’s breath caught and he cleared his throat.

  “About the fan—” she began. Her eyes, he decided, were more lavender than blue—soft, compelling and mysterious.

  “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

  “No, no, that’s not necessary.”

  Hunt moved to the side while she indicated the speed switch. “It has three speeds, but the middle one doesn’t always work. I just wanted to warn you.”

  “Probably the contacts are dirty.”

  She shrugged. “Since I have AC, I never got it repaired. In fact, I’d planned to put it in a local rummage sale, but I’ve had it a long time and you never know when you’ll need a fan—”

  “Like tonight.”

  “Yes, like tonight.”

  “I’m glad you had it.”

  She swallowed. “So…am I.”

  Hunt found his own breathing shallow and difficult Somehow she’d made discussing a fan sexy and seductive. They stood very close, and Hunt felt as if a vise were closing them together. The pressure increased making his blood pump with enough heat to bead his back with sweat.

  Their eyes met, and Molly’s gaze quickly slid away. Hunt hadn’t moved, but he had a powerful urge to slide his hand around her neck and draw her closer. Here, at this moment, kissing her struck him as the most natural thing in the world. His pulse sped up and his heart began to pound with all the intensity of a trip-hammer.

  Molly stayed stone still, and the invisible vise tightened.

  Ignoring what was happening was ridiculous. Besides, since Hunt had no intentions toward Molly—honorable or otherwise—he decided the best approach to killing the tension was to face it head-on.

  “Remember when we bumped into each other that night in the courtyard?” Hunt whispered.

  She looked momentarily taken aback by the remark. “Uh, yes, I do.”

  “I felt some things for you, Molly, that, well…they were things I didn’t want to feel. Physical stuff.” Hunt grimaced at his own tenuousness. Usually he was blunt; this sounded so wishy-washy he wanted to start again.

  “Physical stuff? You mean sexual?”

  “Yes. That’s why I’ve been avoiding you.”

  Her eyes widened, and despite the hall’s dimness he was sure he saw pink rise in her cheeks. “Oh.”

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” />
  “You’re very straightforward. I like that. And I’m relieved I didn’t do anything to offend you. I thought I might have when you were ducking me.”

  Hunt chuckled. “Well, now that we know what we’re dealing with, you understand where I’m coming from in being honest with you.”

  He expected her to nod and then retreat, but she tipped her head sideways and said, “I do have to say that you’re different from the other professors.”

  “Probably because I’m not really a professor.”

  “In a way, I believe you’ll be better. You’ll be teaching from your own experience rather than from theory and textbooks. And you are different. The other professors are more…” She paused a moment, as if searching for the right word. “More regular. Yes, that’s it.”

  “Which makes me what? A misfit?” He found the conversation amusing and interesting.

  She grinned, touching his arm lightly, but the coolness of her fingers made Hunt want to press them there forever. “Not really. It’s just that the men around here aren’t like you. Perhaps because you’re attractive as well as streetwise, and that makes you somewhat of a maverick. Most of the professors are staid and serious in tweed jackets with leather patches at the elbows. Their biggest risk in clothing is a yellow oxford shirt. I mean, even in this hot weather, none of them would wear cutoffs or answer a door with no shirt. I don’t mean that as criticism. The ones I know well are wonderful and kind, but—”

  “I know. Not like me.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “It’s good that we’re being so honest with each other.”

  She was quiet, her eyes cast down, her hands fiddling with the bottom of her T-shirt. “Yes, of course it is.”

  For reasons he couldn’t begin to explain, he wanted the conversation to continue.

  “Well, I’d better go. Vern will wonder what happened to me.”

  “Yeah, have a good visit. And I appreciate you bringing the fan.”

  She turned and hurried down the short hall. Seconds later, he heard the outside door open and close.