by Dee Holmes
Hunt closed his own door and leaned back against it. He was hot; his loose cutoffs suddenly felt tight. His chest rose and fell as if he’d run up a steep hill.
Swearing, he glared at the fan before yanking it up and carrying it into the bedroom. He set it in the window facing the bed, plugged it in and listened to the whirl of the blades. Air blew across him, and he sighed at the cooling effect. Unfortunately, it also blew his lecture papers off the bed, where he’d been sorting notes. Clearly, staying cool and studying weren’t going to be compatible tonight. He tried to convince himself his lack of concentration and the heat were to blame.
The truth was that Molly McCulloch had rattled him badly and managed what no other woman since Kristin could do.
She’d made him want her.
SHORTLY BEFORE MIDNIGHT, Hunt had dropped off to sleep, his mind floating into a carnal fantasy that had him making love to Molly in a house he’d never been in and on a bed with slippery sheets. She kept sliding away from him, and he kept pulling her back. Then, just as he had her snug beneath him, his body poised to enter hers, a siren went off. The wail went on and on, clamoring in his mind so loudly he awoke with a start.
He looked around wildly, but there was no Molly, no lovemaking, just the whirl of the fan and that goddamn siren..
Naked, he got out of bed, stumbled over a pair of sneakers, went through the living room and out to the balcony. The siren wail wound down and stopped. The emergency vehicle was parked in front of Molly’s building, its red lights flashing. A police car halted, and two officers emerged. Lights came on in the darkened apartments, and Hunt’s eyes focused on Molly’s windows, where he could see frantic activity. The two officers he’d just seen outside the building entered the apartment. Hunt didn’t wait to see any more.
Pulling on jeans and sneakers, he grabbed a shirt, tugging it on while he hurried out of his apartment and onto the street. Turning right, he passed neighbors who’d emerged in night wear or hastily donned clothes to see what was going on.
“Maybe someone had a stroke or something,” a man said as Hunt sprinted past.
In Molly’s building, Hunt took the stairs two at a time and was stopped by the police officer stationed at the open doorway of her apartment.
“Can’t go in there, sir.”
“What happened?” Hunt strained to see inside.
“Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of Molly McCulloch. I just saw her a few hours ago. Is she okay?”
“She’s okay.”
Hunt’s heart lifted in relief.
“Her brother?”
But before the officer could answer, Molly appeared and saw Hunt. “Oh, Hunt! Thank God you’re here!” she cried. The officer stepped aside and Hunt went in.
Molly was in his arms, her voice breaking with sobs that made her words difficult to understand.
“Tell me what happened,” he said in a soothing tone while he rubbed her back and tucked her closer to him.
“I don’t kn-know. I was in bed reading and I heard this loud thump from Vern’s room. I hurried in and he was on the floor. His hand was pressed against his chest and he could barely talk. I called 911…. He has to be okay…. He has to be….”
She shuddered, and Hunt eased her to the couch, where he made her sit down. He took tissues from a nearby box, and she smiled her gratitude as she dabbed her eyes.
“They wouldn’t let me stay in the room, and no one said anything and…oh, poor Vern. This is so unfair.”
“Let me see what I can find out,” Hunt said softly. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Hunt made his way in the direction of the disturbance and was stopped once again. The EMTs had loaded Vern onto a stretcher. They were monitoring his blood pressure, his breathing and his heart rate as they wheeled him out. Hunt had witnessed similar scenes when he’d done patrol, but the victims were usually much older.
“Heart attack, huh?” he said to one of the cops.
“Yeah.”
“Bad?”
He shrugged. “No heart attack is good. The doctor will have the answers. You a relative?”
“Friend of Ms. McCulloch. I’ll take her to the hospital.”
Molly had thrown on some clothes and was hurtying after the stretcher when Hunt stopped her.
“I’ll take you.” He fished her keys out of her purse, made sure her door was locked and then took her arm and led her outside.
The ambulance was pulling away, sirens wailing. Molly’s car was parked nearby, and Hunt bundled her into the passenger side and slid behind the wheel.
Madison General Hospital was a tall rectangular building with an ivy-covered facade. Hunt and Molly were directed to the third floor, where the intensive care unit was located. Molly immediately headed toward a nearby nurses’ station. She explained who she was and that her brother had been sent to ICU.
The nurse looked up and said, “The doctor will want to get him stabilized before you see him. Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll let you know. There’s coffee and soda machines to the right of the elevators,” she added as she turned away to take a phone call.
Hunt took Molly’s arm. “Let’s get some coffee and sit down. Is there anyone I can call for you? Parents? Relatives?”
“No. No one. She lowered her head, her voice ragged. “Oh, Hunt, I want him to be okay.”
“He probably will be. They didn’t say how serious the attack was. Maybe it was just a minor one.”
“It didn’t look minor. He was in a lot of pain.”
“At least you called 911 right away. It was the best thing you could have done.”
They got coffee and returned to the waiting room. She sank onto the soft couch, and Hunt sat on the low table facing her. He sipped his coffee while she simply stared at her cup.
“He has to be okay,” she murmured fervently. “He has to be.”
Hunt set his own cup down. Taking her hands, he folded them in his. “You’re imagining the worst. From what I saw, he looked pretty healthy. Does he have a history of heart problems?”
“I don’t know.”
“He probably didn’t want to worry you. Or maybe it was a guy thing where he didn’t want to look weak in front of his kid sister.”
“You don’t understand. I didn’t know because I didn’t know my brother.”
Hunt frowned in confusion. “I know you said it had been a while since you two got together, but—”
“I was nine when I last saw him”
Hunt stared at her in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. I’ve been trying to find him since I was sixteen. I finally did a month ago.”
“Wait a minute. You lost me. Why were you separated from him for so long?”
She leaned back and closed her eyes. Still holding her hands, Hunt felt her body tighten. In a flat tone, she said, “It was my fault for not knowing what he was doing for me. The McCullochs were reluctant to take two children. Vern wanted to make sure they chose me because he’d learned that they were leaning toward him. So he acted surly and nasty and waved a knife that I didn’t even know he had….”
“Hold it.” Hunt pulled her forward and made her look at him. “Molly, I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”
She curled her fingers around his wrists as if he were a lifeline. “No, of course you don’t. Oh, Hunt, do you have any idea what it’s like to want something so badly that when you get it, it’s the most precious of gifts? Then to be gripped by the terror of losing it all over again…I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve lived with these emotions about Vern for so long and I’ve never really told anyone about them.” She searched his face. “Are you sure you want to hear all this?”
“Only if you’re comfortable telling me.”
She was thoughtful for a moment. Then she said, “Vern was ten and I was six when we were left alone for three days in an apartment while our parents gambled and drank in a neighborhood bar. There was a fire and they both died
. Vern and I found out when a social worker found us.”
Hunt stared at her, shocked and astonished. “My God, Molly…”
She leaned forward, rocking a little, her eyes filled with tears that she struggled to keep at bay. Her voice trembled. “They didn’t love us as much as they did drinking and gambling. They left us like we were things, like we were nothing, like we were never part of their lives.”
Hunt drew her into his arms, “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
She sniffled. “And if it weren’t for Vern, God knows what would have happened to me.”
Vern Wallace in the role of hero didn’t fit what Hunt knew about him, but then, nothing in the past few hours had made a whole lot of sense. Including the deep sense of protectiveness he was developing for Molly.
CHAPTER THREE
MOLLY PULLED HERSELF together and rose to her feet. She was grateful to Hunt for coming with her, but pouring out her life story…
She had mixed emotions. She wanted to tell him, but for so many years it had been her story alone, her mission to find Vern, her obsession to set right their lives. For all that time, she’d kept her past to herself, not because she was ashamed of it, but because she wanted to stay focused and resolute. She didn’t want the distraction of good-intentioned opinions or questions she couldn’t answer.
Even tonight there were huge gaps in Vern’s life that hadn’t been explained, and once again, she was grappling with questions, but this time they were underlined with a new fear: would her brother be all right?
She walked to the windows that overlooked the hospital parking lot. Outside, the August night was serene and still. She was anything but, hating the fact that she couldn’t do something to help. Never in a thousand years would she have thought that her reunion with Vern would end up like this. She prayed that she’d reached 911 in time, that the doctor would walk into the waiting area and say, he’s going to be fine and he wants to see you. Waiting, not knowing—my God, she should be used to it; she’d spent most of her life waiting to hear about Vern. She shivered, suddenly chilled, and then turned and looked back at Hunt.
He had sprawled back on the green vinyl couch, sneakered feet on the magazine-littered table, ankles crossed, his body lean and long and seemingly relaxed. She imagined the posture belied his alertness, his quickness.
She didn’t know him, though, not really. Denise had told her he’d lost his wife to breast cancer and that Hunt had been devastated. How they must have loved each other, Molly thought She envied such devotion and commitment. She’d felt a sisterly dedication toward her brother during the years they’d been separated, but she’d never experienced love and total devotion to a man of her own; she’d never had that kind of faithfulness returned in kind.
Molly had been intrigued by Hunt since Denise had introduced them when he was looking for an apartment. Hunt, she guessed, would never be dull and boring. And now, in the most unpredictable way, here he was waiting with her, wanting to offer support and a listening ear;
A noise in the hall caused Molly to glance at the open doorway. She walked quickly forward, looking for someone to enter and bring her good news. But within a few moments the corridor was once again quiet.
“Molly?” Hunt stood, his dark shirt and jeans giving him the look of a predator in the antiseptic environment. Oddly, she felt safe, rather than threatened.
“I’ve intrigued you and then left you hanging, haven’t I?” Molly asked, anticipating his interest.
“Look, I don’t want to intrude. I mean that. Sure I’m curious, but I didn’t come with you to force you to tell me your life story.”
“I know.” She lowered her head and covered her face with her hands. She felt his arms slide around her, and she gave in to the warmth and support of his body. The gesture seemed so natural, given the circumstances, that she didn’t even try to pull away. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Tell me why you haven’t seen your brother since you were nine. Did he disappear?”
“In a way, but he did it for me.” She took a deep breath.
“For you.”
He sounded skeptical, but then, he probably thought she was some emotional woman caught by her own version of the past.
“Since he’s your brother, why does he have a different last name?”
“Actually, I’m the one whose name changed. I was born Molly Wallace.”
His silence made her smile. Poor Hunt, he was trying to figure this all out piecemeal. “Let me tell. you what happened, and then I think your questionswill be answered.”
He led her to the couch, where they both sat down. Hunt once again leaned back; this time he propped one ankle on the knee of his other leg. Molly perched on the sofa’s edge, prepared to jump up at a second’s notice.
Hunt reached for her hand, and she gladly let him lace their fingers together. The connection soothed her, while at the same time aroused an unexpected physical response that she hurriedly dismissed. He didn’t tug her close or urge her into his arms. Molly’ knew she wouldn’t have resisted, but getting too cozy was dangerous. It would be too easy to lean on him, too easy to let herself mistake his touches for something more than comfort. She was extremely aware of him as a man, and had been for a long time, but an inner alarm warned her to be cautious. She was vulnerable now and needed her wits about her.
Taking a shaky breath, but still holding his hand, she began. “After the social worker took us, and the state learned we had no other relatives, we were made available for adoption. The problem was finding a family who would take two older children. Most want babies, so an older child has the best chance if a sibling is under a year old. I didn’t have anyone but Vern, and he felt very protective of me, so to the state’s credit, they tried to find a way we could stay together. But three years passed and we were still being shuffled around to foster homes.
“Finally Leo and Carol McCulloch came along. They weren’t sure they wanted both of us. They had concerns about Vern, even though they’d always dreamed of having a son. Anyway, Vern was thirteen at the time and had a wild streak. Mostly it came from anger at what our parents did, and he used his anger like a shield against getting hurt or abandoned again.”
“What about you? Were you wild?”
She shook her head. “Scared mostly, and desperately wanting a room of my own, a Barbie doll and a bed with a puffy quilt. A nine-year-old’s idea of happiness, I guess. As long as I could remember, I’d slept on a foldaway cot in the living room. Now, looking back, it seems silly and…”
“Not silly at all. Your brother was dealing with the change in his life in one way and you chose another way. Sometimes tangible things represent bigger issues, such as safety and comfort and being wanted and loved.”
She tipped her head sideways, grateful for his understanding. “You sound as if you’ve studied human behavior.”
“I took some courses as part of my training as a police officer, but I learned the most in the everyday routine of watching people and dealing with their problems. Sometimes kids taken from inner-city poverty would attach the greatest meaning to seemingly incidental or simple things. I recall a little boy a few years back who was picked up for stealing flowers from a street vendor. Later we learned that his mother was an alcoholic, but when she was sober she grew flowers in pots in her kitchen. The kid associated the flowers with the positive side of his mother and made the leap in logic that if he brought flowers home she’d stay sober.”
Molly listened, saddened but fascinated. “Did she?”
Hunt shook his head. “She disappeared and the boy is in foster care.”
“What about the father?”
“Whereabouts unknown. A deadbeat dad.” Hunt squeezed her hand. “Hey, we were talking about you and your brother and the McCullochs.”
She nodded, realizing how hard this was to talk about. She’d hoped for a happy ending this weekend, and now…She cleared away the dismal thoughts and reminded herself that her happy ending had just been pos
tponed for a few hours. She had to be optimistic. That’s what she’d been for nineteen years, and even a setback like this one couldn’t make her give up hope.
To Hunt, she said, “The McCullochs took a long time to decide, because they were worried they couldn’t handle Vern. Yet they knew the state wanted to keep us together if at all possible. Carol McCulloch told me this years later. Because most of the questions were about Vern, he got the idea I was going to be left behind. Vern believed he could take care of himself, but he was afraid for me.”
“So if a choice had to be made, he wanted you to be the one who got the family,” Hunt commented.
“Yes. I didn’t know that at the time. Vern told me this evening about that last day and why he acted wild and crazy with the McCullochs. He wanted them to choose me. I remember how stunned I was by his actions. He swore, made surly comments, threatened to run away, and finally pulled out a switchblade and gave some graphic descriptions of how he could cut people up with it.”
“Surely the social worker knew that was a lot of bull and bluster.”
She shrugged. “Vern was convincing, and it worked. Carol McCulloch wanted no part of adopting him.”
“So they took only you.”
Her eyes teared at the memory of leaving her brother behind. “It was a horrible day, when it should have been happy. I was losing my brother and I couldn’t stop it.” Her cheeks dampened and she tried to stem the tears, but couldn’t. All the terror of that separation from Vern rushed over her as if it were happening all over again. “Oh, Hunt, it w-was so terrible.”
“Shhh, easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, drawing her close and rubbing her back. “That was a long time ago. You’ve found your brother and you’re together now. That’s what counts. Your persistence and determination…the fact that you never gave up…it’s all paid off now.”
But his words, as soothing as they were, weren’t enough. The onslaught of memories was too volatile to contain anymore. Perhaps it was finally telling her story for reasons not connected with her search for Vern, but merely for herself, for her own well-being. “I cried that day and tried to run back to him, but they forced me away. Poor Vern, he’d been restrained by a juvenile officer. But all I saw was that he stood there like a sphinx watching me leave and doing nothing to stop it.” She sniffled, grateful for Hunt’s arms around her. “I didn’t understand why he was letting me go. It seemed so heartless for him not to fight to stay with me instead of pushing me at the McCullochs.”