by Dee Holmes
“Vern wanted you and Brandon to be safe and to have a normal life. When I was adopted and Vern wasn’t, it was because he’d acted up to make sure they took me. He wanted me to be safe and have a family life. As hard as it was to be separated, I think he was being the big brother who was determined his baby sister would have the best. With you, he was being the loving husband and father who knew he couldn’t give you what you needed, and so he was happy about Rick.”
“But your brother didn’t take any chances. I learned from him that he’d known for weeks I was seeing Rick. Vern even knew about the engagement. He had hired a pal of his to make sure nothing happened to me. His pal told him about Rick.”
“Vern had him checked out.”
She nodded. “Thank God Rick was exactly who he said he was.”
“Yes, thank God he was.” Molly and Francine exchanged glances. Both knew what Rick’s fate would have been if he had lied or deceived Francine.
“He told me he wanted me to be happy, but he also didn’t want Brandon to forget him. I think the long separation from you made Vern realize how much he didn’t want that to happen between him and his son. For the two of us, well, we had planned to be together on the Labor Day weekend.” Her cheeks colored. “Brandon was to stay with my mother. Vern and I were going to see each other one last time before I remarried.”
“Where did you plan to meet?”
Francine gave her an odd look. “West of Worcester. There’s a B-and-B we’ve been to before. Why?”
“I just wondered if you happened to know where Vern was going after our visit. There’s a window of time there—never mind. He probably didn’t say anything.”
“Vern always told me where he’d be. In case there was an emergency.”
The screen door squeaked and Molly glanced up. Hunt stood there while Brandon raced over to his mother.
“Gee, Mom, Hunt said I knew more about baseball cards than anyone, but you know what’s reallyneat?” Without waiting for a comment, he added, “Hunt said if I ever come down to Woodbriar, he’d take me to a collector his nephews know who has cards for every Red Sox player since 1955.”
“That was very nice of him.”
Hunt was staring at Molly, and she was staring back at him. Between them lay Francine’s statement—Vern always told me where he’d be. Hunt took a step forward, and Molly held up her hand to stop him. Francine was listening to Brandon chatter about his talk with Hunt.
“He’s so cool.”
“Yes, I’m sure he is. I think we should be going.”
Molly had risen to her feet. A rush of feeling for her nephew and for this woman her brother had loved made her even more determined to make sure Vern’s legacy wasn’t sealed by another death.
With a bluntness that made Hunt raise his eyebrows, she said, “Francine, I need you to tell me where Vern was going after his visit with me.”
Hunt crossed to Molly, his hand touching the small of her back. She felt his tension, and she herself was none too calm.
Francine shuddered. It was obvious she had no intention of saying anything upsetting in front of Brandon, certainly not that his father had been on his way to kill someone.
“Grover.” She gave Molly a penetrating look that said she’d better read between the lines because she wasn’t going to say much. “It’s a small town close to the Mass Pike. There’s a huge aquarium there, and Vern often visited it when he was in central Massachusetts. We were going to meet around six in the morning for breakfast. His business was always handled before pleasure.”
Hunt and Molly exchanged glances.
827 BOS must be located in Grover. And the hit had been set for some time before dawn.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“NO, MOLLY, you’re not going.”
“And why not?”
“Because it’s dangerous and there’s no reason for you to be there.”
“But I want to be. I have to see for myself who my brother was going to…” She hesitated. “I have to know that person is going to be okay. Preventing something from happening to him is why you wanted to know what the note meant, isn’t it?”
Hunt turned away. “Yeah.”
“Besides, you’ll be with me.”
“There’s no reason why I should be there, either. I planned to turn this all over to Sean and then go home.”
“But it’s not finished.”
“As far as we’re concerned, it is. Sean would have my ass if I let you within ten miles of Grover.”
That testy exchange had taken place after the departure of Francine and Brandon. Nothing had been said since.
It was nearly five in the afternoon, and they were in the car on the way to a pay phone so Hunt could call Sean. Molly sat with her arms crossed, staring out the windshield. Hunt was tense. His headache threatened to become permanent. Stubborn and single-minded, Molly was obsessed with the idea that her brother was some kind of dispossessed hero who’d had a life of bad breaks. Hunt grimaced. And he’d deluded himself with the belief that it would get simpler once she accepted who Wallace had been. Instead, she’d become even more determined. Molly’s idealism apparently had no limits or boundaries.
Molly and her sister-in-law had exchanged addresses and phone numbers with promises to keep in touch. As he’d watched the two women embrace and Molly ruffle Brandon’s hair, Hunt had been struck by her willingness to simply accept them as her family. He knew how vulnerable she was, and he flinched at the possibility she might be hurt or used by them or anyone. Yet she’d plunged in with all the faith of a child; no thought that they might not be what they seem. No worry that she might be stepping into a trap.
Even if Francine was legitimate, it didn’t change the fact that she had a lot of information about Vern. Information she’d done nothing with; she’d never gone to the cops or the feds, and yet when Molly asked her directly about the hit, she had answered.
In her conversation with Molly, when Hunt was outside with Brandon—a conversation Hunt had listened to with rapt attention—Francine had never mentioned the notebook. From Hunt’s point of view, there was no reason why she shouldn’t have unless she didn’t know about it. And if Wallace had been determined to protect his son and his ex-wife, he would never have revealed the existence of a notebook that could eventually be used as evidence against Pascale and Solozi.
Good God, he was beginning to use Molly’s emotional logic. Annoyed that he’d allowed her to invade his usual credo, he wondered just when he’d begun to let down his guard. A real no-brainer, Gresham. That happened weeks ago on the day you ran into her in the courtyard and spent too damn long fantasizing about taking her to bed. Well, you did that. So, now what?
He glanced over at her. She’d changed to shorts and a knit shirt that outlined her breasts without being overly snug. He knew her bra was pink and lacy from when she’d opened her blouse at her brother’s overheated apartment. He knew it closed in the front. If he were so inclined, he could unhook it with one hand and have her out of it and the shirt in less than ten seconds.
The truth of the matter was that he wanted her, despite his resolution that it wouldn’t happen again.
He wanted her.
Again.
And again.
He wanted her more than he wanted to call Sullivan and definitely more than worrying about some sleaze scheduled to leave this earth compliments of a hit man’s best shot.
Hunt said, “You’re too quiet. Cooking up some new strategy?”
“Not at all,” she said blandly. “I know exactly what I’m going to do. You’re the one getting squeamish and barking orders.”
He swore. “Did it ever occur to you that I might know a little more about hit men and their targets than you do? And is there any chance you might realize that I don’t want you to get hurt and taking you back to Woodbriar is the best way to protect you?”
If he’d had any hope she’d get dewy eyed and compliant, her sideways glance killed the idea. “I understand that, and so far,
you’ve done an exemplary job. I’m sure you’re pleased and relieved that your involvement with me is nearly over. You can get on with your life and out of mine.”
“Nice delivery but no sale.”
She gave him a sugary smile. “I’m stating our, uh, situation the way you have so many times. Oh, and by the way—” she opened her purse and took out the ring he’d bought “—you can return this and get your money back.” She dropped the ring into the tray on the console as though it were a turnpike token.
Hunt glanced at the gold band, recalling the purchase, and then slipping it on her finger to allay any suspicion about why he was with her. Little good it had done. Pascale still tricked her, and her escape had more to do with her own quick thinking than his. The ring meant nothing; it was merely an unnecessary prop. Like their relationship.
He parked at the convenience store. His conscience still nagged him about the intimacy they’d shared, and since things were coming to a close, this might be a good time to clean up any misunderstandings. He turned to her. “Molly, about what happened between us—”
“It meant nothing to you. I know,” she said quickly and dismissively. She glanced at the digital clock. “Shouldn’t you be calling Sean?”
Yeah, he should, but still he didn’t move. Her deliberate efforts to distance herself disturbed him. She had said the right words, but they lacked the kind of fervent passion Molly used when something was important to her. And if getting him out of her life was high on her priority list, then eagerness would be—
Hunt scowled. She didn’t have to shove him out of her life as if he were some stubborn male determined to possess her. Something else was going on.
He shifted slightly in the seat, one wrist draped over the steering wheel. “Okay, let’s quit playing games. You got some backup plan to get to Grover on your own? Is this cold attitude toward me supposed to stop me from worrying about you?”
She turned. “Why were you so negative about Francine?”
“Ah, so we’re back to that. I was being cautious. I’m still cautious.”
“Even after all she said? Good grief, Hunt, she practically handed us the time of the hit, and she definitely gave us the place.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re always so suspicious. If it weren’t for Francine, I wouldn’t know anything about Vern’s past. You’re the one person who knows how important it is to me to find out about my brother, and yet the one person who knows the most—”
“Hold it. Is this why you’re acting so distant? You think my suspicions about Francine are personal?”
“Are they?”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he said in exasperation. “Look, I admit she’s probably on the level. I just like people to be up front and not sneaking around, magically appearing when they think it’s okay.”
“Maybe she was scared. She knows how dangerous Pascale was. Maybe she feared putting herself and Brandon in danger. Pascale could have thought she had the notebook.”
Hunt shook his head. “If he had, he would have gone after her. Or maybe he already had and came up with zero. You were the target because you were the last one with Vern. If you hadn’t made that phone call to Vern’s apartment or identified yourself to the funeral director—” He cut off his own words. “There’s no point in rehashing that. It’s done…all of this is almost done. Thank God.”
She heaved a huge sigh, her shoulders trembling slightly. “There are so few people who knew Vern. And those who did aren’t people I want to make friends or have contact with. I have nothing but a few old memories.”
“You have Francine and you have Brandon,” Hunt said, giving in to the inevitable. At this juncture, he was resigned to accepting them at face value—unless circumstances proved otherwise. To Molly, he said, “Vern obviously cared a great deal about both of them. When Brandon and I were outside, he told me about his dad and how they would look for four-leaf clovers.”
“Like he did with me,” she murmured.
“Yeah. Vern apparently tried to convince Brandon he was better off without him. I don’t think Brandon bought it, but I was struck by how similarly Vern treated his son and how he treated you. I’m no shrink, but it appears that he used much the same approach. He obviously cared more for you and Brandon and Francine than he ever cared about himself.”
She didn’t say anything, and then slowly nodded her head. “He had a good side. He wasn’t just some thug. And I do have Francine and Brandon. I’ve already learned a lot from them.”
“And you’ll learn more. I imagine she can fill in the gaps in Vern’s life better than anyone.” At least the kind of life Molly wanted to know about. “And unless I miss my guess, she has more pictures.”
Molly’s eyes glistened, but Hunt also noted the response he’d hoped to see. Her thoughts and concentration had shifted to her new family and away from her crazy idea of going to Grover. Hunt felt more relieved than he had in days. By this time tomorrow, it would be all over.
Now he touched her cheek, his thumb grazing one of her earlobes. “So, am I forgiven for being overly cautious?”
“Mmm.”
“Molly,” he warned. “Why do I have the feeling you’re up to something?”
She turned a bit, her head tipping toward his fingers. Her gaze slid over him, making him suddenly uncomfortable. The tension that had been bubbling between them boiled up like lava from a volcano. A clanging alarm went off in the recesses of his mind when she moved her hand to his thigh and began picking at a ripped place on the denim.
For a few surreal seconds, Hunt just stared at her fingers as they pressed and feathered and smoothed the fabric. His flesh prickled. Not just on his leg, but on the back of his neck.
And then, to his astonishment, she leaned closer, and with a deft motion, she slid her hand across the denim to dip between his thighs. Hunt jumped but she didn’t abandon her target; she brushed her fingers over him, amusement in her eyes. “So are you.”
Hunt swore and grabbed her wrist before she could surround him. His body’s reaction made him furious; he should have removed her hand when it was in safe territory. She wanted to play? Hell, he could do that.
“Come over here,” he growled.
“You’re supposed to go call Sean.”
“He can wait.” He pulled her closer, his mouth covering hers in a crushing kiss. Her lips parted like a thirsty flower, and he tangled his tongue around hers. How could kissing one woman send his mind into a tailspin and make his body plead for more? At some level she had a command over him that Hunt had no idea how to deal with; he just knew he wanted her. He moved his hand across her waist, tugging her shirt free from her shorts. He burrowed beneath the knit top, his fingers climbing her skin and unhooking the bra’s front clasp. She caught her breath, and Hunt wondered just how far he would go in a public parking lot. Just this, he promised himself. Just this. He cupped her breast, and it snuggled into his palm as if it had come home.
He wanted to tell her how beautifully responsive she was.
He wanted to kiss her breasts, her belly, all those sweet secret places.
He wanted to put her hand back between his legs.
Instead he pulled away from her, calling on the remnants of his self-control. He gave her a scalding look. “Works both ways, Molly. You want to play? I can play, too.”
The moment he’d said the words he wanted to take them back. She lowered her head, and he felt her physically shrink away. He didn’t try to stop her.
“It’s more than playing, more than just being with you. It’s always been more for me than sex.” Her tone held a defiance and a ring of truth that Hunt wanted to ignore.
“No declarations, please.” He opened the car door, and she grabbed his arm.
“It’s not a declaration. It’s the way I feel.”
“You feel desire. Hell, so do 1, but you’re twenty-eight and I’m almost forty. This has all the clichés of a horny jerk who should have known better than to mess with a wide-eyed
virgin.”
“I was never wide-eyed and I’m not a virgin.”
You were wide-eyed, Molly, he thought sadly. Before you knew who your brother really was, before you took on this crusade, before you allowed yourself to get tangled up with me.
“Yeah, I took care of that virgin thing, didn’t I,” he said, furious with himself all over again. “But that doesn’t mean it will happen again.”
“You want me. You said so.”
He was about to deny it, but he decided there was no point. He did want her. If she wanted honesty, he’d give her honesty.
He shoved a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. “All right. I want you. Hell, who wouldn’t? You’re beautiful and desirable and sexy and responsive. I’d have to be dead to deny an attraction. But I also know that you haven’t allowed yourself many boyfriends. You play tennis, you crusade against TV violence, you go to work and you have an occasional date. The rest of the time you were involved in finding Vern. Most women your age would have dated dozens of guys, probably slept with a few. I come along at a time when you were vulnerable. We were thrown together, we shared some painful personal memories, and suddenly you thought you’d found the guy you wanted forever.”
Molly was quiet, her head turned away. No protest was forthcoming. Maybe that was all that had ever been needed—just a careful explanation of their situation. Now she understood and probably felt embarrassed.
He watched the late-afternoon light catch some of the amber streaks in her hair. He wanted to tangle his fingers in it and fold her into his arms. But he didn’t Their time together was nearly finished. If he could stay cool and impersonal for just a little longer, Molly would be better off. Eventually she’d forget about him and find some nice unjaded guy.
Don’t think about her with someone else, he warned himself. Think about getting back to your apartment, doing the lecture series and then moving on. He’d hoped to stay permanently in Woodbriar, now he questioned that plan. Distance from Molly—that was the key.
He got out of the car.
“Hunt?” She was leaning across the seat. “I still want to go to Grover.”