by Dee Holmes
Her mouth felt dust-dry. “S-someone named W-Weasel is going to try and k-kill you.”
He looked at her as if she had mashed potatoes for brains. “What is this? Some kinda screwy trick?” Even as he asked the question, his eyes darted to the curtained window. “Since when do the cops send a broad to do their dirty work? They think I’m gonna fall for that?”
“They don’t want anything to happen to you,” she managed to say with a croaky voice. Molly wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but she certainly didn’t want to see anyone gunned down.
He let go of her chin, and Molly sagged against the wall. She’d been practically on her tiptoes to relieve the pressure on her throat. She gingerly felt her chin and then glanced around for a way to get out. He moved like a bear, shoulders swaying, arms loose. She learned how deceptively agile he was when she took a step toward the door.
He halted her and swung her so that her back was pinned to his chest. “We’re goin’ to see just how much you’re worth to your pals outside.” He gave her a disdainful look. “You ain’t got breasts worth getting sweaty palms over.”
She didn’t flinch and she didn’t answer him. He moved with her toward the back door, slid the curtain back and peered out. All Molly could see was blackness. Good move, she thought to herself. Either you like getting into trouble or you’re not very good at planning your strategy. Then she felt a hard poke against her side.
“Make a sound and you’re singin’ with the angels.”
He poked harder, and she chanced a glance and shuddered. The weapon was enormous, and his finger slid across the trigger with a master’s touch.
“I TOLD YOU to keep her the hell out of the way.” Sullivan’s voice was a croaking whisper. “Now I don’t have to sweat arresting her because she’ll probably be dead.”
“Knock it off, Sullivan.” But it was Sean’s finger shoved in Hunt’s chest that infuriated him. “You were real interested in her when she could get you info. I take the blame for the screw-up. The issue now is Molly and her safety.”
“I got guys who are supposed to be nailin’ Weasel and they’re searchin’ for your girlfriend. If this gets messed up because of her—”
“Because of her you’re here, goddammit, so back it off.” Hunt stalked away and headed toward the house.
He knew. He didn’t have to guess or wonder; she was either in the house or damn close. He should have known by her outrage over how Sullivan was handling this that she wouldn’t sit passively by. Hell, maybe he had known and hadn’t wanted to think about it. From the beginning, she’d been determined to learn all she could about her brother, to make him something he wasn’t or find a reason why he’d gone wrong. With that in mind, she’d gone with Pascale and put her full trust in Francine. She’d even agreed to him accompanying her to the funeral. No doubt she’d had an ulterior motive for that, too, he thought grimly.
Which, of course, changed nothing. Hunt guessed that Crackston would be breathing with the devil right now if Wallace had lived. But Molly wouldn’t be here, either. She’d be back in Woodbriar, still blissfully naive.
Two cops came out of the darkness. “What do you think, Gresham?”
Hunt knew Oswald and Peterson. Both worked under Sean. Hunt nodded toward the house. “My guess is she’s in there.”
“She some kind of screwy broad?”
“Most of the time I’d say no. But tonight…never mind. Let’s just call her idealistic.”
The officers looked at each other and rolled their eyes.
“I’m going to see how close I can get to the back door,” Hunt told them.
“Better hold up until we check with Sullivan.”
But Hunt had no intention of standing around. He’d already done enough of that.
“Gresham, hey, man, wait a minute….”
Hunt ignored the low-spoken command. He crept closer to the house, using the darkness, but just as he moved to the side near the back door, a shot rang out from inside.
“You cops better stay the hell back,” Crackston yelled. “She don’t mean squat to me, but she can stop a lot of bullets.”
“Crackston!” Hunt shouted. “Give it up.”
“Gresham? That you? You sober or you still playing the cop screw-up. Thought you were history, and here you are on my ass again.”
“Crackston, I don’t give two shits if you live or die.”
“But you care about the woman. You coppers always do. Well, you didn’t do such a good job carin’ about her if she got in here.”
Molly stiffened, a surge of adrenaline pushing through her. She had to do something. Since she couldn’t physically get away from him, she began to chatter. “He didn’t know anything about this. He didn’t want me here and he’s probably furious, but you’re a fool if you think he’s going to—”
“Shut up!”
“I’m telling you, Hunt isn’t going to let you leave here with me. He’s—”
“Lady, either shut up or I’m gonna gag you.”
“But—”
Crackston’s hand clamped over her mouth, pushing her lips so hard against her teeth, her eyes watered with the pain. Blinking to clear her vision, she felt as if the breath were being squeezed out of her.
Suddenly Crackston whirled around. “What was that?”
Molly hadn’t heard anything.
“Gresham? I wanna see you or I’m gonna start chewin’ on this broad.”
Silence.
“Gresham!”
Molly’s eyes widened as the silence continued. Crackston cursed, then, still holding her against him, dragged her across the kitchen to another room, where she saw sparse furnishings and the remains of a take-out meal.
Crackston spun her around, shoved her down in a chair, tore a drapery cord off the window and tied her hands behind her back. Then he took a long doily off a table, rolled it into a long tube and gagged her. Molly tasted dusty cotton. He hauled her to her feet, shoving her in front of him as he made his way toward a closed door.
Molly had moved beyond scared to terrified. Where was Hunt? If she’d stayed with him, none of this would have happened. In the hospital, Vern had told her that Hunt wouldn’t let her get hurt. Vern had been so positive of that, and he hadn’t even known Hunt. In effect, her obsession to put right what her brother had done wrong had not only put her in danger, but Hunt, too. Hunt could get killed trying to save her.
Oh, God…
They were moving down a cobwebby stairway that led to a cellar. Her arms were growing numb and the gag was making her nauseous.
“Move it, lady. Your boyfriend ain’t gonna save you now.”
Maybe not, but…The idea was implausible, but it could work…
She made a muffled sound, signaling frantically with her eyes. Crackston looked confused, but when she continued to gesture, he untied the gag. “Make it quick, and if you scream I’ll hit you.”
“My brother will get you for this,” she blurted out, thinking it sounded even more implausible when she said it.
“Huh?”
“My brother. Vernon Wallace.”
Even in the darkness, she saw the white in his eyes grow larger. Then he guffawed. “First you’re tellin’ me the Weasel is gonna do me and now you’re talkin’ about a dead man? Claimin’ to be ‘the Spider’s’ sister? You’re screwier than I figured.”
“It’s a trick.”
“What’s a trick?”
“Vern isn’t dead. That was all a lie. A setup.” Molly chattered on with no idea if anything she said made sense, but Crackston seemed distracted and disoriented by the information. And that was all she wanted. To throw him off stride so she could escape.
“Shut up! Shut up before I put a bullet through you right now.” He regagged her, mumbling about -women making lousy hostages, then moved across the cellar to a bulkhead and slid the inside lock open.
Molly eased her way back, trying to use the darkness of the cellar to her advantage. She backed into a cobweb and shuddered at t
he feel of it on her neck. With her hands tied, she couldn’t do anything but shake to keep her arms from going numb.
She moved slowly toward the stairs, intending to try to escape back up them. Just as she was about to take the first step, Crackston swung around and bellowed, “Get over here, you little bitch. Do it now!”
The gleam of the gun barrel aimed right at her convinced her to do as she was told. He opened the bulkhead, looked around, and then pulling her in front of him as cover, climbed the steps from the cellar to the backyard.
No one was around. Not Hunt or Sean or any of the other cops. For a nightmarish moment Molly envisioned Weasel in some nearby tree with her and Crackston in his sights. She felt exposed and vulnerable, and in that moment knew that this was the reason Vern would have never told her anything about what he did for a living. Even if he’d lived and they’d had a close relationship, he would have kept silent. How foolishly naive she was! Her brother probably knew that, too, which was why, on his deathbed, he’d urged her to trust Hunt.
Now it was too late to trust anyone.
The yard was scruffy and banked by trees. Once Crackston had her in the denseness of the trees…
Crackston took no chances. He searched, his eyes moving all the time, turning Molly and turning her again so that she was getting dizzy.
Then, just as they walked into the trees, a man dropped from one of the branches onto Crackston’s shoulders while another grabbed Molly and shoved her aside. Feet pounded the ground. Men appeared from twenty different directions. Lights were everywhere. Molly struggled to get to her feet as strong arms lifted her, and she looked into very blue eyes that were terrified and intense.
Hunt untied her hands and removed the gag; she was in his arms instantly. He held her as if tomorrow would never come.
“Please tell me you’re okay.”
She held him as if she couldn’t imagine ever being away from him again. “I’m okay now. Okay now…”
Moments later, after Crackston was taken away, Hunt and Molly walked together to where Sean was finishing up.
“That was one of the stupidest moves you could have made, Molly,” Sean said tersely. “You’re damn lucky to be alive.”
“What about Weasel?” Molly asked, and then from Sean’s disgusted expression, she wished she hadn’t.
“Thanks to you and all the commotion you caused, the likelihood of getting him is nil.”
“But Crackston is alive,” Hunt reminded him. “Be grateful for that”
“I’d have been a helluva lot more grateful if she’d never been here in the first place.” Sean stepped away for a few moments to talk to another officer, then turned back to them. “Just thought you’d like to know. Crackston told us his girlfriend’s name. Nancy Lynch.”
Hunt scowled, but Molly was stunned. “I know Nancy. She works at the aquarium where Vern bought his fish. I spoke with her at the funeral home. But Crackston’s girlfriend? My God, she looked like a nice quiet young woman.”
“Yeah, these days it’s the nice quiet types who are the most trouble.”
Molly narrowed her eyes at the obvious shot at her, but Hunt steered her around Sullivan and back to where their car was parked.
Once inside, Molly snapped, “You know, I don’t like Sean.”
“He’s got a thing about civilians sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”
“He didn’t have any trouble when he wanted to use me and you to get information.”
“And I told him so. He’s just doing his job, Molly, the only way he knows how.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re an ex-cop if he’s an example of what you used to be.”
Hunt sighed, and she suddenly sagged against him, her body trembling. Hunt held her close, and she clung to him as if he were a raft in a churning sea.
“Oh, God…”
“Easy, easy. You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re more than okay. You’re brave and persistent and unlike any woman I’ve ever known.”
And in that moment, the horror of the past few days slipped away, leaving her with only her feelings for Hunt. She had no doubt she really loved him. She wanted to tell him, but he kissed her again and again, and she guessed that he didn’t want to hear any of those declarations. In this, nothing between them had changed. She loved him, but he didn’t love her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON, two weeks after Molly and Hunt returned to Woodbriar, Molly stood at the windows in her apartment, facing the courtyard. It wasn’t yet officially autumn, but the air had sharpened, cutting away the summer’s lazy sweetness. For Molly, the change of season usually meant an energized outlook, but not this year. No doubt Vern’s death and the events that had followed added to her melancholy, but the end of her relationship with Hunt had made her morose and unable to concentrate.
At work she’d been especially preoccupied. A new complex of off-campus apartments had just become available, and she had a waiting list of students requesting them. In fact, her office desk was piled high with applications that needed to be sorted, and yet her mind had been distracted.
Today, she’d come home early, using a raging headache for an excuse. It wasn’t a lie, for her head did indeed ache. As did her heart and her body. She’d given up anticipating that Hunt would call, or leave a message on her voice mail, or stop by her office at work.
She’d spoken to her parents twice since her return. First to fill them in on what had happened. Their concern had made her wish they were closer, but they must have heard the melancholy in her voice, because a few days later her mother called again, concerned that Molly might not have to come to terms with her brother’s death or who he really was.
“I think I have, Mom. In a way, Vern’s death helped the police. They have a notebook Vern kept that will be used as evidence to convict some mobsters, and a corrupt banker is probably going to go to prison, thanks to a key witness. His death will count for something.”
“More important, honey, is the fact that you were so diligent in finding him. It made his death count for something. If you and your policeman friend hadn’t worked together…Hunt, isn’t it?”
“Yes. His name is Hunt.”
“If Hunt hadn’t been with you when Vern died, and you hadn’t been so determined to find out who he was beyond his criminal side, then perhaps the people who will go to prison would have remained free.”
By the time Molly hung up, she felt better about the past weeks. Her mother’s call had put things into perspective. Vern had come to see her, and despite who he was and their years of separation, they’d had a bond that couldn’t be broken. His death mattered because other people’s lives had been affected—Pascale’s, Crackston’s, Solozi’s, hers, Hunt’s.
Because of Vern, she’d fallen in love with Hunt. Once again, she was reminded of her brother’s words. “You can trust him.”
Hunt’s apartment was directly across from hers, and yet not once in the past two weeks had she seen him. Oh, she knew he was around. His lecture series was the talk of the campus; the administration had even moved him from one of the small lecture halls to the largest.
“Gritty,” “truthful” and “bold” had been some of the comments Molly had heard around the campus. Administration officials extolled Hunt as an ex-cop who didn’t whitewash or sugarcoat or make excuses for police mistakes. The students were mesmerized, and according to Hunt’s sister, Denise, she’d had calls from three New England colleges inquiring about Hunt’s availability for a future semester.
Molly was happy for him, but in a selfish way, she almost resented that things were going so well. Obviously, he didn’t need or miss her when he was Woodbriar’s most popular visiting lecturer.
She couldn’t even say she’d had her chance with him and blown it. For with Hunt there had never been a prospective relationship. Even their final conversation had been awkward and uncomfortable.
They’d returned to Woodbriar, arriving in the early-morning hours. Hunt had carried her th
ings inside, as well as the boxes they’d taken from Vern’s.
With the first streaks of dawn lighting the sky, Hunt had stayed by her front door, his arms at his side. She’d stood just a foot from him, her hands jammed in her pockets.
Neither had spoken, both searching for an appropriate goodbye. Watching him, Molly had been reminded of the afternoon he’d come on the pretense of his broken air conditioner. She remembered how excited she’d been at opening her door and finding him there, of thinking he was handsome and sexy and intriguing. He’d looked so serious, and she’d been so thrilled by her brother’s visit, her whole personality had been bubbly.
However, when they returned to Woodbriar, she had definitely not been bubbly. Instead, a go-forbroke attitude had fanned to life within her. She loved him, and that knowledge made her brazen. So when he’d brought her home, instead of simply saying goodbye, she asked, “Are you going to kiss me one last time?”
He’d tipped his head to the side as he studied her mouth. Molly literally held her breath during the seconds of silence that ticked by. When his gaze met hers, he said softly, “I don’t think so.”
“Are you afraid to?”
“Yeah.” He paused, then added, “It will just start something that shouldn’t be started.”
“Maybe it will end something that isn’t finished.”
“Molly…”
“I know. No declarations.”
He turned to go.
“Wait.” She took a step forward, her thoughts tumbling recklessly into words. “We could see each other,” she offered hopefully. “I mean, of course we’ll run into each other. The campus isn’t that big. And I did want to hear some of your lectures. But we could also see each other, uh…other times, uh, on a personal basis, sort of like a…” Molly knew she was babbling and stumbling over the word date, and yet the word sounded ridiculously silly after the intimacies they’d shared.
Nor did Hunt try to relieve her distress by saying what he undoubtedly knew she meant.
“There is one thing,” he said in a low voice.
“Yes?”
“If you’re pregnant…” When she scowled, he said, “Don’t look like that”