In Her Sights

by Katie Ruggle

  While she was deciding this, she checked the handle of the door on the right. To her surprise, it turned easily under her fingers. Standing to the side, she pushed it open, her muscles tensed, ready to fling herself out of the way. There was a slight resistance, and she shoved harder. There was a solid click as the door suddenly flew open completely, banging against the wall.

  The room was shabby and messy, with a mattress on the floor and clothes and belongings strewn across everything. A blanket covered one window, but the other was wide open, the covering hanging limply to the side. Blinking against the unexpected brightness, Molly only vaguely noticed the untidy details, her focus fixed on the hand grenade rolling to a stop against the base of a pressboard dresser. The pin was missing, and the knowledge hit her in that split second that it was hanging on the door she’d just swung open.

  She’d just activated a grenade.

  This was bad. Very, very bad.

  Chapter 16

  Without stopping to come up with a plan, Molly turned and bolted, hurdling the trip wire at the top of the stairs and getting all the way down the steps before her thinking brain engaged again. Blasting through the door at the bottom of the steps, she yelled, “Out! Get out!”

  Tearing down the hallway, she saw John running across the living room toward her. There was no sign of Mother Tick.

  “What are you doing?” Molly shrieked, not slowing down. “Go! Out! Grenade!”

  His eyes widened, but instead of immediately hightailing it out of there, he waited until she flew past him and then tucked himself in behind her. Stupid, chivalrous ass! she yelled in her head, not wanting to waste the oxygen she needed for sprinting. She could scold him later for his lack of self-preservation…if they managed to not get blown up, that was.

  As they neared the open front door, everything felt like it had slowed down to a nightmare pace. Fighting the need to look behind her to check on John, Molly forced her legs to move faster as she reached toward the doorframe, as if she could pull it closer to them if only she could reach it.

  She wasn’t fast enough.

  A loud rumbling bang! made her duck and cover her head with both arms. Her heart caught as she turned toward John, instinctively moving to protect him from damage. Plaster dust rained down on them, interspersed with several louder crashes as pieces of the ceiling fell. John pushed her back, grunting as a chunk of plaster caught him on the shoulder. Blinking the dust out of her eyes, Molly moved to check if he was seriously hurt, but he turned her bodily around and pressed her through the open door and across the porch. They didn’t stop until they were on the lawn.

  Pulling her to a halt, John frantically checked her over, his hands moving gently along her arms and torso. “Does anything hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”

  “John.” She grabbed his fingers, stopping his inspection until he met her gaze. “I’m fine. You’re the one who was hit. How’s your shoulder?”

  He glanced at it as if he’d forgotten. Molly hadn’t forgotten. She’d be seeing that moment in her nightmares for a long time. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice calmer, shrugging that shoulder as if to prove that he was okay.

  “Good.” Relief that he wasn’t seriously hurt rushed through her. Brushing small chunks of plaster out of her hair, she glanced over at Mother Tick by the curb, talking on her cell phone. Molly groaned.

  “What’s wrong?” John eyed her carefully up and down. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

  “Positive. That wasn’t an I’m-in-pain sound. That was a she’s-calling-the-cops-so-we’ll-be-stuck-here-for-hours-answering-questions groan.”

  “What happened?” Mother Tick called out to them, the cell phone still at her ear. “Where’s Sonny? Didn’t he make it out? Someone needs to check on him.” By the way she planted her feet and looked at John and Molly accusingly, that someone was not going to be Mother Tick.

  Molly opened her mouth to say that Mr. Booby Trap could just deal with the consequences until the cops and firefighters arrived, but then she changed her mind before the words could make it out. “I’ll go,” she said sweetly instead.

  “No, I’ll go.” John shifted so he stood between her and the house. “Think of the baby.”

  Instead of arguing, she just dodged around him, grabbing his hand on the way. “We’ll both go and watch out for each other. The baby will need both its parents.” She could feel his tension, and she knew he was going to try to prevent her from going back in the house. This was a prime opportunity to search through Sonny’s things…what was left of them. As soon as they were out of Mother Tick’s earshot, she muttered, “You need my help. I know where at least one of the trip wires is.”

  That shut him up until they were back inside, eyeing the damaged ceiling. Although there were chunks of plaster missing, and the light fixture hung askew, wires showing on one side, it didn’t appear that the whole thing was going to come crashing down on their heads.

  “I really don’t want you coming up there,” John grumbled, his gaze still fixed on the pockmarked ceiling. “It’s not safe.”

  Molly snorted and moved toward the hallway. “If I only did what was safe, I’d never have started a bail recovery business. I’d have started a…safe-making business.” She chuckled at her own stupid pun, needing to relieve the nervous tension. She knew it wasn’t smart to wander around a house after a grenade had gone off, but this was Sonny Zarver’s last place of residence, and he hadn’t had a chance to clean it out yet. It was a golden opportunity.

  As they headed toward the kitchen, Molly pulled out her flashlight. The short time she’d spent outside had ruined her night vision, and the house seemed even gloomier than before. She automatically checked rooms as they passed, noticing that John had his own flashlight in hand and was doing the same thing. For some reason, this similarity in their methods made her smile before she ordered her brain to focus on the potentially dangerous task ahead.

  A loud crash came from upstairs as they moved through the kitchen, and Molly glanced back at John. He gave her a grim look and took the lead up the stairs.

  “Trip wire at the top, close to the floor,” she whispered.

  His glance back at her was quick but telling. “You couldn’t have just told me where it was instead of insisting on coming along?”

  Even though he couldn’t see her, she shrugged. “You might’ve missed something.”

  He muttered under his breath, too softly for her to hear.

  Although she wanted to say something else, she stayed quiet as they reached the top of the stairs. Instead of stepping over the trip wire, John pulled a small pair of wire cutters out of his pocket and snipped the line.

  Good idea. She patted him on the back in approval. There were going to be a lot of innocent first responders tromping through in ten minutes or so, and it was better that they didn’t blow themselves up by accident. When John turned, his eyebrows lifted in question, she just gave him a thumbs-up.

  They moved toward the doors again, and Molly pointed at the one on the right, even though it was obvious where the explosion had occurred. The door was still wide open after her mad dash to escape, and shrapnel had peppered the wall and door across the hall from Sonny’s room. Although there was a slight haze of smoke, the room wasn’t the smoldering pit she’d expected. The glass from the uncovered window littered the floor, but otherwise all the mess was the same as before the explosion.

  “Concussion grenade?” she asked, stepping cautiously into the space.

  John caught her arm, tugging her back as he slid in front of her. That seemed to becoming a habit on his part. “Most likely. Be careful, though. In an old house like this, it still could’ve done damage.”

  The faint wail of an emergency siren drifted in through the open window, reminding Molly that they were short on time. “I’ll search in here. Go break down the other two doors and see why they’re locked. I’m guess
ing Sonny did that to slow down anyone who’s searching for him, but there might be something useful. Be careful, though. Apparently, Sonny loves his booby traps.”

  John’s eyebrows lifted. “Break them down? Look at you, Miss Demolition.”

  She gave a small shrug, even as she internally preened a little at the admiration in his voice. “Mother Tick can’t get mad about the damage. She pretty much demanded that we search for Sonny.”

  Although he snorted, he moved back to the door. “Fine, but you be careful, too.”

  “I will.” She made shooing motions. “Go kick some doors in. You know you want to.”

  His grin made her stomach swoop and dive. “Not every day I get to kick a door in…at least without getting yelled at after.”

  As he left the room, she immediately started searching, moving methodically from one side to the next, looking in the heating vents and air returns and checking for spots on the wall that appeared to have been recently restored. The floor creaked alarmingly under her feet, but it held.

  She was checking the mattress for openings when the first bang of John’s boot hitting a door sounded, and she closed her eyes, waiting for another explosion. After she counted to twenty, she let out her breath in a rush and opened her eyes again. She resumed her search, checking the floor for any loose boards or bigger-than-normal gaps. Sonny was apparently a terrible housekeeper. Dust—regular dust, along with the plaster—coated everything. Making a face, she slapped her dirty hands across her pants, but that didn’t help much.

  At the sound of another door being kicked in, Molly started to count again, although she didn’t pause her search that time. Quickly, she reached the opposite side of the room without finding anything except clothes and other uninteresting personal items. She’d even rummaged through the pockets of all of his pants and jackets that she’d found strewn around. It wasn’t pleasant. Sonny seemed to have the same aversion to doing laundry as he had for dusting. The closet was completely empty.

  Running a hand over the top of her head to remove a spiderweb, she grimaced at the grainy feel of plaster dust coating her hair. She looked around the room, trying to figure out what she’d missed. There was no way that Sonny could’ve known they were coming, so he would’ve had to leave in a hurry. A glance out the window told her that he must’ve climbed down the rickety trellis or somehow scaled the smooth siding down to the ground or up to the roof. Either way, he would’ve only had time to grab the most important things—wallet and phone and possibly a laptop—and run.

  Her gaze settled on an electrical outlet. It was strangely clean and dust-free compared to the rest of the room. When she looked at it more closely, she saw that the plate had a fresh coating of paint that didn’t match the dingy walls. The plate around the light switch had been newly painted as well. A loud wail of a siren pulled her attention away from the outlet. They were getting much louder; the emergency vehicles couldn’t be more than a half mile away by now. Stepping into the hall, she called out to John. “Can I use your flathead screwdriver?”

  He popped out of the room directly across from the stairs and tossed her his multi-tool. “Be quick. We probably have three minutes before the firefighters will be tossing us over their shoulders and carrying us outside.”

  “Ooh…sounds hot.” She winked and rushed back into Sonny’s room, smiling at John’s startled bark of laughter. She unscrewed the plate around the first outlet, but it was empty. The sirens grew deafeningly loud before shutting off completely, and Molly rushed to the light switch. Because the plate had been painted over, the screw didn’t want to turn.

  “C’mon…c’mon…” she muttered. The screw finally gave, and she hurried to twist it out. Heavy boots pounded on the stairs as she dropped the plate onto the floor and peered into the opening. Her heart gave a jump as she spotted the top of a small cell phone, and she slid it out just as the boots reached the top of the stairs. Dropping the phone and John’s multi-tool into her pocket, she turned toward the doorway just as the first firefighter appeared.

  “Are you okay, miss?” he asked, and she smiled as she walked toward him, her newly found evidence bumping against her leg.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” She joined him in the hallway just as John came out of the room across from hers.

  “Sonny’s not in here, either,” he announced. “He must’ve left earlier without Mother Ti—uh, Sky’s mom hearing.”

  Nervous giggles fueled by adrenaline threatened to bubble out of Molly, but she forced her expression to stay serious.

  “The two of you shouldn’t be up here.” The firefighter, a very attractive black man, frowned at them disapprovingly as more of his colleagues moved around them, looking for the explosion site.

  “Sorry, sir, but we had to check if someone was trapped up here.” She grabbed John’s hand. “We couldn’t have lived with ourselves if someone died when we could’ve helped.”

  The firefighter’s frown lightened slightly, although his tone remained scolding. “The next time there’s an explosion of any kind, stay outside and wait for help to arrive. Professional help.”

  “Yes, sir,” Molly said, perfectly willing to make that promise, as John nodded in agreement.

  “We’ll do that. Let’s go, sugarplum, and get out of these nice people’s way,” John said, ushering her toward the stairs.

  Molly turned and said over her shoulder. “Keep your eye out for trip wires. That friend of Sky’s seems to be quite the…practical joker.”

  The man who’d just admonished them stared at her for a long moment, looking bemused. “We’ll do that.” Turning, he called out to one of the other firefighters, “Carson! I need you to walk these two out.”

  As Carson escorted them through the house, Molly could barely contain her excitement and the need to share her find with John.

  Once they stepped outside, however, and she saw her least-favorite detectives, Bastien and Mill, interviewing Mother Tick, she was distracted from the cell phone burning a hole in her pocket.

  “Here you go. The detectives will want to speak with you.” He nodded toward the Denver cops.

  “Thank you, Carson,” Molly said politely, even as she plotted an escape route. The detectives’ backs were turned toward the house, so she was pretty sure she and John hadn’t been spotted yet.

  “No problem.” The firefighter tromped back inside, and Molly hustled toward the crowd of onlookers that had gathered to watch the action. John must’ve recognized the cops, too, since he kept pace without asking why she was basically running away from the house and skipping out on the inevitable police interview. She risked a glance over her shoulder once they were safely mingling with the gawking neighbors. Detective Mill started to turn his head, so she grabbed John’s arm and pulled him past the last ring of people.

  John’s look was distinctive enough that she knew Mill would recognize him if he caught a glimpse. The cops would figure out that they’d been there once Mother Tick described them, but Molly figured they could stop by the police station and find a more sympathetic officer to take their statement. Mill and Bastien would tie them up for hours, just because they had decided she was guilty by association with Jane. She and John didn’t have time for that, not when they needed to bring Sonny in.

  Once they were free of the crowd, Molly forced herself to slow down to a brisk but not racing pace. John’s car looked too far away, and she resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder to see if either of the cops had followed. The normal sounds of civilization—traffic, a lawn mower in the distance, the faint sounds of kids playing—quickly covered up the chatter of the crowd, but Molly still didn’t relax until they finally reached John’s car.

  By mutual silent agreement, they didn’t speak until they were both seated and the doors were closed. As John pulled away from the curb, he glanced at her, his anticipation clear. Apparently, her suppressed glee had been obvious…at least to John.
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  “I found a phone,” she said, pulling out his multi-tool but leaving the cell in her pocket. She didn’t even want to touch it before Norah could work her magic, in case Molly erased something by accident.

  “Sonny’s phone?” John accepted the multi-tool absently as his eyes lit with the same excitement that Molly felt.

  “One of his phones. It was under the light-switch plate.”

  “Nice!” He dropped the tool into his pocket and then raised his fist for a congratulatory bump. “I have people who can take a look at it.”

  “So do I,” she said, although she did bump his fist. “Norah’s the best, and she’s cheap. She works—at least partially—for street cred and family dinners.”

  She was braced for him to argue, but he just held on to his wide smile and shrugged slightly. “How can my tech guys beat that?”

  The mention of tech guys reminded Molly of their appointment, and she hurried to glance at the clock. She grinned. “Look at that! We survived an explosion, found a clue, and we’ll still get back in time to have a security system installed.”

  “We’re just that good,” John said solemnly, making her laugh. It hadn’t been that funny, but the giddy relief that had built up over the past few hours needed to release somehow, and there was no way she was about to cry, especially in front of John Carmondy. Even though she’d discovered that he was an enormous marshmallow mashed inside a huge, muscular package, and that he would most likely be as sweet as pie were she to dissolve into a wet, sobbing mess, she didn’t want to reveal that side of herself to him. She wanted him to see her as tough, as an equal partner, someone who would have his back, just as he had hers.

  Shaking off her wild thoughts, she pulled out her phone as a distraction. After reading a few texts from her sisters, she sent off a group text summarizing what had happened over the course of the morning…although she minimized the whole explosion thing. They didn’t need to know how scared she’d been when she’d thought it was a regular grenade, or that she and John had come inches from being blasted into nothingness.