Saints & Suspects

by Jordan McCollum

  Next to her, Maddi scoffed. “Going out with her boyfriend.” Adding “duh” was unnecessary with that tone, as if remembering the details of Molly’s personal life made her a better human being.

  “Attitude, Maddi,” Molly said just loudly enough for the girl to hear. “My boyfriend’s plannin’ a surprise.” Dinner? A movie? She could only imagine what he might plan, and for a few seconds, she let herself.

  A blue minivan pulled into the car park to claim the last carpool load of dancers, and Molly waved goodbye, still focused on the possibilities for her date tonight. She drifted back into the building, before she finally realized she’d been imagining the evening’s possibilities with the wrong man.

  Her mobile rang. A pop of panic played out in her heart, as if thinking of Zach would will him to ring her.

  Ridiculous. Sure, he was attractive, but it’d been long enough. No feelings beyond knee-jerk attraction.

  Fortunately, the display showed “Canavan.” They were calling her twenty-four hours after they’d met. Getting in with them might be easier than they’d thought.

  Molly stepped into the dance studio before she answered the call. “Hello?”

  “Is this Molly?”

  “Grace?”

  The other woman crowed with laughter. “How’s about ye?”

  “You know yourself. So good to see you yesterday.” Molly forced an extra note of lightness into her tone, and conveyed her nervous surge of energy into pacing the dance floor.

  “You as well, dearie. Ed and I were just thinkin’ how we’d like to see you again — how’s about tomorrow?”

  “Em . . .” Molly stalled. She wasn’t even supposed to ring them until Monday, and they weren’t getting together until later in the week. Though they might be able to move up the timeline, she didn’t want to miss church if she could avoid it. “I’m up to ninety tomorrow.” The Irish phrase about being busy felt rusty, it’d been so long since she used it.

  “Monday, so? We’ll have lunch.”

  “Sure now, that’d be fantastic.” But goose flesh prickled down her back.

  No. She could do this.

  Grace laughed again. “Have you a preference?”

  “I know a place that’s just deadly.” She hoped. In her small-town Arizona field office, they stuck to cheap delis and fast food. She wasn’t sure about the Bureau’s restaurant choice here. “I’ll make us a reservation.” They set a time for lunch and rang off, Grace bidding her goodbye repeatedly until she cut herself off. Another Irishism Molly had fallen out of using, that one in the last year or so.

  Molly made two circuits pacing the studio. Instead of clearing her mind and her nerves, she only succeeded in stoking the embers of anxiety sparking in her stomach.

  Before she even knew what she was doing, Molly dialed Zach. She’d deleted his number from her mobile long ago — but apparently not her memory.

  “Molly?”

  She released the tension in a shuddering sigh before speaking. “Zach.”

  “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “Grace Canavan called.”

  He paused a moment. “Oh. How much damage control do we need?”

  “Damage —? It went grand, naturally.” He expected otherwise? She might’ve cut her first year’s assignment short to come hunt the Canavans, but she wasn’t a complete rookie. “We’re goin’ to lunch, Monday.”

  He groaned. “Monday? That’s so fast —”

  “I’m sorry.” Though she didn’t feel sorry. Or sound it. “But I’m supposed to get in with them as quickly as possible, amn’t I?”

  He heaved a sigh. “We can do Monday. I think.” He was quiet a moment. “How about we get together tonight to go over my legend? Maybe get some food?”

  Dinner? Tonight? Tonight was Nate’s little “monthiversary” celebration. Should she cancel on Nate for her job? He knew she was with the Bureau — unlike Zach, she wasn’t a covert agent, so her job was no secret. But she certainly couldn’t tell Nate she had to cancel his special dinner for an evening in with her ex. “Not tonight.”

  Silence. “Uh, lunch?”

  “Why don’t you come by my flat in an hour?” That should give her time to run home, and him time to eat and make it to her house.

  “What’s your address?”

  She rattled it off.

  “Ugh, you’re a North Sider now?” Zach’s distaste sounded more like teasing.

  “Ah, didn’t you know? I’ve always been a North Sider at heart.”

  “Too good for us, huh?”

  Molly caught herself laughing. She would not flirt with him — or flirt back. “Didn’t want to commute that far.”

  “Is there anywhere to park within a mile of your place?”

  He was still codding her. “Guest parkin’ in the garage below my buildin’.”

  “Psst!”

  Molly jumped at the hiss behind her. She checked the wall of mirrors in front of her. Her mum leaned in the dance studio door. She held up an apologetic hand. “Sorry, didn’t see you were on your mobile.”

  Mum started to duck out, but Molly motioned for her to wait. “Zach, I’ve got to go. See you in an hour.”

  Zachary — Zach agreed, and Molly ended the call.

  Mum’s gaze followed Molly’s mobile to her pocket. “That was Zach?”

  “It was.”

  Mum crossed the hardwood floor. “Molly, love.”

  She wouldn’t talk about Zach — she couldn’t. “Ed and Grace called.”

  Da stepped into the studio. “What did they want?”

  “We’re goin’ to lunch Monday.”

  Her parents exchanged a wary glance. They had to be able to help. Conveying both confidence and intimacy, she moved closer. She was their daughter; of course they could trust her. Molly filled her tone with all the urgency she felt. “I need to get in with them. Can you give me a profile?”

  “Only one that’s decades out of date.” Mum sighed. “Grace is the ideologue; Ed’s the munitions expert. Both were desperate ardent when we knew them. But were it not for Grace, Ed might not have got involved.”

  Da’s laugh echoed through the studio. “Were it not for Grace, Ed might not have a home. He’d be out on the street, tryin’ to sell his poetry. Fancied himself the next Yeats.”

  “More like The Pocket Quotable Yeats.”

  Molly arched an eyebrow. “Then did he write The Blood-Dimmed Tide?”

  Da and Mum shook their heads in identical exasperation. The latest exposé from a pseudonymous ex-IRA/undercover operative had generated plenty of headlines since its title, borrowed from Yeats, had hit the news circuit. “Sure Ed and Grace love that one,” Molly said.

  “Sure.” Mum drew the conversation back to the real topic. “But they’re not such gobdaws that they’d ask you to enlist the first time they see you. They’ll have to see that you’re interested, feel you out a bit, make sure you’re trustworthy. Takes time.”

  “We’re expectin’ this to be a slow burn assignment.”

  “Right,” Da said. “But you already have an in — that’s why the FBI is usin’ you, isn’t it?”

  Molly nodded at her father’s assessment. Her parents shared a silent debate.

  “Go for Grace,” Da counseled. “But they’ll turn on you the minute they sense somethin’s not right. Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Da clamped onto Molly’s shoulder. “We know this is what you want to be doin’ with your life, but be careful. These two can be ruthless. Can’t imagine what they’d do to someone who betrayed them.”

  “That’s why we need to be left out of it,” Mum added.

  Left out? She wasn’t planning on using them as backup, but she couldn’t very well tell the Canavans they were in Chicago and not get together with them.

  Molly looked at her parents again. Her mother’s eyes carried a hint of pleading, verging on fear. Had she ever seen her mum afraid? Not even when they’d fled Ireland. “Please,” Mum whispered, “don’t bring u
s into this if you can help it. We left all this behind for a reason. Most of all, we’re worried they could find Bridie and Fionn and the babies.”

  That didn’t seem likely, but if her mum, her sister, and her family needed her, Molly would do whatever it took. “All right, Mum, Da. We’ll make sure it doesn’t come back to you. Keep your heads down, so, all right?”

  “Thank you, love.”

  Molly looked at the clock. She needed to run — literally — if she wanted to beat Zach to her flat. She shuffled off her dance trainers and grabbed her running shoes beside the stereo. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Mum and Da bid her goodbye, but at the studio door, Mum doubled back. “Molly, love, be careful with your heart, too.”

  “Believe me, I will.”

  More careful than ever.

  Zach knocked on Molly’s door a third time. Still no answer. He’d been here ten minutes, and he was about ready to pick this lock. What was this, some passive-aggressive ploy to avoid spending time with him?

  That wasn’t like her — but nothing about her seemed to be the same anymore. Yet he almost wished —

  “Zach?” Molly approached from the other end of the hallway, pulling her phone from an armband carrier. She checked the screen and winced. “Sorry to keep you waitin’.”

  “Where have you been?”

  She glanced down at her running jacket and leggings — exactly what Zach was trying not to look at. “An audience with the Pope, where do you think?”

  “Hope you put in a good word for me.”

  Considering she’d met him while he was undercover pretending to be a priest, there wasn’t much she could’ve said to get him into the Pope’s good graces, especially not after she’d joined the LDS church.

  “I was talkin’ to my parents,” Molly finally clarified. She dug a key from her armband and let them in.

  All he had to do was get through this, keep it professional. Zach surveyed the living room. One wall of exposed brick gave a nod to the building’s historic façade. Her framed black and white atmospheric photos of Ireland made the apartment feel familiar, and yet different. “Nice place.”

  Molly got herself something to drink in the kitchen area. “Thanks.”

  “Thought you hated running.”

  She shrugged. “Quantico will do that to you.”

  He didn’t even want to think about how many miles he and every other FBI trainee had run over those Virginia hills.

  “Besides,” she continued, “easier than findin’ parkin’.” Her tone seemed to conceal a laugh. Was she teasing him, playing on what he’d said earlier?

  “Water?” she offered.

  “No thanks.” He sat on her couch. She had the same modern gray couch — at least one thing she hadn’t completely changed about her life in the last year. That, and the huge collection of spy fiction on her bookshelves. She might even still have the books he’d given her.

  Zach shook off the thought. They were here to work. “What’s Molly Ryan’s job?”

  “Nursin’ assistant; I work three nights a week — freein’ me up for anythin’.”

  “Good cover.”

  “Thanks.” Molly settled into the chair by the couch, smiling modestly. “How long do I have to get in with the Canavans?”

  “Faster is better. We think they’re in the early planning stages — but, again, you don’t want to seem eager.”

  “I know.” She bit her lips before she spoke. “This could be a long-term assignment.”

  Trepidation filled her expression. Exactly how he must’ve looked when the Bureau asked him to go undercover indefinitely — though his assignment had been 24/7, instead of the two-hours-a-week kind.

  And yet it still had to feel like a life sentence. She didn’t know the half of it — how used to her assumed identity she’d get; how close she could come to losing herself; how strange it would feel to just be herself again when it was over, as if half of her was suddenly gone.

  How terrifying it would be to deal with people who might kill her if they knew the truth; how close they might come to discovering her. The sudden panic when any word resembling her real name crossed their lips.

  Was Molly really ready for this assignment after less than a year? He hadn’t been with quadruple the experience. No wonder he’d been so worried about her: purely professional concern.

  As professional as that overpowering drive to protect her.

  Zach stared into her deep blue eyes a long time, but the future wasn’t written there, much as he’d wished it had been. “Think you can do it?”

  The trepidation in her face hardened into steel. “I do. Where is Paella?”

  He gave her the address. “Reservations under Ryan.” Molly programmed the address into her phone, and it dictated the first direction.

  He quizzed her on her legend for twenty more minutes — the depth a casual conversation might go in an hour. Finally, Molly stood and shook out her long legs to refill her glass. Zach looked anywhere but at her. Was it him or was it suddenly warm in here? He shrugged out of his jacket and searched for a distraction in the conversation. “How about your parents?”

  “I’m sayin’ they’re still in Ireland.”

  Zach frowned. “They’re not helping?”

  “Not if we can avoid it.” She returned to her chair. “They’ve protected me my whole life; it’s my turn.”

  “Right.” But couldn’t they tell she needed all the help she could get?

  At his silence, Molly focused the interrogation on him. “How’d we meet, Jason?”

  “Mutual friend. His party.”

  She flashed a smile. He knew her well enough to see the calculated charm — it’d worked on him, hadn’t it? “Andy does throw quite the party, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” Zach returned the smile, though his was probably more wistful. He turned away. “I work in logistics for Arbor Haynes, I’m from Georgia, moved here for college and stayed.”

  “Grand.” Her gaze shifted to the table in front of them, and she tapped each finger against her thumb in turn. “Logistics, Arbor Haynes, Georgia, moved here for college,” she murmured, coordinating a fact with each tap. After five rounds, she folded her hands, finished.

  “Familiar with the equipment?” he asked.

  “Basic Bluetooth earpiece? Our table will be miked? I have it, yes.”

  “We’ll be listening and watching. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “What, the waiter forgettin’ to put my dressin’ on the side?”

  Zach wagged a finger in mock solemnity. “Heads will roll if your dressing isn’t fat-free.”

  Molly laughed. “Then I’ve nothin’ to fear.”

  Man, he’d missed her laugh.

  She settled into her chair, getting comfortable. “Your turn. What’s your middle name?”

  “Um . . .”

  “What’s your favorite thing to do on a Saturday?”

  Zach chewed his lip, thinking. He hadn’t had a chance to work on his legend, and an hour from the time Molly called wasn’t enough to work out every detail.

  “What’s your favorite date?”

  “Anythang with you,” he drawled, pasting on puppy dog eyes.

  Molly countered with an expression both patient and sarcastic. “We need to know these things about each other if we’re goin’ to be workin’ together, Zach. Unless you’d rather me tell Grace we broke up.”

  Yeah, they’d broken up. And she’d never called him Zach when they were dating.

  They were light years from dating.

  “You need the backup, Molly.”

  She pressed her lips together until they turned white. “Sure now.”

  “They won’t ask for my life history on our first meeting.”

  Her attention had strayed to the clock on the wall, but his last words pulled her back. “My first meetin’.”

  “Sure.”

  “I love that I ‘need backup,’ but your legend isn’t even half done. If they ask me
somethin’ I don’t know about you, how am I to sell this? Just as easy for me to say our relationship died a quick death.”

  That it had. Zach shifted on the couch. “Can’t you steer the conversation?”

  A muscle flexed in her jaw. “Once again, appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  Did everything he said have to make her angry? Zach lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t take it the wrong way.”

  “Is there a right way to take that?”

  He mentally replayed his words. “Okay, maybe not. Just . . . say whatever you think works. I’ll roll with it.”

  Molly stared him down for two seconds before she nodded. He was practically giving her the reins to the whole op, and that was the thanks he got?

  He’d really screwed this up. But dumping someone did put a damper on the relationship.

  So did insisting you “had a lot to do” before you’d even think about getting married.

  “Anythin’ else?” Molly sounded like she’d measured out the perfect amount of patience, and then skimped a drop.

  He mentally grasped at something — anything — to get back into her good graces. And he failed. “Then I’ll see you Monday,” she said. “Well, I suppose I won’t.” She gestured for the front door, and he obeyed. She didn’t walk him the five feet out.

  Light years.

  Perfect. He’d keep it professional, calculated, cold, like her. If she didn’t feel anything seeing him again, he certainly didn’t, either. They’d work side by side and then part ways. No future here, just like she’d always wanted. No matter what he’d hoped for.

  The sooner this lunch — this assignment — was over, the better.

  Molly had only been to the Adler Planetarium once — and it certainly wasn’t like this. She and Nate were the only ones there after hours on a Saturday evening, alone in the glassed-in café. From the planetarium’s peninsula in the lake, Chicago’s city lights provided the perfect backdrop. Inside, the café had been cleared, leaving a single table set for two.

  A far cry from the afternoon at the Sky Theater with Zach a year ago, on one of the few weekends he’d bothered to visit.

  No more comparing. Nate had outdone himself this time and he knew it, judging by his satisfied smile.