Saints & Suspects

by Jordan McCollum

  One of them definitely would.

  Zach pulled back and wiped Molly’s tears again. This was beyond cruel — even more for him than her. He. Would. Kill. Xavier. Though X couldn’t know the real reason he’d broken up with Molly. For now, Zach had to to take this moment to — what, apologize? Tell her this wasn’t his idea?

  Not in so many words. “Sorry for doin’ it like this,” he murmured. “Wasn’t quite how I planned.”

  “How did you plan it?” Something flashed through Molly’s eyes — definitely not good.

  “What a holy show.” Ed’s grumbling about making a spectacle wasn’t directed at anyone, though Zach kind of agreed.

  “When’s the weddin’?” Grace cut in, wiping away a tear herself.

  If Grace was interested in wedding planning, maybe a short deadline would get her even more involved. “We were thinkin’ May eighth.” Shouldn’t be too hard to remember: Molly’s birthday.

  The date drew a reaction from the taciturn Ed. “Less than three months away.” He focused a scowl on Molly. “Not up the pole, are ye?”

  “Ed.” Grace turned his name into a reprimand.

  “Of course not!” Molly kept her dismissal light.

  Zach shot a silent question her way, pretending the Irish phrase confused him.

  “He means pregnant,” she said.

  “Oh, no, sir,” Zach said. “I want her to say ‘I do’ before she realizes she should say ‘I don’t’!”

  Their laughter dissolved the tension, and Grace mopped more tears with her napkin.

  “Aw, ma’am, don’t go cryin’.”

  Grace waved away his concern. “It’s only so lovely to see the two of youse happy together.”

  Yeah, that. Zach reminded himself to smile at Molly and squeeze her hand. Compartmentalized.

  “Let’s see the ring,” Grace cut in again. Zach found the box where he’d set it between their plates and gave it to Grace.

  “On her, ya dense bogtrotter,” she teased.

  Zach finally checked out the ring — showy, blinged out, and almost criminally ugly — and took it from the box. Not Molly’s style. He willed himself not to remember as he slid the ring on her finger. A little too big — well, the band was. The rocks on the thing were a lot too big.

  Molly showed it to Grace and hid it as quickly as possible. She always was a smart girl.

  Grace started on her Catalan cream. “What’s next in your weddin’ plannin’?”

  Zach filled his mouth with creamy custard. He looked to Molly to answer, though five minutes ago, neither of them were planning a wedding.

  She took a bite to stall as well. “We have a lot of things to be doin’ — ah, find a reception hall — and hopefully that’ll take care of food and music, too — the cake, the flowers.”

  Time for the logisticater. What did he remember from his older siblings’ weddings? “Invitations,” Zach added, but his list stalled after the first item.

  Molly nodded to his meager contribution. He decided to stick to eating.

  “When are your mam and da gettin’ in?” Grace asked.

  “They’re lookin’ for tickets at least a week beforehand.”

  Grace gasped, horrified. “A week? Oh, dearie, who’ll shop for your gown?”

  “Em, I don’t know.” Molly reflected Grace’s dismay toward Zach.

  “Jason can’t be helpin’ you with that — but I could, if you’d like.”

  Molly beamed, though Zach knew her too well to miss the shadow of uncertainty in her smile. “Would you really, Grace?”

  “I’d love to!”

  Good way for Molly to get in with Grace, if she followed through. Zach picked up the planning slack. “Now, darlin’, weren’t you sayin’ you wanted to do that Saturday afternoon?”

  “Was I?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Zach raised his eyebrows, trying to convey that this was more than a suggestion. “You said you couldn’t go to the game.”

  “I’m free Saturday,” Grace offered.

  Molly took his “hint.” “Fantastic. Four o’clock all right?”

  “Wonderful.” Grace grinned back.

  Perfect. They’d gotten the next appointment, he was done with his dessert, and now it was time to get out of there before either of them messed anything up.

  “Well, I hate to break up the shindig, y’all, but we should get goin’.” Zach grabbed his wallet and fished out a twenty to cover the desserts.

  “You have to get back to work, don’t you?” Molly smiled pityingly. “I’m free a little longer, so why don’t you head on? I’ll see you tonight.”

  Oh, he’d stepped right into that. She wasn’t even done with her dessert. He couldn’t backtrack without seeming suspicious. He gave Molly the money and stood. “I’ll let you know when I’ll be home.”

  “All right.” Molly tilted her chin up.

  His stomach plummeted like an air ball. He couldn’t compartmentalize his ex-girlfriend sitting there waiting for her kiss goodbye. Like they did this all the time. How could he get away without kissing her? He had to make a move quickly or it’d look strange.

  She’d moved on enough that this didn’t bother her, and he . . . was good undercover. “Bye, darlin’.” With a conscious effort not to take a breath of her curl cream, he kissed her on the cheek.

  “Love you.” Again, she was unfazed by the gesture.

  Then he’d have to be unfazed, too. “You too. Good seein’ y’all,” he bid the Canavans.

  Zach left the restaurant, gave the sidewalk a cool glance, and circled round to the back alley and the gray van. The first sunny day in a week, and he was stuck here again.

  “Congratulations,” Xavier murmured once Zach closed the door behind him.

  “You’re dead.”

  X didn’t acknowledge him. “At this rate, the Canavans will give Molly away at your wedding.”

  “ASAC Saenz might prefer it if we, y’know, arrested them, but he’ll be thrilled as long as you’re my best man. Unless that wasn’t what you meant by sending a ring to the table?”

  “It’s a secret decoder ring. I was sending a message with your post-dessert drinks.”

  Zach glared at Xavier and settled onto the stool next to him.

  Xavier didn’t care. “Molly’s parents said Grace is obsessed with weddings. You were the one who said we needed to keep them interested.”

  He’d had done a bang-up job of that. Zach reminded himself not to murder his boss.

  “We had a mutual friend, and he introduced us at a party,” Molly was saying. Speaking loud and clear for the microphone hidden under their table.

  “Seems you’ve made the right choice. He’s pure class.”

  “Thank you. I think so, too.”

  “Though I should remind you,” Grace continued, “marry in May, rue the day.”

  “Need to be headin’,” Ed grumbled.

  “Will we get the bill?” Grace offering to pay — perfect, since Molly wouldn’t have credit cards or checks under the name Molly Ryan for another hour or two.

  “Are you sure?”

  Zach leaned toward Xavier. “Tell her not to argue with them.”

  X didn’t move.

  “Naturally,” Grace said.

  “At least let us cover dessert.”

  “Sure, look it.” Grace’s standard Irish non-answer could be a yes or a no. If no, Zach wanted his twenty bucks back.

  Oh. Right. Molly could’ve paid cash.

  “Thank you,” Molly said. “And thank you for goin’ shoppin’ Saturday. I really appreciate it. Wouldn’t have anyone to go with otherwise.”

  Zach settled back, the stool beneath him creaking like a warning buzzer. She had to be careful — she shouldn’t be too effusive about anything. Then again, if she were really a blushing bride, maybe she would be that grateful for a shopping partner.

  And maybe she would’ve done just fine on her own.

  Once Grace and Ed had bid Molly goodbye, Grace knew she had to raise the is
sue. She could barely wait until they’d boarded the next train, half-empty. “Someone workin’ in logistics would be helpful in the future, too.”

  “All right.” Ed’s tone carried the finality of a royal decree in a whisper. “That’s where I draw the line. No Yank could ever understand our cause.”

  “Ed, ya eejit, didn’t you see the way her fella goggled at her? He’d do anythin’ for her.”

  He simply shook his head.

  Could he be more dense? “The Americans fought for freedom from them, too.”

  “Not in that boyo’s lifetime.” He grunted. “His idea of independence from the Brits features Mel Gibson in a wig.”

  Grace slumped back in her seat. “Granted, he doesn’t seem a great student of history. But he does have a useful skill set.”

  “Can’t trust these Yanks — if he catches wind of what we’re doin’, he’ll run right to the police or the FBI.”

  She paused to take in his argument. Could they trust Molly if she was marrying an American? And even if he didn’t participate directly, might Jason suss them out and tell?

  “What say we keep feelin’ both of ’em out. On the off chance that we can trust him.”

  “‘All is changed, changed utterly.’” Ed sighed. “All right. But hold your whisht until after this job.”

  Fine. She could wait four weeks. Twenty-six days.

  The whole drive back to her flat, Molly managed to keep calm. Stony, deadly calm. Aside from the pitcher of water spilled in her lap, Molly thought she’d done rather well on her own. Well enough she didn’t deserve to have Zach foisted on her.

  And a ring? As if seeing him again weren’t hard enough. As if her personal life could not crash into her job more. As if anyone deserved that much torture.

  How could Zach do that to her?

  Molly parked in her building’s garage and took the lift up to her flat. Sure, Mum had mentioned Grace’s passion for weddings, but Molly would’ve found something to make sure she saw them again.

  Fortunately, she’d kept Zach away from their next appointment. He couldn’t barge in on wedding dress shopping. Her heart could hardly take it.

  Molly let herself into her apartment and leaned against the door a long moment, pressing a fist to her lips. She was supposed to be professional — to be over him. To protect her heart. And now?

  She held out her hand to examine the gaudy bauble on her finger. Molly yanked off the ring and — well, she couldn’t throw it; she needed it for the Canavans. She balled it in her fist and stood there, the stones and setting digging into her palm. Pinpoints of pain kept her centered, kept her grounded, kept her from drowning in the past.

  She was dating Nate. She was over Zach. She had to be. This was simple attraction. Attraction stronger than any magnetic pull.

  Or was that the memories they shared?

  No. Nate. She was with Nate. She pictured Nate’s face and took a deep breath.

  She’d barely calmed down when the knock came. Molly checked the peephole. She wasn’t expecting Zach, but after the restaurant, nothing he did could surprise her.

  “What were you thinkin’?” she demanded once the door closed.

  His defenses flew up. “I’m sorry —”

  “How long have you been plannin’ that?”

  “I didn’t.” His protest came a beat too quickly. “X was pulling the strings. I was just as surprised as you.”

  Hardly. He’d at least had something to say. She’d had to cover her silence with tears.

  Four days of being in contact with Zach again, and she was already crying over him.

  “What were you even doin’ there? You thought I couldn’t handle myself?”

  “Hey, I never said that.”

  Molly scrutinized him. He’d said it in actions today. He’d said it in words Friday. He’d said it in the utter shock and disbelief in his voice when she’d told him she’d got “The Call” into the FBI.

  He didn’t think she could do this.

  Well, she’d been doing it for over nine months, and she hadn’t got herself killed yet. In fact, she had an excellent record with a commendation. She didn’t have to stand for this. She moved for the door.

  “Molly,” Zach said, reproach in his tone. “It wasn’t my decision.”

  She wheeled on him. “Then how was I doin’ before you swooped in to save the day?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Not bad.” But his tone was noncommittal, as if that was the most praise he could allow.

  “Not bad?” She hadn’t been perfect, but his tone made it sound like she’d flubbed far more than his job title. Molly folded her arms across her chest, against the heat beginning to build there. “I was flyin’ blind in there. I was freakin’ brilliant.”

  “Sure,” he said. But his eyes were far too amused.

  She scoffed. “Sorry, but which of us set up the next meetin’?”

  “As I recall, I made sure you took her up on the offer.”

  Molly threw up her hands, fully incredulous. “Fantastic — will you be the one strippin’ down in the fittin’ room Saturday, then?”

  “Molly.” He laughed — even his laugh was condescending — and backed up onto her green area rug. “I’m not one-upping you.”

  “No?”

  “Just saying you did a good job, for being straight out of Quantico.”

  “I’ve been in the field as long as I was in trainin’.” She pinned a glare on him. Had he ever believed in her? “You just watch Saturday, Agent Saint.”

  “The stripping down? Better stick to listening.” He grinned.

  Did he think he was being clever? The anger simmering in her belly turned to ice. Molly slowly arched an eyebrow. Zach met her gaze, but after a minute, looked away, fidgeting. How had she ever found his obnoxious smugness charming?

  Before he picked up the attitude again, her mobile rang. For a split second, her ribs tightened. Could it be Nate? Molly crossed the room to her handbag sitting on her sofa and fumbled for her mobile. Not Nate — Kent. She groaned inwardly. She liked the fella, but the man had to learn to do his job on his own. “Special Agent Malone,” she answered the call.

  “Malone.” He was already breathless. “Can’t find those 302s.”

  Her paperwork from observing Kent’s fruitless interviews. “Which case?”

  The frantic clacking of a computer keyboard carried over the line. “Moskovitz.”

  She didn’t want to insult him, but she had to start with the obvious answer. “Did you check that folder?”

  “Yeah, not in there.”

  Molly nodded toward the door, signaling Zach to leave, and followed him out. “Did you check under Relyea?”

  “Why would it be there?”

  Because he was the other suspect — but Molly reined in her impatience with a measured breath. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  “Thank you.” Kent’s voice carried a rush of relief. She wasn’t sure how he’d managed before she transferred here, because the man was barely competent even with her help.

  She and Zach rode the elevator down in silence until they reached the ground floor and Zach stepped off.

  “‘Not bad.’ I’ll be showin’ you ‘not bad.’” Molly hit the button to close the doors between them. If only she could cut off this partnership that easily.

  Zach was still reeling by the time he reached Xavier in the elevator lobby of the FBI office. If X had called ten minutes sooner, Zach could’ve caught a ride with Molly — but he wouldn’t have asked with the mood she was in.

  What did she want him to say? She was the best agent he’d ever seen?

  Zach shook his head. If she was this mad today, breaking up with her was probably for the best. Right?

  “Who’s sitting the kids?” Zach hit the up button. The Canavans were almost never without surveillance these days. The elevator arrived.

  “Inouye and Roberts.” Xavier waited until they were on the elevator to continue. “Debriefing go okay?”

  “
Yeah, no.”

  X grimaced. “Sorry again.”

  “Yeah. What did you need?”

  Xavier stepped off the elevator. “You know Deisinger on the task force? CPD?”

  “No.” He didn’t work with the Chicago Police or the Joint Terrorism Task Force as directly as X did.

  Xavier gestured at an unfamiliar face waiting near Zach’s desk. “He’s got something I need you to look into.”

  Zach started for the waiting detective, X trailing behind.

  “How’s it going?” the cop asked.

  “To be honest,” Zach said, “I’ve had better days.”

  “Z, this is Detective Deisinger. Dice, Special Agent Saint. You can call him Z,” Xavier added. He turned to the cop. “Z is our resident specialist on Ireland.”

  “What, you’ve got an Irish grandma?” Dice asked.

  No, ex-girlfriend. “I lived there for a couple years.” With in-country experience and his position in the counterterrorism division, that must’ve made him the go-to guy for every Irish threat in the Chicagoland area. All both of them.

  X gestured for Zach to take over the conversation and headed for his office. Like Zach needed another cue to think X just didn’t want to handle the case. “What’ve you got, Dice?”

  “A source who says one of his coworkers might be shorting the company of blasting caps and C-4.”

  Enough for Zach. He motioned for Dice to pull up a chair, and they huddled around his desk. “You send the file?”

  “Yep.”

  Zach refreshed his email. There it was. He skimmed the perfunctory information on the suspect.

  When it rained, it poured — to hijack the Irish phrase — a shower of savages. “What else do we know about this guy?”

  “Where he hangs out after work.” Dice flipped open his notebook and slid it across the desk to Zach.

  “Every day?”

  “We tried to catch him a coupla two three times,” Dice said, his Chicago accent showing, “but he made us.”

  An undercover challenge — one that didn’t involve Molly? Oh yeah, he was down. He grinned at Dice. “How soon do we start?”