“Okay, so,” Kent launched into his question. Molly tore her gaze from Zach. At least one person recognized she could do her job, even if he thought she needed to do his as well.
Zach reached the elevators and Xavier, but his mind was still on Molly. He glanced back at her desk again. Thinking.
Why on earth should he feel like he needed to protect Molly? Wasn’t like her pet was a threat.
He wasn’t jealous, was he?
“Worried?” Xavier asked. “Something happen?”
“No, an agent on Molly’s squad.” Zach chose to keep it vague.
“What’d he do, shush her repeatedly?”
Zach tried not to react on the outside. X was still on his case about the date with Nia — who talked all through the concert Saturday. He’d been raised better than that.
Or he was being ridiculously picky.
“Listen,” Zach said, “sorry things didn’t work out.”
“You’re the reason I’ve been in the doghouse all week.”
“I didn’t mean to . . .” He sighed. “What do you want me to do, take her to dinner to make up for it?”
X grunted. “So I can work my way back into Lila’s good graces again?”
“Then drop it.”
The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open to reveal the Special Agent in Charge. Though Zach had gotten to know the guy some through church, facing the man in charge of the entire field office was always unnerving.
SAC Evans nodded a greeting. Zach and Xavier boarded the elevator.
“Night on the town, Saint?” Evans gestured at Zach, and Zach looked down. His suit — right. He was already dressed for his meeting with Paddy.
“Working late, sir.”
“Don’t have too much fun.”
“You know me, President Evans. Still keeping the mission schedule.” Up at six, home by nine? Right.
Evans laughed, then snapped his fingers as if remembering something. “Are you free next Friday? My niece is coming to town, and I was thinking you could show her the Chicago sights.”
Man, he hoped his personal life wasn’t such a legendary sob story around the Bureau that this was another pity set-up. “The fifth?”
“Yeah — that work for you?”
“Sure. Looking forward to it.”
The elevator stopped, and they let Evans off first.
“Friendly with the SAC, aren’t we? Taking his niece out? ‘President Evans’?”
Zach rolled his eyes to cover the flinch — he hated using church titles at work. “He’s a member of my church. We’re working on a project together.” If the stake young men president assigning him to organize a chorus of the teenagers qualified as “working together.”
“As long as I can ride your coattails. Make sure I get a cushy office when you’re ASAC.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll remember everyone I stepped on to make it to the top.”
Xavier pointed at him. “As long I get a really nice chair.”
“You got it.”
X saluted and peeled off for his car, and Zach was on his own for his meeting tonight. The familiar pre-op nerves sang to a crescendo. Zach took a steadying breath.
Everything would go fine. Paddy would see what he wanted to see — a guy on his last threads of sanity, ready for revenge on the people who’d hurt him.
Zach strolled into the low-key bar. He surveyed the cluttered décor and found Paddy in a corner booth. He joined him, ready to walk the fine line between trust-me-I’m-not-too-crazy and I’m-just-crazy-enough-to-do-this.
“All prettied up for me?” Paddy cast his suit a meaningful look.
He’d come with a reason for unemployed Allen to be dressed up again, and pile onto his grievances with his ex-employer/target. “Interview today. Went great until they mentioned they’d call my last job to check me out.”
Paddy grimaced and gestured to the seat across from him. Small talk came first, but once the chili cheese fries arrived, they turned to business.
“Sure you want to be doin’ this, now?” Paddy asked. “Can’t take this back.”
“Oh yeah,” Zach said, working on a defiant set to his jaw around a mouthful of French fries.
“Understand what I mean by an ‘explosive’ message?”
“I want them to get my point.”
Paddy scrutinized him a heartbeat too long. “What might that point be, exactly?”
His pulse revved in his throat. Was this testing his commitment, or his cover? “They can’t use people. They can’t use me. They took the last ten years of my life — my marriage fell apart because I was busting my hump seventy hours a week for them. Every day grinding me down, and then I get home and —” What was his imaginary wife’s name?
After a burst of panic, he saw how to finish. “And she’s gone.”
Paddy’s deep-set brown eyes stared through him. “Worth their blood?”
An explosives dealer with a conscience. “Every. Drop.”
Paddy gave a curt nod. “Done. I take it you’re targetin’ your superiors?”
“Yeah. Simon —”
“Don’t need names. For a personal target, we can’t use a timer or a behavioral trigger — openin’ the box, for example, might hurt the wrong person.”
He got the feeling indiscriminate violence wasn’t what Paddy wanted in a buyer, so Zach nodded. “So a remote control?”
“Remote control,” Paddy repeated, sneering. “Bit more sophisticated, boyo.” He pulled out a cheap flip phone that looked anything but sophisticated. “Here’s your trigger.”
Zach reached for the phone, but Paddy moved it away. “You’ll be usin’ your own,” he said.
“Fine. How’s it work?”
“Wire the phone to the trigger circuit. Give her a ring, and — boom.”
Zach examined the phone again. How long had this guy been on the streets of Chicago — and how much blood had he already shed?
He could find out. Zach pushed away his fries. “I hate to ask, but — I mean, I don’t know how this works. Can I talk to somebody you’ve worked with before —?”
“What, references? What are you, a peeler?”
Zach tried to place the Irish term, but came up empty. “What?”
“Police.”
“What’re you talking about, man? Do cops want to blow people up?”
“Where I come from, you don’t need ‘user reviews’ for squibs — you need proof.”
Zach settled back in his seat. Paddy was making this too easy. “Great,” Zach said. “When can I get that?”
“When you ring your man.” Paddy wagged the flip phone again.
Zach leaned across the table. “You think we’ll get more than one shot at this? If it doesn’t work the first time, we’re both in trouble.”
“Speak for your —”
“I need a demonstration.”
Paddy folded his arms. “Semtex doesn’t grow on trees, Allen. I’ll not be buildin’ two bombs for you.”
“Then why am I paying you?”
The other man rubbed his hand over his mouth, hard. “Tell you what: you bring me the Semtex — C-4, whatever — for your bomb, and we’ll have a demonstration. Otherwise, one bomb, no demonstrations.”
Zach ran his tongue over his teeth. “Fine. I’ll find the stuff. Demonstration Saturday.”
“If you’re wantin’ a demonstration, I’ll be tellin’ you when.”
He didn’t like that one bit — but from the way the guy was staring him down and biting his lip like Zach’s head was next, this might be one thing he could give on. “Fine. You know the number.”
Zach left half his fries and a ten on the table. Not nearly as tough as Dice made it out to be.
The next day, Zach and Xavier sat in X’s office going over one last file for his afternoon with the Department of Justice. Zach, on the other hand, was trying not to think too much about the DOJ case he was keeping tabs on: Doyle Murphy’s, and Molly’s impending testimony.
Xavier fi
nished the file and closed it. “You’re seeing the Canavans tomorrow.” He reviewed the docket. “We’ll need to reschedule our check-in meeting.”
“I’ll catch up with Molly and figure out a time.” Wow. His brain was automatically making up excuses to see Molly. Maybe he deserved all the pity set-ups he was getting.
Xavier stood and Zach followed suit, but before they left, his cell rang. “Hello?”
“Agent Saint? AUSA Jill Hardt.”
The Assistant US Attorney on Murphy’s case. “I was just leaving —”
“Actually, cross is taking longer than we thought. The other agent won’t be on the stand until tomorrow.”
Hopefully Molly was taking the witness stand freeze-out okay. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Though if you wanted to come down, we could get a bite to eat.”
Not for the first time, Zach mentally kicked himself for buying her lunch a couple months ago while they were working on prosecution strategy. Yeah, he was tired of the dating treadmill, but seeing a prosecutor felt wrong. He held his phone to his chest. “X, go on without me.” He picked up the call again as Xavier walked away. “Sorry, I’m really busy. See you tomorrow.”
“All right.” She didn’t hide the disappointment in her voice.
“Thanks.” Zach hung up and skimmed his files, loosening his tie. Before he picked one, Xavier walked back to his desk again, on his phone.
He finished the call with a “Hope you have better luck” and turned to Zach. “You busy?”
Not too busy for his supervisor. “What’s up?”
“Garrido just broke his arm stepping — tripping — off a curb. Dantzler’s taking him to the ER, but they were supposed to be the Canavans’ surveillance today.”
“I got it.”
“This time,” Xavier said with more than a hint of sarcasm, “do. Not. Approach. She gets off work at the Paltec building in an hour. Take whoever you want.”
A second set of eyes was useful, but the real advantage of bringing a partner was staving off the more immediate threat of death by boredom. Plus, he’d promised to get up with Molly, and her afternoon just opened up.
Molly was leaning back in her chair, her chin in one hand, listening to her one-man fan club. Kent rubbed at his blond stubble, looking around like he was lost. He had to be desperate for help if he was asking the least experienced person on their squad.
“Who do you tell if you’re ‘accidentally’ sellin’ sensitive matériel to terrorist front companies?” Molly prompted Kent as Zach came in range.
“Nobody, if you’ve got half a brain.”
Molly held out ta-da hands, as if the conclusion was equally obvious if you had half a brain. Zach bit back a smile. Seeing her fight back was good — and with someone else for a change. But from the edge in her voice, he’d bet she was ready for a break.
Maybe she didn’t need protection from the fan boy — but she might appreciate it. At least Zach could save her from . . . boredom.
He dropped the keys to a surveillance sedan on the file in front of Molly. She looked up in surprise.
“Let’s roll.”
She picked up the keys. “Am I drivin’?”
“Uh, no. You don’t even know where we’re going.”
“What makes you think I’m comin’ if you don’t tell me?”
Zach dangled the bait. “Gotta see what Grace Canavan’s up to.”
“Wait.” Kent’s face filled with alarm. “You can’t steal her from me again this week.”
Zach eyed him. “Hernandez is your supervisor, right?”
Kent nodded.
“Cleared it with her.”
“Oh.” With that, Kent’s sails flagged, and he turned away.
Molly didn’t watch his retreating figure as she collected her jacket. “Are we sittin’ outside Grace’s job and starin’ at the door in case she walks out, so?”
Sounded like she’d done her time in surveillance too. “She’s off after two.”
“No wonder she has time to plan a practical stranger’s weddin’. I am drivin’, right?”
“Nope.” Zach held out his hand for the keys. “I want to get there in one piece.”
Molly scoffed. “If you want safety, better let me drive. If nothin’ else, my car’s a tank compared to your little two-door.”
“My little two-door’s a little totaled.”
“What happened?”
That subject would lead directly to dangerous territory for him. “Accident. A while ago.” The reply came out too monotone. He shouldn’t have said anything. Zach mentally fenced off that topic and motioned for the keys again. “We’re using a bureau car.”
“All right.” She dragged out the words, like that would make him fill in the blanks.
Nope. She gave him the keys. In his peripheral vision, he caught Molly studying him, but he didn’t acknowledge it.
He’d made it through that one safe. Hopefully they could watch Grace without any more close calls.
Grace laughed at Kim’s joke and sipped her coffee at the counter of her friend’s florist shop. Still two shoppers in the place. After half an hour recounting Molly and Jason’s engagement and sketchy-at-best wedding plans, she was tired of biding her time.
But she couldn’t afford any witnesses beyond Kim, who’d never consider her old friend a suspect if she were ever questioned.
Grace tsked. “Can’t believe they expect to have all this done in eleven weeks — ten, so.”
The bell on the door rang. Grace checked — one of the shoppers had left.
Kim slid onto her stool behind the glass counter. “Kids these days. Nice of you to help them out.”
Grace shrugged off the compliment, half her attention on the last customer in the shop, amid the seed packets. “Her mam’s in Ireland, and like I said, they’re needin’ the help.”
“Beginning of May.” Kim pulled a calendar from under the counter. “Should be able to do it. What are their colors?”
“Orange and green.”
Kim wrinkled her nose, and Grace struggled not to purse her lips. Would Kim object to a red, white and blue wedding? She thought not.
“I was thinkin’ we could do a calla lily in orange — maybe three per bridesmaid. They’ll be in season then, won’t they?”
“I’m sure we can find some.” Kim got up to refresh her coffee, then joined Grace at the counter again. “Any ideas for a green flower, or should we go with foliage?”
“Maybe bells of Ireland, with orange geraniums or bush lilies. Or the bridesmaids may carry bells of Ireland. Havin’ trouble pinnin’ her down to anythin’ when she won’t answer half my texts.”
Kim snorted. “Even better. If she can’t make decisions, how’d she say yes to him?”
Grace set her mug on the counter. She pondered Kim’s half-serious question, half an eye on the customer browsing the bulbs. Molly had dissolved into tears after one dress, and she hadn’t been able to express even a single sensible preference afterwards. She seemed more interested in Grace’s day planner than the wedding magazines, and she’d practically forced Grace to decide on specifics.
“I honestly don’t know,” Grace concluded. “I’ve only seen them together a few minutes, but it seemed like there was this . . . distance between them.”
“Things’ll get real expensive if she doesn’t figure it out quick.”
“That they will.” Grace shook her head. The customer had moved on to the books and magazines. What was he trying to do, memorize each one?
She wasn’t sure how much more chitchat she could drum up before it seemed odd. And coming back again could arouse Kim’s suspicions.
She had to get it today — without witnesses. Grace asked for a refill on coffee and shoved the conversation along. “We’re lookin’ for a full-service venue this week. Any suggestions?”
Molly stared at the florist shop, warming her hands on the last of her hot cocoa. Zach had insisted they stop on the way — and he’d remembered hazelnu
t was her favorite. They’d reached Grace’s job in time to follow her to the suburbs, to a strip mall, to a florist.
Then they’d sat there for half an hour. After catching up on their families — Molly wasn’t sure whether to be proud or chagrined she still knew all his nieces’ and nephews’ names — Zach allowed the conversation to lapse, gazing through the flurries at the flower shop.
Why had she agreed to this? Sure, forcing herself to work with him might help her get over him, but . . . it was more that he’d finally shown her some little measure of professional respect. Of all the people he could’ve brought with him today, he’d chosen her.
How could she turn that down?
Zach set aside his empty cup. “Glad we’re keeping tabs on our wedding plans. What kind of flowers mean ‘subversive’?”
“Don’t know, but they’d better be orange or green.”
He smiled, and silence settled over them like snowflakes. It was . . . comfortable.
In fact, it was the best moment they’d had since she’d returned to Chicago.
“Oh, hey,” Zach said.
Molly tensed at the phrasing: he’d captured Kent’s intonation perfectly.
“What’s up with your fan boy?”
“Sorry?”
“Kent. He worships you. What’s the deal?”
Molly concentrated on the street and keeping her sarcasm to a minimum. “Not everyone has a colossal superiority complex.” She pressed forward without checking his reaction. “Kent and I were in the same class at Quantico.”
Zach raised an eyebrow, focused on the florist again. “Okay, you two go back almost a year. So why are you practically working his cases?”
She’d asked herself that more often than she’d like to admit. Anyone else, and she would’ve quickly and carefully minimized contact. But Kent wasn’t doing it to get out of his own work. Perhaps he did worship her a little.
And for her part? “Honestly, I feel bad for him.”
“You pity him,” he stated.
“Thank you, Dr. Zach. An Oprah endorsement and your career will be all set.”
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