But that wasn’t the only reason she might need him. “Molly?” he finally answered, his tone full of caution.
“It’s Grace.” Molly jumped into the conversation, breathless.
He flinched and shifted to the edge of the couch, ready to spring into action. “Are you okay?”
“Me?” She sounded taken aback. “Lucy just met Grace, and she might be followin’ her.”
“Wait — Grace might be following Lucy?” Fight-or-flight energy surged into his system, and he was on his feet before he even finished the question. “Where are they?”
“Northwest Side. Just left the Irish American Heritage Center.”
He didn’t know exactly where that was. “Have you called Lucy?”
“I tried. Voicemail.”
“Keep trying. I’ll text her. Was she going home?” Zach grabbed his keys and wallet.
“No idea. Keep me updated. I’m in pursuit.”
Zach tapped out the text message on the way to his car: Mercedes behind you? Evasive maneuvers.
A one-man search of the Chicagoland area wouldn’t help Lucy. Molly was behind her, so Zach had to attack this from the other end, where Lucy was headed. Probably her place.
If Grace was following Lucy, Zach couldn’t exactly meet them in her parking lot. He parked and pulled his lock picks from the glove box, though he hardly needed them to get into Lucy’s apartment with her deadbolt broken.
Once he checked her place — safe — he got a bag of pretzels from her table, flipped on PBS for the last few minutes of his movie as background noise, and knelt on the couch to watch the parking lot through the blinds.
The end credits rolled on Our Man in Havana, the Alec Guinness spy flick he’d started at home, and the spy spectacular continued with I See a Dark Stranger. He’d never heard of it.
He checked the time. How long would Lucy take to get here? When should he start worrying?
When the movie’s dialogue started a few minutes later, he almost fell off his couch perch. A woman in a Hollywood Irish accent ranting about a guy because he was English? Not the background noise he needed.
His phone vibrated. Molly. “Got her?” His voice betrayed more stress than he wanted to admit.
“No, and I lost Grace as well.”
Crud. “I’m at her place. I’ll let you know when she gets in. Keep trying.”
The minutes ticked by, and Zach grew more and more tense, alternating between peering at the parking lot and pacing. And dialing Lucy. And pacing.
Molly had called around three. With construction downtown, Lucy should take a good forty-five minutes to get home from the Northwest Side. Already after four.
But she could be running errands. Or lost, knowing Lucy.
Or Grace.
The Irishwoman on TV had long ago been rejected by the IRA and recruited as a Nazi spy by the time Lucy’s car finally pulled into the lot around four thirty. Zach concentrated on the street — no Mercedes in sight. Was there anywhere she might hide to watch Lucy come home?
Nothing he could see. The only pedestrian on the sidewalk had a dog, and he doubted Grace could commandeer one of those on short notice.
By the time Lucy made her way to her door, Zach was sure of it: Lucy was safe. He released the pent-up stress with a deep breath.
He needed to let Molly know. Zach grabbed his phone and typed a text, but before he hit Send, his phone vibrated with an incoming call. Not Molly — Lucy. “Hello?” he answered.
“Zach?”
His sister’s panicked whisper instantly set him on edge. Had she already had a brush with Grace? “What’s wrong?”
“I think someone’s in my place — I hear voices.”
Zach walked to her front door. “Someone is in your apartment.” He opened the door to find Lucy on the other side. “Me,” he finished.
“Zach! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Lucy swung a wide arc, aiming a right hook at his shoulder. Zach sidestepped and caught her fist, then used that to tug her into the apartment, closing the door behind him.
“If I were trying to give you a heart attack, I’d be on the other side of the door with seven hundred cutesy paper hearts. Remember that time —”
“You foiled my visiting teachers?” She pushed past him into her living room. “Thanks again for not shooting them. Who else is here?” Lucy asked. “Or are you talking to yourself?”
Zach fixed her with a mock-scowl and pointed to the TV, then switched off the black-and-white movie. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
Lucy glanced at the phone in her non-punching hand. “It was on silent for . . . class.”
“Heard you made a new friend.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Afterwards? With Molly?”
“Oh, that lady.” She frowned at the carpet.
Not good. “You’re not getting together with her anytime soon?”
“Molly or the lady?”
“The lady.” Why would he mean Molly?
Lucy grimaced. “It was pretty obviously an A-B conversation.”
“Wow, taking it back to the sixth grade.” But hopefully that meant she hadn’t engaged with Grace.
She strode to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. When she returned, her attitude kicked up a notch. “So you broke in to discuss my social life?”
“Basically. But listen, if you ever see ‘that lady’ again, get out of there.”
Lucy fastened him with a scanning stare. “You need to talk to Molly.”
She knew. Obviously. “Oh, I did. Last night. How long have you known?”
“I just found out, actually. I’m kinda mad, too —”
“That Molly’s seeing someone?”
“‘Seeing’ someone,” she repeated. “That’s what she told you.”
Lucy had made it clear she was Molly’s friend first, and Zach’s sister a distant second, but that tone definitely didn’t sound right. He angled his head to scrutinize her from the corner of his eye. “You had to know that already.”
She turned to toss her gym bag into the front closet. “I — I mean, yeah, I knew.”
“You said you didn’t.”
Lucy’s gaze dropped to her tennis shoes again. “I did? I thought you meant something else. I went to her dance class, and I found out how incredibly hard that is. I’ve been before, but, man, that’s tough. I feel as coordinated as an octopus on roller skates, and I’m totally gross now. Have you ever tried it?”
“Ramble much?” Zach picked up the pretzels and headed for the pantry. “What did you think I meant?”
“Your date with Brittany. We haven’t talked about that, either.”
Still in the pantry, he winced. “Can we not?” he said, returning to the living room.
“You don’t want to know what she said?”
“Don’t know what she could say about three hours of talking about her ex with another man.”
“She thought you were really handsome,” Lucy singsonged.
What were they, six years old? “I guess she’s pretty.” Listening to anyone rant for three hours had a way of making them a lot less attractive.
“And really funny and charming.” Lucy paced a circle around him.
Had he said one remotely funny thing the entire night?
“And incredibly sage.”
“Okay, I’m not sure you talked to the woman I went out with.”
“Yeah, me neither — none of those words describe my brother.”
Zach rolled his eyes. “If you’ve put this much analysis into it, she probably told you every single thing I said to her. Twice.”
“I think she did. What did you guys do for the other two hours?” Lucy wriggled her eyebrows in mock insinuation.
“Uh, no. She did all the talking.”
Lucy’s shoulders fell, and she retreated to the couch. “Worth a shot.”
“What, pestering me to go out with her for three months?”
“
No, setting you two up. But I guess some people really are hopeless.” She tossed a blue pillow at him.
He caught it. Right, he was the hopeless one.
“Too bad,” Lucy continued. “She probably would’ve gone out with you again.”
Wait, what? “Probably?”
She cringed. “She said you were a great listener and really seemed to get her, but you’re pretty hung up on your ex, so she wouldn’t go out with you again until you’re over her.”
His jaw dropped. “What? I said one thing about Molly, and I was only agreeing with Brittany! I spent three hours listening to Bob-this and Bob-that and bobtail and bobcat.” He raked a hand through his hair. “She’s seriously obsessed, Lucy. And someone conveniently forgot to include that she’d been married in the pre-set-up résumé. Or that she had a little — no, a medium-sized child.”
“Hey, you love kids.”
“Still something you should tell me before bullying me into taking her out. And the divorced part.”
Lucy sighed, tucking her feet under her on the couch cushion. “Fine. Next time I set you up with a divorced mom, I’ll warn you.”
“Just what I need, more setups.” He threw the pillow back at her. “How long have you known?”
She blocked the shot. “What? Brittany’s divorced?”
He pursed his lips. “Abrupt subject change. That Molly’s seeing someone.”
“Um . . . since they started dating.”
Zach gaped at her. “What? Never once crossed your mind to tell me?”
“Of course, but she wouldn’t want me to. She wasn’t doing it to hurt you.” She trailed off.
He snorted. “That worked.”
“How’d you find out?”
“She told me. It . . . wasn’t good.”
Lucy grimaced. “I’m sorry, Zach.”
“Yeah, well, better get home.” He got his coat and hesitated — he should ask how things were with Paul. Though he hardly wanted to know the obvious answer. “How’re you holding up?”
Lucy looked down and retrieved the pillow he’d thrown. “Not great.”
“Can I do anything?” Wait, no, she’d want him to listen. “You want to talk?”
“No.” She hugged the pillow and seemed to shrink into the couch, as if she could get any smaller.
Why did he bring that up? “’Kay. Call me if you do. See you in the morning.” Zach let himself out. Not telling him about Brittany — making him go out with her in the first place — and not telling him Molly was dating someone? Maybe Lucy secretly did hate him.
If she did, she could join the club.
Saturday night, Grace and Pearse sat in her car outside a set of rundown rowhouses. The streetlight two poles down cycled off. Perfect.
Grace got out of the car and opened the boot of their Mercedes. She found the case of bottled water and loaded her coat pockets. Pearse followed suit.
“Sure we have the right flat?” He peered up at the townhome, which appeared even shabbier in the streetlight’s glare.
Did he think she was an eejit? “Not that difficult to tail someone when they don’t expect surveillance.” They sat in silence, watching the clock until the next streetlamp fired back to life. The light above them went dark. Suddenly, she was very supportive of energy conservation. She pulled out a small broom and closed the boot.
They crossed the quiet street to wait under a tree. As soon as Grace stopped walking, the cold crept through her coat. “Everythin’ ready for your man Tuesday?”
Pearse nodded. The streetlamp in front of their target shut off. Without a word, they started down the street together, both unscrewing their first water bottles.
They reached their target’s solid concrete stoop, and Grace knelt to sweep away the rock salt leftover from the last hard freeze. A bucket of the stuff stood at the top of the steps. Grace moved it to the foot of the stairs.
Pearse poured his first bottle on the steps, and they observed the water flow. Whoever built these steps had done them a great favor — the water pooled in several spots. She signaled Pearse, and together they emptied a half dozen bottles.
“We’ll be back for a second coat at midnight.” Grace pushed the bucket of rock salt over onto the sidewalk at the base of the stairs as if it had fallen. “That’ll be the first thing your man sees,” she whispered. “When he goes for it —” She swept one hand across the other, mimicking someone slipping. “DontRain will be hirin’.”
Molly wasn’t so heartless that she’d break up with a man before he had to speak to thousands of people in a regional church conference. She took the end of a pew while Nate found his place on the stand. He winked at her; she smiled back but looked away quickly as she could.
At least she wouldn’t have to face Zachary until tomorrow at the earliest. And then, despite what she’d told him Friday night, she wouldn’t be dating anyone.
Did that change anything between them?
She couldn’t contemplate that, not until she’d told Nate the truth. Part of the truth.
Guilt twisted in her stomach.
The prelude started, beautiful piano music Molly didn’t recognize. A hand landed on her shoulder, and she jumped. Lucy stood by her. “Hey,” Lucy said. She gave the stand a so-glad-I-amn’t-you grin. “Guess they roped him into playing.”
Molly followed Lucy’s gaze. Zachary was at the piano. Fantastic.
“He tried to get me to do it, actually, but I threw pepper in his eyes and ran away.”
Molly scooted down the pew to give Lucy room. Once she was seated, Lucy turned to her, her expression drawn. “You know you’re my best friend, right?”
Molly grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’re mine as well.”
“And even after everything that happened with Zach, I want you to be happy.”
This speech was turning strange. “Em, thank you.”
“And you can tell me anything.”
What was she getting at? Before Molly could review her last few conversations with Lucy, Zachary concluded the prelude, and the meeting began. Molly turned her attention to the podium. Zachary made his way to a seat on the stand. A seat behind Nate, where there would be no way for Molly to glance at one without seeing the other.
As if the nightmare could’ve grown worse — and more surreal — the man conducting the meeting thanked Zachary, and Nate perked up. He half-leaned, half-turned to Zachary behind him. It didn’t take a lip reader to understand Nate’s warm greeting, like seeing an old friend.
Zachary shook Nate’s offered hand. Even at this distance, she could tell Zachary’s energetic nod wasn’t just accepting a compliment.
With each breath, Molly’s lungs seemed to shrink. Nate had earned his MBA at George Mason, outside DC. Zachary worked for the Bureau at Headquarters. In DC. Of course they knew one another. Of course the two men she wanted to keep separate in her mind and the real world already knew one another.
“Did you know they were friends?” she asked Lucy, her whisper harsher than she’d intended.
Lucy shook her head, the horror in her eyes almost as severe as what Molly felt. “Nate moved here from DC, right? Small world when you’re Mormon.”
Indeed. Molly pretended note-taking occupied her full attention for the first two talks, but in reality, she could hardly focus on the speakers. The little she did catch was all about marriage. Before closing, the elderly man bore his testimony of eternal marriage.
Just what she needed to hear before Nate took the microphone. She fixed her gaze on him and hoped Zachary hadn’t spotted her in the congregation. She had to offer one little measure of support to the poor fella. An assignment like this was one of her personal nightmares.
That, and pretending to be Zachary’s fiancée. Her mind sank into the memory of Friday night, feeding one another cake, the love in his eyes, the pain on his face. And then further back: strolling through Grant Park together. Lounging under the cherry blossoms. The way his hand fit so well with hers. His daily text check-ins
.
The first time he’d said he loved her. That first perfectly electrifying kiss.
Nate closed his talk, and Molly joined the murmured chorus of amens. Had she spent his entire talk looking straight at Zachary? Guilt tugged on her heart. Again.
Luckily, neither man had seen her staring. Zachary nodded his compliments to Nate before he sat down. Molly smiled at Nate, though her smile would’ve been a bit brighter were it not for the memories of Zachary — and the man himself not four feet behind Nate.
Was she was trading a good man who loved her for one who’d broken up with her six months ago? Because he’d let his cover go to his head, she was supposed to chance it and admit she still loved him, months after he’d dumped her? That sounded brilliantly stupid.
She forced herself to focus on Nate. She shouldn’t even be thinking like this until she handled things with him. Straightforward. Honest. No reason for the guilt eating at her insides like acid.
The stake president announced a special musical number by a young men chorus, led by Zachary Saint. Then he wouldn’t be standing at the podium. She wouldn’t have to worry about keeping her eyes off him.
Molly whispered an excuse to Lucy and retreated to listen to the rest of the meeting from the foyer. As every day since she’d run into him again, today was not going well.
Grace jolted awake when Ed poked her. They were in the car. Right. Setting up the DontRain employee. No wonder she’d fallen asleep, after freezing his steps repeatedly throughout the night. If only she had someone competent enough to trust with this crucial task. She checked her watch — half past ten. “How long —”
Ed shushed her, staring past her out the window. She whipped around to see the target’s door open. The Sunday paper and the overturned salt bucket sat at the foot of the stairs, where she’d left them. Dallas Hermann stood at the door in a bathrobe.
Had he been up half an hour ago when she polished the surface of his steps? Grace held her breath.
Dallas lowered one slippered foot a cautious step, then another. Four stairs later, he’d reached the pavement, no problem. Grace groaned. What would it take to track another DontRain employee home and make sure harm would befall him? They hadn’t the time to cover the tracks from a car bomb.
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