“I’m sorry, we can’t divulge his location, as it was mission related.”
That confirmed one assumption, at least. “But he was out of the country. That’s why it’s taking so long to get his body back here.”
“I’m sure the family is anxious for closure,” was all the facilitator said.
Molly plugged away at her for another fifteen minutes, but couldn’t get anything else from the woman. Finally, Aldus leaned over the table, her expression earnest and open. “Molly, I know in our business it’s easy to see nefarious conspiracy everywhere, but trust me, there was nothing odd about Christopher’s death.” Her bright red fingernails clicked on the polished surface, punctuating every other word. “He was out on a job, there was an accident, and he was killed. It’s awful, and I’m sorry, but that’s all it is.”
A knot eased at Ramona’s words, floating up to swell Molly’s throat, but it was the familiar burn of tears, not the conviction that something was off and that she had to find out what it was. She didn’t want to croak, so merely nodded her thanks.
As Ramona escorted her to the elevator, Molly should have felt better. Nothing the woman had said or didn’t say had fed Molly’s sense of dissatisfaction. In fact, her sincerity had soothed it, if not banished it completely. There was nothing more Molly could do, anyway, which gave her permission to let it go.
She hesitated in the lobby, still deserted save for the baby-faced desk guard and the guy at the door. Dammit, she’d forgotten to hand over Brady’s intel. She crossed to the desk and smiled at Baby-Face when he looked up expectantly but obviously poised for action. No one was going to take this guy by surprise.
Thing was, anyone here could receive the packet she carried. But she didn’t want just anyone, and had to proceed carefully. After rapidly discarding a few opening phrases, she decided to pretend she knew what she was doing. “I was wondering” or “Is it possible” set up a “no” answer right off the bat. “I’d like to see Conrad Dixson if he’s available,” she said.
Baby-Face studied her for a few seconds, then said, “I’ll check. If you could stand over there, please?” He chin-pointed to a pillar several feet away, out of hearing range if he spoke softly.
Molly nodded and stepped away, pleased with herself, but a little annoyed at Dix. She hadn’t even known if he was in this building. He could be anywhere, since a handler did his or her job remotely—at least, in Molly’s experience. She’d never met the man in person. But since he was here, why hadn’t he met with her himself?
Her phone rang. She flinched and checked the guard, who ignored her. Phew. She hadn’t thought to look for a sign about cell phones. She pulled it from her pocket and checked the display. Hmph. She flipped it open. “Yeah.”
“What are you doing?” Dix sounded exasperated, but not angry or anything else negative.
“I have Brady’s intel.” She clenched her jaw, waiting for his response.
“Just give it to the desk guy, he’ll send it up.”
“I wanted to meet you. We never have. Is there a policy against it?”
He cleared his throat. “Not specifically, no.”
“Are you busy right now?”
“I’m always busy, but I could spare a few minutes.”
His tone was grudging, and it took Molly a moment to think of why. “I promise I won’t mention Christopher.”
“Then come on up to the eighth floor. I’ll meet—”
“Me at the elevator. Thank you, Dix. I’ll be right up.” She disconnected and waited for a signal from Baby-Face, who had probably been on hold while Dix talked to her. He nodded, and she went back to the elevator, excitement rising with the car. Dix was a friend. A good guy. Someone who had her back, who knew pretty much everything about her, and didn’t judge. How many people had one of those in their lives? She wondered what he looked like. She’d always pictured him kind of short, with a linebacker build and dark hair. But people rarely looked how they sounded.
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Molly smoothed her palms down her jeans and stepped out, her head swiveling. No one was in the foyer, but a man strode quickly down the corridor from her left. Tall, blond, quarterback instead of linebacker. Big hands, bright smile, and sparkling eyes. Yum.
Blinking at her reaction, Molly couldn’t help but smile back as the man reached her, one of those big hands held out to shake, the other already reaching to brace her shoulder.
“Molly Byrnes. Awesome.”
She laughed. “Conrad Dixson. Finally.”
He looked a little sheepish. “Yeah, sorry. Come on down to my office.” He motioned with his head, and they walked together past more ambiguously marked office doors.
“So no cubicle farms here at Global Information Exchange, huh?”
“Nope. Too much secrecy.” He grinned. “This is the handler floor. About a third of the SIEGE handlers work here, and the individual offices keep us from overhearing each other, being distracted, and so on. Come on in, have a seat.” He settled next to her on a comfortable sofa at one side of the small office. Its cushions were plush and oddly lumpy—not uncomfortable, but an indication that Dix often slept in his office. The office was sparse for a place he had to spend most of his time. No personal photos or mementos, only one picture on the wall—a generic print of the Eiffel Tower at sunset—and a dusty potted plant on top of the filing cabinet behind his basic-black desk. There were no chairs in front of the desk. A low, small coffee table in front of the sofa and a large bookshelf next to the hall door were the only other pieces of furniture.
Molly turned to him. “So now I can picture you here when I talk to you.”
“If you want to.” Dix grimaced and stretched out an arm across the back of the sofa so that his light brown suit coat fell open. He had a coffee stain below the pocket of his white dress shirt. He smiled again, and Molly was charmed.
“Before I forget.” Again. She felt her face flush and looked down as she pulled the file envelope from her satchel. “The South America intel.” She handed it to Dix, who stretched to toss it onto his desk.
“Thanks. Good to have that final.”
“So.” Molly settled sideways against the back of the sofa. “How come we haven’t met before? More to the point,” she added, feeling like directness was going to have to be her default mode if she was going to handle all the secrets she had to keep around the Fitzpatricks. “Why did you arrange for me to meet with Aldus instead of you?”
All traces of pleasure slipped from his expression. “I thought it best, considering why you were here. And I have to admit…” The sheepish look was back. “I didn’t want to meet you.”
Molly tried to hide how much that hurt her feelings. “Why not?” Other questions crowded behind that one, about changing handlers, and if she’d done a bad job, or if he just didn’t like her. But she held them off, waiting for that first answer, hoping it was something innocuous so she could end the ache that had sprung up.
“I— It’s— Damn.” He shook his head when Molly chuckled. “Man, you mess me up.” He gestured between them. “This is why. When I’m on the phone with you, I can hold on to my suave manliness. In person—” He winced.
She burst out laughing, hurt forgotten. “What are you talking about? Are you shy?”
“Not usually.” He stopped smiling ruefully, and her laughter faded into an uh-oh. “But then, I don’t usually have a crush on my conduits.”
“Oh. Um.” Talk about emotional whiplash. Heat rushed up her body, and she knew her face had turned fuchsia.
“Yeah, see?” He ran his hand down his face, turning away from her to stare across the room. “I’ve had a crush on you since the first day we talked. It’s completely inappropriate, but I figured as long as we didn’t meet, it didn’t matter. That’s why I didn’t want to be the one to talk to you today.”
His cheek muscle twitched. Molly wondered if that was a tell, if there was more he wasn’t saying, but she was too caught up in his revelation. She c
ouldn’t remember the last time a guy had shown interest in her—at least, not the gross kind. How was she supposed to handle this?
How did she want to handle it?
“Then why didn’t you say no when I called up? Or you could have kept it to yourself when I insisted on seeing you—which I would have, and I’m pretty hard to resist when I get pushy.”
Her attempt to ease the tension that suddenly filled the room only pierced it a little.
Dix glanced at her, then away and down. “I thought it better to get it out in the open. And maybe…to see…”
Her heart rate picked up and she curled her fingers into her palm, her nails scratching against her jeans, the sound betraying her nervous elation. She didn’t know what to say. As always, Brady’s face, laughing, filled the back of her mind.
When she didn’t respond, he leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees and clasp his hands in the air between them. But he didn’t speak again, not to push her, and not to erase what he’d said. He was giving her time to process, even though it looked like the wait was killing him.
Her first reaction was to pull away. To say something carefully regretful that would preserve their working relationship and not hurt his feelings but put a definite stop to his overture.
Then something in her rebelled at her usual response to male attention. She’d never consciously “saved” herself for Brady, but part of her belonged to him and always would, which always got in the way, eventually if not immediately.
But everything was different now, especially with regard to Jessica. So Molly had to start looking at her future differently. Like at all.
And Dixson had several items in the “pro” column. His looks, to start. She didn’t know him all that well as a person, but as a handler, he was excellent. She knew him to be smart, quick thinking, serious about his work and his people, but with a great sense of humor, one that was compatible with hers.
The only real reason not to date him was their job connection. No way was she going to jeopardize her career over a guy. Not when she’d found where she belonged after so many years of lonely drifting.
But maybe the job didn’t have to get in the way. She had no idea what the rules were.
“What happens if I say I’m glad you did?” she asked.
He looked over his shoulder, then straightened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if I said I haven’t had my own crush, but new possibilities have recently opened my eyes?” His expression, which had fallen on the word “crush,” brightened again with the rest of her sentence. She laughed. “I can see why you’re not a field agent.”
He gave the rueful smile again. “Yeah, I failed the poker test. Now you know the depth of my humiliation.”
It was said as if he intended it to be a joke, but she caught an undercurrent she couldn’t identify. “Why would that be humiliating? You just have a different kind of skill set.”
“Oh, it’s not, really.” He waved it off, but not believably. “Only if you’re a legacy.”
She cocked her head. Legacy? Did that mean his father had been a field agent? How many family ties did SIEGE mine, anyway? She opened her mouth to ask who’d recruited him and then hesitated, realizing it was the kind of question that could be grounds for reprimand or discipline. As a conduit, she wasn’t allowed to ask her contacts anything so direct. SIEGE was built on the understanding that information had power, and protected itself accordingly.
“Never mind,” Dix said. He flashed a hopeful grin. “So you’re saying you’d be interested? In me? In going out with me, I mean? On a date? Or whatever?”
“Maybe.” She shifted to support her head on her hand. “Are you allowed to do that?”
“No.” He shook his head. “You’d need to be reassigned.”
Her heart sank, dragging down the bubble of lightness. Having Dix as a handler was part of the reason she loved her job so much. But if things developed between them outside that job, she wouldn’t need it quite so much.
“So, dating within the organization isn’t disallowed, as long as you don’t work directly together?”
“Right.” His eyebrows puckered. “Actually, I’d have to check on that. I never really paid attention.”
Molly’s phone rang again. She checked her watch. It was after five, and Donna wanted to have dinner at five-thirty. She was probably calling to get Molly’s ETA. “I’m sorry, I should get this.” She stood and pulled the phone from her pocket to silence the ringtone.
“No problem.” Dix rose to stand in front of her. “So…”
“So check out the rulebook and let me know what you find out.” She smiled at him, making it open and inviting. “And if you need to give me a new handler, make sure it’s someone as good as you.”
He walked her to the door. “Giving me the impossible tasks right off the bat, huh? Setting the tone?”
“Something like that,” she responded with a wink. She thumbed the phone to activate it as she strode toward the elevators. No voice mail message, not yet, but before she’d gotten halfway down the length of the hall, the ringing started over, same number. She sighed. “Hello?”
“Molly, dear, good. I was just wondering where you were. Dinner should be ready soon.” Molly let Donna ramble on as she descended to the lobby again, nodded good-bye to Baby-Face and Giant Door Holder Guy, and got into her car.
“Brady and Jessica still aren’t home, and there’s no answer at Jessica’s. I called her cell phone but it’s here in the living room. And Brady’s not answering his, which you know is so unusual, at least when he’s home. Here. You know. So where are you?”
“I had a business thing to take care of,” Molly told her, starting the engine. “I’m about half an hour away. Is there anything you need me to pick up?”
“No, no, we’re all set, but did you get the paperwork from the bank? Jessica is so worried about access to bank and credit card accounts, and of course the death certificate hasn’t arrived yet, and—”
“Yes, I got the paperwork. Listen, I don’t want to drive while I’m on the phone. I’ll be back soon. You can all go ahead and start without me.” After they got through Donna’s protests, Molly got her off the phone and drove out of the parking lot after having her ID badge scanned again.
She wasn’t looking forward to a long drive—longer because she was smack in the middle of rush hour—thinking about possible reasons Brady and Jessica weren’t answering their phones.
She’d just have to think about dating Dixson instead. And with that, the drive didn’t seem so horrible after all.
Chapter Six
Jessica was driving Brady batshit nuts.
He never thought he’d say that, would never have imagined it possible. But seven hours in her sole presence wasn’t the dream he’d conjured up during college and on too many dark nights during too many lonely missions.
After getting her out of bed, coaxing her to eat, and prodding her through showering and getting ready to go to her and Christopher’s house, they’d driven over in silence. Her long, quiet sleep hadn’t been as restful as it should have been. She still had shadows under her eyes, was slow to respond to anything he said, slow to move, slow to think. It was like she was 90 percent underwater and unaware of it. Brady vowed to be patient, but she’d immediately and repeatedly tried his resolve.
First was the prescription she asked him to refill while she went through the mail that had accumulated. He’d gotten all the way to the pharmacy before he looked at it and realized it was birth control pills. She didn’t answer the phone, so he drove all the way back to get the right prescription, for prenatal vitamins.
Once he got back from that trip, he found her sitting like a zombie at the kitchen table, bills and junk and sympathy cards all jumbled together in front of her. He helped her sort everything out and went online to pay bills, because she still had access to the joint bank account despite her fear that they could cut her off at any moment.
“They don’t e
ven know Chris is dead,” Brady told her unthinkingly. Jessica burst into tears, and it took half an hour to calm her down enough to resume doing what needed to be done.
“Are you hungry?” He pushed himself wearily to his feet, hands flat on the table, thinking she should have some lunch, at least for the baby’s sake.
“Not really,” she’d murmured, reordering the stack of cards so the smallest ones were on the top of the pile. “I guess I could handle a little something.”
“How about a sandwich?” He opened the fridge and was hit in the face with a massive stench wave. “Hawgh.” He gagged. Pressed his fist to his mouth. Gagged again. Shut the door, genius. He’d slammed it and stood frozen until his gorge stopped trying to erupt like a volcano. “Maybe not a sandwich.”
Jessica hadn’t reacted to the smell or to Brady’s reaction to it. “There are crackers and peanut butter in the cupboard,” she told him, pointing listlessly.
“Sound good to you?” He’d reached to open the cupboard. Man, he was going to have to clean out that refrigerator. Ugh. Some of that stuff had to be older than last week. Why the hell would it smell so bad so quickly? Last month was more like it.
“Not good, but manageable. Something. Protein. Good for the baby,” she murmured.
“Okay. I’ll make you some, and you take it to the bedroom to eat while you pack more clothes to take to my parents’ house.”
Once he had her settled in the bedroom, he’d braced himself and gone back to the fridge. Stood and stared at it. Went searching for a surgical mask, and found a bandana in the garage that he hoped Chris hadn’t worn running or something. It smelled faintly of motor oil. Better than rotten—
Eggs. Hard-boiled and ancient, tucked in the back of the fridge. Also fruit, soft and moldy, so squishy he dug under the sink for rubber gloves before cleaning out that drawer. The last inch or so of milk in the jug had spoiled, too, and someone hadn’t put the top on correctly, so that odor joined the mix.
Brady had been glad Jessica was in the bedroom and couldn’t hear him cursing with every new find. He got rid of anything that had spoiled or would spoil, hauling the garbage out to the curb. Who cared if trash day wasn’t until next week? Then he’d scrubbed down the glass shelves with baking soda and rinsed out the produce drawers. It had taken him hours.
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