Hearts Under Siege

by Natalie J. Damschroder

“Did you look at all of it?”

  “I…” She didn’t know what he meant.

  “Did you see the entire space? Maybe he— Maybe the remains—” He swallowed audibly.

  “No,” she hastened, getting it. “I mean, yes, I looked all the way down, and no, there was absolutely nothing in there.”

  “So why didn’t the funeral home question it?”

  Molly had been watching them load the casket into the hearse for exactly that reason. “It was heavy. They struggled. I’m thinking they put something in the base of it—blocks, or lead, or something—so it would feel the way it should carrying a 180-pound man.”

  Brady nodded and leaned forward, bracing his hands on the plastic next to him. “They won’t open it, because they were told all the preparations were taken care of. They’re only supposed to handle the ceremony and burial.”

  “Right. So ideally, everyone just accepts that he’s in there, we proceed with the funeral, and move on with our lives.”

  That took care of one list. Acutely aware of time passing, of Rick and Donna and Jessica at home waiting for them to come back and assure them they had Chris safe and sound— Oh, God, that was a poor choice of words. Molly straightened to ease the dull ache in her chest and resolutely moved on.

  “Mistakes. It’s the wrong coffin.”

  Brady shook his head. “There was a code stamped on the paper and the end of the coffin. Non-removable. And I saw the facilitator compare the numbers before they moved it out.”

  Something new crowded into Molly, something she’d been working hard to keep at bay ever since she saw that wide, satiny blankness. “Okay then, right coffin, but Chris is in the wrong one.”

  “SIEGE doesn’t make mistakes like that.”

  She shrugged even though Brady couldn’t see. “We’re human. We all make mistakes.”

  Brady sat frozen for a few seconds, then nodded. “All right, then. Before we go any further, we have to figure out if it’s a mistake.” He finally looked her way. “Suggestions?”

  “We should ask. Talk to D—my handler. Or your handler,” she added, not really sure how Brady’s setup worked. “Since I’ve been dealing with all the arrangements, though, and already talked to them about—” Shit. He didn’t know about that.

  His eyes narrowed. “About what?”

  She sighed. “I went over yesterday, to drop off the intel you’d gotten and try to get answers about the accident.”

  “Went over? To New Rochelle?”

  She nodded, wondering if only conduits weren’t told the location of headquarters.

  He frowned more. “And?”

  “And they blew me off. But it’s a channel of communication.”

  “Okay. We’ll arrange a meet.” He launched himself off the slide and landed on the tanbark ten feet below, then grinned up at her. “Coming?”

  She stared at him, locked into place by the brilliance of his smile, the lightness in his eyes, the suddenly strong, square set of his shoulders. His legs planted wide, hands on hips, he looked like the old Brady, and the steel box inside her creaked, the pressure of the swelling emotions inside it almost overwhelming her. Brady’s smile widened, a clear challenge.

  Molly grinned down at him. “Yep.” She grabbed the rail, bounced, and swung her legs up to the top of the rail, just touching down as a boost to go over, and landed lightly next to Brady. “Let’s go.”

  Neither one brought up the reason they suddenly felt so light—that Chris might actually still be alive.

  Molly dialed Dix’s number before they even reached the car. For the first time in the years she’d been with SIEGE, he didn’t answer.

  “You’ve reached the desk of Conrad Dixson. Please leave a message and I’ll return the call asap.” Typical business speak, but his voice was somber, tense. Molly had no way of knowing, of course, when he’d recorded the message. It could have been luck that she’d never gotten his voicemail before. But it still shredded the bubble of happiness she’d had around her for, oh, thirty seconds.

  “Dix, Molly. Call me, please. As soon as you can.”

  Brady seemed to sink into himself again. “He didn’t answer?”

  “No.”

  He opened her car door and circled around to the driver’s side. She hesitated, then decided to keep letting him drive, even though it was her car.

  “Handlers never not answer the phone,” Brady said grimly, starting the car and backing out quickly. “It always goes to someone else if they’re not available.” He accelerated out onto the street so fast Molly was glad there was no one about, though at this time on a Friday, it was almost eerie.

  “What do you think it means?” she asked.

  “No idea. Let’s get home, check on the others, and go down there.”

  “I can handle that.”

  They drove to the funeral home first, to confirm arrival of the coffin and final arrangements for the funeral on Sunday. Brady’s words and actions had an edge of energy, as if what he was doing wasn’t relevant to anything, only an irritating inconvenience. Molly felt it, too, but tried to caution herself against the hope feeding that edge. They’d stopped listing possibilities, but they still existed.

  And just because Chris’s body was missing didn’t mean he wasn’t dead.

  …

  When Brady and Molly got home, his mother and Jessica met them at the door. “How did it go? Everything go smoothly? What did the funeral home say? Can we do the—the funeral as scheduled?” His mother’s questions battered at Brady, dragging him back into heavy reality.

  “Yes, Mom. Everything’s fine.” His voice reflected the weight he was feeling, but she didn’t seem to notice as she hugged him, sagging in relief that turned to grief as she started to sob.

  Brady looked at Jessica, unprepared for the devastation on her face, as if she’d gotten the news of Chris’s death for the first time. Seeing his mother’s pain made him ache with sorrow and regret, but Jessica’s was a switchblade in his gut. The urge to tell her about the empty coffin surged, but only for a moment. Knowing that would make it a lot worse for her if it was only a mix-up.

  He didn’t believe it was, though. As soon as his mother released him he reached for Jess. She dove into his arms, shaking but not sobbing, her eyes dry. Brady wrapped his arms tighter, squeezed his eyes closed, tried not to let anyone see the furious hope behind them.

  There were so many reasons not to be hopeful. Chris wouldn’t do this to them. SIEGE didn’t need to hide agents by faking their deaths.

  But instincts honed in his job told Brady that was exactly what they’d done. Why? Why put us through this?

  Molly’s hand brushed his back as she passed, a casual, comforting touch. But it jolted through him, fusing with the hope he was struggling to keep at bay. He raised his head. Their eyes met, the acknowledgment in hers grounding him. They’d get to the truth.

  Eventually.

  …

  Brady’s patience didn’t last long. The day ground on with no word from Molly’s handler. He wanted to drive down to New Rochelle immediately. She wanted to wait, to give her handler a chance to call back. His mother had turned clingy, and Brady hadn’t been able to come up with an excuse for them to leave.

  And to top it off, Molly kept making suggestions of things he could do with Jessica, until finally, he cornered her taking out the trash.

  “Leave me alone about Jess,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Molly raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

  “Not with Jess, about Jess.” He glared at her exaggerated innocence. “I mean it. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but—”

  “I’m trying to help a grieving friend,” she interrupted. “She needs you. And from all appearances since we got back, you need her.”

  Brady bristled at the disapproval permeating her prim tone of voice. “Hey, she just lost her husband. Or thinks she did. I’m—” He grabbed the hand Molly put up in his face and jerked it down. “I’ve onl
y been trying to comfort her. She’s fragile. She is,” he couldn’t help insisting when she hmphed. “But she’s my brother’s widow. I’m not making moves. That’s disgusting.” Morally speaking, anyway. He couldn’t say the idea hadn’t crossed his mind. “Plus, if—” He couldn’t voice it, couldn’t risk someone overhearing him say, “If Chris is alive.” But Molly understood. She gave a short nod and turned away, which for some reason stoked the frustration and anger he had been tamping down all day. He grabbed her arm.

  She whirled back, his emotions mirrored in her expression. “I get it!” she burst out, but then stopped, her eyes locking on his. Her body practically vibrated with tension.

  God, her eyes are blue. His forehead crinkled, and whatever he’d been about to say faded from his mind. His tension changed. It stopped being painful and started being…needy. The air held a slight chill, but heat shimmered between them. He had the odd sensation of being on the verge of the most exciting thing he’d ever experienced.

  And then those blue eyes shimmered, wavered, and he realized they’d filled with tears.

  “Molly.”

  “Don’t,” she whispered, and they spilled over.

  Appalled, he pulled her into a hug. “No, Moll, don’t. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He wasn’t certain what he was apologizing for, but it was the only thing he could do. Molly crying was far worse than Jessica crying. Jessica was made for tears. He’d probably seen Molly cry three times in their entire lives. And never because of him.

  She shook with sobs she wouldn’t release, and he squeezed her harder, rubbing his hand over her back in a motion he hoped was soothing. Regret and helplessness swirled through him. What could he do? What did she need? He had no idea.

  Seconds ticked by as he held her and she grew tenser in his arms, not burrowing into his comfort nor pulling away. He sensed her fists were clenched at her sides, and slid one hand down her arm to check. As soon as it wrapped around hers she released her grip, and his fingers automatically entwined with hers. He struggled to understand what had caused this—if it was Jessica or Christopher, or just him and what they’d done in South America. Maybe he should ignore her moratorium on the subject. Maybe they really had to talk about it. Apprehension prickled up his spine, and suddenly he had no idea what he’d say. The lines he’d prepared the other day no longer seemed to fit.

  He curled his hand so hers was inside it, and she finally relaxed, easing against his chest and turning her face slightly into him. He was about to open his mouth, to say who-the-hell-knew-what, when he spotted his mother inside the screen door, watching them. Her expression was uncharacteristically implacable, and that unnerved him more than anything. Instead of speaking, he moved his hands to Molly’s shoulders and eased her back. She swiped a hand under one eye, saw his mother standing there, and smiled up at him.

  “Thanks, Brady. I need to go check the…” She trailed off and trotted up the steps. His mother opened the door for her and said something Brady couldn’t hear. Molly shook her head and disappeared inside, but his mother came out and glared down at him, arms folded across her chest.

  “What?” Brady spread his own arms, feeling like he was ten again and didn’t know which thing she’d caught him at.

  She sighed and dropped her arms. “Come here.” She sat heavily on the top step, patting the spot next to her.

  “It’s chilly out here, Mom. We should go inside.” But he obeyed when she shook her head. “You okay?”

  She shrugged. “Everything’s set up for tomorrow. I’ll be better after that.” But Brady knew better, and her tone said she did, too.

  “I wish…” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence. He wished it had been him? As if that would be easier on her.

  But she had a different interpretation. “I wish you hadn’t stayed away so long, too.”

  Brady took a deep breath. “Mom—”

  “I understand why you did,” she interrupted. “I hated every minute of it, but I understood. We can’t help how we feel about people.”

  He blew out a breath and didn’t bother asking how she knew. She probably hadn’t needed to be told, but Molly would have explained. She’d seen him that day. The day hope had shattered. He didn’t know how much she’d overheard, but it didn’t matter. She’d known enough from the beginning, from the moment he’d met Jessica and crashed in a lovesick heap at her feet. She would have explained to his parents, so their hearts didn’t break at his absence.

  “It was selfish,” he admitted. “I didn’t think about how it would hurt you and Dad. I just knew how much it hurt me.”

  “Oh, Brady.” She shook her head slowly. “You’re not the only one with regrets. We let you do it. I think if we’d dragged you back instead of giving you space, you’d have gotten over her more easily. You’d have been able to see what was in front of you. And we’d all be so much happier.”

  He wasn’t sure what she was getting at. “Seen what? Chris and Jess?” Just saying their names made his throat burn. “That’s what hurt so much.”

  “No.” She didn’t say “you moron,” but her look of disgust did. “Watching them would have made you pine more for what you couldn’t have. I mean seeing what you could have. Instead of twelve years of wallowing in misery, you could have been happy. We all could have.”

  Brady bristled. He hadn’t pined or wallowed. That was the whole point of staying away, even if it stretched out longer than he’d ever expected. But he knew that wasn’t what she was getting at. He didn’t want her to spell it out. Already, his insides were writhing. So he angled the topic a little.

  “You’re right.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Jessica wasn’t anywhere around, and lowered his voice. “If I’d spent more time with her, I wouldn’t have put her on such a high pedestal. I’d have seen her flaws and maybe gotten over her faster.”

  His mother raised an eyebrow. “Faster?”

  He shrugged, unwilling to admit anything. “Circumstances are pretty extreme right now.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, hon. They are. But they don’t need to be.”

  Brady frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Some people are high maintenance. Chris—” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed. “Chris was taking more— He was traveling for work more and more, and there was good reason. Whenever he was away, she came over here.” Now she glanced around. “She drove me near insane with her inability to entertain herself.”

  Brady managed a chuckle around the knee-jerk reaction to defend her. “She had a business.”

  “That she ran poorly and abandoned.” She rocked back a little and shook her head. “I love her. She’s been like a daughter to me. But that doesn’t mean I think she’s perfect. And hon,” She turned to look at him, her gaze as piercing as it had been when he was fourteen and hating not only that she thought she knew what was best for him, but that she really did know. “Jessica isn’t right for you. Especially now.”

  “She needs—”

  “—to figure out on her own what she needs.”

  He blew out another breath. “Like you’re letting me do?”

  She patted his knee. “I’m your mother. I stood by and let you try to figure out what you needed for far too long. Now I’m just going to tell you.”

  “You don’t need to, Mom. I know what you’re going to say.”

  She hrumphed. “You do not.”

  “You’re going to say Molly—”

  “Hell, no.” She rocked to her feet, using his leg to brace herself. “I’m going to tell you to leave her alone. You’re much too late, sweetie.” She waited for that to sink in, and though he didn’t respond, she nodded and went into the house.

  Brady draped his forearms over his knees and stared out across the back yard, watching the yellowed maple leaves swaying in the afternoon breeze. His thoughts drifted, touching on memories. The kick to his gut when he’d met Jessica and thought it was love. The heartsickness he’d lived with until he told her—and was shot do
wn with just enough hope to feed the disease. He’d barely seen her since, so those moments had become frozen. Touchstones. But in reality she wasn’t what he’d wanted her to be, and he knew mere habit ruled his emotions now. Habit that was already breaking.

  When he and Molly had been in high school and college, best friends with no benefits, his friends had needled him about his “wife.” She’d been a constant, her personality and approach to life so complementary to his own, it was no wonder everyone expected them to get together. But he’d known her his whole life. His feelings hadn’t exactly been brotherly, but he’d never felt “that way” about her. Until this week. Until the worst thing that had ever happened to him knocked him out of his bubble, and he’d taken action without thought.

  That night down in South America, when he’d lost himself in his best friend…how was that different, emotionally speaking, than the way he’d lost himself in a fantasy over Jess?

  His mother had warned him off Molly, yes, but he had a sneaking feeling she was using reverse psychology. Everyone thought men wanted what they couldn’t have. Well, he wasn’t going to fall for that. It didn’t matter if his mother thought he belonged with Molly, that he would be happy with her. He wasn’t rushing into anything.

  It took two, anyway, and Molly had made it very clear their night together hadn’t meant anything deeper than comfort.

  A familiar, sweet scent accompanied the squeak of the back door opening again. Brady buried an automatic craving, almost as disgusted with himself as his mother had been, but not for the same reasons.

  “Dixson called,” Molly said from behind him. “He wants to meet us.”

  Brady stood without turning, afraid his training had abandoned him and everything he’d been thinking about would show on his face. “Now?”

  “Now.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Chapter Eight

  Molly and Brady met Dix outside the Starbucks in the food court at the mall two towns over. Dix hadn’t stayed on the phone long, and that, coupled with the odd meeting site, iced the pit of her stomach. She spotted him almost immediately, smack in the center of the half-full crowd of tables and chairs, a soda cup in one hand, the remains of a meal from the Chinese restaurant shoved to one side of the table.