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Hearts Under Siege

Page 13

by Natalie J. Damschroder


  Brady caught her arm as she zeroed in on Dix, both visually and physically. When she frowned up at him, he motioned toward the row of food counters. Molly nodded. They’d look more natural if they got something to eat before joining Dix. But the logic of the action didn’t give her patience.

  “Stop bouncing,” Brady muttered as they moved forward in line at the sub shop. “You look like you have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Then that’s what I’ll do. Get me a side salad and bottle of water, please.” She dashed off to the ladies’ room without waiting for a response. Thank God he’d given her something to do, even if he’d meant to insult her into obedience. She tried not to rush, but Brady was still several people from the counter when she emerged from the restroom. After a moment of hesitation, she walked over to Dix and sat down.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey.” He didn’t shift position much and just gave her a casual nod.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothin’. What are you up to?”

  Molly glanced around, expecting to see someone walking by, but there was a good twenty-foot cushion of space around them. Probably why he’d picked the spot. But why here in the first place?

  “Knock it off, Dix. What’s really going on?”

  Dix’s expression stayed neutral, but he tilted his head a fraction, toward Brady. “Don’t you want to wait for him?”

  She kind of had to, at least about Christopher. But that wasn’t the only thing she had to talk to Dix about, and she wasn’t sure she wanted Brady to hear the rest, anyway.

  “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” she asked.

  Dix’s eyelids flickered. For someone whose emotions were transparent enough to keep him out of the field, he was hiding them well now. “I’m on leave.”

  “What?” She fell back in her seat in surprise. That wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. “Why?”

  This time, the answer was projected clearly on his face. He looked away, hunching forward and grabbing his soda.

  Her heart sank. “Because of me.” He didn’t move, and she sighed in frustration. “Dix, talk to me.”

  His turn to sigh, and he hunched even further. He looked so dejected and kicked-puppyish, it made her want to get up and walk away to spare him telling her whatever embarrassed him so much.

  Finally, he shook his head and met her eyes. “I asked them to reassign me. Of course, they asked why. I told them the truth.”

  She wasn’t going to assume what that meant. “That you wanted to date me?”

  He nodded and sucked on his straw. “Did not go over well. They suspended me.”

  Anger sparked through her, growing in layers as each reason to be angry occurred to her. “That’s insane. You followed policy and protocol, right?” He nodded. “You did nothing improper before then. And they left me without a handler.”

  “You’re on leave, too, basically. You shouldn’t need a handler. Not until after Christopher’s funeral.”

  Brady dropped his tray on the table and glared at both of them. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

  “We haven’t talked about anything yet,” Molly bit out, annoyed that she couldn’t ask Dix if he’d changed his mind about her. Not in front of Brady. “He’s been suspended.”

  Brady raised his eyebrows as he sorted out the food and drinks on the tray, handing Molly her salad without looking away from Dix. “What’d you do?”

  Dix mumbled something and turned back to Molly. “Something’s odd about all of this,” he told her, glancing slightly at Brady to include him without meeting his gaze.

  Brady frowned. “We know. That’s why we’re here.”

  “He means his suspension,” Molly said. “He doesn’t know why we’re here.”

  “It has something to do with your brother, I know that.” Dix straightened and slid his cup away. “When they asked me why Molly’d come in, I said to hand over your intel. When they asked why I needed to be involved, I said she had questions about your brother, and that’s when everything shut down. When they froze me out.” He looked at Molly. “So what is going on?”

  She hesitated. She trusted Dix, wanted to tell him the truth, but it was Brady’s decision, as Chris’s brother. Brady nodded, and she turned back to her handler. “Chris’s casket is empty.”

  Dix’s mouth fell open and he leaned away. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah. Our reaction, too.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Um.” She examined her salad, stabbing at the lettuce with her plastic fork. “I looked.”

  “You broke into a coffin?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but it overlaid something more jarring. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, and when he spoke again, it was gone. “You must be pretty fired up,” he said to Brady.

  “Yeah. They just keep giving us the accident line. I don’t know what this means. But there’s something strange going on, that’s for damned sure.”

  Dix looked at Molly again, puzzled. “Why did you look in the coffin, anyway? What did you think you’d find? Or not find…?”

  “It never occurred to me that he wasn’t dead until I saw the emptiness.” Hope welled again. God, reality was going to be hard to face if Chris really was dead. “I just had a bad feeling. There wasn’t anything in particular. Things just felt…off.”

  He drew his soda cup toward him again and picked at the edge of the lid. “You were obviously right. After you talked to Ramona, administration holed up for two hours in the soundproof conference room. I didn’t really think much about it at the time, but add that to all the rest—”

  “And you get a cover-up,” Brady said grimly. “I didn’t want to believe it.”

  “I don’t, either. I’ve worked for SIEGE for ten years and have never seen anything like this.” The jarring undertone was back, like an unrosined bow scratching somewhere in an otherwise perfectly tuned strings section.

  “Well, I’m not so surprised.” Molly shrugged when both men turned to her. “Come on, we’re in the spy business. I know we don’t do wet work and stuff, but even the way we get information has to get us in trouble sometimes.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But I haven’t heard of anything like this, either.” Brady unwrapped his sub but didn’t pick it up. “I guess that’s one reason they keep us so compartmentalized.” He eyed Dix again. “So why did they suspend you?”

  Dix shifted in his chair, hooking his elbow over the back of it. “I asked for reassignment.”

  Brady narrowed his gaze at him, then aimed it at Molly. “For any particular reason?”

  Crap. She became extraordinarily interested in her salad.

  She shouldn’t care if Brady knew she was interested in dating Dix. And honestly, she didn’t care. A small part of her felt he deserved it. Well, maybe not so small. But she felt a lot stranger at the possibility that Dix might sense she’d had feelings for Brady.

  Past tense, Moll? Uh-huh, right. She could feel the weight of Dix’s gaze on her and stuck a cherry tomato in her mouth.

  He finally said, “I didn’t want to be Molly’s handler anymore.”

  Brady didn’t say anything, and she sneaked a peek. He was scowling, but looked like he was trying not to. Brotherly protectiveness? Professional disapproval? Or something else?

  “Has she done something to make you not want to work with her?”

  Dix gave a little snort. “Just be herself.”

  The tension around them changed. Molly could sense Dix relaxing and Brady tensing even more. Get over yourself, she thought, and stopped hiding in her food.

  “Dix, we need to get into SIEGE.”

  He winced. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that. But I’m suspended, remember?”

  “We don’t need you to get us in.” Brady’s voice had gone colder, sending a shiver up Molly’s spine. “We just need some direction once we’re inside.”

  Dix looked incredulous. “You don’t need me to get you in? How the hell do you think you’ll do it wit
hout help?”

  “We’ll worry about that part. I’ve got it covered.” Cold and now hard, too. He’d figured it out.

  Molly tried not to feel thrilled that Brady didn’t like Dix’s interest in her. That wasn’t why she wanted to go out with Dix. She wanted to go out with a guy who liked her, wanted to be with her, didn’t just use her for his—

  No. Unfair. Brady hadn’t taken anything from her that she hadn’t wanted to give. But it was about time she expanded her focus.

  “Please, Dix.” She laid her hand over his and tried to show promise in her eyes, because she was damned if she was going to set up a date in front of Brady. “Tell us where we can look. Where we’re likely to find anything. We promise it won’t lead back to you.” She hoped she could keep that promise, especially since Brady didn’t look all that interested in agreeing to it.

  Dix took a deep breath. “All right. Here’s what I can tell you.”

  …

  “Angle it down this way.”

  Molly gritted her teeth and shifted the flashlight she was holding. She hated being the lovely assistant, standing and following and holding. But Brady was the one with all the skills. He’d gone into the building before regular office hours were over, pretended to check out, and hid inside until most of the staff had left. Then he let Molly in—probably disabled an alarm or two, but she didn’t ask—and found the offices they had to search. His lock-picking skills got them inside and into the cabinets in seconds each time. And then she held the flashlight while he dug through the contents. So annoying.

  So far, everything had gone smoothly. They’d been up here for only about ten minutes and had searched every office Dix directed them to, avoiding or disabling the fairly routine security measures he’d warned them about. A few minutes ago, she’d expressed disappointment that they hadn’t encountered more high-tech deterrents.

  “The more high-tech the visible security,” Brady had said, “the more you’re telegraphing how important the protected space and items are.”

  “So there’s invisible high-tech security?” she’d asked, wondering if the elevator they were in was notifying someone right now of their presence, shooting their images over to another office or the director’s smartphone or something. “Stuff Dix didn’t mention?”

  “Yep. He probably doesn’t know about it.”

  “But we’re not avoiding or disabling those things.”

  “Not possible.” Brady turned to her. “Besides, I don’t care if they know I was here.”

  The coldness in his voice had chilled her, so she’d stopped asking questions. Now, fifteen minutes later, the likelihood of getting caught was making her antsy again.

  “We need to go,” she urged him as he dug his picks harder into a hidden cabinet’s lock.

  “Not yet.” He inhaled, held it, and let it out slowly, then plied the picks more delicately. “This file cabinet was behind a panel, and this lock is damned tough. If it’s anywhere, it’s here.”

  “It” being God knew what.

  “All right. But hurry,” she couldn’t help adding. She glanced over her shoulder. The hallway stayed dark through the crack they’d left in the office door to avoid getting locked in. Dix had named four administrators who were likely to have the kind of information they sought. This was, of course, the fourth office. None of the first three had yielded squat, and Molly worried that they kept everything on the computer. “Squat” included any other kind of major paper file, not just information on Christopher. They either had a central repository Dix wasn’t aware of, or they didn’t keep paper at all.

  She and Brady definitely didn’t have time to try to hack the computers.

  A click drew her attention back to him. He hissed with victory, and the cabinet door swung open to reveal four file boxes, neatly labeled “ACTIVE PERSONNEL” with an alphabetical range. They both reached for the Fs at the same time. Molly clenched her fist and backed off. Brady flipped through folders and grabbed one. She saw “FITZPATRICK, C” in the beam from her flashlight, then Brady shoved the file inside his jacket and locked everything back up.

  “Let’s go.”

  She followed as they ran silently through the building. Moments later, they were in her car, driving normally down the street.

  Normally, except for her pounding heart. “I can’t believe no one showed up. That was way too easy.” Her fingers traced the edge of the fat file she held, but she didn’t open it. Brady was driving, which surprised her. She’d have thought he’d want her to drive so he could look through the file.

  “I did some things to prevent it,” he told her. “Here.” He steered abruptly into a gas station and pulled up next to the trash can at the end of a bank of pumps. “Toss the gloves.”

  Molly rolled down her window and tossed the grocery bag full of wadded-up paper napkins—some of which were wadded around the latex gloves they’d worn—into the can. They were far enough away from the building that no one would search for them here. Even if they did, fingerprints inside the gloves would only prove they’d worn them, not where they’d done so.

  “What kinds of things?” she asked as they pulled back out on the street and headed home in the mid-fall dusk. It seemed like it should be midnight, but it was only just before seven.

  “Better you don’t know, in case we do get caught. You can claim I dragged you along and you don’t know anything.”

  She hated that idea as much as she hated being the lovely assistant, but didn’t say so. Her feelings weren’t relevant to anything. “Did you see the labels on those boxes?” she asked.

  He nodded once, sharply.

  Her voice quivered a little, from trying so damned hard to keep the elation out of it. “That’s a good sign.” Though Chris’s file being in with other active personnel didn’t have to mean he was alive and still on a mission.

  “They could just be slow to remove it,” Brady said, echoing her thoughts.

  “I know, but—”

  “My hopes are high enough already, Moll. Let’s wait until we read it. Okay?”

  She sighed. “Yeah, okay. We need a cover story for your mother,” she reminded him.

  “Yeah. I got nothin’. Any ideas?”

  “Of course.” She nodded. “There’s a superstore up here. We need supplies.” Her cover story would keep her up all night, but it would serve a dual purpose—provide a reason she and Brady were gone, and do something nice for the Fitzpatricks. Brady stayed in the car while she shopped. She almost argued, because she didn’t want him reading the file without her. She should be there when he saw the truth, whatever it was. He’d need her if the information confirmed Chris’s death. And okay, she was eager to know what the file said, and it wasn’t fair of him to see it first. Sure, Chris was his brother, but he wouldn’t even have the file if Molly hadn’t followed her gut.

  She pushed the cart faster down the main aisle, toward the crafts section. But what if her gut was wrong? Well, it couldn’t be wrong, the coffin was empty. Something was going on. But what if that something was just covering what Chris had been doing? What if it didn’t mean he was alive? She’d worked hard to keep that hope from building, but she’d sensed Brady’s mood getting lighter and lighter after their meeting with Dix, and even while they searched the offices. He was going to be crushed if his hopes weren’t borne out.

  And if they were? If Chris was alive? That opened up a hundred other possibilities for heartbreak.

  She grimaced and grabbed foam board, markers, glue, and a beginner’s scrapbooking kit, then headed for the counter, dragging her thoughts back to Brady and what he was discovering, sitting alone out in her car.

  …

  Brady ignored the file on the passenger seat. Or tried to. The diffuse light from the parking lot’s metal halide lamps filtered into the car and made the manila folder glow a little. Enough to call to him. He snatched it and shoved it between the bucket seat and the gearshift. He wasn’t looking at it here, in the darkness and out in an open parking lot,
when he only had time to skim. They had to get home. He’d probably have to wait until everyone was in bed before he’d have enough privacy to read the file. Plus, it didn’t feel right even to glance inside without Molly.

  Molly. Dammit.

  When they’d met with Dixson, it was obvious the guy was interested in her. Two weeks ago, Brady would have been glad. She was so solitary. But she had a big heart and deserved someone who loved her as much as she would love him back.

  There were a few times in college Brady wondered if she felt that way about him, even a little, but she never really acted like it. No jealousy of his girlfriends or hookups or anything. If she was ever going to display feelings, surely it would have been when he went nuts for Jessica. But all she’d ever been was protective.

  Then that night in South America had happened. It was all a blur to him—heat and need and raw pain. She hadn’t turned clingy or suddenly had expectations, or any of the things women usually did after sex. She hadn’t acted like their friendship had changed a bit. And mostly, Brady didn’t feel it had. He was glad she was here with them. With him. His family couldn’t have coped with this tragedy without her, and since he’d been gone so long, he couldn’t have taken over arrangements and stuff nearly as smoothly as she had. So he was grateful.

  But gratitude didn’t explain the rage that had roared through him when Dixson had looked at her like she was pastry. It didn’t explain the awareness that seemed to vibrate between them every time they were alone and standing close to each other. Residual body sense…or something else?

  When his mother had warned him off her earlier today, he’d thought it would be easy to heed the warning. Friendships shouldn’t be messed with, especially the kind they had. Even though he hadn’t seen her much in the last ten years, their relationship was obviously intact. Though maybe fragile now, because of the sex.

  His body heated, a wave of lust rushing through him when he thought of sex with Molly. He closed his eyes and remembered her under him, opening to him, crying out and biting him. Dixson suddenly became part of the image. Dixson fucking Molly, Molly crying his name.

 

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