Hearts Under Siege

by Natalie J. Damschroder

  Dix continued, “Slowly, Chris gathered enough hinky details for me to start to trace things up the line. It got higher and higher, until I knew it had to be one of the guys at the top.”

  “It’s more than one,” Brady said. “This information wasn’t compiled by a suspicious manager. This was—”

  “Yeah, I know. One of the crooks.” He said it with a bitter twist. “If it names Ellison, then—”

  “The evidence you have must implicate two people,” Brady said. “This stuff only names one, but indicates there’s another. So they were probably planning to frame someone innocent.”

  For some reason, he thought of his father. If he was on the oversight committee, he had to have been positioned highly in SIEGE before he retired. If he’d retired. He hadn’t exactly confirmed Brady’s educated guesses.

  “How did you know about oversight?” he asked Dix.

  “It’s in the handler training manual.” Dix laughed in disbelief. “A buried, brief mention of a committee created to monitor the integrity of the agency. But there’s nothing anywhere who says who’s on it, so…” He trailed off, clearly wanting them to say who they were taking the information to, but Brady still wasn’t confident of Dix’s innocence. They only had his word for anything he’d told them.

  Bile churned in his stomach. Who better to frame for corruption than one of the people charged with maintaining SIEGE’s integrity?

  No, he couldn’t think about that. It was bad enough that Chris was still in danger and that Chris’s daughter was in enemy hands. One thing at a time, and the thing immediately in front of them was how much to trust Dixson.

  Christopher had told Brady he was working for Dixson, and obviously trusted him. But Dix could have been using him to retrieve whatever implicated him, or to betray the unnamed partner before he betrayed Dix.

  That didn’t really jibe for Brady, though. It wouldn’t be necessary for any handlers to be actively involved in the corruption. Ellison and his partner could use them the way Dix had described, without the risk of anyone else knowing their secrets.

  An exit sign flashed by. “Hey, Molly, we should drop you at my apar—”

  “No.”

  Brady didn’t bother trying harder. Yes, her safety was more important than catching these guys, but the argument would take forever, and she’d make valid points, no doubt stronger ones than Brady’s protective instincts.

  She directed Dix off the beltway onto I-95 north, then turned to look over the headrest at Brady. “Why don’t you get some sleep? Do you need more pain pills?”

  “No.” The pain was a dull pull-and-throb, and it hadn’t been that long since he took the last ones. “I want to see the video.” He’d barely had a chance to think about poor Shae, and guilt ate at him. She was the only innocent in all of this. She had to be their first priority.

  “I couldn’t see any identifying—”

  “Show me.” He didn’t apologize for cutting Molly off. He didn’t have the energy to spare.

  She took the phone Dix handed over and set up the video before passing it back to Brady. His jaw clenched as he watched, and he wanted to rip the pistol from her captor’s hand and beat him bloody with it. His vision blurred. She was so tough, despite her obvious fear. So much Chris’s daughter.

  He sniffed and ran the side of his hand across his eyes. Damned pain meds. After watching the video three more times, he had to admit Molly was right. There was no way to tell where it was taken or even when, except that it had to be after the funeral.

  “This was the only communication?” he asked Dix.

  “So far.”

  Molly held out her hand, but Brady shook his head and tightened his grip on the phone. “We have to find her.”

  “I know. We will.”

  But he could tell she was saying it automatically and couldn’t really believe it. He eyed the information packet the abductors had demanded. They could skip oversight and trade for Shae. But he didn’t consider it for more than a second. It went against all his training, everything he stood for.

  Except what was worth standing for more than family?

  He caught Molly watching him, furrows curving across her brow, and knew she’d somehow guessed what he was thinking. She didn’t say anything, just waited for his decision.

  “Last resort,” he told her.

  She nodded. “Try to sleep.”

  He had to admit he didn’t have much choice. He reached out and stroked his thumb over the dark circle under Molly’s right eye. “You need sleep, too.”

  “I’ll catch a nap between navigations,” she assured him. Then she did something astonishing. She caught his hand and kissed the pad of his thumb. “Go to sleep.”

  He tucked his thumb into his fist and closed his eyes, unable to wipe the smile from his mouth.

  …

  Molly only meant to doze for twenty minutes at a time. She didn’t want to give Dix directions for much more than that, even though the route was a fairly straight shot. Brady hadn’t told Dix who they were going to see, which meant he wasn’t sure he could be trusted. Molly would have to quit SIEGE if her instincts were that off, but she wasn’t going to go against Brady’s caution.

  Her plan worked exactly twice. By the third set of twenty minutes, her fatigue took over, and when she woke up again, they were taking an exit off I-95, about half an hour from their destination.

  “What the—” She held back her curse and checked the time. “Fuck. Dix!”

  “You were both exhausted, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out where to go.”

  She twisted to look at Brady, hissing a little as the tight muscles in her back stung. He was sprawled across the back seat, tilted so his bad shoulder was supported behind him and he lay on his good arm. They went over a bump, and Brady’s body flopped, evidence of his level of relaxation.

  “Has he woken up?”

  “Nope.”

  She turned back around, blinked hard, and yawned. “Did you stop at all?”

  “No. We’ll need gas in about two point three minutes, and if I don’t get a bathroom—”

  “I got it.” She smiled at him. “Thanks, Dix.”

  He didn’t return the smile.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I never stood a chance, did I?”

  She wasn’t groggy enough to miss the nuance of his question. “Of course you did.” Huh. She’d meant to say “do.” “I really like you, Dix.”

  “But you love him.” He gave a short head jerk to the back seat. “It’s okay. Any fool watching you together can tell that’s what’s meant to be.”

  Molly sighed and slumped in her seat. “It’s more complicated than that.” She frowned and changed the subject. “Where do you think we’re going?”

  Dix shook his head, as though he didn’t want to say it out loud, but took a left turn that made it obvious. They were definitely going to the Fitzpatrick house.

  He pulled into a gas station with a big convenience store/fast food counter and stopped at the pump. “You fill the tank, I’ll go to the bathroom and get some food. Any requests?”

  She shook her head and unbuckled. Dix popped the gas cover and hustled inside. She yawned again and got out of the car to check on Brady. When she opened the back door, the night’s chill air drifted across his face and he stirred, blinking groggily. Not the way, she suspected, he usually woke up.

  “We there?” he asked, groaning as he pulled himself upright. “Fuck, that hurts.”

  She reached for the pain pills tucked into the back pocket of the car’s front seat. “Here, take—”

  The car door jerked toward her and knocked her off her feet. Her head slammed into the edge of the roof. As she hit the ground, grit scraping her palms raw, Brady flung himself out of the car. Molly was so shocked at seeing him move so fast when he’d just been moving gingerly and groggy, she didn’t immediately register why he’d done so.

  A booted foot came within inches of her already throbbing head.
She scrambled backward, out of the range of Brady and the man he was grappling with. A second later her head had cleared a little. She gasped—the other man gripped a knife in his right hand. Brady held off his wrist with his own right hand, but with the awkward angle and his existing injury, he was going to lose within seconds.

  Molly pushed herself toward the attacker’s feet. She wrapped her arms around his ankles until he twisted and fell, grunting as he bounced off the pavement.

  “Call 911!” Molly yelled. No one was outside, but maybe the clerk or Dix would hear inside. Brady staggered against the side of the car, half collapsing on the hood, coughing and groaning.

  She scrambled up the big man’s body until she could step on the knife, now loose in his hand, and dropped her knee onto his chest, knocking out whatever air he’d recovered in the last few seconds.

  “Who are you?” she demanded. Blood roared in her ears. She was so freaking sick of being attacked. “Who do you work for?” She balled her fist in his shirt and shook him hard. She’d have knocked his head against the ground a few times, but he’d rolled partly to his side and stiffened his body.

  She thought he’d done that to protect himself while he recovered, but she learned differently with a flash of silver and a cold burn across her chest. The only reason his second knife didn’t slit her throat was because Dix yanked her back just in time. He flung her to the ground and started battling with the attacker.

  Instantly Brady was kneeling at Molly’s side. She leaned on one elbow, gaping at the well of blood through the slit in her shirt. “It doesn’t hurt,” she said, her voice irritatingly wondrous. “Does that mean I’m going to die?”

  “It’s shock.” Brady flung his scarf-sling over his head and struggled to peel off his shirt. “It means it’s a deep cut. It’ll start—”

  Fire blazed across her chest and she choked off a scream.

  “Right about now.” Grim-faced, Brady laid her back and pressed the balled-up shirt against her chest. “Fucking déjà vu. Wasn’t I doing this last night?”

  “Not with me,” Molly wheezed. “I need to see how bad it is.”

  “No way. Leave the pressure on.”

  “You can’t do it with your shoulder.” She tried to push his hand away, but she had no strength. She ducked her chin, trying to see. The shirt didn’t seem too stained with her blood. Then again, it was a dark shirt.

  Crap. She was getting lightheaded. “Dix.”

  “He’s a little busy,” Brady quipped.

  She squinted up at him, surprised at his composure. “You were a lot more hysterical last night,” she said. “Does this mean you don’t love me as much as you love your brother?”

  He smiled, but his face was ghostly white against the dark sky. Almost green. But maybe that was the fluorescent lighting. Was it because of his injury, or what she’d said?

  The pain subsided, making her suspect the slice wasn’t as deep as Brady feared. She pushed away his wrist and sat up. He wasn’t doing well, if he was weak enough to let her.

  Several feet away, Dix had gotten the upper hand with their attacker. He zip-tied the guy’s hands behind his back and added ties to his ankles for good measure. He was reaching for his cell phone when Molly braced herself and tugged her shirt away from her skin. The lighting wasn’t good, and the cut was high, just below her collarbone, but she could tell it wasn’t bleeding very fast, even removing the pressure and sitting up. She brushed her fingers against it.

  “It’s superficial,” she told Brady. “I think I can get away without stitches.”

  “Good.” Dix came over and helped them both up. “Police are on their way for this guy. I gave the clerk my contact information, but we’ve got to go.”

  “How did he find us?” she asked as she climbed into the back seat with Brady, who looked strangely satisfied. “What if there’s a tracker on one of us, or on the car?”

  “We’ll have to take that chance,” Brady said. “The faster we get the information to my father, the faster we can end this.”

  “You want to risk leading them to your parents?” she questioned. “To Jessica?”

  He didn’t answer, but he didn’t change his mind, either. That made Molly feel strangely satisfied, and she had to look out the window to hide her grin. Brady had taken her hand again, and his thumb stroked over her knuckles. Shivers raced through her, making her cut prickle, but she didn’t care. This was the greatest swell of hope she’d ever felt. If Brady had still been ga-ga over his sister-in-law, he would never have considered taking this fight anywhere near her.

  The tension in the car increased with each mile. Brady watched out the rear window to be sure no one was following them, including cops, while she sat and fretted about how clammy his hand had become. He really needed to be in the hospital, or at least a bed.

  Taking the package to Rick would create other complications, too. Hopefully, he’d be able to do something to give Howard Ellison and his unknown partner no reason to harm anyone else. But they were going to descend on the house after two days with no word, a strange person with them, myriad injuries—and the news that Christopher was still alive, but in critical condition in a hospital hundreds of miles away. Not to mention a kidnapped granddaughter.

  Molly fervently hoped she wasn’t going to have to be the one who imparted all that information.

  A phone rang. All three of them checked theirs reflexively. It was Dix’s, in the front seat. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen before staring back out the windshield, handling the phone as if unable to decide whether or not to answer it.

  “Do you want me to—” she started to offer before Dix cut her off.

  “No.” He thumbed the speakerphone button and held it so they could all hear the conversation. “What?”

  “Son. Where are you?”

  The voice was familiar to Molly, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. Obviously Dix’s father, but he was the only Dixson she knew.

  “I think you know where I am,” Dix said.

  His father hesitated. “I know where you’re supposed to be.” He sounded confused. “Or were supposed to be, a few hours ago.”

  Dix cursed under his breath. “I forgot. Things are a little hairy today. A friend got shot. Is Mom furious?”

  As natural as his words sounded, Molly had a feeling they were calculated, that his father’s response would reveal something to Dix. When he immediately asked about the friend, the concern in his voice as sincere as she could detect without being face-to-face with him, Dix relaxed a little.

  “He’s okay,” Dix told him. “He’ll be able to complete his mission.”

  “Good, good. So I guess we won’t be expecting you for dinner in the next few days.” He chuckled. “I’ll tell you, your mother does not miss me doing field work. Bet you’ll be glad to get back to the desk, too, huh?” He didn’t wait for Dix to answer. “Okay, I can hear you’re driving, so I’ll let you go. Call us in a couple of days if you don’t want your mother descending on you.”

  “Sure, Dad. Couple of days. Thanks.” He disconnected the call and dropped the phone onto the front seat.

  “You think he’s clean?” Brady asked.

  “I don’t know.” Dix sighed and rubbed his forehead, then checked the rear and side mirrors again. Molly twisted to check, too, but there were no lights or moving shapes that could be cars with their lights off.

  “He said the right things and didn’t sound like he was fishing,” Dix said. “But he was a field agent, and a cofounder of the company, so he could just be that good. I’ve been watching him with a lot of suspicion, paranoid about what every little thing meant. It’s exhausting and I’ve lost any objectivity I might have started out with.”

  She let go of Brady’s hand to lean forward and lay it on Dix’s shoulder, squeezing with comfort. “You’ve done more than most would have,” she told him. “That’s a lot of integrity.”

  When she sat back, Brady took her hand again, this time lacing his fingers firmly throu
gh hers and shifting so their shoulders touched. She closed her eyes and let her mind release everything external and just soak in his warmth. After a few seconds, she was breathing in tandem with him, slow and deep, and she sensed the tension draining out of them both. For the moment, she didn’t care what happened when this was all over. If moments like this were all she’d ever get, as long as Brady was alive, she’d take it gratefully.

  The car lurched sideways, the back end slewing left. She whiplashed with it, the seatbelt cutting into the side of her neck. She belatedly registered the smashing noise of fiberglass and metal, and the shattering of glass that rained over her and Brady. Dix was shouting and fighting the wheel. She got a glimpse of a vehicle bigger than theirs as they spun before Dix slammed on the gas and they were racing down the road again. Over the roar of the engine she heard the now-familiar report of a handgun. She and Brady shoved against each other, both trying to cover the other. Molly unsnapped her seatbelt and rolled to the floor with a grunt. The longer she fought Brady, the longer he’d be exposed. Then his body was over her, his shoulders wedged between the seats, his legs heavy on her knees. She felt herself whimper, the sound smothered by all the other noise. Dix was still in the line of fire. But as long as the car kept moving in a straight line—or fairly straight, she corrected herself as they slewed left again, apparently around a corner—he had to be okay.

  “Gun.” Brady’s voice rumbled through her as he reached between the seats. Dix complied, and Brady shifted to drag himself up and aim through the space where the rear window used to be. He fired three times before sinking back down over her, his breathing ragged.

  “Are you okay?” She put her hand on his shoulder gently, and felt moisture on his shirt. “You’re bleeding. Let me—” She reached for the pistol.