Hearts Under Siege Read online

  It was now after five. His mother was going to have a hissy explosion if they didn’t get back in time for dinner. Stretching against the kink in his back, he went to Jessica’s room to see if she was done packing. He found her sitting on the side of the bed, surrounded by clothes and an empty suitcase. He stifled a sigh. How the hell hard was it to throw a couple pairs of jeans and a few shirts into a bag?

  Okay, pretty damned hard, he supposed, if you were a one-week widow, pregnant, and helpless. But she wasn’t even trying to help herself, and that frustrated him. He took a deep breath before circling the bed and kneeling in front of her.

  “Jess, honey.” He took her hands and tried not to ask what was wrong. What wasn’t? “You haven’t packed anything.”

  She blinked at him, gray-hazel eyes swimming, then swept her gaze around the room. “What time is it?” She sniffed and pulled a hand away to touch the back of it to her nose.

  “Nearly five-thirty.”

  “Oh, your mother is going to have a fit.” She stood and started tossing items into the suitcase. Brady realized she did have a system in the mess. Kind of. Pants in one pile, shirts, undergarments… He turned away, but was heartened that she hadn’t been haphazardly tossing stuff around.

  “I know. I can’t believe she hasn’t called.” He pulled out his phone almost out of habit, and frowned, thumbing the power button. “Crap. Dead battery. Still, she’d call the house phone.”

  “No, I unplugged it.” Jessica shoved a pile of extras into an open dresser drawer and shoved it closed with her hip. “I couldn’t handle…while you were gone to the pharmacy, it rang three times. Two were friends, and that was hard enough, but the third one asked for Christopher. I don’t even know who he was, I just hung up, but it was—” She broke down again.

  Brady shoved his phone back in his jeans and wrapped his arms around her. “I know, sweetheart. I know. I’m sorry.” He held her and rocked, warmth surging through him when she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face to his chest. He kept assuring her it would be okay until she stopped crying.

  She leaned back, her arm still around his waist, so he didn’t let go of her. “Oh, Brady, I’m sorry. I’m such a mess. What you must think of me.”

  “I think you’re struggling through a very difficult time.” He brushed her hair back, his fingertips grazing her cheek and neck. She shivered and closed her eyes. Brady went still. He recognized that reaction.

  “Brady,” she whispered, tilting her face back, her lips parting.

  He flashed back to that stupid Christmas, when he’d kissed her and told her he loved her, and she almost admitted she loved him, too, but loved his brother more. It was just a flash, though, a quick superimposition of her young, happy face over her current ravaged one. She didn’t so much look older now as haggard, with the circles and no makeup and lines deepening across her forehead and around her eyes and mouth. They didn’t detract from her beauty, not for him, and he zeroed in on her lush, pink mouth. A shudder went through him, a burst of need and pent-up desire, and he bent his head, his eyelids dropping—

  And then that lush mouth trembled.

  What the fuck are you doing?

  He straightened, disappointment slapping at shock. He couldn’t believe he’d almost kissed her. His brother’s frigging widow. The woman you love. No. Right now, she was Christopher’s widow. He couldn’t let her be anything else.

  Not yet…

  …

  “This is becoming a habit.” Brady scraped his fingers through his hair and yawned as he trudged to the kitchen island, where Molly had once again supplied breakfast.

  “It’s easy. And necessary.” She flicked her paper cup but didn’t look up from where she sat in the breakfast nook, fully dressed in jeans and a hoodie over a snug white tank top, a cream-cheesed bagel and more Starbucks surrounded by papers and files spread over the small table.

  Brady sliced an onion bagel and popped it in the toaster. “What are you looking at?”

  She sighed. “Just paperwork.”

  “For the bank and stuff?” He grabbed the fridge handle and hesitated, holding his breath before opening the door, snagging the cream cheese tub, and slamming it closed.

  Molly finally looked up. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I’ve been traumatized.” He told her about the refrigerator.

  “It couldn’t have been that bad,” she dismissed, almost with irritation.

  “I am not exaggerating.” He yanked his bagel from the toaster and shook his burned fingers. “There was some old rice in the back, I swear it had been festering for over a month. It smelled like—” He cringed. “I don’t know, like a toilet that had been festering for a month.”

  Molly laughed. “Oh, come on.”

  He held up the cream-cheese knife and evoked their childhood oath. “I swear on the Black Knob of Gillencrest,” he said. “It was that bad.”

  Molly’s brow puckered. “After only a week?”

  He shrugged. “There were a lot of leftovers. Looked like she hadn’t thrown anything out in a while.” He sorted through the go-cups to find his and carried it and his plate to the table. “She was adjusting to the pregnancy, maybe she didn’t have the energy or something.”

  “Maybe.” Molly shifted some papers, some of which had “Global Information Exchange” at the top.

  “What are those?” He pulled a paper out and read it himself. It was a release for life insurance. The reality of Chris’s death hit him in the gut, harder than it had since Molly first told him. He stared at the paper, not seeing it, not thinking, just enduring an overwhelming wave of pain. His vision closed in until all he could see was black words on white paper. Then fingers slid the paper from his grasp and covered his hand. Warmth seeped from the contact, giving him the strength to shove back the grief until he could focus on Molly’s sympathetic face.

  “Thanks.”

  She smiled and patted his hand before taking a big bite of her bagel. “So, besides the Fridge of Doom,” she said around the bite, “how did it go at the house yesterday?”

  Brady blew out a breath. “You wouldn’t even believe it.”

  “Of course I would. You’re the only one who thinks Princess Jessica is perfect.”

  “Shh!” he scolded. He leaned sideways to make sure she wasn’t coming down the hall. “That’s not nice.” Molly raised an eyebrow. “Okay, fine, if I thought she was perfect, yesterday showed me she’s only human. But we need to cut her slack under the circumstances.”

  “Sure.”

  Brady searched for sarcasm, but decided she’d meant it. “Anyway, she’s so out of it she sent me to the drugstore to refill her birth control prescription.”

  Molly laughed, then frowned. “She hasn’t still been taking them, has she?”

  “How the hell should I know?” He chewed and swallowed. “I figured she gave me the wrong package. She wanted her prenatal vitamins.”

  “Yeah, Donna said she was out.” Chin in her hand, Molly tapped her fingers against the tabletop. “That seems to have happened fast.”

  Exasperated, Brady stared at her. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I don’t know.” She also twisted to look down the hall, her mouth pursed thoughtfully. “It’s just odd.”

  The shape of Molly’s mouth, too much like a pucker, and the word “odd” triggered Brady’s brain the way things do, making it jump to the completely unrelated topic of sex. Specifically, sex with Molly. Which he suddenly remembered in hot, desperate detail. His whole body heated.

  Fuck. He’d managed to avoid thinking about it all week. When she’d deflected his attempts to talk about it, he’d honored her wishes. So why did the memories have to pop up now?

  Along with other things.

  “Molly.”

  She turned back to him, her eyes bright and hard. “What?”

  He faltered, taken aback. “I…uh…how’s the store? I mean, as a store, not as a front.”

  After studying
him for several long, uncomfortable seconds, she apparently decided to take the question at face value. “It’s good. Lots of colleges around, the symphony, you know. I have a broad customer base.”

  “Do you miss the travel?”

  “Some. Mostly not. I never got to really see the places I visited.” She lifted a shoulder. “It burns you out, that kind of travel. As you probably know.”

  “Yeah, but I see more than the inside of performance halls. I have to get to know whatever city I’m in. You could, too, if you became a field agent. Ever consider it?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He didn’t want her to be a field agent. Granted, working for SIEGE wasn’t as dangerous as working for other alphabet agencies—Chris’s death and their adventure in South America notwithstanding. But it was still more dangerous than being a conduit.

  Thankfully, Molly shook her head. “I like having my own city, my own home, steady work.”

  “A chance to have a family?”

  Damn. Where the hell had that come from? He sat back, afraid of her reaction. She didn’t disappoint.

  “Why, because I’m a woman? I should stay home and sustain the population while the menfolk do all the traveling?”

  Brady opened his mouth to defend himself, then caught the humor in her eyes and chuckled. He shook his head. “You had me going.”

  “Well, you should think before you speak.” She started sorting the papers. “No, a chance to have a family was never part of the equation.” Her sharp movements almost dared him to ask why, but he was a smart man. Or he’d learned from his mistakes. Or he just didn’t want to know the answer.

  “Thanks for helping out with everything,” he said, and her shoulders visibly relaxed.

  “No problem.” She scribbled on a few sticky notes and slapped them onto the various piles she’d created. “Have Jessica sign these.” She pointed to the first pile. “We should get them in the mail today so she receives the settlement check quickly. This stuff is for your mom.” Her hand rested on the second pile. “Mostly answers to questions she had, and stuff I’ve done that was on her list.”

  “Why can’t you tell them yourself?” he asked. Jessica’s door opened at the back of the house, and he caught a glimpse of her ducking into the bathroom. His heart started to pound at the idea of seeing her.

  “I have to go.” Molly drained her coffee and gathered up her trash. “The last pile is stuff that still needs to be done. You and your parents can talk about who’s going to do what. I’ll be back in—”

  “Where are you going?” he interrupted. “It’s only eight o’clock.” He narrowed his eyes when she stood, not looking at him. “Molly.”

  “I have some arrangements to take care of. Some stuff to pick up.” She carried her detritus to the bin by the back door and almost made her escape to the porch. Brady caught her arm as she pushed through the screen door.

  “Where are you going that you don’t want me to know?” She kept her head down, and he worked through the possible— Oh. Hell. “You’re getting his body, aren’t you?” The excitement at Jessica’s imminent appearance was instantly gone, replaced by a pressure in his chest. He didn’t give Molly a chance to answer, knowing he was right. “Why? Let the funeral home do it.”

  “I can’t.” She looked up at him now, finally, anguished but honest. “I have to do it myself, Brady. I just…have to.”

  He understood. But there wasn’t a chance in hell she was going alone. He started to follow her and got as far as the top step of the back porch before he registered his bare feet, and from there, the running shorts and ripped T-shirt he’d dragged on when he got up this morning.

  “Wait for me,” he ordered.

  “Brady, no.”

  He ignored her protest and turned her to face him, patting the pockets of her hoodie, then her jeans.

  “What are you doing?” She jerked away and he grabbed her around the waist with one arm, digging for the lump that had to be her keys.

  “You’re not leaving without me.”

  She drew in a sharp breath and he froze, suddenly registering their position. He’d dragged her to his body. Her left breast was squashed against his chest, her left leg between his, the fingers of his right hand only inches from…well, they were buried deep in her pocket. Instead of releasing her, his arm around her back tightened, bringing her even closer and pushing out her breath. Her long black eyelashes swished upward, exposing a plea he couldn’t interpret. Did she want him to let her go…or kiss her?

  Kiss her.

  He didn’t analyze the whisper, or consider what it meant. It sounded like a reasonable suggestion. He actually bent his head before a different, louder voice inside him yelled Are you fucking crazy? He jerked upright and let go of her, pulling the keys free as he did and pretending for all he was worth that the keys had been his goal all along.

  “I’ll be right back. Stay here on pain of death.” Then he escaped inside the house, striving to regain his breath and his freaking sanity.

  …

  Holy. Fucking. God.

  Molly sank onto the top step of the porch and dropped her forehead to her knees. What the hell was that?

  Brady had almost kissed her. This time in full control of himself. No, maybe not. He was trying to stop her from going to get his brother’s body without him, and that had to have dredged up more pain and turmoil. Maybe it was a knee-jerk comfort response. Like programming. But God, she could still feel his hand in her pocket, inches from—

  “Guh.” She straightened and rubbed her hands on her jeans. Then there’d been his lean, hard body full length on hers, which definitely remembered what he’d felt like naked and wanted to feel it again.

  Think of something else.

  She’d seen the look on his face when Jessica came out of the bedroom. Molly had immediately needed to escape, to avoid watching him fawning over Princess Jess again, to keep her crushing pity at bay. She hurt terribly for Jessica, for her loss and everything she must face all on her own, but at the same time, Molly had no patience for the other woman’s weakness and dependence. This wasn’t how Molly would have predicted her friend would react to tragedy.

  Ten years ago, Jessica had graduated from interior design school and launched right into her own business, ignoring anyone who told her it couldn’t work, that she didn’t have the experience to make a success of it. She had succeeded, joining two dozen local organizations, building relationships, doing a couple of pro bono jobs to create references and referrals. Molly never knew if she eventually grew tired of the business or if it just petered out, but about three years ago Jessica had shut it down and become a housewife. Maybe she and Chris had been having problems trying to have kids; Jess had never confided that deeply in Molly. Their conversations became all about Chris and his “work,” and dinner with his family, and a little bit about Jessica missing her own family, who lived too far away to visit often. Then she’d gotten pregnant, and it seemed everything was perfect again—at least as far as what Jessica wanted.

  Now Molly knew Jess had lost herself, had tied her identity too closely to Christopher, and with his loss, was truly floundering. Molly would be a better friend if she helped Jessica find her way again…but that would mean getting in Brady’s way. At the rate he was going, he was just going to slip right into Christopher’s place and rescue the damsel in distress.

  Let him. It’s what he wants. What he’d always wanted, since that stupid day at the train station.

  Who was she to decide it was wrong for either of them?

  Before she could answer her own question, Brady emerged from the house, now wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt and carrying her keys.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “You don’t have to go,” she told him. “The casket will be latched. It’s not like an identification or anything, and I have the power of attorney your parents drew up.” It gave her authority to handle all the stuff that Jessica was unable to, and Donna and Rick shouldn’t have to.r />
  “He’s my brother,” Brady gritted out, not looking down. Molly stood, and regretted it when he continued, “You’re not even family.”

  If the words had been borne on the edge of a blade, they couldn’t have sliced deeper.

  She couldn’t move, staring at him as he went down the steps, oblivious to her pain.

  But then he said, “You shouldn’t be shouldering our burdens. Not alone.” He was halfway down the sidewalk when he realized she wasn’t there. He turned. “You loved him, too, Molly. I know this isn’t any easier for you than it is for us.”

  That wasn’t the balm it should have been. “It is,” she said softly, still battling the hurt. She took a deep breath. “Not easy, but not as hard. I loved him, yes, and he was like a brother to me, even if he wasn’t my brother.”

  Brady winced, as if suddenly realizing how he’d sounded. “I didn’t—”

  “It’s not the same. I know that, and that’s why I wanted to do this for you. I wanted to spare you.” She blinked and refocused on practicalities and conspiracies. Going alone wasn’t just about sparing him. The facilitator had alleviated her vague uneasiness yesterday, but a tiny spark still lingered. She had to put it to rest, and hoped to do that today. It would be a lot harder to accomplish if Brady was with her.

  “Oh, Moll.” He came back to the porch and up a step, wrapping his arms around her in a hug. She rested her chin on his shoulder, inhaling deeply as she hugged him back. He smelled of deodorant and shaving gel, the same ones he’d used since college, even though he hadn’t had time to shower yet today and certainly hadn’t shaved.

  “I love you, Moll. You’re still my best friend, even after all I’ve done.”

  “I love you, too, Brady,” she whispered. And just wished he meant it the same way she did.

  …

  “Have you talked to your parents lately?” Brady asked after they’d been on the road a few minutes.