Hearts Under Siege Read online

  …

  “Brady.” Molly cupped his jaw in both hands, frightened at the glaze that had just come over his expression. He couldn’t do this now. No one had been in the hallway when she checked, but they could have heard the scuffle and called the police. They could not afford to be detained here. She had to get him pulled together enough to get out of there.

  She patted his cheek, but of course it did nothing. “Brady.” He didn’t move. She needed to shock him somehow. As if he weren’t already in shock.

  Kiss him, or hit him? She bit her lip. Nope, she couldn’t do it. She hauled her hand back and slapped him hard across the cheek. Awareness jolted into him, but instead of reacting violently to the strike, he folded his hand around hers and just held it.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Molly took a steadying breath. “Jessica called me three days ago. Someone came to her house to tell her Chris was dead, but wouldn’t tell her how. Someone else went to tell your parents.”

  A metallic bang echoed outside the room, probably in the stairwell across the hall. Brady jerked to his feet and pulled Molly up with him. “We have to get out of here.”

  “No shit.”

  “Stay behind me.”

  She obeyed, pulling her hood back up to shadow her face and tugging her sleeves down over her hands. They made their way out of the tenement and up the street. Once they were a few blocks away, Brady pulled her into the entryway of a boarded-up building.

  “Tell me.”

  She didn’t know where to start. She had stayed in touch with the Fitzpatricks over the last three days, making sure they were okay, that Jessica was holding on. Brady’s sister-in-law had been hospitalized for monitored sedation the first night, and after that she’d managed to pull herself together enough to function. A little. His parents were desperate to have Brady home, and Molly had promised to get him there as soon as she could. But he was deep, and it had taken a day to get down here, another day to track him down, and all of today to get close enough—and strong enough—to deal with this.

  There was so much to say, so much he didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure how to stick to the Chris-related parts. “I don’t know anything. Where it happened, or how, or where he is now. Your parents are with Jessica. She’s in bad shape.”

  “Of course she is,” Brady murmured, the words thick with sympathy.

  Molly hated the twinge of jealous annoyance that generated. This was not the time, for God’s sake. But she’d known all along where Brady’s focus would go. He’d need an outlet for his own grief, and Jessica needed him. Molly would be on the outside. Again.

  It’s not about me. She forced herself to continue. “No one would tell them where you were or how to get in touch with you. Your parents didn’t want you to hear the news from a stranger.”

  He shifted and reached for her hand, his head coming up so his hazel eyes, now a desolate gray-blue, met hers knowingly. “You didn’t want that. I can calculate travel times, Moll. You were on your way here as soon as you heard and knew I was out of touch.”

  She shrugged a little, not sure what to say.

  “Thank you.” He took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around her. She closed her eyes and clung to him, feeling his body shudder.

  After a few seconds he pulled away. “I know there’s a lot more to this. You have a lot of questions to answer. But we need to get home.”

  “Yes. They need you.”

  “Us. They need us.”

  She didn’t dispute his assertion, but she wasn’t part of the family anymore. She was a friend. One who could help them, but only on the fringes. When they got back she’d be shuffling condolence casseroles, making funeral arrangements, ensuring everyone ate and slept and took their medications. She didn’t mind that. She wanted to do those things, but couldn’t help feeling it was inadequate, that they needed, and that she could do, so much more. But that was probably just because of the lack of answers.

  “Let’s go.” He took her arm, started out of the alcove, then stopped again. “Wait. Dammit. I have a meet. I should keep it.”

  She frowned. “Your parents need you home.”

  His jaw flexed. “I know. But this is important, and a lot of effort will have been wasted if I don’t make this last meet. It won’t take long.”

  She wasn’t going to be able to convince him otherwise. “When?”

  He glanced at his watch, swiping away the rain that beaded on its face. “An hour.”

  “Okay. That won’t significantly hold us up. I can go gather your stuff and meet you. Airport?”

  He thought a second, then shook his head. “No. Here.” He hunched over a small pad he pulled from his jacket’s inside pocket, writing down information with a tiny pen. “The first address is my hotel and room number. Everything’s in the closet.” He hesitated like he was going to tell her something else, but continued, “The second address is where to meet me. I’ll have a car there. We’ll drive to the next city. It’s about two hours away, but we can get more direct flights from there. It’ll be faster overall.”

  “Okay.” She took the paper and shoved it into her pocket, though she’d memorized the addresses as he wrote them. “Be careful.”

  “I will. You, too. This country—”

  “I know.” She hugged him, then even harder, betraying her worry over his meet. “How long before you’re done?”

  “The meet itself should be quick. So give me an hour and a half.”

  “And if you don’t show up, take off without you?” It was a lame, half-hearted joke, and he didn’t smile…or answer.

  Walking away from him felt like ripping out part of her heart. But she focused on her tasks.

  His hotel was small but high-end, the concierge eyeing her suspiciously when she entered the front door. She waved the key card Brady had given her, and he nodded, looking appeased. In a place like this, she hated being cornered in an elevator, so she took the stairs up one flight to Brady’s floor. His room was right next to the stairwell. Of course. She slipped into the room without anyone seeing her, the entire hotel quiet.

  “What a slob!” she muttered. Well, not really, but saying it made her feel better for some reason. She went to the closet first and found a leather duffel and a few clothes hanging from the bar. It took seconds to pack them, along with the pants draped across the unmade bed, the underwear under the desk, and the extra shoes in the corner. Another minute and a half for the toiletries and ditty bag, two minutes to scan and search for any obvious items scattered around the small room.

  She had tons of time left. Brady would call to check out of the hotel, so she set the key card on the desk and slung the bag over her shoulder, ready to head out.

  Then halted. Nope, this wasn’t right.

  Of course Brady didn’t want to tell her what else needed to be done, but she couldn’t leave it undone. She dropped the bag and knelt next to the bed, shoving her arms deep between the mattresses. Nothing. She went all the way around the bed without finding what she was looking for. Dammit, her arms were too short. She stood and heaved the mattress up. There it was, in the middle—a small gun case. She couldn’t hold up the mattress and reach it with her hand, so she stretched out a foot and slid it closer, then pulled it out and let the mattress fall. The weight of the case told her the weapon was inside. For a second she was furious with him, going to a meet unarmed, but schooled her emotions. He knew what he was doing, far better than she.

  She sat at the desk and used the secure satellite phone she’d taken from Brady’s DC apartment to make a few calls. Half an hour later, she was at an outdoor café, the case in a tote at her feet, waiting for her contact. He approached, right on time, and the hand-off went smoothly, the only hiccup the troubled grief she saw in his eyes. As her contact passed, hooking the tote she lifted by the straps with her foot, there was a flash when she imagined them hugging, offering condolences to each other. Then he was gone.

  But word had spread, and he clearly knew why
she was here, turning in the weapon he’d secured for Brady when he entered the country. The grief she knew had been mirrored in her own eyes would be confirmation, and word would spread further still. There was danger in this work, but nevertheless, loss of a SIEGE agent was rare and sent ripples through the whole community, even though most members of the organization wouldn’t know which of their own had gone down, nor that Chris had even been one.

  It was almost time to meet Brady. Molly finished her coffee, glad the rain had stopped, and stood to orient herself. The meeting location was north, about half a mile, and she decided to walk. She didn’t want to arrive too early and linger, calling attention to herself in a city where everything moved, albeit at a different pace than she was used to.

  Hefting Brady’s duffel and her own smaller bag over her shoulder again, she headed down the street, matching her stride to those around her, weaving through the crowd with purpose but not intent. The sidewalks thinned as she passed an invisible line from “safe” city central to a more hard-knock area. For a moment she worried she’d gone the wrong way. But no, there was a street sign, and she was in the right place. Just a few more buildings, and—

  Brady exited an alley about fifty feet in front of her. Glad he was safe, Molly smiled, but instincts she hadn’t known she possessed broke her into a run as she registered a movement across the street—a figure with a gun in an upper window. She didn’t shout, but Brady took off toward her, as if her running was a signal. A report echoed off the buildings around them. Chips flew from the brick over their heads as they collided, each struggling to push the other to the ground and neither doing more than ducking enough to keep their heads from being blown off.

  “Get down, dammit!”

  Molly realized she was being an idiot, letting her need to protect her friend override her common sense. He was the one with field experience. She dropped to the ground, huddling as small as she could and covering her head with her arms. Bang! Bang! More chips went flying, then Brady was hauling her up and dragging his bag off her shoulder. They sprinted down the street, Brady cursing, Molly panting. Her heart raced with fear or exhilaration or a combination of the two, she didn’t know.

  They ducked around the corner and Brady skidded to a stop next to an old Jeep. “Get in!”

  She jerked open the door, flung herself and her bag inside, and yanked the door closed as Brady peeled out. The street was too narrow to turn around. He floored it across the intersection of the street they’d been on. Molly looked, but everything flashed by too quickly for her to spot the shooter.

  “I think we’re clear,” she said a few blocks later when there was no sign of anyone following them. The adrenaline flash faded, dragging heaviness in its wake, heaviness that dampened any relief or fear she could be feeling.

  “Yeah. Seatbelt.”

  She glanced over. He had his on already. How he’d done that, driving like a maniac and watching for pursuit all at the same time— Okay, she was officially impressed. Her own training had been sufficient to get her down here and find him, to do what she needed to do, but knowing the field agents had so many more skills was totally different from seeing one in action.

  She heaved the bags into the back and settled into her own seat, strapping in and bracing herself. For five minutes the darkness she’d been immersed in had been chased away. But now it was back, and she had to face it again. Along with all the questions Brady was definitely about to ask her.

  “Did you get what you needed from the meet?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” Brady’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “It seems pretty unimportant now, but in the big picture, it’s vital. Thanks for helping out. You got all my stuff?”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath. Might as well dive right in. “I turned in the pistol, too.”

  “What?” His head whipped around, but they were out of the city now, the road rough and twisty, so he turned back immediately. “You did what?”

  “I found your weapon and contacted the supplier to pick it up.”

  “How do you— Why— Okay, I’m not that stupid.” His jaw tightened as he ground his teeth. “You’re SIEGE.”

  “Yes.”

  “Unbelievable.” He rubbed his forehead, elbow braced on the side of the door. “I had no idea. How did I have no idea?”

  “You weren’t supposed to have any idea.”

  “You’re, what? A conduit? Yeah, you’d have to be, with the shop. Perfect cover. And that’s why you’ve got hand-to-hand training and— Geez, how did you know who my supplier was?”

  “I didn’t.” She twisted in her seat, pulling her legs up and leaning against the door so she could watch him. This would be fun, if only the reason she’d finally been able to tell him was less horrible. “But I knew who to call.”

  “I can’t even believe—” His eyes narrowed and he shot her a look. “You knew I was SIEGE.”

  “Yes,” she said again, this time a bit more warily as they approached sensitive territory.

  “But I didn’t know you were. How does that work?” He scowled.

  “You know how it works. SIEGE keeps us all as insulated as possible. Conduits and suppliers know field agents but not each other. Agents know facilitators but not other agents.” Mostly. But how much the SIEGE support people actually interacted was irrelevant. At least, right now it was.

  “It can’t be coincidence,” Brady asserted, eyes mostly on the road. “Did they recruit you because of me?”

  “I should be insulted,” she said as lightly as possible, nudging him in the arm. “I’m good at what I do.” When he angled a look at her, she admitted, “Fine. You’re part of the reason. You and—” Her throat went dry, and she stuck to the immediate topic. “And the fact that I was opening a music store. They needed a front in Boston and liked my legitimacy.”

  “But you’re not one of my conduits.” He paused. “Are you?”

  “You’d know. You’d have given me stuff, or vice versa.”

  He nodded and seemed appeased that her secret had been passive, not active. He looked as if he was about to ask something else, but suddenly, she couldn’t avoid it anymore.

  “Brady.” Her stomach clenched. “We have to talk about Chris.”

  “No.” His voice went hard.

  “You know there’s a reason we don’t know how he died.”

  “I don’t.” Tension and warning laced the words, but Molly didn’t—couldn’t—heed them.

  “The man at Jessica’s—”

  “Stop, Molly. Now.”

  “—was a facilitator.”

  “I’m not hearing this.” Cold fury now, and if Molly didn’t know him so well she’d be scared. Hell, she didn’t know him that well anymore, and she was scared. But she had to say it anyway. He had to know.

  “Christopher was an agent for SIEGE. He died on the job.”

  Chapter Three

  Brady slammed on the brakes. The Jeep skidded on the uneven half-pavement, half-dirt road, its rear end sliding around to the left before he corrected and it came to a stop less than a foot from the ditch.

  He barely noticed. He rounded on Molly, the red haze back, this time fueled by fury.

  “That’s not possible.” He felt his lips curl back from his teeth in a snarl, the implications of what she’d just told him crowding into his brain, combining to form a ferocious buzz that drowned out whatever she was saying to him now. The roof and sides of the vehicle bent toward him, squeezing. Have to get out. Need air. He shoved out of the car and staggered a few feet down the road, oblivious to the rain that had become a downpour.

  “Brady!”

  Molly’s voice was faint behind him. He halted, pressing his hands to the top of his head as if that could stop the tormenting buzz, like a swarm of hornets. He heard splashes—Molly, running through puddles.

  “Brady!” she called again, then her hand caught his upper arm in a surprisingly tight grip. No, not surprisingly. She’d fought him, and matched him, even though as a c
onduit she wasn’t field trained. He thought about how she’d taken care of the weapon under his mattress, collected his things…hell, how she’d found him and followed him all day, when he was actively trying to lose her. And something in him calmed. Not a panacea, or temporary lid on the cauldron of emotion, but an actual diminishing of the swirl. He could think, and start to sort out how he felt and what he needed to know.

  He had a long way to go to understanding, to acceptance, but thank God Molly was here. He took in the dark curls plastered to her head, her blue eyes shining through the rain sluicing down her face. His mouth quirked at the thought—the same thought he’d had hundreds of times over the past twenty-eight years, when she’d bailed him out for doing something stupid, or helped him with schoolwork he’d put off till the last minute, or even talked down some chick he’d led on just a little too long. No matter what was happening in his life, her presence had always been a comfort.

  “Where have you been for the last ten years?” he said without thinking, and instantly cursed himself. He so did not want to dredge all that up now. “I’m sorry,” he said before she got past the hurt, so clear on her face, enough to give him a smartass answer. “I never should have shut you out like I did. I don’t deserve to have you here. But damn, I’m glad you are.”

  “Wonderful.” She tilted her head back, a sardonic twist to her mouth, and let the rain fall harder on her face to make her point. “Can we please get back in the car?”

  “If we have to.” A stupid gesture, meaningless, but he held her door for her as she climbed in, and took the few extra seconds in the rain to round the front of the Jeep. Normally, they’d fire barbs at each other for a few minutes, but when he climbed into the driver’s seat and put the vehicle back in gear, the air was far too heavy to allow banter.

  “Ask me anything you want,” Molly said after they’d driven for a minute or two. “I’ll tell you what I know.”