Jones’ eyes widened at her words, though she didn’t know why. Molly had told them this version of events at least five times before. Glancing toward Finley, his softer gaze met her eyes.
“I thought I heard someone behind his bedroom door.” Finley’s voice faltered, as though he, too, was running the events of that evening through his mind.
“No,” Molly told him firmly. “I was exactly where I said – where I always was – chained to his damn bed, like a dog!”
She forced just enough hurt into her voice to make her story compelling, and as she turned back to Jones, she knew by the look in his eyes that her plan had worked.
“We understand that,” Jones went on. “We know you’re the victim here, Miss Clary, and you’ve been through an awful ordeal.” There was a pause as he threw that notion between them, and all three of them sat staring at one another. “But, we have good reason to believe Connor Reilly has already been responsible for the death of another woman, and if there’s anything you can do to help us prove that, then we could keep him in prison for a very long time.”
Molly blinked at them for a moment, unsure what to say. “I’m sorry,” she began. “I’m sorry if he killed someone, but I really don’t think it’s got anything to do with me!”
She was almost screaming by the end of the sentence, and Molly could hear the emotion bubbling in her voice.
“It’s okay,” said Finley soothingly. “We don’t want to distress you any further. Please, just take a look at this picture and tell us if you recognize the woman in it.”
Jones reached down into the bag at his feet and produced a black folder. Pulling a single sheet from inside he held the paper out to Molly, who received it with shaky fingers. The image of a young woman was printed on it, and Molly knew at once who it was that was smiling back at her. It was Lydia. She had never seen a picture of Connor’s ex before, but instantly she knew it was her, the sleek blonde hair and child-like blue eyes eerily familiar to Molly’s own appearance, despite the different coloration.
“Who is this?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.
“This is Lydia Walker,” explained Jones. “Connor Reilly’s ex-girlfriend. Have you seen this woman before, Molly? Did you see her picture where you were held?”
Molly pressed the printed image flat against the desk between her and the detectives. She wanted desperately to drag her eyes from the face of the smiling, dead woman, but somehow, she found she couldn’t. It was like Lydia had hypnotized her.
“I’ve never seen her before.” At least that part was the truth, but it didn’t stop the swell of emotion from rising in Molly. “I’m… I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”
She caught sight of Jones nodding in her peripheral vision. “Don’t worry, Miss Clary,” he told her. “We know how traumatic this has been on you.”
“And we know you’d help us if you could,” added Finley from beside him.
Molly lifted her chin to meet the sound of their voices, her gaze finally leaving the happy face of Lydia. “Of course,” she murmured in response. “Of course, I would.”
Both men nodded their heads, although the expression on Jones’ face darkened at her lie.
“Thank you for your time,” Jones told her as he rose from his chair. “I’ll ask one of my officers to drive you back to the hotel.”
“No, thank you,” she interjected at once. “I’ll walk. It’s only a few blocks, and honestly, I could use the fresh air.”
Jones and Finley exchanged a glance, but neither man objected.
“As you wish,” agreed Jones.
Molly watched as the two of them collected their files, and strode out of the room. She glanced back to the window and what little she could make out of the dim London cityscape. It was pretty much fall, and while the colors of the season might have been making their presence known in other parts of the country, there was no evidence of that in the capital. None that she could see anyway.
“We’ll be in touch, Miss Clary.”
Molly turned to see Detective Jones standing in the doorway, glowering at her. She nodded in response, meeting his eye until he spun on his heel and moved out of her view. She had no idea how the next few weeks were going to play out, but somehow, she knew he was right about that. She had no doubt she’d be seeing both men again.
Chapter Forty-Five
More news came from Mosley, the stiff-looking lawyer appointed by the State, or at least Connor had assumed it was the State who’d chosen him, until that day. It felt like weeks had passed since the dialogue with Stine, and Connor was starting to lose his mind. Dealing with idiots like Brown on an hourly basis, alongside the lack of information on the inside would have been bad enough, but the loss of his kitten made the whole thing unbearable. He had started to lose track of time, the memory of her face beginning to fade with each bleak day. The trial date had been set, a fact Connor was absurdly grateful for. A trial meant Molly. She would have to attend, and that meant he could see her again. Regular correspondence with his lawyer had kept him up to date. The Crown Prosecution Service was apparently sure they had enough evidence to nail him for Molly’s abduction, plus, of course, the extra charges of his possession of an illegal firearm, and holding his captive against her will. Connor wanted to counter that point. He may have taken the woman without consent, but by the end, he had hardly done anything against her will.
“Mr. Reilly?” The gown covered frame of Mosley swept into the ancient looking holding cell of the court, and Connor rose to shake his hand as best he could in cuffs.
The two had met once before, but only for minutes when a junior co-counsel had briefed the senior man about Connor’s case. This was their first opportunity to talk alone.
“I will need a few moments with my client,” Mosley told the officer on duty. “You may leave us.”
The young uniformed officer nodded, mumbling something under his breath as he left the room, locking the two men in behind him. There was weighted silence as Connor watched Mosley glide into his chair. It was unusual for him to feel uncomfortable in anyone’s presence, he was normally so self-assured, but that’s what Mosley achieved as he eyed Connor from across the old table.
“I’ve come to discuss your case,” he began, staring at Connor from over his half-moon spectacles.
Connor returned his stare, ignoring the knot of anxiety which twisted in his gut. Mosley was older than him by maybe ten years, his decades of experience etched into his weathered face. The man had an air of authority about him, but that was not unusual for a guy in his position. Connor had no reason to be intimidated by his own legal counsel, and he knew it. Assuming the strange response was due to his tiredness and captivity, he forced himself to reply. “What news do you have?”
Mosley hesitated, his body inching closer somehow, although Connor swore he never saw him move. “I have news from our mutual friends.”
The words echoed around the small, empty room, resonating finally inside Connor’s chest. His heart picked up the pace as they registered, his attention drawn from the tiny window at the top of the wall back to Mosley.
“Thank God,” he sighed. “What do they have to say?”
Mosley smiled, or at least Connor assumed it was as close an approximation as the man could manage. “Good news, Mr. Reilly. They will be seeing you again soon, and in the meantime, they have confirmed there are no other leaks.”
Connor stared at him. No other leaks? Conversations with Syndicate members were always notoriously cryptic, but this one was like a riddle.
“What would have leaked?” he asked, hearing and hating the indecision in his voice.
Mosley’s expression hardened. “I don’t think we need to go over old ground, Mr. Reilly,” he told him. “But, let’s just say, the other actions we have taken on your behalf are all air-tight. The CPS has nothing on you except these charges by Miss Clary.”
There was a pause as Connor absorbed his words, the information finally sinking in. Mosley was indicating
that the police had no proof about Lydia. Whatever the dimwit detectives who’d visited the house thought they had found, had evidently amounted to nothing. Most likely thanks to The Syndicate’s intervention. Again. Carson may have let him down, but the collective had not.
He was nodding his head as he finally answered. “That is good news,” he agreed. “Please send my thanks to our mutual friends.”
Mosley sat back in the hard-wooden chair. “You can thank them yourself,” he laughed, “but before we get to that, I do have one more question. About Miss Clary.”
The tone in which he’d said Molly’s name this time made the knot in his stomach tighten. “What about her?”
“There’s been no evidence to suggest it so far,” he began. “But nonetheless, our mutual friends have to know. Does she know anything which make her a potential problem?”
“No,” Connor’s response was stern and immediate. “She’s not a problem.”
“That’s good news,” Mosley replied slowly, “but let’s remember, she is the reason you’re currently residing at Her Majesty’s pleasure.”
Connor swallowed. “It’s not Molly’s responsibility,” he countered the older man. “It’s my mess.”
Mosley’s brow rose over his twinkling gray eyes. “How very gallant of you to say so, Mr. Reilly, but I have to respectfully disagree. It’s our mess now.” He hesitated as though he wanted to reinforce the point with silence. “Yours, mine, and our mutual friends, and we need to know if any information has been compromised. Can she produce anything at trial which could threaten you, or worse, all of us?”
Connor lifted his face back toward the few rays of light which crept in from the small window above his head. “Nothing is compromised,” he assured Mosley. “Molly is watertight.”
Mosley’s lips pursed before they drew up into a small curl. “I’m not sure that answers my question, Connor. Does the woman know anything which I should be aware of?”
Connor’s hands balled into fists in his lap, the gesture contracting muscles in his wrists which pulled against the handcuffs. He had never been one to enjoy the feeling of metal against his skin. That was why he always chose ropes when he worked.
“She doesn’t know anything.” Connor’s voice had dropped to little more than a growl. “You can reassure our mutual friends on that point.”
He glanced back to Mosley, their gazes locking for a long moment. Connor’s heart was pounding with a new intensity as the lie settled in the air between them. In all the years he’d been a member of The Syndicate, he had never told an outright untruth to them. The relationship was one of unrelenting loyalty and trust. That’s how it worked. You bleed for them, and when the time came, they’d be there for you. But yet, here he was, lying directly to the guy who was going to be intrinsic in orchestrating his escape. What the fuck was he thinking?
The answer was there even before his brain had registered the question. He was thinking about protecting his kitten. Molly was his priority now. He would settle things with The Syndicate once he got out of here. He would speak to Morrison himself.
“I’m pleased to hear it.” Mosley’s voice sounded gentle compared to Connor’s. “In which case I see no issues, Mr. Reilly. The arrangements are already in place.”
“When?” The question escaped Connor’s mouth before he even had time to command it.
Mosley smirked at him. “You’ll understand how these things have to work,” he told him with irritating calmness. “All I can say is that the trial will begin as planned, but your verdict will never come, Mr. Reilly.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Day one of the trial hung over her like an impending storm. On the one hand, Molly wanted it over with. She wanted to be done with the gray rooms, and the impersonal conversations with strangers who wanted to know incredibly private details of her life. She wanted to be able to get her passport re-issued and head home with her mom. Hannah had stayed for as long as she could, but she had her own life to attend to. Now it was only Molly and her understandably overbearing mother, and while Molly loved the motivation for her concern, it was starting to become suffocating.
On the other hand, the thought of the trial was paralyzing. The idea of walking into any room and laying eyes on the man who had done those things to her was almost too much. Overwhelming. Like a wave which threatened to drag her down into the depths. Connor was that man. He had made her kneel, crawl and beg, but more than that – worse than that – he had made her feel. A host of emotions sprung to mind as she considered the notion. Molly had felt everything at his hand; terror, anger, shame, soul-destroying humiliation and unbridled passion. More worryingly still, she had the idea that by the end she had felt exponentially more than all of that. Molly had actually grown to like him, to need him, to crave the touch of his skin. She hungered for him like a drug. Molly had been able to resist most vices in her life, but Connor had become an addiction in a matter of days.
She’d grown to love him.
There it was, she’d admitted it, even if it was only in her own head. She had fallen for him, and although she could never admit that to another human soul, there was no denying it to herself. Connor had made her feel, alright, and she hadn’t stopped feeling since the day she saw him carted off in police handcuffs.
By the time she found herself in the courtroom that bleak October morning, Molly’s heart was in her throat. She didn’t know if it was sickness or excitement which goaded her. Perhaps it was some twisted combination of the two. All she knew was she was fidgety and anxious, her palms sweaty as she waited for the court to come to order.
“Are you okay, Molly?” The sound of her lawyer’s voice made her jump, and she turned to see her concerned face.
“Yes,” she lied hoarsely. “I’m fine. I just want things to get started.”
“They will soon enough, and there’s good news. It’s confirmed we have Judge Raynor. She’s notoriously hard on defendants in these types of cases.” Her counselor Julie Redmond’s eyes sparkled with excitement at the announcement. “It can only work in our favor.”
“Excellent,” Molly replied, but her tone sounded insincere even to her own ears.
The problem was, even Molly didn’t know how she really felt about all this. Yes, she wanted to put this chapter of her life behind her, but Molly was a realist. She knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. Connor had stripped away so many of her layers, even Molly didn’t know what was left anymore. He had laid her bare. Every whispered command, each base order had become a part of who Molly was. Flying back to Pennsylvania and pretending none of this had happened was simply not going to be an option. If, as she suspected, she really had feelings for the man who’d taken her, how could she sit in court, day after day, and lead the evidence which would put him away? The knot of energy in her belly already told her the answer. She simply couldn’t do it.
Julie stared at her, her expression vacant. “You’re under a lot of stress,” she told Molly. “Things can only get better now the trial is set to start.”
Molly nodded, uncertain what to say to reassure the woman beside her. There was no good way to tell the prosecutor you had developed a sentimental attachment to the sadist who had taken and tamed you.
At that moment, the court erupted into a hive of activity, and Molly, like the rest of the room, turned to see what the cause of the disruption was. Really, she should have known better, or maybe at heart, she already did. Behind the frenzy of chatter and excitement, it seemed the defense had arrived, and with them was a devilish-looking Connor. Molly only caught sight of him for a fraction of a second, but even that was enough to make her heart skip a beat as the realization washed over her.
Connor. The guy who had snatched her. The guy who had played her like an instrument. The guy who she hadn’t seen since that day in the car when he had been arrested. He was here.
A small gasp left her lips, and instinctively she turned back to face the judge’s chair, unable to manage the intensity of emotion which p
inballed around her. She knew Julie’s gaze was on her, and behind her she imagined her mom was also concerned. No doubt Molly had seemed strange since she’d arrived in the country to come to her daughter’s rescue. Her mother hadn’t said so, but the truth was there in her worried eyes every time she embraced her child. Molly was acting oddly. She knew it. Julie had noticed, and so had her mom, but it wasn’t just her inner circle who’d been paying attention. The case had already captured the imagination of the British press, who’d been having a field day with the idea that an erotic romance author had become the victim of her own sordid designs. The irony wasn’t lost on Molly. It might have been amusing if she wasn’t so desperately caught in Connor’s web.
A flurry of activity to her left told her Connor was being hustled to his place on the opposite side of the court. Molly knew her face was coloring as she imagined him there. Was he straining to catch a glimpse of her the way her body ached to see him? Had he thought about her since they last saw each other? Had he missed her at all? Every fiber of her body yearned for the answers, but still Molly held her nerve, keeping her gaze straight ahead as the court settled. By the time the judge was announced, she was so anxious her body was stiff with nervous energy. As the court rose to stand for the judge’s entrance, Molly drew in a deep breath, and finally she permitted her eyes to roam. Without moving her head, her gaze diverted left, beyond her own lawyer, and past the gowned members of the defense team. Her heart was pounding so fast by this point that she felt sure everyone on the bench with her would be able to hear its desperate rhythm, and as her gaze searched frantically for the face she knew so well, Molly became lightheaded. It was then, just as her knees felt they could no longer bear her weight, that she found her target.
Standing there, tall and strong, Connor was just as Molly remembered him. Dressed in a smart black suit, he looked absolutely devastating as he leaned into his counsel’s shoulder to whisper something into the lawyer’s ear. Returning to his original position, their eyes locked for the first time since he’d entered the court, and Molly’s heart stopped. Dark green eyes met anxious blue ones, their connection temporarily stopping time as the court played out around them.
Tamed: (A Dark Romance Kidnap Thriller) (The Dark Necessities Trilogy Book 2) Page 22
