by Mary McBride
The sheriff sat up a little straighter in his chair, rolled his beefy neck, looked at his watch, then drawled to his deputy, “Drive on over to the Earls’, Jess. See if Buddy Sr.’s there. If he is, why don’t you just go ahead and ask him to come on back here with you.” His gaze moved slowly back to Dan’s face, then his eyebrows lifted as if to casually inquire, “There. Are you satisfied?”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Dan said. There was no sarcasm whatsoever in his tone. He meant it. He needed all the help he could get just then. “I’ve got people coming in. Deputy marshals and the ATF bomb people. Anybody you could bring in right now, Gil?”
“Maybe. First I’d like to know what’s going on in my town, though. That is, if you don’t mind, Deputy Shackelford.”
“Right. Okay.” Dan settled a hip on the edge of the desk and began to explain.
For security, Dan had moved Molly, Raylene and the two Buddys into one of the windowless cells in the rear of the sheriff’s office, but Senior had immediately grabbed Junior and ushered him into an adjacent cell for a tongue-lashing that was still going on an hour later.
Molly was still having a hard time believing that the Swedish terrorist she’d conjured up for Dan’s benefit was actually here in Moonglow. Maybe Buddy Jr. was wrong. But it didn’t make sense that the boy was lying. And how in the world could an albino Swede be a figment of Buddy’s imagination? The kid hardly even had one.
“My Lord,” Raylene whispered from her perch on an upper bunk where her legs dangled over the side. “This is like being in a movie, isn’t it, Molly? I keep half expecting Bruce Willis to come rushing in.”
Molly tried unsuccessfully to mount a smile in response. She was so worried, for all of them, but mostly for Dan. Each time she peered down the narrow corridor toward the office, she could just glimpse his shoulder as he sat at Gil’s desk. Everyone else was out. Gil and Jess and the two cops who had come over from Idella. And while they searched for Jorgen Metz, Dan remained behind, protecting his witnesses.
“Well, if he does come rushing in,” Molly said, “I hope he’s on our side.”
“You know,” Raylene continued, “I never did believe that Danny was just a traveling repairman. I knew he was way too brainy for that.” She tapped a long pink fingernail against her temple. “Plus it didn’t make sense that a smart cookie such as yourself would fall head over heels for the Maytag repairman. You know what I mean?”
Molly knew what she meant, but she also knew the beautician was wrong. She thought she’d probably fallen in love with Dan the minute he backed his stupid trailer into her house. She couldn’t remember ever not loving him. Worse, she couldn’t imagine any kind of future that didn’t include loving him.
“I’m probably not as smart as I look,” she said.
“You’re a professor, Molly. My Lord. And from New York. You must’ve just about lost your mind being stashed away here in the armpit of the universe.”
“No,” Molly said. “I didn’t. Well, maybe at first. But I like it here, Raylene. I really do.”
Raylene gave a little snort and shook her head in dismay. “You like it here in Moonglow.”
“Yes. I do. Don’t you?”
“Honey, I’m from here. I have to like it. But you…”
There was a commotion in the front office. Raylene jumped down from the bunk and both women rushed out into the corridor to see what was going on.
Molly heard Dan ask, “So you found him? You’ve got him in custody?”
“We’ve got him in custody, all right,” Gil Watson replied. “Permanent custody. The son of a bitch is dead.”
Chapter 11
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Molly asked Dan, giving the back of his shirt a tug to get his attention. “It’s good that Metz is dead. Right?”
It was nearly dawn, and because she’d refused to remain behind in the cell at the Sheriff’s Office, she was slumped low in the front seat of Dan’s car, parked in her own driveway, while members of the ATF bomb squad were taking their sweet, slow time with the pipe under her kitchen sink.
She was so tired. But even so, she was monumentally relieved that her terrorist pursuer was dead. Gil and Jess had located Jorgen Metz at the Lone Star Motel, but the man had “eaten his gun,” as Gil so vividly put it, rather than be taken prisoner. It seemed like a blessing to Molly. She couldn’t figure out why Dan didn’t seem happier about it.
“Dan!” She gave his shirttail another yank. “Answer me. It’s good, right?”
“Yes and no, babe.” He turned and squatted down, taking her hand in his. “Metz took a hell of a lot of information with him when he croaked. They’re going through his stuff now, but it doesn’t look like they’ll find very much.”
She sighed. “Well, at least he’s not going to be able to hurt anybody ever again. That’s something.”
He drew her hand to his lips. “No, he won’t hurt anybody again,” he said.
“You look exhausted.” Molly brushed his hair back from his forehead, then touched his unshaven cheek. “How much longer will they be in there?”
“As long as it takes to get that pipe out safely.”
She shuddered, thinking of Buddy Jr. installing the disguised bomb, not even aware of the danger. “What’s going to happen to Buddy now?”
Dan shook his head. “The kid’s in deep, but for the time being he and Raylene and Buddy Sr. will go into the WITSEC.”
Molly blinked. “Why? The only terrorist he saw is dead.”
“We don’t know that for a fact, Molly.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, and his voice became rougher. “We don’t know what Buddy saw or who he met. We don’t know if Metz was acting alone or with a partner. This isn’t over by a long shot.”
“I thought it was,” she said quietly.
Another helicopter buzzed close overhead, making it impossible to hear whatever it was that Dan said next. Then he stood and walked away, joining a group of men by the back door. Molly saw one of them gesture toward the Airstream, then all of them laughed. All except Dan.
It was late afternoon before they finally let Molly back in her house. The bomb people and their dogs had pretty much torn the place apart, searching for more explosive devices. Dying of thirst from sitting out in a hot car most of the day, the first thing she did was turn on the faucet in the kitchen to get a drink, and, with no pipe at all underneath, not even a leaky one, water had poured all over the cabinet and onto the floor.
Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, she was doing a little of both, along with swearing a blue streak when a tall man with close-cropped hair knocked on her back door.
“Ms. Claiborn, I’m Chief Deputy Robert Hayes from Houston. Mind if I come in?”
“No, not at all. Come in. I hope you can swim,” she muttered, getting down on her hands and knees to sop up the water.
“Sorry for the mess,” he said. “Here. Hand me some of those paper towels.” He squatted beside her, and between the two of them, they made quick work of the wet floor.
“I’ll see that somebody comes to repair that,” he said, angling his head toward the sink. “If you decide to stay, that is. That’s what I came to discuss with you. Have a seat, Ms. Claiborn.” He pulled out a chair at the table.
“Hansen,” Molly said, tossing a wad of wet paper towels into the trash can before taking a seat.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Hansen. That’s my name.”
He laughed as he lowered himself into a chair across from her. It was a warm, friendly laugh, Molly noticed. Not what she would have expected from a man who looked lean and mean as a drill sergeant. Unlike most of the other federal agents she’d encountered that day, Robert Hayes wore a well-cut suit and an expensive tie. Funny, she thought. She’d almost come to think of Hawaiian shirts as standard apparel for deputy marshals.
“It’s okay, Ms. Claiborn. I’m one of the good guys. My office gave you the name.” He glanced around the kitchen. “And this house, too, although I
’m not so sure I want to admit it.”
Molly looked around, too. “It’s not so bad,” she said with a little shrug. “Actually, it’s kind of grown on me. Along with my name.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Hayes said. “At this point, it’s too early to say just how much jeopardy you’re in. Quite frankly, I don’t know. But I’ve just been informed that we’ve got a good lead on Ahmad Sharis from some papers we found with Jorgen Metz’s body. They might even be picking Sharis up right now in New York.”
“That’s good,” Molly said.
“Better than good. If they do pick him up, with any luck we can get him to trial in six or eight weeks. So, really, we’re only talking about another two months in our protection. We’ll keep you in WITSEC, naturally, through the trial, but I suspect after that you’ll be able to return to New York and your former employment and everything and everyone else you left behind.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back, awaiting her reaction.
Molly felt as if the man had just yanked a rug out from under her feet, or rammed his fist into her solar plexus. Go back to New York and her job at Van Dyne? Back to Ethan? That was impossible. Unthinkable.
“I don’t have to go back, do I?” she asked.
“Well, no.” He looked uncomfortable, like somebody who wasn’t accustomed to surprises. Like somebody who smelled smoke, but wasn’t quite ready to yell Fire! “No, of course you don’t have to. Most witnesses do.”
“Good,” she said, trying not to show her enormous relief. “I guess I’m not most witnesses.”
“You must like it here in Moonglow,” Hayes said.
“Very much.”
He cocked his head slightly. “And you’ve been getting along all right with Deputy Shackelford?”
“Fine,” she said. “Just fine.”
Now his eyes took on a hard, investigative look, narrowing, zeroing in. “I was thinking of pulling him off protective duty.”
“I can’t imagine why.” But she could imagine. Dan’s superiors must have been aware of his crisis, of his loss of confidence. After all, they were the ones who’d sent him to Moonglow, never expecting anything to happen here.
“He’s done a wonderful job,” Molly insisted. “Look! I’m alive. Deputy Shackelford has been thoroughly professional. Really. A true credit to the Marshals Service. He…”
As if on cue, the screen door squeaked open. Dan backed across the threshold, his attention obviously fixed elsewhere as he lifted his hand in an obscene gesture and called, “Yeah, well, blow it out your ear, Kowalski.”
Then he turned, grinned at Molly and quit grinning the second his gaze fell on Chief Deputy Robert Hayes.
“Hey, Bobby,” he said.
“Dan,” Bobby Hayes said, then the chief deputy rolled his eyes in Molly’s direction. “Thoroughly professional, hmm?”
“Well, most of the time,” she said, squirming. “You know.”
“I’m afraid I do know.” Hayes shoved his chair back and stood up. “I intended to pull you back to regular duty, Deputy Shackelford, but our witness has requested your continued presence. Do you have any problem with that?”
“Fine with me,” Dan said.
“Good.” He was quiet a moment, gazing idly around the dismal kitchen, then he asked, “Do the two of you have any plans for dinner?”
Molly and Dan looked at each other, then at Bobby Hayes, both shaking their heads in unison.
The chief deputy’s rather stony expression cracked into a smile. “Great. I’m famished and I heard there’s a pretty decent Italian place out on Route 4. Care to join me?”
Palazzo’s was more crowded than Molly had ever seen it, what with all the federal agents who had descended on Moonglow and all of the locals eager to get out and trade tales about the recent events. Nothing this exciting had happened in Moonglow since…well…ever.
Molly could hardly see the red-and-white-checked tablecloths for all the plates and pitchers and elbows on the tables. The restaurant was so packed that she and Dan and Bobby Hayes had to sit at the bar for half an hour waiting for a table.
Even the bar was packed, and Molly found herself perched on a tall stool, wedged between two pairs of broad shoulders, one of them in pressed glen plaid and the other a wrinkled riot of palm trees. She ordered a club soda, not wanting to repeat her last performance here when she’d gotten drunk on Chianti and the sight of Dan across the table from her. Dan, much to her surprise, ordered a club soda, too, but he hardly had time to take a sip because people kept coming up and slapping him on the back.
While Dan was politely enduring the back-pats and the congratulations from people who seemed to think he’d miraculously changed from bum to hero in the space of twenty-four hours, Molly and Bobby tried to carry on a conversation, but it was nearly impossible with all the noise around them.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear that,” Molly said, missing his last statement entirely.
“I said this is quite a homecoming.”
Molly gave a little snort. “It’s a bit overdue.”
The gray-haired man leaned closer. “You don’t have to be concerned about your safety, Ms. Hansen. You’re in good hands.” He angled his head toward Dan.
“I know that,” Molly replied.
“He doesn’t.”
She looked long and hard into the chief deputy’s somber gray eyes. Suddenly she sensed how much this man cared about Dan, truly cared, far more than a mere professional concern, and suddenly she trusted Bobby Hayes implicitly. Enough to say out loud what she’d never spoken before.
“What can I do? I’m in love with him, you know.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” He took a thoughtful sip from the bottle in his hand, then shook his head slightly and said, “Damned if I know what you can do. Just keep loving him, I guess. Maybe that’s all he needs.”
“Maybe,” Molly said. But she didn’t think so. She could give Dan all the love in the world, but she didn’t know how to give him an ounce of confidence.
It was quiet in the trailer. Thank God, Dan thought. It was a welcome relief after the past twenty-four hours of nonstop noise, whether it was from federal agents shouting back and forth, or the dense static of walkie-talkies, or townsfolk clamoring to congratulate the local boy who “turned out all right, by God.”
After Bobby dropped them off following dinner, both Dan and Molly had been so exhausted they’d just flopped, fully dressed, on the air mattress in the trailer. Molly had fallen asleep almost the second her head touched the pillow, but Dan wasn’t quite that lucky. He couldn’t stop all the recent events from playing over and over in his brain.
Just before she fell asleep, Molly had nestled closer to him and whispered, “You did good, Deputy Shackelford.”
“We were lucky,” he replied, knowing that if Raylene hadn’t happened across the silencer on that gun and hadn’t wrested the truth from her son and then dragged him across town for an apology, that pipe would still be under Molly’s sink. If Jorgen Metz hadn’t died, he might have had time to set it off. If Molly hadn’t been walking through the Chemistry Department at Van Dyne at precisely the wrong time… If he hadn’t been positioned behind his partner when that elevator opened… If. If. If.
“Lucky,” Molly echoed sleepily. “Yes. I think we are.”
She slept in his arms like a trusting child, unaware that her trust was misplaced. And he, coward that he was, continued to let her do it. He was going to stay even when he knew he ought to leave. Because he couldn’t bear the thought of another man watching out for her. Because he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving her. Because there would be no life for him after Molly. Because he was no damned hero, but just a man who’d fallen in love.
Bobby, who knew as well as Dan did that there were no medals forthcoming for finding a bomb only after somebody had literally pointed it out, had pulled Dan aside earlier tonight at the restaurant and asked, “Are you okay about staying on here, amigo?”
&nb
sp; Dan had tried to sound casual in reply. “Sure. No problem.”
“In case you don’t know it yet, the lady tells me she’s in love with you,” Bobby said, then speared him with those steel-gray eyes of his. “Unprofessional as it is, compadre, I’m guessing you feel the same.”
He nodded. There was no use denying it. At the same time, he tried to suppress a startled, goofy grin. He was in love!
“Okay,” Bobby said after a long, deliberate pause, meant to put Dan on the sharpest of tenterhooks. “Just don’t let that get in your way.”
He levered up on an elbow now, tracing the warm curve of Molly’s flank with the palm of his hand, listening to her soft breathing, questioning his ability to keep her alive, but knowing, by God, he’d die trying.
He was drifting in and out of sleep, trying to keep one step ahead of bloodred dreams, to keep the elevator door from opening, to keep Molly out of harm’s way, when she turned within the circle of his arms and softly brushed her lips against his.
“Are you sleeping?” she whispered.
“Not importantly.” He chuckled softly, pulling her closer.
“Love me, Dan,” she whispered, edging away from him just far enough to whisk her shirt over her head. “Please love me.”
He was ready, even before she undid the snap and her soft hand slipped under the waistband of his jeans to find him.
“My pleasure, darlin’,” he murmured, kissing each dimpled corner of her lips before taking full possession of her sweet, willing mouth. “Always my pleasure. I love loving you, Molly.”
“Do you know what I wish?” she asked, her voice riding on a long and nearly breathless sigh.
