Agent Mason cleared his throat. “What does that mean, exactly?”
Molly’s parents exchanged another glance, then focused on her. Da ran a hand over his close-cropped gray hair. “Can Molly step out?”
She managed not to roll her eyes and addressed Mason. “You’re familiar with the term agent provocateur?”
To his credit, Agent Mason didn’t flinch. “MI5?”
Her da silently scoffed.
“Special Branch,” Molly provided. They’d never said as much, but it didn’t take a genius to deduce they hadn’t spied for the British — they’d reported to a division of the same Irish police force that hired her twenty-five years later.
This time, Da dipped his chin in a single nod.
“Special Branch of what?” Agent Mason asked.
“Special Detective Unit of An Garda Síochana. Spyin’ for the Irish.”
“Ah. We’ve got the files, but what can you tell us about them?” Agent Mason tapped the photo.
Mum sighed. “More married to the cause than one another — Janey Mack, Colm, do you remember the fuss Grace made over their weddin’?”
The tiniest smile tugged at the corner of Da’s mouth. “And ours?”
Mum laughed softly. “Sometimes she was more interested in gettin’ married than who she married — as long as he was IRA.” She pulled herself back to the topic. “We ran into them in Dublin seven years ago, and even then they were tryin’ to drag us into it again.”
Right, when Molly had been home on holiday, a few months after graduating from Garda College and receiving her first assignment on the force.
If the Canavans had found out she was a Garda, they could’ve targeted her entire family. The threat was serious enough that the Irish government had shipped Molly, her parents and her older sister’s family to the United States within days.
“They’re the reason we left Derry, too,” her mum continued. “We’d given it up, retired, and they kept houndin’ us to do this and that.”
“You were the Ryans,” Molly prompted for Agent Mason’s benefit.
Da took a breath. “We were. Our cover.”
“We’re all familiar with their profile.” Agent Mason steered the conversation back to the Canavans with a tap on the photo. There was a beat of silence before he pulled out another photo, this one from an hour ago — Molly talking to the Canavans. “What might they be up to now?”
Her parents stared at the photo, Mum swallowing audibly. She looked up with concern in her eyes and the V of her brow, but it was Da who spoke. “Particularly fond of bombs. Big statements. Public displays.”
Agent Mason nodded slowly. “Any ideas on a timeline? Any dates significant for them?”
“Your guess is as good as ours,” Da said. “Probably better.”
Mum thought a moment longer. “If they’re commemoratin’ somethin’ personal, her brother was killed in May. Maybe the Easter Risin’ if it’s more political. Only speculatin’.” Mum pivoted to Molly. “You know what you’re gettin’ yourself into, don’t you?”
“I do.”
Her mum’s gaze grew distant, and the set of her lips seemed to say she was as satisfied with Molly’s answer as if she’d given an evasive excuse for breaking curfew.
Da shook his head, defeated. “We just don’t know. Never worked with them directly — more of a social relationship within the Army.” He stood and helped Mum to her feet. “Sorry to waste your time.”
Agent Mason gave a nod of grim understanding. Mum kissed the top of Molly’s head, and Da squeezed her shoulder. “See you at rehearsal.”
Molly patted his hand and stood to show them out. Agent Mason hurried to open the door for them. Mum shook Agent Mason’s hand again. “You have work to do,” she said.
They certainly did. Agent Mason stepped out and signaled someone over, and another agent approached. Molly turned back to collect the photos before she saw who it was.
“Colm, Katie.” Though she couldn’t see him, she recognized Zachary’s voice addressing her parents. Molly stepped further out of sight of the door. If she could avoid him, she would. Who wanted to run into an ex at work? Especially one who still left her breathless as if she’d run a marathon?
As if she hadn’t seen other attractive men since he dumped her last summer.
“Ah,” Da said. “Now it makes sense.”
Mum rushed to explain. “We wondered if you were secretly unemployed. You know, workin’ for ‘the government’ and all, never anythin’ specific.”
Sarcasm rang in Zachary’s reply. “Good to see you again, too.”
“We’re just leavin’,” Da said. “Always a pleasure, Zach.”
“Likewise.”
“This agent will escort you out,” Agent Mason said.
Before Molly could muster the hope that he meant Zachary, his voice carried again, softer. “Any idea on a timeline?”
“Haven’t been in contact with them for years. Easter, maybe.”
A beat of silence passed, but Molly wasn’t moving until she was sure Zachary was gone.
He wasn’t. “Did you know about Molly?”
“Are you kidding? You think I would’ve dragged you down there if I did?” Agent Mason paused. “I called the ASAC on my way back. He notified the regular surveillance guys this morning.”
“Convenient, when they’re in court all day.”
Molly allowed a silent sigh. The Assistant Special Agent in Charge — who’d transferred her here for this case — should’ve told Agent Mason she was going in today, not just the surveillance team who normally watched Grace. That had backfired on them all.
“Don’t think we won’t talk about what happened,” Xavier said. “I am not the one —”
“I know. It was stupid. But I couldn’t leave her out there.”
“She was on assignment.” Agent Mason reiterated the point with the right balance of firmness and defense. At least someone recognized she knew what she was doing.
“Last I knew, she was assigned to Arizona. I thought she was here on vacation.”
Agent Mason was silent a long moment. “She’s our ticket in.”
“Listen, I can do this, but Molly —”
“In an hour she’s gotten us closer to them than we have in six weeks.” Agent Mason jumped up Molly’s mental list of agents she’d work with again. Respect went both ways.
Zachary didn’t seem to get that. “She’s not even counterterrorism.”
“If you can’t work with her, you can be reassigned.”
“Me? Molly’s practically a first office agent still. There’s gotta be something less dangerous.”
Less. Dangerous. Hadn’t she been the one protecting Zachary from the mob when she met him undercover? Wasn’t she an FBI agent now?
Molly strode to the door to face Zachary. “What were you plannin’ to do? Call up Grace and say you’re completely taken with these total strangers?”
Zachary grimaced. “Molly, I didn’t —”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Agent Saint.” She brushed past him, calculating how quickly she could make it to the lift without appearing to be running away.
Zachary stopped her with a hand on her arm, and she spun back. He offered a strained smile. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You didn’t mean I can’t handle this?”
His deep-set blue eyes fell. Molly ignored a quick stab of guilt. She was glad not to have to stare into those knowing eyes as if nothing had changed. Nothing was the same.
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said.
He should’ve been that considerate last summer. But Molly glanced at the sea of cubicles and desks stretching across the squad room and held her tongue. She wasn’t about to humiliate them both by airing their personal problems in front of Zachary’s entire division, not to mention his boss.
“Can you work together?” Agent Mason asked.
Molly turned to him. “The assignment was for me, on my own.”
&nb
sp; “You need the backup,” Zachary stated like it was more than fact, like it was Gospel Truth.
“You realize I’m an FBI agent, don’t you?”
Zachary opened his mouth and closed it, then nodded. “You got a plan?”
Molly clamped down on her rising anger. “Ring the Canavans Monday night and invite them to lunch next week.”
“Paella,” Agent Mason suggested.
Much as she liked the Spanish rice dish, Molly couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. An oddly specific recommendation.
“Restaurant in the Loop,” Zachary clarified. “They play nice with us.”
“Right.” So Zachary knew one little thing she didn’t. He’d worked in Chicago longer.
How long? The last she knew, he was on the fast track at headquarters. What was he doing here?
“What will you tell them about me?” Zachary asked.
“If they ask, I’ll say it’s nothin’ serious.” She wanted to watch his reaction, but she didn’t dare. Staring into the eyes of a man that handsome, one she’d once loved? Now that was dangerous.
“No.” Zachary flat-out rejected her story — which she was making up on the spot and doing a grand job, thank you very much — and turned to Agent Mason. “I need to stay on this case.”
Agent Mason’s gaze slid to Molly and back to Zachary. “She’s doing okay on her own.”
“X.” Zachary’s chin lowered, like he was leveling with his blood brother. “Keep me on the case.”
Agent Mason met Zachary’s eyes, and they shared some silent conversation in man-ese. Not Molly’s first language — not even her fourth — but she picked up on Zachary’s ridiculous over-protectiveness.
“I can manage,” Molly said.
“I know. But . . .” Agent Mason checked with Zachary again and pressed his lips together. “Backup never hurts.”
Molly set her jaw. Obviously she couldn’t compete with the boys’ club bond. She’d have to prove herself at Paella.
“Coordinate.” Agent Mason pointed at them and checked his watch. “Before you leave today. Check in once a week.” He headed for his desk.
Fine. She wheeled on Zachary. “I’ll be Molly Ryan. I remember my childhood in Derry with ridiculous fondness; I cannot fathom why those evil imperialists insist on maintainin’ control of land in my country.”
Zachary’s tone verged on patronizing. “Cool the nationalist rhetoric — don’t want them to think you’re too eager.”
“Oh, I am eager.” She smirked at him. He returned the smile without sarcasm, but with — nostalgia?
Love?
A mad buzz vibrated through her at the thought. No, definitely not that. Molly clenched her fist. This time, she’d keep her heart intact.
“Not trying to step on your toes,” Zachary said. “I just . . . know how hard it is to be alone undercover.”
For half a minute, Molly almost let herself believe him. Could he really be here for support, not because he doubted her abilities?
“We can work on my legend over the weekend,” Zachary offered.
Seeing any man that attractive outside of work was a recipe for heartache. This had to be business, and business only. “I’m sure you can handle it.”
“Okay.” He paused, and when he spoke again, something about his voice was . . . gentler. “Really good to see you.”
Molly nodded, barely daring to look at him. Did he have to be handsome as ever, the same knowing blue eyes, the same light brown hair, the same balance of confidence and kindness in his smile?
The same man who’d stolen her heart undercover and broken it with the truth. “Good to see you, too,” she lied.
Did one of them move, or had they been standing this close the whole time — in the middle of the counterterrorism division?
She backed toward the conference room. Attraction was only natural; she’d have to manage. Wasn’t as though she still had feelings for him. Now, which was the best way around Zach?
“We should catch up. You have plans tonight?”
“I do.” She was grateful it wasn’t a lie — but she wasn’t ready to twist the knife and tell him about Nate.
“Okay.” Zachary took the blow . . . not like a blow at all. “See you Monday.”
“Monday.”
Zachary headed for his desk, and Molly retreated to the conference room to collect the Canavans’ photos. She swallowed a sigh. They had virtually nothing on the Canavans except Grace mentioning the IRA to someone who worked with her on a night janitorial staff.
This was not how Molly had imagined her first major undercover assignment — or running into Zach again. In fact, she’d tried not to imagine seeing him at all. The Bureau was big enough for the two of them to never cross paths, especially with him climbing ladders in DC and her just happy to be back in law enforcement after all those years away.
Because of the Canavans. Molly glanced down at the photo of herself with the suspects. Seven years ago, Grace and Ed had ruined her perfect life. At twenty, Molly had been on track for her dream job with Irish intelligence. Then her family was shuttled off to Chicago, where her career had hit a brick wall, where nobody wanted an Irish citizen enforcing American law.
Where she’d met Zachary.
No. Zachary was what she’d called him when they were dating. Everyone but his mother called him Zach, and she’d follow suit as long as they had to work together.
Molly studied the Canavans’ photo again. She’d bring them down for what they did to Northern Ireland and whatever they were doing now, and then she could move on from her past once and for all. Including Zachary.
Zach.
That night, Molly focused on her car window as Nate pulled into Bandera’s car park.
“You’ve been quiet,” he noted. “You okay?”
Molly looked at her boyfriend and took a deep breath. She hadn’t been good company, trying to avoid all the things she couldn’t say. She couldn’t tell him she’d run into people she’d hardly seen since she was five; she couldn’t tell him she was hunting down terrorists; she definitely couldn’t tell him she’d seen Zach.
Nate didn’t have the security clearance, and he wouldn’t understand. Besides, he didn’t know who Zach was. “I’m grand,” she said. “How was your day?”
Nate gave a low whistle. “Crazy. You wouldn’t believe what Carlington’s like when you’re trying to prove yourself.”
Management consulting seemed less daunting than a job with people’s lives on the line, but she let that slide.
Nate shifted the car into park, leaving the engine running. “Um, I’ve been thinking.”
He paused, but she’d learned to let silence force someone else to speak.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
That sounded none too good. “What’s that?”
“We’ve been dating for a while.”
She nodded and let the silence spin on, Nate growing more fidgety.
“I gotta say, things are going really, really well.”
She would’ve agreed far more emphatically had she not just seen Zach. In fact, until that afternoon, she’d thought she was starting to fall for Nate.
Seeing Zach shouldn’t change that. She’d moved on.
“Maybe,” Nate finally continued, “we should think about marriage.”
She blinked twice, and yet the words still didn’t seem to sink into her brain. “That’s, ah, a big decision.”
“Not saying we’ll elope tonight.” Nate smoothed his chestnut pompadour, already impeccable, and laughed.
Molly joined in, though she sounded nervous to her ears. “Then what are you sayin’?”
“We should pray about it.”
“Nate,” she began carefully, “I have a lot to accomplish before I get married.”
“Believe me, I get that. But when you find the right person, why wait?” Nate switched off the car and hurried around to get her door. Two months and he was talking marriage? Was he crazy? Did all Mormon me
n bring up marriage this soon?
Zach hadn’t. Molly shoved that thought aside.
Nate opened the door and helped her out. Other than this rather insane notion, Nate was nearly everything she’d want in a boyfriend: considerate, sweet, chivalrous, romantic. And it wasn’t as though they’d just met; they’d been friends at church while he was in business school and she was at Quantico, and he’d been there for her online and then on the phone while she adjusted to her first assignment in Arizona. Though they’d only been official for — what, eight weeks? — they’d dated for another month or two before that. He’d nearly taken a position in Phoenix when this assignment had come for Molly.
Within a week, he’d landed a job here, to be close to her. As boyfriends went, he was practically perfect, Molly reminded herself. Almost too good to be true. Nearly everything she could ask for. She took Nate’s arm, and he walked her into the restaurant. The low, dark ceiling and heavy wood tones blended a feel of the Old World with an intimate, modern ambiance.
“Now, this place is nice,” he whispered as they followed the hostess to a table, his green eyes sparkling. “But wait until tomorrow night.”
“What’s tomorrow night?”
“Celebrating Valentine’s day, since I’ll be gone Tuesday — but more importantly, it’s our second ‘monthiversary.’ I’ve been planning it for about two months.”
She joined in his laughter. She wasn’t much for sentimentality normally, but remembering silly occasions like that was cute.
Now if only he’d forget this talk of marriage, everything would be nearly perfect. Nearly.
In the entryway of the Irish American Heritage Center the following morning, Molly chatted with the teenagers in Scoil Síofra’s Irish dance company. Didn’t seem all that long ago that she’d been in their ghillies and jig shoes. Now she was their teacher. Molly’s parents wove through the mingling teens, careful with their instrument cases — though Da’s uilleann pipes could double as a weapon.
“Practice those bicycles and birdies!” Molly called after a pair of departing dancers. Three girls left to be picked up.
“Miss Molly,” Olivia said, “what are you doing for Valentine’s Day?”
Saints & Suspects Page 2
