He pulled out a chair. “This is fantastic,” she said for the third time, taking the offered seat. “How did you do this?”
He shrugged, then pushed her chair up to the table. “Carlington’s a big donor. But if you hear anything, hit the deck.” He waited a full second before laughing at his joke — and reassuring Molly their visit was aboveboard.
“All this for our ‘monthiversary’?”
“Valentine’s day, too — but this is just the beginning.” Nate dished up the dinner from Styrofoam containers. The instant the garlic and herbs from the lamb chops hit her, she knew it had to be from Sapori, Nate’s favorite Italian trattoria. He served her half the lamb rack, then a generous portion of the risotto with porcini mushrooms she loved. He filled his own plate, lit the candles and took his place across the table from her.
Nate regaled her with tales of childhood mishaps — the man was lucky to be alive, it seemed — but Molly didn’t have much to share. Right now, her childhood, albeit semi-fictionalized, was a tool to target the Canavans. Sharing even the real parts here, among the stars and city lights and candles, felt almost profane.
Once their plates were empty, Nate brought out a smaller container. Dessert. Molly hoped for the chocolate hazelnut panna cotta she’d been dying to try, but Nate had probably chosen his usual rich chocolate raspberry cake. He paused before opening the dessert. “You really are beautiful, Molly. Especially tonight.”
“Thank you.”
“I know, I said no Valentine gifts, but this is a monthiversary present.” Nate rounded the table to stand next to her and pulled out a small velvet box — and Molly’s lungs froze.
No. Nate wouldn’t propose the night after mentioning it for the first time. Besides, that was too big for a ring box. Right?
Nate remained standing. Not kneeling. A good sign. Molly tamped down her errant nerves. He opened the lid, revealing a beautiful pair of creamy pearl earrings. “Molly, I love you. Happy anniversary.”
“Thank you so much — they’re lovely.” She accepted the box and gestured around the room. “Everythin’ is.”
Nate leaned down and kissed her. Molly kissed him back, but two thoughts drummed in her brain.
He’d said he loved her. And she hadn’t said it back.
Nate didn’t seem to notice. He stepped back and opened the cake. “I wanted everything to be perfect.”
And it was. Nearly.
Molly shifted on their booth’s padded bench at Paella Monday afternoon and inhaled the restaurant’s aroma of saffron, butter and lime. Her bright yellow rice was about all she’d managed to get out of the meeting so far. Twenty minutes with the Canavans, and she wished she’d had another hour to prepare. Or to practice injecting herself into a monologue.
Unless the FBI was maintaining radio silence for a reason, Grace’s incessant chatter wasn’t her only problem. If she didn’t focus, play her cover and hunt for her angles, she’d get burned.
Grace’s constant stream of conversation had meandered to the weather, as if Molly needed catching up on missed meteorological reports from her homeland. “Oh, did you hear about Hurricane Katia?”
“Sounds fierce. How —”
“Desperate fierce.” Grace plowed over her. “Enough to put the heart crossways in ye.”
Molly took another bite of saffron and shrimp rice. She hadn’t had a chance to say two words, let alone paint herself as a potential IRA acolyte.
Worse, the biggest threat to Ireland Grace had mentioned so far was El Niño. Last Molly knew, El Niño affected the Pacific far more than the North Atlantic.
“And the wind.” Grace clasped at an imaginary strand of pearls. “You wouldn’t believe — over a hundred KPH!”
Ed interrupted again. “Let the girl speak, woman.”
“Whisht,” Grace barked at her husband. Her scowl softened when she turned to Molly. “What’re you up to these days, dearie?”
“Ah, tearin’ away.” Molly hesitated to be sure Grace would allow a real answer. “I’m a nursin’ assistant.”
“Brilliant. Always knew you’d make somethin’ of yourself. And your fella?”
Her heart stalled a split second. She didn’t remember, and no helpful voice prompted her from her earpiece. She stalled with a drink of water, then hid her hand beneath the table, tapping each finger on her thumb, as if the meaningless gesture would help her remember.
She wanted to prove herself to Zach and the rest of the team, but they couldn’t be this quiet because she’d impressed them.
She had to cover this somehow. “I don’t really know what he does, you know yourself. It’s complicated.”
“Can’t be that complicated.” Ed grunted. “Didn’t strike me as a nuclear —” His insult was cut off by a groan. He rubbed his side and glared at Grace.
Finally the memory clicked into place. “He works at Arbor Haynes.” Molly hoped her relief didn’t show in her voice. “But I’m no good at explainin’ what he does.”
Grace bought it. “No matter.”
“What do you do?” Molly asked.
“I clean. Odd hours, but it’s honest work for decent pay. Can’t complain.” She waved a hand. “Ed, the skiver, hunts for work.”
Ed frowned over his gazpacho, the folds of his cheeks carving deeper. “‘All thy toilin’ only breeds new dreams, new dreams.’”
Molly didn’t know the quote. She checked Grace’s reaction and thought she saw the other woman roll her eyes. Still nothing from her radio support. Now would be the perfect time. An Internet search for that line could build rapport with Ed. Or some weather fun facts for Grace. Or anything. This silence couldn’t be normal.
Though Molly had only drunk a quarter of her glass, a new server in the yellow and black restaurant uniform appeared, offering water. Ed and Grace took refills, but Molly declined.
“Please? You’ll thank me later,” the server chirped.
Molly held out a hand in acquiescence although she murmured it wasn’t necessary. The server lifted her glass — and sloshed the ice water over the edge into Molly’s lap.
“Oh, sorry!”
Molly grabbed the soaked napkin out of her lap before the water reached her slacks, but the server leapt forward to help, too, dumping the rest of the glass onto Molly’s legs.
“I am so, so sorry!” The server tried to mop Molly’s lap with her apron, but it was little help. First the cold, then the water itself crept through the material now clinging to her legs. “Let me help you clean up in the restroom.”
“That’s all right,” Molly said. She’d done more than enough already.
“Really,” the server protested a touch too much. “My manager would insist.”
The Bureau had to pour cold water on her to get a message through? Something was seriously wrong. Molly shrugged an apology to the Canavans and followed the server to the unisex restroom far from the Canavans’ line of sight.
“Sorry about that.”
She expected the words — but not that voice echoing through the room. She shot Zach a glower where he stood, leaning against the black tile wall. “Is this your joke?”
“No, X is pulling the strings. I don’t give people cold showers as a joke.”
Molly bet his sister would be willing to differ on that one. The server yanked out a fistful of paper towels to scrub at Molly’s slacks. “My earpiece is banjaxed.”
Zach smiled at the Irishism. “Sounds like you’ve spent too much time with them already. We just tested it; I don’t know what’s up.” He pushed off the wall and offered her a new receiver.
Molly tried not to let her frustration show, switching out the earpieces. “Better?” came SSA Mason’s voice in her ear.
Molly flashed Zach a thumbs up. “We’re good,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow, and he pointed to the top button of his collared shirt, sticking out above his gray sweater. “Anyone have any global warmin’ statistics?” Molly asked his button.
Agent Mason laughed. “I’ll
Google it.”
“Need anything from me?” Zach offered.
Molly shook her head. “Doin’ all right on my own.”
Whatever response she’d anticipated, it didn’t come. By the time he finally, half-heartedly agreed, his hesitation had conveyed all the doubt she didn’t need. “Logistics,” he said. All he had to say to highlight her mistake: forgetting his stupid, made-up job.
He directed her to the hand dryer — as if that would help her trousers — and ducked out through the door facing away from the Canavans. Molly waved the server/special agent away and punched the button.
She could do this. She would — and she’d show Zach while she was at it.
“Focus,” she chanted to herself as the dryer’s noise drowned out the radio chatter. Focus. Focus.
Zach slipped out the restaurant’s back door and jogged toward the gray surveillance van in the alley. She was doing all right. Holding her own.
Still, she needed his help. With the earpiece. And remembering what Jason Tolliver did.
He reached the van where X waited, observing. Zach opened the door and took one look at Xavier. With that expression, Zach didn’t need to hear the bad news aloud.
“Trouble,” X said anyway. “Ed Canavan thinks it’s ‘deadly strange’ Molly doesn’t know what you do. Tell me that came up in there.”
“Yeah.” But coming back from the bathroom suddenly knowing the answer to the question didn’t seem any less suspicious. Her cover hadn’t been half-bad.
The microphone at the table inside picked up Ed’s voice. “Are we about finished? I’m ready to head.”
Xavier added context. “He’s been trying to convince Grace to forget her ‘plans.’”
Not the first time internal strife took down terrorists before the Bureau could. “And that’s a bad thing?”
X swiveled on his stool to face Zach. “Her ‘plans’ for Molly. And the server’s packing up their leftovers.”
That was trouble, whether Ed succeeded or failed in persuading Grace. Could Zach let Molly handle them alone?
Hadn’t he already answered that question?
“X,” he started, “I need to go in.”
“I don’t know.”
“Somebody’s gotta take charge of the conversation. We can’t let Ed win that argument.”
Xavier studied Zach a moment, then glanced back at the equipment panel. Ed was whining about leaving again. Molly still hadn’t made it back from the bathroom.
Finally, he nodded. “Go in.”
“We need to keep their interest long-term.” Zach grabbed the bin of earpieces — empty. “Where’d these go?”
“Inouye,” Xavier muttered. “He did the inventory in here last.”
He’d be flying blind. “I’ll explain how I turned up here to the Canavans; you find a way to keep me there.”
“I’ll figure it out.” Xavier turned back to the broadcast microphone. “We always do,” he added before pushing the button. “Molly?” he said. “Incoming. Going off script. Roll with it.”
Zach strode back through the service entrance, rehearsing his cover, setting aside who he really was to be Jason Tolliver. Georgia. Logistics at Arbor Haynes. Meeting them here because . . . ?
Twenty feet ahead of him, Molly returned to the Canavans’ booth. Zach rerouted to approach from behind the Canavans, giving Molly the small advantage of seeing him first.
See him she did, in a double take. The alarm in her expression shifted to surprise, though her smile was kind of forced. “Jason?” she called.
He reached their booth and grinned. “Hey! How y’all doin’?”
“What a surprise,” Grace exclaimed.
“What’re you doin’ here?” Molly asked, her eyes narrowing in real suspicion.
Hadn’t she gotten Xavier’s message?
Zach’s mind danced as fast as possible. Fortunately, it was much better than his feet. “Well,” he drawled the word into two syllables, “Molly’s gone on and on ’bout y’all all weekend, and I wanted to get to know y’all too. ’Sides,” he said, taking the seat next to Molly, “usually I’m the one takin’ Molly here on Mondays.”
“Oh.” Grace held a hand over her heart as if a weekly lunch date was up there with rescuing princesses. “You should’ve told us, Molly. We hate to ruin your time with your fella.”
“No big deal.” Zach wrapped his arm around Molly, where she still fit perfectly. “Now we’re all here.”
“Ah, but you’ve missed lunch.” Molly pointed to the Styrofoam holding her meal. Played-up puppy admiration glowed in her face, but her tone said something like sucks to be you.
“That’s all right.” But he had to draw this out or he wouldn’t have a conversation to control at all. “You know I’m always up for dessert.” He picked up the little dessert menu display off the table. “I’m fixin’ to try the Catalan cream.”
Molly leaned closer to him to read the menu. “Like crème brûlée? You’d like that, so.”
Zach drew in a breath — and realized his mistake too late. She still smelled like those flowers strangling the oaks in his parents’ backyard. Like home.
His heart stuttered, and those compartmentalized walls cracked. He hadn’t anticipated the biggest challenge: being close to Molly. They needed distance, now.
Zach released her to flag down a waitress — a real one — and order four Catalan creams. “My treat,” he said over Grace’s alternating protests and mutterings about the poor, oppressed Catalan people. Exactly. He fought back an inward smile. Their fight for independence had a lot more to do with his dessert choice than burned sugar on custard.
“What do you do?” Ed asked. “Molly doesn’t know.”
Zach patted Molly’s hand. “I work for Arbor Haynes.”
“She said that,” Grace said. “What do you there?”
“I’m in logistics.”
Ed still didn’t get it. “So, what do you actually do?”
“I logisticate.” He grinned at his joke. Molly rolled her eyes in a patronizing gesture, but the Canavans appeared mystified as ever. Ed shot Molly an almost sympathetic look, even with his perpetual scowl.
“Say, for example,” Molly jumped in, “you’re organizin’ a talent show.”
Did she have to bring up something they’d really organized together?
Compartmentalize. “Then it’s my job,” Zach continued, “to see everythang’s exactly how you need it: make sure the stage’s ready, microphones, lightin’, performers, costumes.”
“Ah.” Finally Grace and Ed understood, nodding in unison. However, they weren’t as intrigued as he’d hoped — he’d selected logistics to seem like a one-man support team, the perfect asset to any terrorist assault.
“Bit like a weddin’ planner, are you, so?” Grace asked.
“Sure; a weddin’ planner for transportation and aerospace.”
“Ah,” Ed piped up. “What kind of fuel do your machines use?”
Zach had researched the answer — or as much as he could get through their government contracts that morning — but before he responded, the waitress returned with dessert. She distributed the plates, then set a small box by Zach’s plate with a quick wink.
A ring box.
Suddenly it didn’t matter he’d skipped lunch. His stomach shrank so much he wouldn’t eat for a week.
“What . . . is that?” Molly breathed. Was it his imagination, or did she sound angry?
That made two of them. He’d kill Xavier.
Zach glanced at Molly. The color drained from her cheeks. He had to play this straight. He had to do this. He had to be Jason. Every eye at their booth — no, the whole restaurant — was on him and that little mahogany ring box.
If he were working with anyone else — anyone — this wouldn’t be a problem. But she had to be Molly.
He would seriously kill Xavier.
Zach gave a nervous laugh, fighting to strain out the anger in his tone. Sheepish. Embarrassed make something this person
al public. He had to shoot for that.
He slid off the bench and slid the box off the table. Zach forced air into his lungs, but he couldn’t force the right words into his brain. Taking a knee, he prayed his hesitation seemed like he was collecting himself — and that they bought it. And he’d know what to say.
The last request, however, fell through fast. Zach swallowed and looked up from the still-closed ring box. Molly’s deep blue eyes were frozen wide open. But as she met his gaze, the deer-in-the-headlights expression receded into something more like . . . hope?
If she could muster that look, maybe she didn’t need his help after all.
But now he was stuck.
His heartbeat echoed in his ears. Zach opened the ring box, but didn’t bother glancing at whatever the Bureau conjured up on short notice. They were out of earpieces but had an engagement ring handy? Priorities.
Still no words — and if he didn’t speak up, Grace would do it for him.
“Molly.” Why couldn’t she use a different name? His voice came out as an embarrassing whisper, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Molly.” Deep breath. “I love you.”
Tears glistened in her eyes. He felt like crying, too, but he wasn’t about to do that here. Not in front of Molly, not now, not with the way his pulse was still pounding. He just had to choke something out and it’d be over. Anything but the words he’d tried so hard to get right, the words he’d tried so hard to remember, the words he’d tried so hard to forget.
The words came anyway. So much for compartmentalizing.
“You’re my whole world. If I ever let you go, my life would never be complete. Marry me, Molly?”
Molly blinked to clear her tears, but two fell down her cheeks anyway. She covered her mouth with her hands, saying nothing.
“Please?” he finally added, again no more than a whisper for the single syllable.
She nodded and the restaurant erupted into applause, led by Grace.
He should kiss her. But no matter how good his legend, how good her cover, how much they wanted the Canavans, that was too much. Too dangerous.
Instead, Zach caught Molly in a hug aimed to hide his next move. “You’ll pay for this, X,” he said for his microphone.
Saints & Suspects Page 4
