Saints & Suspects

by Jordan McCollum

  Grace craned her neck, squinting at the dress’s neckline. “I must say that necklace is perfect with it. I hadn’t noticed it before.”

  “Thank you. It was a gift. From Jason.” Molly had only worn the pendant, a marquise emerald in a silver Celtic knot setting, because it fitted an Irish-themed wedding. She’d hardly touched it since Zachary had given it to her, for her birthday.

  This year he’d given her a fake wedding.

  “Here we go.” Chella returned with a veil and headpiece. Embroidery in a similar filigree pattern to the one at her waist decorated the edge of the two-layered veil, speckled with beads.

  “Perfect.” Molly leaned down to let Chella push the veil’s comb into her hair, then Chella showed her the headband — delicate brushed silver flowers set among white and red rhinestones.

  “We can replace the red rhinestones with your colors.”

  “Green and orange,” Grace interjected.

  Chella only hesitated a second. “Very nice.” Molly again bowed her head to allow Chella to put the headpiece on.

  Checking the mirror, Molly caught just a glimpse of a familiar face over her reflection’s shoulder. For one terrified, skipped heartbeat, she thought it might be Nate.

  She whirled around. Zachary stood behind her, brushing snow from his hair. Obviously Zachary would come to her rescue himself. He really was the best agent for the job: if he saw Nate, he’d know to keep him away.

  “Wow, Molly.” He used his Southern drawl, but from the warmth in his eyes, the sentiment was sincere. “You sure are —”

  “Jason!” Grace leapt from her sofa and pushed Molly toward her fitting room. “You can’t be seein’ Molly in a weddin’ dress.”

  “Grace,” Molly chided. But the other woman was practically shielding Molly with her own body like a Secret Service agent protecting the president, so Molly obliged and ducked into her changing room.

  “Aw, Grace, I ain’t superstitious, and I didn’t come down to get a peek at her dress — though I’m sure glad I did. Does she look that beautiful in all these dresses?”

  Molly knew better than to take anything in that accent seriously, but somehow that little compliment made her feel more beautiful than the dress did.

  Grace ignored his question. “How’d you know she was here?” she demanded.

  Zachary handled that easily. “Molly has a GPS app on her cell. I logged in remotely and triangulated her.” Was he using jargon on purpose?

  Grace hemmed uncertainly. Molly opened the door for Chella and craned her neck to glimpse Grace’s befuddled expression — but her gaze locked on Zachary’s. He winked at her.

  “Is that your fiancé?”

  “He is.” Oh, she should be smiling — but when she tried to make her face comply, she realized she already wore a silly grin.

  “He’d be killer in a tuxedo.”

  Molly converted her smile into a smirk at the upsell.

  Chella didn’t press it further. “Want to get dressed or try on this last dress?”

  With Zachary here to run interference, why not maximize her time with Grace? “Let’s try that last one.”

  Molly wouldn’t have agreed if she’d seen the dress beforehand. Thick floral lace covered the champagne pink dress from its asymmetrical neckline to its tight, straight skirt with a slanted hem. As if that weren’t enough, a rhinestone and crystal . . . mass encrusted the gown’s belly, just where every bride wanted a focal point.

  By the time Molly was ready for the reveal, Zachary was sitting next to Grace, thumbing through a catalogue. He glanced up as soon as she stepped out, and for a moment all pretense slipped away. His mouth fell open, then his same old disarming smile flashed into place. But it was his eyes . . . Zachary looked at her the same way he had when he’d given her that necklace a year ago — and when he’d nearly kissed her a week ago.

  But he caught himself and turned back to his catalogue. Molly checked herself, too.

  Grace hadn’t noticed her yet, still poring over the catalogue photos with Zachary. “Did you enjoy your dinner with Teresa last night?” Grace asked in a suspiciously blithe tone.

  “Tessa? Yeah, we ended up eatin’ somewhere else.”

  Molly cleared her throat before Zachary could go on about his date.

  “Oh.” Grace sounded pleasantly surprised. Or amused. “Now that one’s fancy.” Somehow, Molly didn’t think she meant that as a compliment.

  Zachary lifted a sarcastic eyebrow. “Goes with your ring like collard greens and ham hocks.”

  “What?” Molly checked the mirrors. The gown was more overdone than she’d feared: she looked like a cheap Vegas act. She shook her head decisively. “It’s the last one.”

  “I told you, you’ll know as sure as you know your fella’s the one.” Grace nodded sagely.

  Molly tried not to check Zachary’s reaction, but she glimpsed the hint of a frown in his reflection. “Let’s get dressed then.” She turned back to the changing room. All these wardrobe switches were not helping her talk to Grace.

  “Just a minute.” Zachary stood. “One more thang we gotta check on these dresses.” He joined her on the viewing platform and held out a hand. She studied him a moment, but accepted it. Zachary drew her closer, and she drew in a silent breath.

  He paused a moment, his eyes flicking down and then back to hers. “You gonna wear that necklace?”

  Suddenly, she felt more exposed than she had falling down the aisle in Bridie’s procession — as if Zachary could see through any other reason she might’ve worn his necklace than her own feelings.

  No. She had to stay in cover. Why wouldn’t Molly Ryan wear Jason’s gift? She added a teasing twist to her reply. “Thinkin’ of it.”

  She could practically see the memories in his mind. His free hand slid around to the small of her back. Molly reached for it, but he guided her hand onto his shoulder.

  “What’re you doin’?” she asked, though it was already dawning on her.

  “Dancin’.”

  She’d hardly noticed the background music in the shop, but now the slow instrumentals filled her ears. Zachary fell in time with the music. Obviously he had rhythm enough with his musical background, but — “Thought you couldn’t dance,” she murmured.

  “I can’t. Just shufflin’ my feet.” But then he raised their hands for her to turn. Out of habit, she spun out to arms’ length, then back, wrapping their arms around her until Zachary shifted to catch her, her back against his chest. She looked up at him; he locked onto her gaze.

  She didn’t remember this move ending up with the dancers this close. Her pulse rushed, and she tilted her chin up. They were madly in love, weren’t they? They had to sell that role.

  Although right now, Molly Malone wasn’t objecting either.

  Zachary leaned down, inching closer until —

  He jerked backwards, tugging her down to tumble after him. She landed with her elbow in his stomach, and Zachary grunted.

  “First step’s a doozy,” he half-said, half-coughed, his Southern accent firmly in place.

  If he hadn’t fallen, would she have — wait, had he fallen on purpose? Had he been leading her on only to interrupt? Teasing her with what she wanted to snatch it away? Anger blazed through her, and Molly scrambled to her feet.

  “Z —” She choked on his name. But she needed to say something now. “Xavier!”

  Zachary sat up too fast and glanced around, then scowled at her.

  She hadn’t blown their covers. Had she? Her face burned, and not because of the fall. She covered her cheeks and hurried into the fitting room.

  “Told y’all I can’t dance,” Zachary called through the door.

  “Who’s Xavier?” Grace asked. Even from here, Molly could hear the edge in her voice. Molly tried to jam her mental gears back into place, to get through the anger and back into her cover. She had to fix this.

  But Zachary was already fixing it. “Molly’s ex-boyfriend.” He grew louder. “She knows I hate it when
she gets us confused.”

  “Oh,” Grace said. Molly perked up. She bought that? “You could take dancin’ lessons, you know yourself.”

  “Pretty obvious I’m beyond help.”

  He wasn’t the only one. Was she seriously considering kissing him? And less as Molly Ryan and more as Molly Malone? That was one line they hadn’t approached undercover, a line she needed to stay well away from.

  Zachary had made sure of that. She shouldn’t be angry — she should be grateful — but heat still simmered behind her heart.

  He’d made it clear they were still headed different directions. So why couldn’t he let her be? Why did he keep messing with her head? Or was he just playing the cover too well?

  Molly took two calming breaths before Chella popped in and closed the changing room door. “You okay?”

  “I am, I am.” Molly spoke quickly and vehemently. “Sorry. Hope I didn’t hurt the dress.”

  Chella brushed aside the concern. “It happens; it’s a sample. But the last gown was definitely your dress. I’ve never seen it so becoming on a bride before.”

  “Thank you.” Molly half-smiled. Chella helped her out of the overdone dress, and Molly’s pulse began to return to normal. “Though I’m sure you say that to everyone.”

  Chella chuckled. “Maybe I do, but this time I mean it. Like I said, that dress is on sale — forty percent off — and it’s the last one in your size.” Chella quoted the sale price, and while it was less than that final solo dress, it also sounded like more than a nursing assistant would have in her budget.

  “I’ll have to talk to Jason,” she said at length. Chella ducked out for Molly to change back into her Aran sweater and jeans.

  She left the fitting room and Zachary set aside his catalogues, standing. “See, Grace? Told you it wasn’t the gowns makin’ her beautiful: it’s the other way ’round. Ready to go?”

  “I am,” she replied without making eye contact. “Sorry about the names.”

  Zachary leaned down to catch her gaze. She’d loved that charming little gesture since they’d first met. “That’s all right. Ain’t you forgettin’ somethang, darlin’?”

  Molly glanced at Grace, who was still engrossed in a catalogue, before whispering to Zachary. “You don’t even know what it cost. I’m only a nursin’ assistant, love.”

  “I don’t care. We’ll make it work.” He lowered his voice for a second to add, “You know it’s the one you really want.”

  She nodded slowly, her eyes on his. Why didn’t it feel like he meant the dress?

  He returned to full volume. “Anythang for you, Molly.”

  “Thank you, Jason.”

  He pulled out his wallet to hand her a credit card. She checked the card: Jason Tolliver. They followed a beaming Chella to the cash stand and gave her the credit card.

  “I’m sorry,” Chella said while she rang them up. “I have to ask — are you Irish?”

  Molly smiled. “I am.”

  “Happy Saint Patrick’s Day.”

  “Thank you.”

  Grace perked up. “Have you two been to the Saint Patrick’s parade here?”

  Molly watched Zachary; his reaction was nearly imperceptible. “Which one?” he drawled casually. “There’s the South Side Irish Parade, the one here on the Northwest Side, and then the main city one.”

  “My Irish dance girls march in that one,” Molly added.

  “Three Saint Patrick’s Day parades?” Grace raised both eyebrows, but something about her surprise seemed too practiced.

  “Chicago’s probably the best city in the world to be Irish.” She could turn this to her advantage, too. “Other than Dublin or Derry, of course.”

  Grace laughed without humor. “I wouldn’t class Derry or anywhere else in the North as a good place to be Irish.”

  And there it was: the opportunity she’d waited for. If she could respond correctly, it would seal her connection with Grace. She took a deep breath — and a big chance.

  “An Sasanach. Imeacht gan teacht orthu.” The English. May they leave and never return. Molly’s heart beat double time against the agonizing silent seconds. Grace hadn’t grown up focusing on her Irish lessons so she could join the Gardaí as Molly had — if Grace had had Irish lessons at all. Would using her Irish backfire?

  A slow smile suffused Grace’s features. “Tá!” she agreed.

  A flush of victory bloomed in Molly’s chest. At last, she was making headway.

  “Y’all talkin’ ’bout me again?” Zachary joked, cutting off Molly’s mental celebration.

  “That we are,” Grace said.

  Chella handed him back his card. Zachary signed the receipt “Jason Tolliver” without hesitation, Chella scheduled a fitting with Molly, and they left the shop.

  She’d just bought a wedding dress. Well, the FBI had bought it for her.

  What was she, crazy?

  “Oh, not snowin’ anymore,” Grace remarked once they reached the pavement. She tucked her umbrella under her arm and turned to Molly. “We should have you over to dinner soon.”

  “We’d love that.” Molly grinned. Could it really be working? Was she finally getting in with them? And if so — now what? She still couldn’t appear too eager. “Give us a ring and we’ll set it up.”

  “We will.”

  “Then we’ll see y’all soon.” Zachary spoke up before she could press her objectives again. He took Molly’s elbow, silently signaling that the shopping trip was good and over, and he’d be the one driving her home.

  No, she wasn’t done yet. But could happily engaged Molly Ryan tell her fiancé to leave?

  Grace moved closer to Zachary, and his hand on Molly’s elbow tensed. Was it her imagination, or was he positioning himself as a shield to her?

  “Now you listen to me, Jason Tolliver.” Grace jabbed his chest. “Don’t you go givin’ out to Molly because she called you by some other man’s name. You flustered her.”

  “I know, ma’am.”

  “You.” She held up a warning finger, a threatening storm that barely reached Zachary’s sternum. “Be good to her, or you won’t like the consequences.”

  “Always, ma’am. Skin me alive if I don’t.”

  Grace’s eyes held more steel than a machine gun. “Not quite what I had in mind. But it might do.”

  The threat seemed awfully sincere. Molly found herself gripping Zachary’s hand on her arm; Zachary took a step backwards on the pavement, edging out a nervous laugh. They bid Grace goodbye, and he led Molly down the street. “Creepy,” he muttered once they were out of earshot.

  “Very.” Molly watched Grace get in her car and drive off in the opposite direction from them.

  “Changed your mind about backup, huh?” Zachary drew her attention back to him.

  “The backup wasn’t to deal with Grace.” They walked past the jewelry shop Nate had gone in. Molly scanned the store through the display windows.

  “What, you want to look at wedding bands?”

  Molly backhanded Zachary’s stomach. “I rang you because I saw Nate.”

  “Ah.” Zachary nodded, then slid into his accent. “You ain’t told him ’bout us, darlin’?”

  “Are you dense or daft?”

  They rounded the corner and reached his car. Molly realized she hadn’t let go of his arm — even when she’d hit him, she’d taken hold of him again. He opened the door for her and then got in his side.

  She’d finally made progress with Grace. Or started to, until Zachary cut her off. Molly turned from her window. “Why’d you interrupt me?”

  “When?”

  “When I spoke Irish to Grace.”

  His tone sounded like she was testing his patience. “I told you, you can’t come off too eager.”

  “How would you know if I seemed eager? All I said was ‘May the English leave and never return.’”

  “She shouldn’t suspect you know she’s still involved in militant republicanism.”

  “I wasn’t anywhere near t
hat — not that you had any way of knowin’.”

  “No.” Zachary shifted in his seat. “But if you’re too eager, she might —”

  “One little sentence isn’t too eager.”

  “It could be.”

  Molly realized she was clenching the seatbelt and ordered her fingers to relax. “You really believe I might’ve ruined everythin’ if you hadn’t stopped me when you did.”

  “One sentence could —”

  “I cannot win with you. Either I’ve no experience or I do too much.”

  He pulled up to her building. “I’m just saying we have to be careful.”

  “And me doubly so? Because I don’t know how to do this?”

  He didn’t answer the question, his mouth opening and closing twice. Because she was right.

  Next he’d tell her she was doing “not bad.”

  Molly climbed from the car without a word. Zachary didn’t look at her either.

  Grand. She was still in love with him, but he was the one off in a different direction. And obviously that direction couldn’t include her as an FBI agent. She slammed the car door and headed into her building. She’d be willing to bet he’d cut off her conversation with Grace less because he was worried she’d mess things up and more because speaking Irish meant he wasn’t in control.

  Which hurt more? Zachary dumping her or not believing in her?

  Sunday morning, Molly braced herself and knocked on Nate’s door. He’d know something was up; she was an hour early for church. But it was well past time to do this.

  Molly didn’t try to hide her somber mood when he opened the door, dressed in a sweatshirt and shorts, his chestnut hair still mussed from sleep. “Hey! I missed you so much!”

  Oh, this would hurt.

  Nate stepped out to embrace her in the hall. “You get my email?”

  She swallowed and closed her eyes. Did she have to crush him?

  Nate realized she wasn’t hugging him back and held her at arm’s length. “What’s wrong?”

  “Can I come in?”

  Instantly wary, Nate moved aside to admit her to his flat. Molly glanced at the expensive TV, mahogany coffee table, cocoa leather sectional, all pristine as on the showroom floor. She gestured toward the sofa. He took a seat. Molly perched on the chaise. No point getting comfortable. He wouldn’t want her here long.