Saints & Suspects

by Jordan McCollum

  Caution filled his face. “What’s up?”

  “We need to talk.”

  Nate fought to keep a neutral expression at those famous last words, but a muscle in his jaw tightened. “Okay.”

  He deserved honesty, not to drag this out. “This isn’t workin’.”

  He turned to stare straight ahead, his mouth practically glued shut. The brushed silver clock on the wall ticked out silent seconds. “That’s it, huh?” he said at last.

  Molly flinched at the anger in his voice, but absorbed the blow. If she’d done this when she should have, she could’ve spared him some pain.

  “I thought you wanted to get married. Or do you collect wedding magazines?”

  She sighed. “Sort of.” He deserved an explanation, one she couldn’t give without telling him too much about Grace. But marriage or no, that wasn’t the reason she was breaking up with him. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

  Nate waved for her to go on, a sharp flick of his wrist.

  “Why did you bring up marriage?”

  “Molly.” He threw up his hands. “What kind of —”

  “Just tell me.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, but it remained mussed. “I mean, we’ve been close for a while, and things were going well.”

  Molly’s heart sank an inch. Did he not see it? “Was that all?”

  “All? I love you, Molly. What else is there?”

  She let his words hang there. Could he hear how hollow they sounded? Or did she not hear the emotion behind them because she didn’t return it? “Or was it just ‘time’ to say that, too?”

  Nate inhaled loudly and pressed one finger to his temple.

  She looked down at her hands, but she wasn’t even fidgeting. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Too late. Sounds like you’ve decided for both of us.”

  “Have I?” She waited until he met her gaze before she continued. “Remember how I’ve watched R-rated movies?”

  He shifted, and his lips twitched.

  “I used to smoke cigarettes, you know.”

  Nate looked away, his discomfort growing.

  “I miss drinkin’ coffee. And alcohol.”

  “Molly,” he cut her off. “Okay, so you’ve got some issues.”

  “Nathan O’Shaughnessy, not bein’ raised Mormon isn’t an ‘issue.’ Let’s be honest: the person you want to marry could never say any of those things.”

  His gaze slowly fell, and he sank back into the cocoa leather behind him. After another long minute of silence, Nate stood. “I’m sure you can find your way to church.”

  “Nate,” she reproached gently. He strode past her and Molly reached for him, but he pulled away and stalked to the door. She collected herself and walked out of his apartment for the last time. At least he didn’t slam the door behind her.

  Molly maintained her calm exterior until she reached her car. She dropped into the driver’s seat. She shouldn’t have waited so long — but should she have broken up with him on the telephone? Hardly. She knew how awful that was.

  On the other hand, she hadn’t had to watch Zachary walk out of her life, pretending her world wasn’t crumbling when he said their lives were headed in different directions.

  Her entire identity wasn’t tied up in being Zachary’s girlfriend. She had the Bureau and dance and her family and all the things that made her Molly. But by the time they’d been dating a month, when she’d pictured her future, she’d pictured it with Zachary.

  And apparently he hadn’t.

  And that still hurt.

  Didn’t seem to hurt Zachary. If anything he was surer than ever, judging by his date this weekend and the “comfort” he’d offered his sister after her breakup. Different directions.

  He wasn’t in cover that day. Neither of them were. There was nothing to confuse him. Friday night in that parking garage was exactly what he’d said — his cover going to his head. Now his cover had to mess with hers too? To think, she’d been glad to see him at the bridal shop yesterday.

  Molly started her car and switched the heater on full blast. Did she love Zachary? Yes. But could she stand him? How could she, when he constantly belittled her?

  She’d have to work with him until they cleared this case. Doable, if she was careful. She’d keep her distance when they weren’t undercover. She’d finish this case fast as possible. She’d accept the offer from ASAC Chin.

  How soon could she ring the Canavans to arrange their dinner? The sooner she rang them, the sooner she’d be free from the ever-confusing influence of Zachary Saint.

  Mum was right. She needed to protect her heart — no, she needed to invest in coronary Kevlar.

  Grace observed the evening cleaning crew filing into the DontRain warehouse in silence. She’d taken the precaution of leaving their flat the back way that night with Pearse driving, more out of the habit of secrecy during a clandestine assignment than a fear anyone was surveilling them.

  “What’re we lookin’ for?” Pearse murmured.

  “Whisht.” She studied the workers, tapping a finger on her mouth. Difficult to profile someone from crossing ten meters of a dimly-lit car park.

  She waited until they entered the building to answer her son’s question. “Never seen a cleanin’ crew what didn’t do somethin’ to compromise the security — forget to turn the alarm back on, leave a door open, somethin’.”

  Pearse shifted in his seat as if to watch the doors better. “I thought Da was our way in.”

  Grace impaled him with a glare. “Aren’t you the one goin’ on and on about ‘redundancy’?”

  Pearse didn’t answer, but pointed back at the warehouse. Grace spun around. The side door was propped open, a lone custodian wheeling a trash bin across the car park. He took the rubbish around the back of the warehouse.

  The door was completely unguarded. Grace peered through the binoculars. Though the angle wasn’t the best, no one appeared to be watching from within the building. The south side of the building was lit by a single fixture above the door. Without that light, they could easily hide in the shadows and enter the building undetected.

  “Do you see it?” Grace asked.

  Pearse nodded. “Should we take care of that light?”

  “We should.”

  “A gun would attract notice.”

  Amateur. Grace brushed aside the concern. “You’d be amazed what you can get away with in a uniform.”

  They both fell into silence. The custodian returned with his empty trash bin and closed the door behind him.

  “What uniform?”

  “Repairman coveralls. Show up with a ladder, unscrew the bulbs — if someone asks what you’re doin’, say you’re with the landlord. You’ll be away before they check. But it’s unlikely you’ll run into anyone; we’d have you do it the day of, after business hours.”

  “What about the alarm? Oughtn’t the cleanin’ crew switch it on?”

  Grace bit her lip in thought. “I’ll take care of that.” Just like everything else, it would fall to her. Being the only capable member of the team was a burden she’d shoulder again. Gladly.

  Zach jabbed the elevator button to leave work Monday. After the way Molly had stormed out of his car Saturday, he’d been careful to give her space all day. He wanted to win her, not smother her.

  Xavier joined Zach waiting for the elevator. “How was your date with the SAC’s niece?”

  He’d almost forgotten Tessa — and the beginning of their evening. “Parts were good.”

  X raised an eyebrow.

  “We went to a karaoke bar and ran into my sister.”

  “The one that just got dumped?”

  Zach nodded. “That was the good part.”

  “Okay, you’ve got my attention.” Xavier tapped the still-lit elevator button.

  He grimaced. “We also ran into the Canavans.”

  Xavier gaped at him. “Some guys have all the luck.”

  “You know it. I’m assuming your weekend
wasn’t nearly that interesting.”

  “Nope. You really gotta keep your work life and your personal life separate.”

  While working with his ex? Zach laughed. “How, exactly, am I supposed to do that?”

  “Do what I do.” Xavier pulled out his car keys. “Spend every other weekend as far away as possible. This weekend we went to visit Lila’s family in Michigan.”

  “I’ve met her family. I’d rather work.”

  X folded his arms, his keys jangling in one hand. Before he unleashed whatever response was coming, the elevator arrived. Xavier dropped his stance, and they boarded the elevator. X turned to Zach. “Did we ever hear back on CPD testing the Canavans’ tank for off-road diesel dye?”

  Good. Work. “Don’t think so.”

  X frowned. “Still thinking arson?”

  Gasoline burned better than it exploded, but plain old fire wasn’t the IRA’s style. “Blowing something up, more likely.” Zach returned Xavier’s frown, and the next pertinent question hung in the air — blowing up what? “Enough for a warrant yet?”

  “Unfortunately, no. We gonna search everybody who buys diesel?”

  “Everybody that used to blow stuff up, yeah.”

  “Great.” The elevator doors slid open at their floor, and Xavier started out. “Give me something better than a co-conspirator to prove the Canavans did that.”

  Zach set his jaw and let Xavier outpace him. The Malones were only co-conspirators by a defense attorney’s definition. But X was right. Even Northern Ireland couldn’t come up with anything on them. Definitely not enough to convince a judge for a warrant. They needed more evidence: a target, a timeline, anything.

  Now he needed to talk to Molly. For the case.

  At the end of work Monday, once Kent had headed for the elevators, Molly massaged her brow to assuage a headache. Beyond ridiculous. She couldn’t possibly hold his hand through every step of an investigation. The man had to be capable of an original, investigative thought. Didn’t he?

  Phoenix looked better every day.

  “Molly?”

  “What?” she bit off. When Kent didn’t respond, she looked up to find Zachary standing at her desk, as he had a hundred times when he was undercover.

  When she’d fallen in love with him.

  The biggest reason to take Phoenix’s offer.

  “Hard day with Kathleen, Moll?”

  She had to chuckle — Kathleen was the coworker who’d made her life miserable at that same old desk. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Father.”

  Zachary wrinkled his nose. “That’s weird now.”

  “It was weird then, too.”

  Zachary’s smile faded, and he leaned closer. “Listen, we need something to get us a warrant or anything better than suspicions. What can we do?”

  Was he seriously asking her? She sat up straighter. “An invitation to their apartment.”

  Before Zachary agreed, Molly had her mobile out, dialing. Zachary moved around her desk to crouch by her, his ear close to her phone. His face close to hers.

  She noticed her foot bouncing and stilled it. She had to get this right, no matter how close Zachary was.

  “Molly, dearie?” Grace answered.

  “How’s about ye?” Molly went straight for Irish phraseology. “Any luck linin’ up venues this weekend?”

  “This weekend?” Grace hesitated. “Em, Ed’s feelin’ neglected —”

  Molly shot Zachary a look aimed to express skepticism and sarcasm. The man hardly seemed to tolerate Grace.

  “ — so we’re plannin’ a daytrip Saturday. A staycation? Whatever they call it.”

  Work with this. She had to work with this. “Sounds massive,” Molly said. “In fact, it’s perfect. Jason and I could use some stress relief.”

  Wait, she wasn’t inviting them along on their weekend excursion. She looked to Zachary again. He nodded for her to continue.

  “Why don’t we get together for dinner?” Molly suggested. “No plannin’, no weddin’s, just a quiet night in.”

  Grace mulled over the bait. “How’s about next Friday?”

  “The seventeenth? Let me check with Jason.” She lowered her mobile.

  Zachary chewed his bottom lip. “Can we get in sooner?”

  “Yes, let’s invite ourselves over tomorrow. That isn’t suspicious at all.”

  He held up both hands, accepting her point, and she raised her phone again. “Sounds grand.”

  “Are you or Jason hostin’?”

  Molly swallowed a groan. Hadn’t Grace invited them over last week?

  She could make sure Grace hosted. “Hang on — what?” She held the phone away from her mouth again and covered the microphone. “Say somethin’,” she murmured to Zachary.

  “Like what?”

  “Just speak. Don’t whisper.”

  “Not sure where this is going,” he said in full voice.

  Good enough. She lifted the phone. “Sorry, Jason forgot his apartment’s bein’ fumigated next week.” Did that take a whole week? Grace wouldn’t know. “And my flat’s a studio, so I haven’t room to host.”

  “Oh.” Again, Grace let that roll over in her mind. “We could find another day —”

  “That’s the only evenin’ we’ll both be free for another fortnight, with our work schedules. Then we won’t have time to relax, with weddin’ plannin’ and all.”

  Molly held her breath. If she had to try to convince Grace again, she’d sound suspect.

  “I suppose we could host you,” Grace said. The least enthusiastic invitation they’d gotten from her, but Molly would take it.

  “Thank you,” she gushed. “I’m already lookin’ forward to it.”

  “Us as well, dearie. Let me do you a favor for your weddin’ too: I’ll find a venue available for your dates this week, and then we’ll go from there. Right, so?”

  “Sure.”

  “Have to be headin’. See you next Friday!” As usual, Grace cut herself off in the middle of her goodbyes.

  Sighing, Molly tucked her mobile into her pocket. “Appears we’ll be draggin’ this out another week.”

  Zachary looked away but she thought she detected a grin. Did he want to prolong this?

  “They really want you back in Phoenix?” he asked.

  “An ASAC called personally.”

  “I can see why.”

  Was he . . . complimenting her? Molly braced for the cut that would surely follow.

  But it didn’t. Molly allowed herself to enjoy the praise. A tiny tendril of hope wrapped its way around her heart. “Was that so difficult?”

  He cocked his head. “What?”

  “Complimentin’ me — without turnin’ it backhanded at best.”

  His eyebrows drew together in genuine confusion. “I’ve given you compliments. Hundreds.”

  “Sayin’ I’m beautiful isn’t the same as admittin’ I’m a good FBI agent.” Molly stared into his eyes until his gaze faltered. “Can you say that?”

  Zachary stood up, pulling away. “Would you believe me?”

  Could she, after the way he’d treated her?

  He tapped her desk. “Let’s get together next week to go over an action plan.” He leaned in close enough to drop his voice to a murmur. “And you are beautiful.”

  Molly barely dared to meet his gaze. Did he think that was what she needed to hear? She wasn’t a perfect agent, no, but Zachary couldn’t even admit she was competent enough to work a case without his micromanagement.

  He didn’t want to be with her. He didn’t respect her as an FBI agent. And he was the one who’d fallen in love with the wrong person?

  “Good night, Zachary.” She turned back to her computer as if her email was super urgent.

  She wasn’t even halfway home when her mobile rang. Grace? She hoped not. Molly pulled out her mobile: Mum. She hit the icon to turn on speakerphone. Molly sort of managed the small talk, but Mum wouldn’t let her get away with that.

  “Have you spoken
to Nate?” Mum asked.

  “Yesterday.”

  “How’d that go?”

  Molly groaned in her heart and merged onto the freeway. “He leapt for joy and did a treble jig out the door. How d’you think?”

  Mum chuckled. “What did you tell him?”

  “That I’m not the person he wants to marry.”

  Mum sucked in a breath, as if hearing it cut to the quick. “Not that you had a lot to accomplish?”

  “Already told him that.”

  “Hm.” Mum was quiet, and Molly scanned the familiar exit signs. “Did you ever tell Zachary that?”

  “We never discussed marriage.” She’d told Lucy, but Lucy had always kept confidences.

  “Hm,” Mum said again. “But haven’t you told every man you’ve dated that, in one way or another?”

  “I don’t know.” Why did she need to sound so defensive? “It’s true, anyway. I’ve to make up for all the time I lost these last six years.”

  “Lost, love? You earned a Master’s and spent how many years runnin’ an entire parish? That’s not accomplishin’ anythin’?”

  “Mum.” Molly let her tone convey her impatience with her mother’s logic.

  “Molly, can I tell you somethin’?”

  “Sure now.”

  “Are you sittin’ down?”

  Molly glanced around the car interior. “I’m drivin’.”

  “You might want to pull over.”

  She suspected Mum was being overly dramatic, but just in case she was about to reveal Molly was adopted or the like, Molly stopped on the freeway shoulder. “What is it?”

  “Life doesn’t end at marriage.”

  Molly half-laughed. “I know.”

  “Do you, love? Because I keep hearin’ you say you’ve so much to accomplish, so much to do, but even you don’t know what that is. ‘Y’know, stuff.’” Mum delivered the last words lowering her voice and adding an American accent, imitating a teenage boy.

  “I don’t sound like that.”

  “No,” Mum admitted. “But do you know what I ‘accomplished’ in the first five years after I married your da? I foiled three bombin’ attempts, stopped six kneecappin’s, and got seven IRA soldiers arrested. I survived a weekend in hostile police custody, went on countless clandestine missions and delivered more than one weapons cache to authorities. And honestly, havin’ your da there with me was my greatest strength, to celebrate the good, and weather the bad together.”