Hearts Under Siege

by Natalie J. Damschroder

  Brady blew out a breath and shoved his hand through his hair, sending droplets of water flying around him. Molly didn’t flinch. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “How about with Chris being recruited by SIEGE?” she suggested. “Remember the consulting job—”

  “Yeah.” He felt stupid, gullible, that he’d never figured it out. “Right out of school. How did you know?”

  “They told me, when they recruited me. Used him as an example when they described what SIEGE does.”

  Brady remembered his own recruitment. The phone call, the interviews, his excitement at being chosen. Hell. He probably hadn’t been hired on his own merits after all, but because of his brother. The interviewers told him they got his résumé off a job site, researched him, and found him to be an ideal candidate for their information brokerage. All lies? Why not? That’s what espionage was all about, wasn’t it? As unfair as it was, as much as he hated himself for feeling it even for a second, he hated Chris for taking this from him, too. Just as he’d taken so much already.

  Stupid, Fitz. It didn’t matter how Brady got the job. He was a damned good operator. He’d been awarded two commendations for his role in taking down a couple of terrorist cells and derailing a rising dictator’s campaign for power. And the things he’d lost, he’d lost by himself. Chris hadn’t done anything to be blamed for.

  Brady realized Molly was watching him, waiting patiently for him to get out of his head again. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Anyway, they told me about both of you. Not details, just that you were agents, and that because I knew people in the field, I’d have incentive to do a good job as a conduit.”

  Brady snorted. “Is that why you agreed? Because they sold you some bill of goods that you’d be helping me and Chris?” But the idea warmed him, until she shook her head.

  “No. I agreed because I was dissatisfied.” She stopped talking abruptly, and when he looked at her, she was bouncing her knee, her arms folded across her chest. Classic signs that she was holding something back, or about to.

  “Dissatisfied with what? Music?”

  “No. Well, kind of. Not the music itself, the traveling.”

  She’d alluded to that several years ago, when she told him she was opening a store because she wanted to stay home. Their conversation had been cursory, though, not the in-depth discussion it would have been a few years earlier. His fault. And suddenly, he regretted the last twelve years more bitterly than he had at any moment during them. An unfamiliar burning seized his heart for a few seconds. His fault. Everything was his fault.

  Don’t choke now. You need to get home. People need you. Jessica needs you.

  The self-lecture didn’t help Brady pull himself together, but somehow he managed to refocus, to squeeze out a question about how she’d incorporated SIEGE into her store. He half listened while she talked about having no staff, so she could keep the information and objects safe that were passed through her, not only between SIEGE agents, but from SIEGE to other agencies, and vice versa. She told him about the training she’d insisted on after making a case for someday becoming a target or collateral damage, and needing to be able to take care of herself as well as the items entrusted to her as go-between for the various government and private agencies who passed information through SIEGE.

  Slowly, Brady reached equilibrium again, Molly’s talk of training enabling him to grab on to it, to compartmentalize everything that hurt, and let the operator take over. You’ve been in worse situations, he tried to tell himself. But of course it wasn’t true. More dangerous, maybe. Tenser, without a doubt. But more painful, more personal? Never.

  Still, those other situations had taught him how to cope. He had to focus on the here and now, on getting home, one step at a time, one minute at a time. Put everything in a box and close it up tight, to be dealt with…later. Sometime. After he’d finished with everything required of him.

  Like getting Molly home. She’d done an admirable job reaching him, but she didn’t have the experience he did. It was up to him to get her home safely.

  On cue, he sensed the faint, more-felt-than-heard rumble of a powerful vehicle behind them. Nothing visible in the rearview mirror, but they’d just come over a hill. The truck could be right on the other side of it, about to roar up on their tail. It could be a random traveler, or even local bandits. But instinct told him it was whoever had shot at them on the street. Someone had found out about the information he was gathering and wanted to stop him from leaving the country with it. And his mini-meltdown had allowed them to close in. Fuck.

  “Hang on,” he warned Molly. She instantly turned to face forward, putting her feet flat on the floor and wrapping her hands around her seatbelt.

  He slowly pressed down on the accelerator to speed up without spinning out or getting stuck. The road was a mess, definitely not suited to a chase. At least, not unless you were the one doing the chasing. He couldn’t let their pursuer catch up, or they’d almost certainly be run off the road.

  The speedometer crept upward. He glanced constantly from it to the road to the rearview and side mirrors. Still nothing, but he could feel the truck getting closer. Tension mounted almost unbearably, from both him and Molly.

  She craned around to check the road behind. “Did you see them?”

  “No. But—”

  The truck topped the ridge suddenly, a good hundred yards back now. It seemed to hang for a second, then plunged down the slope, half skidding, its engine now an audible roar under the rain hammering the Jeep’s roof. Any possibility it had nothing to do with the shooter was immediately quashed as someone poked the barrel of a gun out the passenger side window.

  “Get down,” Brady ordered, but Molly was already slumping as low as she could without being on the floor. He slammed his foot on the accelerator as they hit a longer patch of asphalt. The vehicle jounced over a pothole, flinging her up like a rag doll, but she didn’t utter a sound.

  He didn’t hear the shot, but caught a spark on the right side mirror out of the corner of his eye. Quickly comparing the values of zigzagging and being a more difficult target versus going straighter but faster, he stayed on track and struggled to come up with a plan.

  Another bullet pinged off the back of the Jeep. “How far to the next city?” Molly asked almost conversationally before taking flight again when they splashed down off the pavement into a hole too big to be called a pot.

  “Over an hour.”

  “And we have no weapons,” she mused, grabbing the door handle in an effort to control her bouncing. Her curly black hair covered half her face, so Brady wasn’t sure what she was thinking.

  “Not much we could do even with weapons,” he pointed out. “Unless you’re also a marksman.”

  “Nah, never got around to that.” She hauled herself back onto the seat because he had gained a little distance and the shooters were being smart, saving bullets. “Any side roads we can take? Any places to hide?”

  “Good idea.” There was another hill up ahead. If he could get far enough ahead, once they were out of sight he might be able to get them off the road. But only if there was another hill or a bend in the road. Otherwise, their pursuers would know what they’d done, and they’d be sitting ducks.

  “Floor it,” she told him, bracing herself. “Stop worrying about bouncing me.”

  “I’m not,” he ground out, mashing the accelerator down. “Does it feel like I’ve been worrying about that?” Okay, maybe he had been, unconsciously, because the vehicle surged up the hill, catching air when they came up over the top.

  “Side road!” she yelled, pointing.

  “Barely.” But he aimed the Jeep for it, hitting the brakes and skidding again. The rain and slop would hopefully disguise their tire tracks. Molly squeaked when, for a second, the Jeep seemed as if it would tip over, but he hit the gas again and it righted, sliding into a narrow gap between trees in a patch of jungle. It was more like a path than a road, but it was also flatter, less
rutted, and the overhanging trees protected it a little from the rain, so he was able to drive faster.

  Leaves and branches slapped against the car, catching in the mirrors and windshield wipers. He couldn’t hear anything outside their manic cocoon, and was too afraid of clipping a tree to take his eyes off the nose of the Jeep.

  “See anything back there?” he asked.

  …

  Molly righted herself and peered over the seat again. She swallowed the blood that seeped out of her bitten tongue and the inside of her cheek, narrowing her eyes against the rain sliding down the flat back window. “I can’t tell.”

  “We need to know.”

  Without a word she popped the latch on her seatbelt and climbed over into the cargo area. That didn’t help much, so she twisted the handle inside the rear window and pushed it up enough to look under it. The pungent combination of wet bark and mold blew in her face, but the truck wasn’t visible on the path. She held her breath and tried to listen, but couldn’t hear past their vehicle’s own crashing progress.

  “Anything?” Brady called back.

  “No!” A bad feeling welled up. There was a reason the truck was gone, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t because they’d lost their pursuers. “Stop, Brady!” She relocked the window and scrambled back into her seat. “Find somewhere to hole up.”

  “Are you crazy? Where?”

  “There!” The road took a sharp turn up ahead, their view blocked not only by the trees but by an outcropping of rock. She had no idea if they’d fit, but urgency built in her chest. “We have to stop. They— I don’t know, took another route or something, to cut us off.”

  “We didn’t see another turnoff,” Brady said, but not argumentatively. He stopped at the rocky outcrop before the road turned, and backed quickly off the road as far as he could, coming to rest against a sapling. She relaxed. A little. Her side of the Jeep was inches from the rock. A double-trunked tree blocked Brady’s door. They were totally trapped if someone stopped on the path. But a couple of branches had fallen back into place in front of them, and she didn’t think anyone would notice the few torn leaves unless they were looking hard. They were as hidden as they could be.

  They sat, frozen, waiting in total silence. She couldn’t even hear Brady breathing. Maybe, like her, he was holding his breath. The engine still droned—Brady had his hand on the key but didn’t turn it off, probably wanting to be able to pull away as quickly as possible if they were found. The rain still plunked and pattered, masking any sound from outside, and their visibility was nil. The little bit of outside air she’d let in had filled the car with damp, and their anxiety turned it to steam that had begun fogging the windows.

  Minutes ticked past, each one an eternity. She released and re-held her breath three times.

  And then the truck that had been behind them surged past from around the bend—in the opposite direction. Molly jumped and gasped, her heart leaping so hard she thought it would lock up. But Brady only tightened his hands on the steering wheel and watched it drive on.

  “Good call,” he said. “We’d have run right into them.”

  “Go,” she urged him. “Before they realize they went too far and missed us.”

  “Hang on.” He watched, seemed to be counting. Then he pulled out and turned right, so tight the rock scraped Molly’s door with a screech she was sure their pursuers must have heard.

  But though she watched, fear building a lump in her throat until she couldn’t swallow without a long, slow, burning pain, no one came up behind them.

  “What now?” she asked him. “We’re going the wrong way.”

  “I know. Can you get my GPS out of my bag? We can’t go back to the main road. I have to find another way.”

  Retrieving the unit gave her something to do, which eased her throat, then Brady kept her busy looking up coordinates on a map from the glove compartment and navigating him through a maze of back roads through the jungle. It kept them safe, but took four hours instead of the expected two, and by the time they reached the city, they’d missed the last flight of the day and had to get a hotel room until morning.

  Molly couldn’t say she minded. She let Brady check them into the chain hotel, struggling not to sway where she stood. No one had better attack them here. She was too tired to fight. In fact, she couldn’t seem to expand her awareness outside a two-inch perimeter. Her surroundings were a buzzing blur. Or a blurry buzz. Like a Monet painting, or sidewalk chalk. Non-HDTV.

  “Come on, Puddle.” Brady’s hand closed around her arm, his tone amused but weary. She didn’t need extra resources to hear that. She could identify Brady and his mood in her sleep.

  Okay, she’d completely lost it. She hadn’t been that unguarded about Brady, even in her own head, for years.

  “Don’t call me Puddle,” she managed, and let him walk her to the elevator. She’d always hated that old nickname, which started the summer she’d first gotten her period and cried every other minute. “What floor are our rooms on?”

  “Room.”

  A spark, a rush, and okay, now she was alert. “Room? Singular?” She slid out of his grasp and leaned against the elevator wall. “You only got one room?”

  “Yeah, it’s safer.” He was watching the numbers above the door. When she didn’t say anything, he glanced over. “What?”

  “So there was more than one room available.”

  “I didn’t ask. If those guys find us, I don’t want you somewhere else.” He frowned as the bell pinged. “What’s the problem? It’s a double. And we’ve shared a room hundreds of times.”

  Of course they had, even the same bed back in college, after a couple of parties in his frat house. But that was then. She hadn’t even been in the same building with him for a very long time, and never under the pressure of the emotions stewing in them both. Too tired to explain, she just shook her head and stepped out of the elevator.

  “Whatever,” Brady muttered, aiming for a door at the end of the hall. Molly concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other without staggering, and wondered how drunk she looked to anyone watching. Was anyone watching? She pivoted all the way around, and nope, the hall was empty. No visible cameras.

  Then she was inside the hotel room. Relief hit hard, and she stumbled the five feet to the nearest bed, falling flat on her face.

  Brady hauled her back up. “Not yet, Puddle. You need a shower.”

  Molly groaned and opened her eyes, startled to find him standing so close. The hard wall of his chest was within leaning distance—oh-so-fucking tempting—and with a slight flick of her eyes, she could see the pulse in his throat, the rough stubble on his jaw, and his perfectly shaped mouth. She could hardly breathe, her heart pounding, her brain short-circuiting with a need she could never, ever give in to.

  Especially now.

  Strangely, Brady didn’t back away. His chest expanded, contracted, as he breathed in time with her. His lips were parted, but she wouldn’t look up higher, to see his eyes. She just waited, not allowing herself to hope, though her entire body screamed “Do it!” Didn’t matter what “it” was, she’d take it.

  And then he stepped back.

  “You can go first. You look wasted.”

  She scrubbed her hands over her face. Fighting grief on every level. “I am. Thanks. Shit. My bag.”

  “Here.” He picked it up off the floor and tossed it onto her bed. She hadn’t even noticed him carrying it.

  “Thanks. Sorry.”

  “Hey, no apologies.” His voice was soft, admiring. “You were amazing today. I owe you.”

  “No, that’s what family does.” It came out without forethought, but she meant it. Unfortunately, the word “family” reminded them both why she’d done what she’d done. Brady’s expression went hard, stoic, and the dark well of pain she’d managed to ignore during their adventure overflowed again. “Um…I’ll be out as soon as I can.”

  “Take your time. I’ve got to call in, get instructions. Let them know�
��”

  Molly couldn’t handle the horror in his eyes now, and ducked into the bathroom to escape. She stripped off her still-damp, starting-to-reek clothes, and turned the water on in the shower to heat while she did other necessary things. The moment she stepped under the spray was the purest pleasure she’d ever felt in her entire life. She moaned as the hot water flushed away her tension and fatigue, eased every muscle, caressed and massaged, and oh, she might never leave here. The spray hit tender spots on her back and shoulders that she hadn’t noticed, easing the tightness, and when she lathered up the complimentary bar of soap to clear away the layer of grime, she let out a another moan.

  But that was one indulgence too much. She burst into tears, grief and longing digging in, turning pleasure and relief into agony. Chris, whom she’d never see again. Jessica, alone and scared. And Brady, oh, Brady. She dropped the soap and pressed her palms flat against the wall to hold herself up while her body shook, the sobs drowned out by the hiss of the water. She hoped. The last thing Brady needed was to be burdened by her rampaging emotions.

  She didn’t know how long she cried. The water never went cold. Brady didn’t knock on the door or ask if she was okay. So it probably hadn’t been that long. But it drained the last of her reserves. She reluctantly turned off the shower and pushed back the curtain. The towels were thin but soft, and she rubbed one over her hair and body, not caring what she looked like. A minute to put on sleep shorts and a tank, and she went out into the main room, not sure what to expect.

  Brady stood by the window, peering out through the tiny gap at the side of the curtain. She could see his eyes darting around the city, checking the street below, the windows of whatever building was across from them, the nearby rooftops. He looked alert, focused, but the fist clenched in the drapery told her he was barely holding it together. She suddenly felt guilty, as if she’d betrayed him by hiding her own grief, venting it alone. But then she was glad she had. The release had left her drained, but also neutral, which could be strength. Maybe now she could hold him up without breaking down herself.