TWELVE
Detective Ryan is former military; at least, that’s what Vaughn whispered to Mollie when they saw the man on the phone as they waited outside his office. She didn’t respond to his comment. She didn’t really care if the cop was a Purple Heart winning hero who took out a hundred insurgents with a toothpick and a wicked left hook. She did not want to be here.
Everyone in the precinct had been nice enough. Mollie thinks she even spotted the cop who took her statement the night of her burglary. She couldn’t be sure. Bottom line for her: they are all cops and hence, the enemy. She can hear her father’s nagging voice in her head, a constant mantra that she still couldn’t shake all these years later: “we don’t trust cops, Mimi and we damn sure don’t talk to them.” She wonders if Viv had told her father she was sending his daughter into the lion’s den. She thought if he knew, he’d have a fit, but maybe his opinions had changed over the years. Maybe, since he was working with the other side of the law he’d always tried to avoid, that he wouldn’t mind so much her being here, foot shaking, gaze working side to side. He’s been on the inside surrounded by cop-types for ten years. Nope, he’d still mind.
Her hands would not unclench, her back would not relax. Vaughn sits too close to her, keeps looking too frequently at her face. Why, she doesn’t know. He is the one pulling away from her. He is the one following orders like a good Marine. When he stretches his arm over the back of her chair, something he did too often, Mollie leans forward and glares at him. She looks down the hallway, then into Ryan’s window across from them and when she sits back against her seat, Vaughn’s arm is not there.
Fine. Whatever. Cool, Semper Fi.
“Ms. Malone?” Both Vaughn and Mollie stand when Ryan opens his door and calls her name.
“That’s me.” She walks in front of Vaughn, arms held in a curl around her waist as they follow the detective into his office, then she stands by the chair he motions her toward in front of his cluttered desk. There are endless stacks of files all over the metal surface and two empty paper coffee cups that are stacked inside each other. There is a black suit jacket on the chair he wants her to sit in, and Mollie picks it up, catching a whiff of cologne, a scent she always finds delicious.
“Sorry about that,” Ryan says, taking the jacket from her. “Please, sit.” He turns, nearly walks into Vaughn when he tries to shut the door. “And you are?”
“Staying.” Vaughn doesn’t bother to explain and instead sits next to Mollie, though he does keep his arm from moving behind her.
“Okay.” Ryan pushes back his chair and digs through the files, flipping pages back, shuffling manila folders until he comes to a file in the middle of worn pages. Mollie spots her name on the visible tab and her arms curl tighter. As Ryan opens the file and his eyes move down the page as he reads, Mollie notices that the detective is young, likely pushing thirty, maybe a little over that. He has light brown hair and bright green eyes that nearly disappear when he smiles. Ryan isn’t like the other cops Mollie has met either; she can see he is very fit with wide shoulders and thick forearms against the rolled up long sleeve shirt he wears. His tie is green, and makes the color in his eyes pop. “So the robbery occurred three weeks ago, correct?” When he looks up at Mollie, he smiles, nothing that makes her think he is flirting, but it is a friendly gesture that has Mollie relaxing somewhat.
“It was 15 June at 1900 hours. Two suspects, one who burglarized her apartment, the other knocked her out.” Vaughn’s voice grates on Mollie’s nerves. Being her bodyguard is one thing. Speaking for her? No. That won’t work.
“I’m sorry, who are you to Ms. Malone?” Ryan’s voice isn’t sharp and he isn’t being rude, but Mollie can tell that the detective is a bit annoyed that Vaughn has taken it upon himself to answer him.
“Sergeant Vaughn Winchester. I am Ms. Malone’s… um, companion.”
Ryan leans back in his chair and throws his pen onto the desk. “So, is Ms. Malone capable of speech or is that a companion’s job?”
Vaughn stretches his arm, flexing his bicep as he moves, again, behind Mollie’s chair. “She can speak. But, to be honest, detective, you didn’t ask her anything that isn’t in that file, I’m sure.”
Oh God, Mollie thought. Pissing contest.
“There’s a good many things we can learn from the victim’s statement Mr. Winchester.” Ryan scribbles something on the file, flips a few pages and then looks back up at Vaughn. “Were you present at the robbery?”
“No.”
“And the fire at the university? Were you there that night?”
“No, but—”
“I see.” The detective fixes his tie, then completely ignores Vaughn’s loud exhale. “Ms. Malone,” he starts, emphasizing her name and flashes a quick glance at Vaughn. “Did you notice anything similar between the two instances? Anything at all out of the ordinary?”
“No, I don’t think so. Nothing similar at both occurrences, but then the night of the robbery I was distracted.”
“Distracted? How so?”
She really doesn’t want to tell this cop that she’d just returned from Maryville and what she’d been doing there. She especially doesn’t want to recall in front of Vaughn that night she’d showed up at his studio with the flimsy excuse of returning his hoodie.
“Mrs. Varela, my neighbor. I was trying to get back to her place to help her put away her groceries.” Mollie feels terrible when she thinks of the old woman. She hasn’t been able to check on her or spend much time with her at all since the robbery.
“Is she a relative?” Ryan again scribbles something in the file.
“No. She’s just an old lady I visit sometimes. My neighbor.” Mollie grabs the end of her hair and wraps it around her finger. She doesn’t like how Ryan stares at her or the small smile that flits across his face, even if it is nice to look at. And she doesn’t like how Vaughn watches her, his eyes focused on her hair-wrapped finger.
Ryan drops the pen again and his chair whines when he leans back. “You’re a twenty-two year old student who spends time with her elderly neighbor and helps her put away her groceries?”
Mollie shrugs and her knee starts to bounce. “Is there a law against that?”
“No ma’am, not at all. I just think it’s very kind.”
Vaughn clears his throat, but Mollie ignores him, caught up in Ryan’s widening smile that now definitely inches toward the flirtish vicinity.
“We watch a telenovela and laugh at the melodrama. She’s a nice lady.” Then, Mollie stares at the dark hair falling from her finger. “I’ve never knew my grandparents so I guess she’s the closest I’ll ever get to that.”
“Hmm.” Ryan’s smile falters somewhat and Mollie figures he’s feeling sorry for her. She doesn’t need anyone’s sympathy, especially not a cop’s.
“Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?”
“Yes.” Ryan shuffles more papers, flips them over until he reaches a section with WITNESS STATEMENTS plastered across the top. “The fire… you and a Layla Mullens had been in the office for a short time.” He looks up at her, inquisitive. “When you were outside, prior to the fire, did you hear or see anything out of the norm? Anything at all?”
Mollie thinks about every minute detail, trying to push past Layla and her insane attack preparations on Donovan’s car. And then, quite suddenly, she hears it. She heard it twice that night and can’t believe she never thought it meant anything. “The car…”
“What car?” Vaughn and Ryan say together.
She grabs Vaughn’s arm, forgetting for a moment that she’s still mad at him, her excitement over remembering the detail erasing her anger. “Before Layla and I went to the parking garage and right after the fire, I heard a loud car.”
“Okay,” Ryan says and Mollie can tell by his tone that he doesn’t understand why that’s important information.
“You don’t get it. There are never loud cars on campus. Not ever. There’s a strict noise ordinance and the fines are ridiculous. No stereos bumping out bass, no vehicles without mufflers revving through campus at all. Everyone who’s familiar with the noise ordinance would know not to drive through with a motor like that.”
“Like what?” Vaughn asks, leaning toward her.
“Like a supped up old car that sounds mean on purpose.” Her grip on his arm increases. “Like maybe a Shelby.”
“Shit.”
“Am I missing something here?” Ryan’s fingers are linked together and his chest rests on his desk. “Who drives a Shelby?”
Nodding, Vaughn turns toward the detective. “I can get you the plate number, but you won’t find anything. Whoever broke into Mollie’s apartment drove a Shelby. She caught a kid out in Sevierville who bought her stolen DJ equipment. He led them to a pawn shop in Chattanooga and the manager, Mannie, told us about the guy in the Shelby. I had some buddies of mine check the street surveillance and got the plates.”
“And you didn’t feel this was an important factor to share with us?” This Ryan says to Mollie and she feels her skin flush. When Vaughn sits up, resting his elbows on his knees, she is grateful for him speaking for her this time.
“Listen, Mollie has some personal issues with authority and given her lack of social standing in the community, she felt it would be in her best interest to do some investigation on her own.”
Ryan’s gaze flicks between Mollie and Vaughn, but focuses on Mollie, staring hard at her bouncing knee. After a few seconds, he draws his attention back to Vaughn. “Mr. Winchester, I appreciate your relationship to Ms. Malone, but if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to speak to her in private.”
“Absolutely not.”
Mollie stands, trying to deflect any brewing confrontation. She doesn’t think Viv would appreciate him picking fights with the Cavanagh police. “Hey, it’s fine. He’s not going to bite, okay?”
“Mollie, you don’t know—”
“You’re not going to bite me, are you?” she says to Ryan, interrupting Vaughn’s objection.
The cop is smooth, confident and Mollie admits she likes his reaction. “Not unless you ask me to, but that would have to happen when I’m off duty.”
Mollie laughs, impressed by the sarcasm, but when she feels Vaughn tense next to her, sees his white knuckles return, she erases the grin from her face and steps to the door to open it. “Come on, Semper Fi, wait for me outside.”
“Mollie—”
She moves in close, whispering in Vaughn’s ear. “You think Viv would be happy about you being an ass to a cop?”
Vaughn glares at Ryan, but nods, moving through the door quickly, but he stops in front of her, his eyes back on the detective’s. “I’ll be right outside the door.”
“Okay. Cool,” Mollie says before she shuts the door in his face. The plastic chair in front of the desk squeaks against the floor when she sits back down. “I’m sorry about him. He’s a little over protective.”
“Boyfriend?” Ryan’s smile has returned, and with Vaughn gone he seems a bit more relaxed.
“No.” Mollie won’t give the cop more than he needs. Besides, she has no desire to explain her one night shag fest with Vaughn. That has zero bearing on her case.
Ryan leaves his desk and Mollie can tell he’s withholding a laugh when he walks to the window and shuts the blinds, effectively cutting out Vaughn’s suspicious glare into the room. “He’s got it bad for you.”
“He’s got it bad, but I’m not sure on the ‘for me’ part.” When Ryan doesn’t return to his desk, deciding instead to sit on top of it with his legs stretched out next to Mollie, she leans back in her chair, eyes steady, but searching.
“I know who his sister is.” Mollie only nods, not confirming. Ryan moves his arms to cross his chest and she notices the hint of a sleeve of tattoos beginning just below his elbow, clearly hidden under a bandage. “I also know who your father is so I get you being skittish about talking to us.”
“’Skittish?’ What am I? A horse or something?”
“No. What you are, I think, is a scared woman who got caught up in something that no one wants to talk about.” The detective sits next to her, posture relaxed, yet confident. “I get that. But you know, Mollie, not all cops are egomaniacs who are still pissed they had to settle for being water boys on the basketball team in high school.”
Mollie smiles, the laughter escaping her throat quickly. “That’s weird. That was my dad’s theory about cops. Except he thought it was football and the ‘managers’ of those teams.”
“Yeah well, ‘manager’ is a glorified term for water boy.” Mollie decides she likes the detective. He’s not hard on the eyes and unlike every cop she’s ever met, he isn’t an asshole who looks down on her. “I get that there’s something going on that you can’t talk about. I know Vivian Winchester and I know her boss. They aren’t saying shit.” Again Mollie nods, still unwilling to confirm anything. “If you tell me to back off, I will. I figure that’s coming from my boss any day now.”
“There’s really nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know, detective.” Ryan tilts his head and his eyes narrow as though he’s trying very hard to read her. “It might be a good idea for you to back off. I may not like cops, but I’d hate it if anyone else gets hurt because of me.” She nudges him when he frowns. “Even cute detectives.”
“Oh, I’m cute? Man.” His smile is impossibly wide now and Mollie can’t help but return the gesture. “Guess I still got it.” He winks at her and then leaves the chair, ducking to his desk to grab something out of his jacket pocket. Ryan nudges her toward the door, but doesn’t open it. “I’m about to do something that’s going to piss off your Marine. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Navy?”
“How’d you guess?” he says, before he opens the door and ushers Mollie out into the hallway. “Now, Ms. Malone, you remember what I told you, okay?”
She has no idea what he’s talking about, but plays along, getting a small thrill when Vaughn stands up straight, gaze moving between her and the detective. “Sure thing, Ryan.”
“You know you can call me Neil. Here you go,” Ryan says, giving Mollie a business card. He leans against the door jamb and that flirty, sweet smile returns. “My, ah, home number is on there, if you ever need to talk. You take care of yourself, Mollie and remember, my shifts ends at six. Anytime you want that drink, you let me know.”
It’s nearly impossible to keep her laughter tamped down, especially when she sees Vaughn hovering too close and the wicked glare he levels at Ryan. “Thanks, detective.” She motions with his card and slips it into her pocket. “I’ll see you around.”
Mollie notices Ryan lingering in the doorway and then Vaughn is at her side, arm on her elbow as he hustles her out of the precinct.
“What the hell was that?” he says, navigating around the lobby and the crowd of families and bail bondsmen who clutter around the front desk.
When they are outside, she jerks out of Vaughn’s grip and waits for him to open the passenger door when they reach his Jeep. “Nothing. He’s not the mole.”
“Like you’d know.”
She slams her hand on the hood of his Jeep. “What’s your problem?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s your favorite freaking word, Semper Fi.”
Mollie is buckling her seatbelt, waiting for Vaughn to start the engine and kick on the AC when she hears him mumble. “Flirting with that freaking cop.”
“Why do you care?” Vaughn turns on the engine and shifts gears, pulling out in front of two slow-moving cars that barely manage to avoid hitting each other. “And FYI, jackass, you don’t own me. You don’t get a say so in who I talk to or flirt with or have a drink with.”
He slams on his brakes at a yellow light, cars behind them cursing at Vaughn and laying on their horns. “The hell I don’t.”
“Yeah, and what gives you the right?”
“Since I was inside you last night!” Another horn, this time because the light is green and Vaughn slams his hands on the steering wheel. He pulls his glaring gaze from Mollie and peels out, speeding down the road as his grip only grows tighter.
“You have lost your fucking mind.” She won’t let him bite back a response, she won’t let Vaughn do anything but scowl and drive like an idiot through traffic. “News flash, dude, you don’t own me. No one does.”
“I know I don’t. I’m not saying—”
“Shut. Up.” Mollie can’t look at him. She doesn’t want to see the way his body is tensed with frustration, anger, she is not sure if she’ll be able to refrain from slapping him. “I never asked for any of this shit. None of it.” When she slams her fist against the dash, Vaughn releases a low, angry growl, which she ignores. “I didn’t ask you to invade my life and try to take over. No one controls me, Vaughn. Not one fucking body!”
“I know that!”
They are panting now, the lick of heat, of fury filling between them as the small stretch of downtown Cavanagh disappears and buildings lower, become spread apart the further from town they get. He is taking her back to the hotel on the tourist strip and Mollie finds herself counting the mile markers to avoid the awkward tension in the car.
“You hate cops,” he says, his voice lower, his temper mildly eased. “Why are you flirting with one if you hate them so much?”
“You’re serious? Jesus.” Jealousy? That’s what this was about? Logically, Mollie knew it wasn’t, she knew that the frustration, the desire, was all coalescing, that the detective is just the push that made Vaughn’s anger brim over. She tries to take a breath, to bite back some of her own frustration, but she can’t slow her heart rate, can’t figure out what to do with her hands as the silence eats up the minutes and the country lots around them. “Look who’s the kid now.” Stunned, and keeping some of her anger still simmering, Mollie shakes her head. “Never took you for the jealous type.”
When Vaughn reaches a four way stop with no vehicles around them and a small farm just across the culvert, he speaks, words coming out softer, breath easier, calmer. “I never have been before.”
Mollie wishes he’d held on to his anger a bit longer. She can’t take the tension in the stare they exchange or how Vaughn’s skin has grown pale. The moment lengthens until the only sound that can be heard comes from the small calf mooing at the farm and the weight of their breath fogging against the glass despite the low rush of the AC. When he looks away from her, foot steady on the brake and his forehead resting on the steering wheel, a small fraction of Mollie’s bitterness disappears. Then Vaughn rears back and punches his radio, fragments of plastic, dials and buttons fall next to her feet.
“I’m sorry,” he says, wiping the small leak of blood from his knuckles onto his jeans.
Ahead, the small calf stops grazing, glances at them once before she returns to the green snack at her feet. Vaughn stares out of the driver side window, uninjured knuckles on his mouth and finally, Mollie releases the rest of her smoldering anger. “Hey.”
He grabs her hand, on his shoulder, moves it close to his chest before he looks at her. And like lightening, he pulls her toward him, mouths touching, his fingers in her hair, on the back of her neck. She wants this moment to last. Really, she wants him to pull over and kiss her for hours, for days, but there is still a threat slinking in the shadows, still eyes watching.
Vaughn rests his head against hers, inhaling, she thinks, to catch a last few seconds before they are forced back to that hotel, but just then, tires squealing breaks through the steam and stillness of the cab, wrenching apart the moment. And before they can look behind them to see the cause of the squealing tires, they are slammed from behind.
Mollie’s head bangs against the airbag as it deploys and the car fishtails as they are pushed into the ditch by the side of the road. Head swimming, she catches glimpses of detail: the sight of a large fence post lying on the ground next to the Jeep; the smell of rubber, melted and burned against the pavement and then, they are slammed again.
“Mollie, you okay?” Vaughn’s hand on her arm and although she fights to bring things into focus, what she can make out is jumbled, blurry, and she feels unattached to her body. She is barely able to see Vaughn reaching under his seat and then she hears running feet, screams and the unmistakable crack of a gun being fired.
“Come on, you fucking assholes! I’m right here!” Three more shots and the car jostles.
And when Mollie next blinks, she sees through the windshield, Vaughn walking back to the Jeep and then the pool of blood darkening his shirt. His face is so pale, and the pain, the haze swimming around her head pushes her eyelids down and the world goes pitch black.
From the porch, you can see the clouds. The sky is painted purple with small strokes of yellow and orange rising above, setting a vivid highlight to mountain peak. It is where the Winchesters spent their summers, when the sun blazed too hot, when illness and violence became too much and a reprieve was essential. To him, this is heaven. Vaughn sips his beer, chair reclined as he watches those clouds, as he waits for Mollie to wake.
She is twenty feet away, but feels miles from him. This cabin is safe, secured by the guards Viv sent in to watch the property, two along the front gate and more than he can count around the other cabins that circle the woods. Still, he doesn’t feel as safe as he’d like, but then he doubts nothing will make his back relax, take away the stiff grip he holds in his fists. Mollie’s friends cluster around the other side of the cabin, whispering among themselves, offering theories, solutions that Vaughn finds ridiculous and their presence does nothing to lessen his anxiety. Nothing will until Mollie wakes.
He hears the squeak of her bedsprings and Vaughn turns around, looks through the large window next to her bed. He leaves the porch, slips into her room and sees that she is restless, fighting something he can’t see in her dreams. He can relate. She looks so tired, so battered and it takes everything in him not to sidle in next to her, hold her against his chest and tell her it was all a nightmare.
“Dad?” she mumbles and he knows she is still sleeping. There is small cut underneath that bandage on her forehead and her right eye is shaded with a bruise. When Mollie rolls on her side and her face brushes against the pillow, Vaughn is there, sitting on the bed, moving her unresisting body onto her back.
“Shh. It’s okay, sugar. You’re safe.” He wishes that were true. He wishes to God he could protect her the way she deserves. At least, he thinks, these are only contusions. At least they will heal. Vaughn winces when he shifts closer, pulling the covers over Mollie’s shoulder. His own injury was superficial, barely worth the ER visit, but Viv insisted and like a good little brother, he let her have her way. He’d barely managed to convince his sister that they would both be fine at the cabin. Still, that didn’t stop her from having a doctor come around periodically to check their injuries.
It took more convincing getting her to agree that Mollie’s friends join them at the cabins. Viv trusts no one, but these kids are Mollie’s family. She’d die for them. He trusts Mollie, more than he should, an instinct that he couldn’t really understand and he knew they’d never let him take her once word got around town that she’d been in a wreck. Especially not after what they’d all been through two years before with Autumn.
So, he explained, they’d been attacked. Mollie was in danger and it would be safer for everyone if they all took a trip up to the mountains. Besides, they could all really use a break.
“Daddy…” Mollie says again and Vaughn wonders what she’s dreaming about. What kind of dreams does the kid of a biker have? “No, Daddy, the magnolia.” She snores once and Vaughn smiles, loving how calm she looks, how content. “I like the white ones.”
“We’ll get you the white ones, Mollie. I promise.” And then Vaughn kisses her, soft, barely touching the lips he loves so much, before she falls back under.