Hearts Under Siege (20 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Attempts had been made to make the room comfortable and warm, with soft chairs, carpeting, muted paper on the walls, even flowers centered on the magazine-scattered table. Lilacs. Out of season. Molly stretched out a hand to touch them. Yep¸ fake. Good fakes, though.

The distraction lasted only a few seconds before the grief, fear, and overall misery swamped her again. She slumped over and buried her head in her arms so she didn’t have to see the empty waiting room. Normal procedure for anyone else would have been to call the family, who’d have rushed over to wait for news. But how did you tell someone who’d just buried their eldest child that he’d been shot in the chest?

Footsteps started down the hall outside, and she lifted her head to watch two more cops, this time detectives, walk by with a nurse. They weren’t hurrying. She didn’t know what that meant. No rush, the victim died on the table? Still being operated on, or in recovery? Awake, but we caught the guy, so there’s no urgency.

Molly had no idea what was going on anywhere. After Brady had bellowed his anguish, Molly had managed to convince him Chris had just passed out. Brady hadn’t been in his right mind after that. Molly had monitored Christopher’s breathing and thready pulse and kept pressure on the wounds and her eye on Brady, who thankfully waited to do his own passing out until the paramedics showed up. Luckily, Dix had seen enough to convey they needed two ambulances. The cops hadn’t been far behind, and when Dix didn’t return, one of the officers had given Molly a ride to the hospital, where she’d cleaned up before being shown to the OR waiting room. Both brothers were in surgery. Contrary to Hollywood convention, the shoulder wasn’t a safe place to get shot. The bullet had done damage to Brady’s brachial plexus and possibly the joint. No one had come to talk to her in three hours. Her cell phone was off, and she didn’t want to leave the room to go check messages or make calls and risk missing the doctor or the detectives, who’d certainly want to talk to her.

Where the hell was Dix? Had he caught the shooter? Been shot himself? He hadn’t called her when she was on her way to the hospital, and hadn’t answered when she’d tried to call him.

What the hell had happened in that building? When the paramedics first arrived, she’d taken Brady’s keys from his pocket and sneaked into the dim, narrow foyer. Not until she was in there, staring at a hole in the wall, the only evidence anything had gone down, did she think of the information Brady had been picking up. Why was Christopher there? Had there been any information at all, or just Chris? She hadn’t thought to check Brady’s coat or pockets for papers or a flash drive. She hoped to hell the shooter hadn’t gotten it. If it had meant losing the guys or losing the info, she’d choose the information every time. But this was no-win, and the need for vengeance burned in her. She wanted to—

A figure appeared in the doorway, and she jerked her head up, her breath catching. But it wasn’t the doctor. It was Dix.

Hatred exploded, surprising her enough to extinguish itself. She hadn’t realized she blamed him for this. Hadn’t thought far enough past Brady’s and Chris’s wounds to put blame on anyone. But right now, he was the only target she had.
Dix
had been suspicious.
Dix
had sent Chris for incriminating information someone was willing to kill for.
Dix
had torn her and Brady away from the worst moment in his family’s lives to send them on a trip that had led to this horror.

He watched her from the doorway, obviously uncertain of his welcome. She thought of the years he’d been her handler. When she’d wanted extra training, he made sure she got it. When she’d faltered in that training, uncertain if she had the skill or ability necessary, he shored her up. Encouraged her, supported her, fed in her a conviction that they were doing the right thing as members of SIEGE.

Surely, he couldn’t have faked it for so long. She’d trusted him for years. Unless she was a total fool, there was no reason to change that.

She nodded, and he came over to sit next to her, taking her hand. She hadn’t known it was so cold until he folded it between both of his.

“Any news?” he asked, though he had to know the answer already.

“No. Both in surgery.”

He let out a slow breath. “Okay. Molly, I’m so—”

Dark emotion flared again, defying her attempts to logic it away. “Do not apologize,” she gritted out, “or I’ll want to kill you.”

He stayed silent for a full minute after that.

“Where did you go?” she asked after she’d gotten herself under control. The heat of his hands helped. She shivered, the rest of her suddenly cold compared to that one hand, and Dix wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leaning back so she was fully up against his side. He was still steamy. She wondered how far he’d chased that guy.

“Did you catch him, or at least get something on him?”

“Yeah.” Dix’s voice rumbled through his chest into her ear.

“You did?” She lifted to look up at him. She hadn’t expected a positive answer. “Which?”

“Caught him. Saw who it was. Beat him up a little, then took a good one on the chin and lost him.”

“Did you tell the police?” she asked, straightening fully. Dix removed his arm reluctantly.

“Yeah, I saw the detectives on the way in. They caught a full elevator and I had to wait for the next one. I assume they’re up here?” He slumped further on the chair and rubbed his face. Molly marveled at how much older he looked from when she first met him, so short a time ago. Face lined, eyelids drooping, and the happy, bashful guy completely gone.

“Yeah, but I haven’t talked to them yet. Or the doctor. Or the Fitzpatricks,” she said miserably. “I don’t know what to tell them.”

“Smart to wait,” Dix agreed. “Hey.” He waited until she turned to look at him. “They’re going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that.” She managed a small smile. “But thanks.”

“No, thank
you
.” His sudden tension belied the words. “You have no idea what you guys have done for me.”

He didn’t really sound that grateful. “You got the information Brady was after. That Chris retrieved?” She frowned when he nodded. “When?”

He sighed. “I knew you’d want the full sequence of events.”

She tried to withhold judgment. “Why does it sound like I’m not going to like it?”

He barked a laugh. “Because I left your boyfriend bleeding on the ground and his brother at death’s door? Again.”

Completely still and cold again, Molly said, “I assumed you went after the shooter because you knew I was there for the guys. You called 911.”

“I did. But I’m not sure I wouldn’t have acted the same way even if you weren’t there.”

Molly couldn’t respond to that. Part of her understood. The mission was priority, don’t let them sacrifice in vain, and all that. But the part of her that loved Brady more than herself didn’t want to forgive Dix for his admission, however hypothetical.

After a moment, Dix continued. “Brady told me to go, that the shooter had the packet Chris had left. So I went. I chased him a few blocks. A car turning a corner slowed him down, so I was able to catch up. We fought, and when I grabbed the packet, that’s when he clipped me and got away.” He wiggled his jaw with his right hand.

“So you still have it?”

He nodded wearily.

“So what’s next? What do we do with it?”

Dix considered. “There’s an oversight committee. I don’t know much about it, not even who’s on it. But they were formed for just this kind of thing. We need to find out who’s on it, to make sure we don’t hand the information right back to the enemy.”

That was a good plan in theory, but they had no idea who the enemy was. She didn’t even know what “enemy” meant. Since SIEGE dealt in information, it could be assumed that someone had sold some of it to the wrong people. How had Dix discovered that? What made him think his father was the culprit?

But she was too exhausted to ask those questions now.

“What did the packet say?” she managed.

“I haven’t had a chance to look. I came straight here.”

“Not straight here.” He didn’t have the packet on him. “Where is it?”

“I hid it. It’s safe for now.”

“We thought it was safe where it was before.” Misery thundered down on her. But the waiting room was as silent as any ever got in a hospital.

Dix’s warm hand rubbed her back in comfort, and she folded over onto her lap again. “God, Dix, I can’t do anything. I can’t call people or give insurance details or even give blood. I’m not compatible.”

“They donate their own blood, and SIEGE keeps it banked. I’m sure it’s in the system.”

She turned her head. “Chris lost more than what would be banked.” Tears suddenly welled and seeped out to dampen her sleeve.

“I’m a universal donor. I’ll go donate some now.” He patted her back. “Hang in there, Molly.”

One of the detectives came into the waiting area as Dix was exiting. The cop stopped the handler and murmured something. Dix told him where he was going, and the cop nodded before coming in and sitting next to Molly.

She forced herself to sit up and meet his gaze but didn’t bother swiping her eyes. “Is there any news?” she asked listlessly. She didn’t think there would be any yet, and wasn’t surprised when he shook his head.

“I’m sorry. All I know is that they’re both still in surgery.” He flipped open a small notebook and twisted the tip down on a silver pen. “I need to ask you some more questions.”

“Of course.”

He started with the hardest one. “Can you tell me why one of the victims had a funeral yesterday?”

“Reports of his death—?”

“Do not say it.” He shook his head.

“Sorry. It’s easier.” She heaved a big sigh. “I don’t know much. I didn’t know he was alive until I saw him get shot.”

“But you were investigating his death.”

Surprise shivered up her body. It must have showed, because he said, “You and the other victim just returned from Canada, the location of Mr. Fitzpatrick’s fatal accident.” He didn’t put verbal quotes around the words, and Molly appreciated his restraint. She didn’t bother to confirm his statement but waited for him to get to a question.

He suppressed a sigh and looked down at his blank notebook. “Did you recognize the person who shot them?”

“No. I barely saw him.”

“Him.”

“Probably. Moved like a him. But Dix—I mean, Conrad Dixson, the guy who just left, saw him better. He said he talked to you.”

“He did. I’m gathering as much detail as possible.”

“Well, I can’t tell you much, I’m sorry. I was standing in the little park with Dix when Brady and Christopher came out of the building and the gunman followed them.” She didn’t explain about hearing the suppressed gunshot. That would mean also explaining how she or Dix recognized the sound, and the less they said about SIEGE, the better. “I saw the gun, Brady yelled to me, and I hid until it was all over.”

The detective scribbled on his pad. Though she could see it, the words were indecipherable. A sudden thought struck her, and she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Detective Mike Wiszowski.” He reached into the inside pocket of his trench coat and showed her his ID, all his movements automatic and smooth.

She relaxed, at least back to her previous state of tension. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He asked a few more questions, dipping into areas she didn’t feel comfortable talking about without guidance, but Dix was the only one who could have guided her. She managed to get through without referencing SIEGE, and the detective took her contact information, not raising an eyebrow at the Boston area codes.

“Will you be in DC for long?” he asked as he tucked his notebook away.

“A little while,” she replied. “As long as they need me.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the operating rooms. Detective Wiszowski nodded and rose to leave.

Molly let her vision go fuzzy and floated in numbness until someone nudged her shoulder. She looked up, and the detective had returned. He held out an insulated paper cup with a muffin perched on top of it. She automatically took it and said thanks, but raised an eyebrow at the unexpected consideration.

“You looked like you were going to keel over onto the floor. I know you won’t feel like eating, but you need it.” He stood for a second, then added, “I can stand here for a while, make sure you eat it.”

She managed a smile and set the coffee down so she could unwrap the plastic around the muffin. “Thanks. That was very nice of you.”

“Yeah, don’t tell anyone.” He winked and left.

She thought she’d have to choke down the food, that it would taste like sawdust, but as soon as the blueberry scent hit her nostrils, her stomach growled. For a vending machine muffin it was pretty good. She chewed and swallowed, with only a few crumbs getting stuck. She gingerly tried the coffee, which wasn’t horrible. By the time she’d finished both, she felt better. Not nearly good, but not collapsing in on herself, either.

She got up to throw her trash away in a can in the corner. As she did, a man in pale blue scrubs stepped through the doorway. He was looking at the chairs where she’d been sitting. She stood out of his immediate line of sight, so it gave her a second to analyze his look, prepare herself for whatever he was going to say.

The scrub cap had been pushed back on his head but not off, and he still wore the mask around his neck. He was probably in his late 30s, but deep grooves at his temple and the side of his mouth spoke of exhaustion. He stifled a curse and consulted the clipboard in his left hand, flipping papers and mumbling over them.

“Excuse me,” she said as gently as she could. He didn’t startle, but looked relieved when he spotted her in the corner.

“Molly Byrnes?” He walked over to her.

“Yes.”

“I have an update for you.” He gestured for her to sit. She’d have taken that as preparation for bad news, except he sank down next to her, his body in such obvious need of relief that she couldn’t freak out.

“About which one?” She laced her fingers to harness her tension.

“Both. Interestingly, we have a consent to release privileged health information to you for both of them, so I’m able to convey all the details of their health status to you.”