Finding Serenity (27 page)

Mollie wishes he’d slapped her. That might hurt less. She flinches at his words and though she knows he is pissed, that’s she’s likely pushed him into saying something he didn’t mean, Vaughn still loosens his grip on her to allow her to break free from him.

She lifts her chin, moves away from the wall, from him and the apology she knows is working from his throat. “Then let’s go. I have a life to get back to. Other kiddies on the playground who require my assistance.”

“Mollie, stop it…”

“No, it’s fine. You’re right. You have a job to do.” She picks up her bag, pulls it over her shoulder, rubbing her cheek against her shirt to cover the quick tears that have fallen on her face. When Vaughn tries to take the suitcase from her, she moves away, out of his touch. “Despite what you might think of me, I’m not simple. I caught your meaning loud and clear.”

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.”