Chapter Eight #2
He had to wonder why Mollie hadn’t mentioned this contact with the FBI undercover agent to him.
Were there other issues she was keeping secret?
He made a mental note to ask her. Also, he could check with Agent Jamison to learn more about the undercover contact.
While Erin kept talking, drinking coffee and munching on cookies, he considered federal involvement in the case involving Mollie and her dad.
As far as Spence knew, the head of the Peligro Cartel and two of his generals had been arrested, tried and convicted.
They were serving sentences in federal prison.
The top guy had been murdered in his cell.
The person who should have been in charge—Julio Flores—died in the explosion.
Like Mollie told him before, the Cartel was mostly dismantled.
It didn’t make sense for them to suddenly take an interest in Mollie. Revenge was a strong motivator. But after five years, the anger had probably faded. Why were they suddenly focused on her?
* * *
Wearing the knee-length cotton nightshirt that Quintana provided for her, Mollie lay flat on the queen-size bed under the pale blue comforter and stared upward.
Moonlight crept around the edges of the drapes and made faint patterns on the ceiling.
The whisper of wind in the surrounding forest played a gentle serenade.
She listened intently, hoping to hear something to put her mind at rest and let her sleep.
Her eyelids refused to close. Her brain wouldn’t shut down. The cure? Talk to Spence.
Her visit with Erin and her cute, funny, gifted daughter had been a terrific distraction.
Chatterbox Amy struck poses suitable for pictures, and Mollie enjoyed sketching with pencils and pens.
It had been a long time since she’d done anything but doodle.
Though she’d learned the skills for creating artworks, she never felt like she had the talent to produce something brilliant.
Her training and abilities were best used to curate for others.
Seeing the acrylics from Selma Firebird had wakened her ambitions and dreams. She had Spence to thank for that reminder.
After not speaking for five years, Erin had a lot to say.
Though currently divorced and not dating anyone special, she didn’t have a boyfriend and had taken a long, serious look at Spencer Cameron.
Not that she was interested in him. Instead, she unequivocally pointed out: “He’s perfect for you.
The guy is not bad-looking. Love those green eyes.
And the light scar. Very sexy. Plus, he’s got money and a steady job.
He’s responsible, maybe a little bit too law-abiding for my taste.
He made our conversation feel like a police interrogation. ”
Which it was. “What did you talk about?”
“Explosions. Shootouts. Cartels.” She cast a glance toward Amy, who was pretending to be a ballerina. “Yadda, yadda, yadda. Same old things.”
Was he perfect for her? Mollie had to wonder.
While she was in WITSEC, she hadn’t dated.
In part of her brain, she was afraid of making new friends who might turn out to be enemies.
Any relationship she started would be based on lies.
She couldn’t even use her real name. And she didn’t have a friend like Erin pushing her toward blind dates.
Her thoughts jumped to the embrace she shared with Spence when they were downstairs in front of the Firebird painting.
Being in his arms had aroused her. In an instant, she’d felt a fizzy electricity racing through her nerve endings and waking her dormant sexuality.
Shocked in a good way. I should have kissed him.
Should have taken the next step. Too easily, she imagined their clothes falling away.
She sat up on the bed and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. The very valid reason she needed to talk to Spence wasn’t about lust or desire. It was about the note.
Mollie wanted to believe that Madison was alive and had found a way to communicate. Her twin sister wanted to meet with her. But why did Mollie have to come alone? And why didn’t Madison just come right out and tell her what was going on?
The mysterious, dramatic note made her suspicious. Danger was written between the typed lines. She might be walking into a trap. But who would be after her and why?
Spence would know how to handle the note like a piece of evidence. He might be able to find fingerprints or locate the printer it was typed on.
She threw off the comforter and picked up the white terry cloth bathrobe also provided by Quintana.
After tucking the note into her pocket, Molly circled the bed and went to the door of the adjoining bathroom.
About an hour ago, she’d heard him in here taking a shower.
It took a serious exertion of willpower not to whip open the door and pounce on him.
As if she’d ever make such a move. She wasn’t like Erin.
Or Madison. Mollie had always been cautious.
She glided across the honeycomb tiles on the bathroom floor. The door to his room was closed, but she could see light under the door. He was still awake. She knocked. “Spence, may I come in?”
“Sure.”
His bedroom was similar to hers, but the predominant color was light green.
The comforter, dark blue. Spence sat in the middle of the bed with the covers pulled up and a PC on his lap.
Pillows were arrayed across the headboard to create a backrest. His chest was bare.
She really hoped he was wearing pajama bottoms.
“Is this your home office?” she asked.
“One of them,” he said. “I had to work out a few details about our meeting tomorrow morning with my grandpa. He’s excited to see you. All three of you.”
She’d always liked Oliver Cameron. “There was a time, after your grandma passed away, that I thought he and Aunt Irma might get together.”