“Let me make sure I understand this,” Molly said. “Jonas Black is Rachel’s brother?”
“Stepbrother,” Chandler corrected as he paced the small confines of her office. “Which explains how he got so much information about you. Rachel must have been feeding it to him all along.”
Molly tried to process this development. He was right, it did make sense. It explained a lot. If she believed that Rachel was somehow involved in the murders and bombings. “If Rachel was helping Jonas, why was she attacked?”
Chandler shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe she and Jonas had a falling out? You tell me. You know them both.”
“I do,” Molly agreed, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Frankly, I can’t see either one of them doing all this. Rachel is a sweet young woman—girl really—who would never hurt anyone.” She grabbed a handful of his sleeve and looked up into his eyes. “Think about the first crime,” she argued. “Do we know for a fact that the branded torso is Rachel’s mother?”
Chandler picked up on her suggestion. “Should be easy enough to check. I’m going to meet Seth. I want to be there when he questions Jonas. Will you be okay?”
No. “Sure.”
He started for the door, turned and then came back and pulled her into his arms. His kiss was slow and thoughtful. Molly’s hands flattened against the strong muscles at his back, slid upward until her hands hooked his shoulders, allowing her to pull him even closer. His tongue darted out, teasing hers as he cupped her face in her hands.
She felt him reluctantly begin to pull away. Moving backward until only their lips touched. “I have to go. I hate it, but I have to,” he mumbled against her mouth.
“Maybe I should come with you?” she suggested, feeling abandoned when the kiss ended.
“There are reporters everywhere, but I’ll leave the decision up to you.”
Sighing heavily, she shook her head. “No. I’ll just hang out here. I’m really not in the mood to be jostled and shouted out by a hoard of—”
He touched the tip of his finger to her nose, flashed a killer grin, then winked. “They’re just doing their jobs, Molly. This shouldn’t take long. I’m really happy that this is just about over.”
This us or this John? She didn’t dare ask. It was easier to let him rush out.
“I’m such a chicken,” she muttered, returning to her files. “That was classic avoidance.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted an answer to her question about their future—assuming they might actually have one. Rachel and Jonas were an entirely different matter.
A quick check in the filing cabinet failed to reveal Jonas’s file, so she headed downstairs. It was a dank, musty-smelling area that she normally avoided. The air felt cool and clammy against her skin, and she could actually taste the accumulated dust particles.
White file boxes lined the walls. She scanned the labels, finally finding her target on—wouldn’t you know it—the bottom of a tall stack.
“And people think psychiatry isn’t physically demanding,” she joked as she lifted each heavy box and moved it across the room like an ant building a bridge one grain of sand at a time. Ten boxes later she wiped perspiration from her brow before stripping the lid from the box.
Thankfully there was a small window that allowed some daylight into the basement. Aided by a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, she could just read the names on the folders as she sorted the contents.
“There you are, Jonas,” she greeted. Retrieving the folder, she blew a steady stream of breath at it, then tucked it under her arm as she wiped her hands on the backside of her shorts. Taylor’s shorts, actually. Oh, well, they’d have to be washed anyway.
Molly spent the next twenty minutes poring over every note, every detail of her sessions with Jonas. On a notepad, she jotted down all the dates Jonas had mentioned his mother during his treatment. There were a total of eleven.
In order to verify her suspicions, Molly grabbed her cell and went out front. She was stuck in the labyrinth of the college’s automated phone system when it dawned on her that Deputy Riggs was gone. No deputy. No cruiser. Nothing. The only car in the lot was the sensible sedan she recognized as belonging to Ken Ross, the highly allergic CPA in the next office.
Those few seconds of distraction cost her. She was dropped from the phone system and forced to redial and start from scratch. Seven options later she was put through to the Human Resources Office. “This is Dr. Jameson. Could you pull Rachel Mitchell’s application for me?”
“Please hold.”
Her foot tapped impatiently as she was forced to listen to canned music. “C’mon, c’mon,” she whispered, counting songs while she waited.
“I’ve got it, Doctor. Rachel Mitchell,” she read off an address Molly recognized as the apartment complex across the street from the college. The woman then asked, “Is there something else you need?”
“What was her mother’s name?”
“Nathan. Jeanette Nathan.”
“Is there an address?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?” Molly pressed.
“Positive. According to the paper in my hand, Rachel’s mother died several years ago. Is there a problem? She’s getting Federal money for her education, and if there’s an impropriety on her applica—”
“No,” Molly interrupted. “No problem. Thanks for your help.” She flipped the phone off without waiting for an acknowledgment.
Scratching her head, she wasn’t quite sure what to do. Or how to do it. The absent deputy—where was he anyway?—had left her stranded.
She pressed the memory button and listened to the ring until it was answered by a friendly, familiar voice. “Hi, Gavin, it’s Molly.”
“Where are you?”
“My office,” she answered on a breath. “Listen, you hired Rachel, right?”
“Yes, lovely girl. Honest, earnest. I’m just sick over what’s happened to her.”
“Me, too.”
“If there’s an adverse outcome, we will have lost a promising student as well as a stellar teaching assistant. You’ve been reading her thesis. What a shame. She was a bright girl.”
Who isn’t dead yet, Molly thought. Then again, Gavin had found her, so he might know more about the gravity of the situation. “Do you know anything about her? Anything personal?”
“No, why would I? She was assigned to you. Surely you had more personal contact with her than I ever did. Molly, is something the matter? You sound frazzled.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” she managed to say. “Seth and Chandler have found a connection between Rachel and that Jonas guy who was giving me some grief a while back.”
“That was unpleasant, as I recall.”
“They think he’s John.”
There was a long pause, then, “Well, good. I know these past few days have been trying for you. Now you will be able to return to your responsibilities here. Your students have missed you and so have I. You belong in the classroom, Molly. Perhaps this most recent event will convince you to make academia your focus again. I worry about you, dear.”
“Thanks. And believe me, after this week, the calm, boring world of lectures and grading papers is sounding better and better.”
“Just something for you to consider.”
She raked her hair off her face. “Think, Gavin. Is there anything at all about Rachel that seemed strange?”
“I am sorry, my dear, but my answer has not changed in the past minute. I wish I could be of help to you.”
“Thanks, anyway.”
“How about dinner tonight?”
“Maybe,” she hedged. “I want to check something out first.”
“Let the authorities do their work, Molly.”
“Seth and Chandler are convinced they have their man.”
“And you remain suspicious?”
“I’d like something more concrete than guilt by association.”
“I am sure that given time, the authorities will develop sufficient evidence to satisfy even you.”
She ended the call wondering if maybe her imagination was just getting the best of her. Gavin was probably right. She should wait to see what would happen.
She went back to her office intending to clean up her mess. She began to file away the records when a specific name caught her eye.
Just reading it caused a shiver to dance the full length of her spine. She remembered the cold, lifeless eyes. Her court-assigned patient had come in twice a week for six months. The man oozed anger. Anger toward women. Anger toward minorities. Anger at the government. And anger in general.
“A lot like John,” she realized. Only, her former patient had died in a prison fight, so she tossed his file on top of her desk as a new idea began to germinate in her mind.
Molly stepped outside, flipped open her cell phone and noticed the flashing red light above the keypad. “You can not be serious!” she wailed, completely tempted to smash the thing on the pavement. “Low battery? Are you kidding me?”
Utterly frustrated, she walked the few steps to Ken’s office and opened the door. She smelled medicinal air cleaner as a bell jingled over head. Ken came running out, tissue in hand.
“How are you?” he greeted. “I didn’t think you’d be back for a while.”
“May I use your phone?” she asked, waving her nearly deceased cell in the air. “My battery is dead and my office lines are…forget it, the explanation isn’t important.”
Ken led her back to his office. Papers were mounded on three sides, making the small space look more like the inside of an igloo than an office. He stepped over and opened a drawer, pulling out an antibacterial wipe and handing it to her.
Confused, Molly said, “I need to use your phone, not wash your windows.”
He made a nervous laughlike sound, then sneezed twice. “You’re welcome to it.” He scurried around the desk. “I’ll step out to give you some privacy. Just please wipe the phone down when you’re through.”
She waited until he closed the door before grumbling, “Right, because millions of people die every year from phone cooties.” If anything, she should be the germophobe. Ken sneezed constantly, spewing any number of things she didn’t even want to think about.
Dialing the number, she groaned when a mechanical voice came on, giving a list of options available. “Did someone pass a law making it illegal for real people to answer phones?”
When she learned that pressing the 0 would direct her to a hospital operator, she nearly jumped for joy.
“How may I direct your call?”
“I need to speak to Sheriff Landry. It’s important.”
“Is he on staff here?”
“He’s the sheriff,” Molly answered, exasperated. “He’s probably wherever you’ve got a patient named Rachel Mitchell.”
“I have that patient listed in the system, ma’am. She’s still in surgery.”
“I know that. The sheriff is somewhere in the hospital.”
“I’m not authorized to do general pages. You can try your call later, when the patient is out of surgery.”
“Thanks.” Molly smashed the button and tried to remember the direct number to Seth’s office. She couldn’t, so she opted to use 911. It was immediately answered by a calm, male attendant.
“What is your emergency?”
“I need to speak to Sheriff Landry immediately. This is Molly Jameson.”
“This is 911, ma’am. If you have an emergency—”
“I need the sheriff. Can’t you patch me through to him or something?”
“I can’t, ma’am. You can call that office directly on the nonemergency number.”
“Which is?” She grabbed a felt-tipped pen off Ken’s desk and wrote the numbers on the palm of her hand. Irritation and frustration had her annoyance at an all-time high. All that adrenaline surging through her made Molly perspire, so she swiped her forehead at the same instant she realized what an incredibly stupid thing that was.
Looking down at her palm, she winced when she saw the smear of blurred blue numbers. “I quit,” she sighed, slamming the receiver onto the cradle.
Rushing out of the room, she found Ken sitting in his waiting room, dabbing at his nose. He stood, looking almost relieved that she was finished.
“Thanks,” she began.
He reached for the doorknob. “Anytime. I’m always happy to help a neighbor.”
“Good, because I need to borrow your car.”
“My car?” He made it sound like she’d asked for a kidney.
“It’s an emergency, Ken.”
“My phone is one thing.” He managed to get out the last syllable before a sneezing fit. “I don’t normally make a habit of lending out my car.”
She struggled to keep her tone even. “And I wouldn’t dream of imposing under normal circumstances, but as I said, this is an emergency.”
Sneeze. Sneeze. Big sneeze. “I read what happened to that newsman’s car.” Sneeze. “I don’t believe my insurance covers explosive devices.”
Her patience snapped. Her fists balled and she narrowed her eyes as she stepped just a little closer to him. “I need the keys, Ken. Now.” She held her hand palm up in front of his face. “Now, or I swear, I’ll go through this entire office and lick everything in sight. Doorknobs, pencil sharpeners. I’ll put my germs in places you can’t even dream of.”
With trembling hands he dug into his pocket and pulled out an leatherette case, reluctantly passing it to Molly.
She accepted, slapping her cell in his hand. “Keep this as collateral.”
“My car for a dead phone?”
“Life isn’t always fair,” she sighed as she sprinted out to his car.
“THE BLOOD TYPES don’t match,” Seth said after reading from the reports he’d been handed. “We don’t even have to wait on the DNA. Jonas and Rachel are definitely not related to the torso.”
Chandler’s spirits sank. He so wanted it to be Jonas. The knowledge that Molly was still in danger felt like a sucker punch to the gut. Chandler lifted his foot and kicked a chair across the small conference room they’d been given to interview Jonas Black.
“We’re back to square one,” he grumbled.
“Not necessarily,” Seth offered.
Chandler held his breath and listened.
“The crime lab in Helena ran the spec on the bombs. I’ve got good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?”
“Good news first.”
Seth shuffled the papers and said, “The computer found several bombs with the same basic design and construction as the one at Molly’s office.”
Chandler’s interest was piqued. “This is a known bomber?”
“Maybe,” Seth hedged. “The bomb at Molly’s house and the one that blew your car into itty, bitty pieces was too fragmented for a conclusive match.”
“Hell,” Chandler sighed, standing with a renewed sense of purpose, “I’ll take one out of three if it leads us to this scumbag.” He went over and patted his brother’s shoulder. “Good work, Seth. And, by the way, I don’t think a one-out-of-three match is bad news.”
“It wasn’t,” Seth said. “The bad news is the guy convicted of building that particular kind of bomb is dead.”
Chandler hung his head and cursed. “So we pretty much have a ghost building the bombs, an unidentified torso with a thirteen branded on it, a woman who was shot and then stabbed thirteen times, and now a—” Chandler’s brain spun, then a tentative smile came to his lips as he experienced his theory with a clarity that came in a sudden, clear flash.
“A what?” Seth asked.
Chandler threw his hands in the air, then let them slap against his thighs. “Thirteen is the key. Molly was right.”
“I’m still a page behind,” Seth prompted.
Excitedly Chandler tested his idea. “I’m guessing that the dead bomber in the computer system was militia?”
He watched as Seth scanned the report in his hands. “It’s got to be.”
“Thirteen colonies,” they said in unity. “Freedom Nation.”
“I’m going to tell Molly,” Chandler announced.
Seth grabbed his phone and called his office, shouting orders and directions. “I want to know everything about Peter Geller, down to the name of his favorite dog and I want it yesterday. Oh,” Seth glanced over at him as he added, “And check with the clerk’s office. See if any member of the Geller family ever had court-ordered sessions with Dr. Jameson.”
“This has to be it,” Chandler shouted, renewed energy cursing through his system.
“Good work, bro.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Seth cautioned.
They were glad-handing each other when the intercom system blurted out, “Sheriff Landry, please report to postop immediately. Sheriff Landry to postop.”
They stopped their celebration. “Think she made it?” Chandler asked, following his brother out into the hallway.
“No. Maybe. I hope so. Taylor called me earlier.”
“Really?” Chandler asked.
“Apparently Taylor has had a few classes with Rachel and she wanted me to know I was wrong to suspect her of anything.”
“Taylor is a smart woman.”
Seth grinned. “She sure is keeping Shane on his toes.”
“Molly didn’t think Rachel could be involved, either,” Chandler offered just as they reached the automatic doors to the critical care area.
Rachel Mitchell was alive. Barely. According to the surgeon, it was nothing short of a miracle. “She’s quite agitated,” the doctor added. “She kept trying to point at the guard you posted, so we got her a tablet and she wrote this.”
He presented them the item. It was hard to read, but good enough for all to agree that she’d managed to form the letter G and a circular shape—an e maybe?—on the paper.
“Does this help in your investigation?”
Chandler could have kissed the guy. The first two letters in Geller’s name? “You bet.” He turned to Seth and asked, “What are we waiting for?”
“I’ll have search and arrest warrants in under an hour. Go call Molly, let her know what’s happening.”
He didn’t need prodding. Even if he didn’t have good news, he’d still love to hear the sultry sound of her voice. The fact that an arrest was in the works just made it all that much sweeter.
“…lo?”
Chandler decided that one of the first things he’d do was buy the woman a decent cell phone. “Go outside, Molly, honey. You’re breaking up.”
“…Ken.”
“Ken?” he repeated. “Ken who?”
“Ken Ross, who is this?”
“Chandler Landry. I’m sorry, I must have dialed too quickly.”
“No, wait! I have Molly’s phone. She took my car. I think she was—”
“Was what?” he demanded. “Was what?”
But the line was dead.