Molly woke to a blinding headache and a mouth like the Sahara. She tried to raise her hands to rub her temples but realized she was tied up. What the…
The events of the past few hours hit her like a freight train. Being on a very nice date with her boyfriend, Seb. Kissing him goodnight outside her front door and desperately wanting to invite him to stay the night even though this was only their fourth date and she had to work the next day. Watching him walk away (his arse looking damn fine in those jeans) then entering her house and everything going black.
When her eyes adjusted and her headache abated slightly, she was able to look around. Right, dark, abandoned warehouse, not exactly original. Sherlock is going to be so disappointed. Where is he, anyway? The kidnapper must have called him by now. Molly was amazed at how calmly she was accepting this. But then again, I probably have a concussion.
She was wiggling her fingers in a futile attempt to ease the pins and needles when she heard shouting coming from outside. Molly couldn't make out the words, but the speakers were definitely angry. She gasped as she heard three gunshots then tensed, barely breathing until one of the outside doors slammed open, startling her.
A man cautiously entered the cavernous warehouse, a rifle under his arm pointed at the floor. With the warehouse dark and a streetlight from outside shining in behind him, all she could see was his silhouette. He was about the same height as Sherlock but with a more muscular build and short, straight hair.
After a moment, Molly realized who it was. "Seb?!" she asked, staring at him.
"Hey, babe." He grinned at her in the ambient light coming through the dirty windows as he came over to her, setting the black rifle down before taking a jackknife out of one of the pockets of his black cargo pants then kneeling behind her. "Are you injured?" he asked as he made quick work of her restraints.
"Um, I have a headache from when he … they … whoever knocked me out. I might have a concussion." She rubbed her tingling hands as soon as they were free as he moved in front of her. "Seb, what the hell are you doing here? And with a sniper rifle? You're a novelist. Just because you write books about-"
"Criminal organizations and my main character is a sniper?" He grinned. "What do you think I did before I started writing?" Seb slung the rifle onto his back then picked her up bridal style and she reflexively wrapped her arms around his neck as she stared at him. "I stopped being a killer for hire years ago, but that didn't stop one of my old buddies to try to lure me back to do one more job. You'll probably see him at work when you go back, don't tell anyone I'm the reason he's on your slab."
She tried to wrap her head around everything he'd just told her. "So, this has nothing to do with Sherlock?"
"Nothing whatsoever," he said as he effortlessly carried her through the warehouse. "Despite what the 'Great Detective' thinks, the world revolves around the sun, not him."
Molly couldn't help a smile. "No wonder the private detective in your latest is an arrogant prat."
"Art imitates life." He brought her over to his car. "I'll take you to A&E."
"Not dressed like that and smelling like gunpowder, you'll freak everyone out," she said firmly. "You can drop me off, I'll call you when I'm done."
He helped her in then walked around the car and got into the driver's seat then gave Molly her purse, looking at her curiously. "You're not going to hold my past against me?"
"Oh, we are definitely talking about your past when I'm done. I want to know what else you've been keeping from me."
Seb grinned. "Just the fact that I'm hopelessly in love with you."
Molly grinned back. If I don't have a concussion, somebody's getting lucky tonight.