AN: Hi! If you're just tuning in, and haven't noticed that this is the second chapter I've posted today, go back and read the previous one first. This one is super long, and I hope you enjoy it!
Molly rolled things around in her mind while she sat next to JigSaw in the Cutlass. They had been stopped outside of the bank for about five minutes, and she hadn't noticed. Ranger wanted JigSaw to look at the ring. More specifically, he wanted JigSaw to validate Lucien's claims that the ring was from the 16th century. If this was all about the ring, then there might be something they could do to divert Mallory's attention from Molly. She didn't think it was. She was pretty sure that he'd been playing with her long enough that he wasn't going to give up quite so easily.
"You're ruining your manicure," JigSaw said.
"Hmm?"
"I haven't seen you bite your nails since you were thinking about quitting the architecture gig. What gives?"
She recounted what Ranger and Joe had told her. "You've met Fat Stan?" He asked.
"Yeah, once. It was forever ago, and I couldn't pick him out of a lineup now."
"That painting Porkin gave you is probably worth a fucking fortune."
"If Lucien kept it," Molly said.
"How do you feel about Lucien's reasons for doing what he did?"
"He's played nice before, and I fell for it. He was just as sweet then, just anxious to give me an explanation. Even if he's sincere this time, how could I possibly trust him after everything he's done?"
"Don't make the boss suck up too much over this," JigSaw said. "It ain't his fault."
"This time, maybe," Molly said.
She and Ranger had an argument in the police station after he told her about Fat Stan. He was pissed that she'd never mentioned meeting Mallory to him. She'd fired back that when he asked her if anyone stood out as weird to her, she didn't think he meant every man who'd ever hit on her since she developed breasts. She didn't know why she didn't mention Porkin giving her the painting. Lucien wanted it, and she'd not fought him over it. Mallory'd used the right colors but hadn't been able to capture the same feeling of contentment that she got when looking at the flowers. The painting was clinical and flat. She'd not told Porkin that because it was a generous gift, and she was polite. She hung it in the store, and then more or less forgot about it. He wasn't the first one of her customers to give her an overly generous gift, and at the time she as used to being spoiled by Maggie. Ranger hadn't gone for that story and wanted to know what she was hiding. From Ranger? A lot. From Joe? Nothing.
"You know what though? I've been sitting here for the last half an hour trying to figure out if there's a single time in my life, where I've been able to ride the high of something exciting, that didn't involve Ric coming and shitting all over my parade, and do you know what? I can't. Not one. I met Mallory before Ric got involved with him. So maybe he has nothing to do with Fat Stan's interest in me, or maybe he does, I don't know. But if Lucien is telling the truth, then Mallory has fucked with me for years, and can you honestly tell me that he would have done that, if it weren't for Ric?"
"I can't," he said. "Because toying with one of Ranger's relatives right under Ric's nose would amuse Fat Stan to no end. You can bet the Boss is kicking himself, and he'll have all of Rangeman looking to see how the fuck we missed this for all of this time. Just try to remember that all of your interactions with Stan, and Perkin, took place before Ric was able to put the kind of security in place that you have now. And remember, I've got your back kid. Even when I'm not with you, I've got eyes on you." He tapped his body camera. "The TV in my place is tuned to your protection's body cams, and I don't sleep much."
"I feel like we need a safe word," Molly said. "Like James Bond or something."
"Molly, I've been following you around for six years, give or take. You don't think I can tell when you're freaked out?" He said. "Now, on to more pressing matters; do you buy Lucien's story about the ring?"
"No," she said, "I tried to sell it, and had it reappraised by a guy at an auction house. There's no way that ring belonged to Anne Boleyn. He said the 18th century at the absolute earliest. And he was pretty sure, it belonged to the duchess Pierre said it did. The problem was the lack of provenance. Nobody wanted to touch it without one."
"If Lucien's right about it, I know someone who would be willing to take it off of your hands."
"Who?" Molly asked.
"She goes by the name Queen Elizabeth II."
"Yeah, and what am I supposed to do? Pick up the phone and say, 'Hey Liz, my idiot ex accidentally gave me a ring Anne Boleyn wore to her coronation. He's an asshat, and nobody wants to buy this thing off of me. Will you?'"
"That would be the wrong approach," JigSaw said. "But if it's the real deal, I know some people who would be willing to facilitate meetings."
"With the Queen?" Molly said.
"Maybe eventually, but probably just with her jewelers."
"I wouldn't have to change my hair back, would I?"
"I think you'd probably be fine," he said.
"I suppose we should probably do this," Molly said.
"Why the hell did you choose this bank... besides the fact that it looks like a shrunken version of Dawes, Tomes, Mousely, Grubs, Fidelity Fiduciary Bank?"
"You should have sung that, and, there needs to be another reason?" Molly asked.
"Yes," he said, giving her a look that said he'd tattoo his own balls before he sang a song from Mary Poppins.
"Because I could afford their safety deposit box rentals, and they were willing to give me a credit card that didn't have stupidly high interest rates," Molly said. "And the bank manager helped me figure out how to avoid bankruptcy at a time when it seemed inevitable."
"I suppose those are good reasons."
"But?"
"I don't like the security here," JigSaw said.
"Yeah, well not every place can be Fort Knox, and I do most of my banking online," Molly said. "According to Lester, their online security is top notch, so that's all I care about."
She got out of the car, and JigSaw followed her inside the bank, and she went to the reception desk. "I want access to my safety deposit box?" Molly said.
"Just one moment," The receptionist said. Molly liked the bank for its soaring high domed ceilings, and it's somewhat old world charm, and the staff was friendly when she visited. She turned to look at JigSaw who appeared for all the world to be casing the joint.
"Stop it," Molly said.
"These windows are glass," JigSaw said.
"As opposed to concrete? The point is to let light in."
"I hate it when you're scared; you turn into a fucking smart ass, and direct it at me," he said. "What I'm saying is these windows are glass, not LEXAN, and they aren't even particularly thick. They are normal windows, and I don't see anything to prevent someone from smashing them, and climbing in."
"Heavy iron bars that come crashing down from above like bloody great portcullises," a voice said behind them. Molly turned to see the bank manager, John Merrick, standing behind them wearing a blue pinstriped suit. He had black hair that he slicked back, and while he was American, he was an Anglophile and loved British expressions. He reached out to shake Molly's hand, "Hello, Molly. It's been a while."
"The convenience of Online banking means there's not as much need for in-person visits."
"More's the pity," he said. "Who is your friend?"
"My bodyguard," Molly said, "JigSaw, meet John Merrick."
"I've got concerns," JigSaw said. "Like why nobody has approached us while I've been marking camera positions and points of entry."
"I recognized your uniform and told them to stand down. I've been thinking of switching security providers, and your company is at the top of my list. The board of directors has been considering requesting an audit, but if you'd like to give me some preliminary notes, I'd appreciate it."
"I'll send you an email," JigSaw said.
"I'd like access to my Safety deposit box?" Molly said again.
"If I could have a word with you beforehand?" John said, "Your visit today is rather serendipitous. You're on my call sheet, and I see no reason why we can't kill two birds with one stone?"
"Okay," Molly said.
Molly and JigSaw walked back to his office. Where the main lobby of the bank looked like something out of Victorian London, the offices looked like any modern bank she'd ever been in. Plain taupe drywall, with anonymous, uninspiring glass-walled offices that were home to L-shaped desks, and forgettable grey cloth chairs. Merrick's office was a little nicer, with a large window, overlooking a parking lot, and a squashy leather sofa, in addition to his boring desk and chairs. He led her to the couch, and she sat down, feeling somewhat like she was being summoned before the principal.
"The last time we spoke, Molly, you were looking for a small business loan that I was unable to grant you."
"But you were able to help me in other ways, and I've been very grateful."
"Well, as it happens," he said. "I might be able to do something for you now."
"My credit has improved, but it's still not great," Molly said. "I don't…"
Her voice trailed off as she saw a copy of the Trentonian on the table, opened to the business section. There was a picture of Molly arranging some flowers, while Maggie was speaking to someone on the phone. The headline read, Reunited: Midas Maggie and Molly Von G; C Lightning Really Strike Twice?
Molly sighed, "I would like to think your reasons were based on my history with the bank, but obviously, that's not the case."
"I did some digging into your relationship with Margaret Rothes, and your previous business venture with her. It was wildly successful, and I think it's unfair that you are being punished for your former business manager's poor judgment."
"I appreciate that," Molly said. "I was quite proud of what I built. It's been a struggle, but I'm almost there again."
"Yes," he said. "I'd like to personally handle your business accounts, and…"
"If you would like an introduction to Maggie," Molly interrupted, "I'd be careful what you wish for. She is my business manager now, and she'll probably want to speak to my account manager. But I doubt she'll be complimentary about your service."
"We've been nothing but respectful of you, and we've helped you where we can," Merrick said.
"I know," Molly said, "And I'll put in a good word for you, but she's, and she'll not be pleased that you turned down my loan."
"Well that won't be an issue now," he said. "And for the record, it's not simply because of your relationship with Margaret Rothes. Your history with us is proof enough for me that you require further consideration."
"Thanks," Molly said. "I do have to get back to work though. Would it be possible to access my safety deposit box now? My assistant will probably be in touch to set up a meeting regarding the Cubed Roots finances."
"Whatever time is most convenient. We'll move appointments to accommodate you," John said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a key to a bicycle lock, and then he opened a drawer and pulled out a ring of keys, that was attached to a cable. He unlocked them with the bicycle lock key and motioned for Molly to follow him.
The safety deposit boxes were located inside the same room that held the entrance to the vault. The manager punched in a lengthy code on a keypad on a big metal door and used a key from the ring to unlock it. Once inside, he led her to the row of boxes that held hers. He put his key into a lock at the end of the row, turned it, and then punched a code on a keypad at the bottom. Molly put her key into the lock on the box, put in her own code, and turned the key, opening the drawer. He slid the tray out and handed it to her. She gave it to JigSaw and John led them to a little 10x10 room with a table and a couple of chairs, and then left them on their own.
JigSaw opened the box, and they looked inside. Molly didn't keep much in it. She kept the ring, a backup hard drive of her records from Von G, some personal documents, like her will, and that was it. Or so she thought. At the bottom of the box, was a large manila envelope.
"I forgot I had that," she said.
"What is it?" JigSaw asked.
"Negatives," she said. "A few years ago, dad scanned all of his photographs so he could put them in a digital frame. He said if I wanted, I could have his negatives. He kept all of his photo negatives. I used to give him all of mine too."
"Why?"
"Because otherwise, I'd just throw them out. Dad always said I would regret tossing them if there was ever a fire. He made me put these in here, just in case," she laughed to herself and handed the envelope to JigSaw. "Do you think Hector could make digital copies of those?"
"Yeah," JigSaw said, "I'll get him on it for you."
JigSaw picked up a creased stack of pages from the table (The papers used to be in one of the deep cargo pockets on his pant leg). He unfolded the pages that contained what information there was on the ring and fished a jeweler's loop out of another pocket. "You don't want to look at the ring back at Rangeman?" she asked.
"Nope," he said. "I'm on duty for a while longer. I don't want to be carrying it around with me if it's the real deal and it's what Perkin or Mallory are after."
She picked up a four-inch yellow pine cube, and he eyed it. "What's that?"
"The ring," she said. "It came like this."
"Did it?"
"Yep," Molly said.
She flipped the catch on the box. Revealing a purple velvet cushioned interior. She reached inside and pulled out a rectangular box, with an intricate brass frame, clawed feet, and thick beveled glass sides. "The store owner thought this ring was worthless?"
"He really did. He said that he had half a dozen boxes like this one that were all basically junk. It's a 19th-century French Jewelry Casket," Molly said.
Jigsaw reached into another pocket and produced a small bottle with an eye dropper, and he put what looked like a metal Petrie dish down on the table. He picked up the box, and he put it in the dish. He unscrewed the lid to the little bottle and put a drop of the stuff from the bottle on one of the claw feet. Nothing happened.
"Trying to clean it?" she asked.
He took her key from her, and he put a drop of the liquid on the key, it fizzed.
"Gold is probably the least reactive thing in the world. If these legs were brass, they would have reacted to the acid I dropped on them. They didn't, which means the box is gold, kid." He picked it up and opened it. He removed the ring and examined the box further, "and this isn't glass, it's crystal. Lead crystal." He pulled out the little purple cushion from inside and looked in it for something. He picked up his phone, and he attached a lens to the camera on it and zoomed in on an engraving, and took a picture.
"What?"
"This could be worth quite a bit of money, without the ring." He examined the picture on his phone and chuckled, "This is the jeweler's mark of George Wickes."
"I don't know who that is."
"He is the man who founded Garrard's Jewellers, who were the official crown jewelers of England for 166 years, including during the reign of Queen Victoria."
"You're joking."
"Nope," he said. "This is worth something."
He picked up the ring, and spent a good deal of time going over it, and making notes based on his research. "Your auction house guy was right, this is too modern to have belonged to Queen Anne. It is worth a fortune, though."
He put the cushion and the ring, back in the casket, and put it in the pine box.
They packed the box back up, minus the pictures and Molly pressed the pager button on the wall that would bring John back to them.
"Does he know he's named after the elephant man?" JigSaw asked.
"He's not. He's named after the dude in the movie. The elephant man's real name was Joseph," she said. "He corrected me when I made a similar observation the first time I met him."
"Mind if we make a stop at a bookstore before I take you back to work?"
"Why the hell not?" she said, "We're stopping to do everything else anyway. I'll get a stack of wedding magazines while you're doing your thing."
"You're such a girl," he said. Molly grinned.
They spent twenty minutes in the bookstore, she grabbed a giant stack of bridal magazines and a wedding organizer, because she'd secretly always wanted one, and she'd not been allowed at her last wedding. Jigsaw bought a stack of books, and the two of them went back to the flower shop. Despite the running around, she'd only been gone for a few hours.
Molly gave half of the stack of magazines to Maggie. Maggie looked up from her work on the computer and said, "Oh goodie! Girl's night tomorrow. You, me, these, and a barrel of wine?"
"Good wine?"
"Does it have to be?" Maggie asked. Molly laughed. Maggie had an affection for boxed wine. She especially liked it if you could get wine in a juice box.
"Can mine be from a bottle?"
"Yeah, I guess," Maggie said.
"Can that bottle be one your dad chooses?"
"If you insist..."
Molly went out to the sales floor and helped some clients. She periodically brought some out to the garage, where she had banks of fridges storing the majority of her stock. Molly would chat while building them a custom bouquet, and then send them on their way. This went on until four, and then she had meetings until six. JigSaw sat almost completely still in the corner of the room, reading, getting up only to check each client for weapons.
When she was finished and packing up, he spoke.
"You have Chromo-tactile Synesthesia," he said.
"I do," she said. "I could have told you that."
"It's why you can't cook bacon."
"Say what now?"
"Feeling emotions is a physical reaction. Chemicals release, things happen, signals are sent. We feel emotions using a similar mechanism that we feel touch. Which is why some of your reactions to colors are emotional. According to this book, it's possible for some responses to stimuli to change because of a strong emotional reaction. You associate the color of bacon with your mother's death."
"Mom made awesome bacon," Molly said.
"You know how when you're making bacon, you take it out of the frying pan, and you let it cook in its own juices on the plate?"
"Yeah?"
"The color when you do it is pretty much the color of the walls at St. Grace's Hospice where your mother died," Jigsaw said. "Your subconscious is good at avoidance, so when the bacon is getting close to the color of St. Graces, you find a reason not to be looking at the pan."
"My mother would be horrified to know that," Molly said with a laugh.
"The book says that there are at least 80 types of Synesthesia, but it's impossible to say how prevalent it is in society because people with mild Synesthesia often don't know they have it and just think that's how everyone goes about their life."
"Did you seriously spend your entire afternoon researching my neurological glitch?"
"Listen, kid, the most common Synesthesia is chromo-graphic. In other words, you see letters and numbers in different colors."
"That would get annoying."
"And thinking orange is prickly isn't?"
"It's fluffy actually. Which is why Bob is such a great mutt. I get a double hit of floof whenever I hug him."
"Why the hell is orange fluffy?"
"Fucked if I know," she said, "Not all oranges are fluffy, just some of them. Why did you look it up?"
"To see if it can be exploited. You said the painting Stanley painted for you made you smile, but Lucien was afraid it would wind you up."
"That's because they assume associating it with mom would upset me." she said, "It doesn't. Blue and purple usually feel pretty good, and for the most part, I like thinking about mom. It usually makes me happy. The painting makes me sad because I've been to Arles, and it's one of the most beautiful places in the world. It's famous for being where Van Gough painted. The light there is unlike anything I've ever seen. It's just… It's hard to describe. I always thought people were nuts for saying that, but it's true. It's hard to go there and not feel compassion for Van Gough. His work always makes me sad."
She finished packing when she got a text from Joe saying he was heading out to a crime scene, and that he wasn't sure when he would be home. She went out to see if Maggie wanted to come over that night, but she was already gone.
"Bummer," she said. She wasn't really into staying home alone. "What are the odds you'll be into a Bond Marathon?"
"Nope," he said, and gave her a hug. "The Boss wants a report when I'm done my shift, and then I have more research I want to do."
"Bah, you're no fun," she said.
"Tomorrow," he said.
JigSaw watched her lock up the store, then she got into her Up! And drove herself home. JigSaw saw her inside and hung around while she made dinner. At eight his replacement showed up. The replacement was some guy from Miami. Molly's round the clock security put a strain on New Jersey's guys. Leaf, as he was introduced to her, was a generic Rangeman. He was big, beefy, missing the muscles in his cheeks to smile effectively. Weirdly attractive. She knew better than to ask why he was Leaf, or what his real name was. All she needed to know was that JigSaw knew and trusted him, and that was good enough for her. She tidied up the kitchen and settled down with her magazines. At eight thirty, she sent Joe a text.
-I'm trying to decide if I need to wear something sexy to bed.
-That's going to depend a lot on whether or not I'm allowed to wake you up when I get home.
-Going to be super late? Want me to bring you some coffee? Dinner?
It took a few minutes for him to respond.
-About to step into an interrogation, no idea when I'll be home. Don't wait up.
She decided to call it an early night. She went upstairs to bed and spent an hour lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. Something about the texting wasn't right. That's when she realized that Joe only texted from crime scenes. If he were in the station and she sent him a text, he almost always called her. What was more, Joe usually called her when he had a minute in the evening. He hadn't. It was possible he'd forgotten, but he hadn't forgotten before.
She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, so at risk of being a nagging girlfriend, she called his cell phone. It went straight to voicemail, which is what it would do if he were in interrogation. She scrolled through her contacts and found Eddie. He was Joe's partner before Joe became captain, and odds were that he was involved in the interrogation, observing. She called him, and he answered on the fourth ring.
"S'up Molly?" he asked when he answered the phone. Her name trailed off in a yawn.
"Joe texted to say he was in an interrogation. Do you know if he's wrapping up? Or should I bring him his dinner?"
"I have no idea," Eddie said, "I'm at home. He was getting ready to walk out the door when I left at five, so something must have come up."
"Damn I was hoping you were observing," Molly said. "Okay, I don't want to bug him if he's busy. I'll leave it."
"You sound freaked," he said, "Is something up?"
"No," she said, "I think I'm just paranoid. I don't do well in the dark, and I'm not used to sleeping alone anymore."
"Molly, the shit you heard about Mallory today would freak anyone out. Joe honestly won't mind if you go and crash on the sofa in his office if it makes you feel better."
"You think?"
"Are you kidding? You have half of Rangeman camped out in and around your house, and you feel safer with him? Yeah, it'll be real good for his ego."
"Joe's ego doesn't really need stroking," Molly said, "But maybe that's what I'll do."
She got off of the phone and got dressed. She went back down to the kitchen and started packaging up Joe's dinner, and she put on a pot of coffee. She filled the massive thermos she bought so she could do coffee deliveries when he worked late. That done, she brought a cup to Leaf. He grunted his thanks.
"Joe's working later than he thought; I'm going to run his dinner over to him," Molly said.
"Want me to drive?" he asked.
"No," she said, "I sort of need a minute to be alone."
She knew something was wrong the minute she got to the station. In the lot, was Lucien's BMW. He had been arrested in New York and brought here, so what the hell was his car doing Trenton? Joe's Jeep was gone too. She called Joe's cell phone to make sure he wasn't on his way home, and it went straight to voicemail. She tried again. Again nothing.
"Come on, Joe. Pick up. Text me. Something."
When she didn't get anything for another five minutes, she put her hand on the door handle, and her phone chimed with an incoming text message. She knew it wasn't going to be Joe, if it had been him, the phone would have sounded out with a loud, "Scooby-Doobie-Doo!"
The text was from an unknown number, that informed her was, "Maybe Carl." She wasn't sure if she should be relieved or even more afraid, but she opened it anyway.
-Hey Sweetheart, it's me. Standby for one minute?
Relief it was. Joe's phone was probably dead, and he was borrowing Carl's to check in. Hell, Eddie may have even called the station to give them a heads up that she was coming, and was stressed. Her pinged, this time with an incoming email.
"Why wouldn't he just text me again? Or call me?"
The email subject line was:
Honeymoon?
She grinned, "That's why." The email was probably going to contain some suggestions for lewd honeymoon activities.
Hey Sweetheart,
This place is perfect. Little cabins. Private pools, and a clothing- optional policy throughout the resort! )
Joe
Molly laughed and shook her head. She was freaking out for no reason. Joe was obviously fine if he was sending her links to nudist retreats. She clicked on the link, and the screen on her phone became heavily pixelated and then froze.
"Shit," she muttered.
She powered it down, and when she turned it back on again, it didn't take her to her home screen. What she got was a surveillance video. Her heart started racing, and she tried to turn off the phone again, but the buttons were useless.
She was about to get Leaf's attention when a voice spoke through the Bluetooth connection to her car speakers. She recognized it, and it was niggling on the tip of her brain who it was, but she couldn't place it. She could guess, though.
"Getting his attention would be a very, very, bad idea. Watch the video, Pet."
She looked down at the screen again and recognized the police parking lot. The time code showed 17:05:38. Joe was standing in the doorway of the station laughing with Eddie about something. He was standing next to a uniformed officer Molly didn't recognize and was signing papers the officer was holding out for him. He finished up and was about to follow Eddie out to their cars when Finch came to the door and called out to him. Joe waved to Eddie and jogged back up the steps. He stood there listening to whatever Finch had to say, and whatever it was, wasn't good. Joe barked something at Finch and reached into his pocket to pull out his phone as he ran to the car. He was at the Jeep door when Lucien pulled into the lot in his BMW.
Words were exchanged, Lucien tried to hit Joe, didn't succeed, and took a solid right to the jaw as Joe hit back. Then a van pulled up behind Joe; Pierre jumped out of the back, stabbed Joe in the neck with a needle, and Joe went down. Lucien took Joe's keys from him and climbed into the Jeep as Pierre and someone who looked like their friend Max, loaded Joe into the van, and they sped off.
Joe had been kidnapped in the parking lot of the Police Station, and nobody had intervened. Nobody had seen, nobody had come to Joe's rescue. How was that even possible?
She jumped when Leaf knocked on her window. "Everything okay?" he asked.
"Tell him yes," the voice said. Molly nodded to Leaf.
She held the phone to her ear, to indicate she was on a call.
"I'm not comfortable waiting in the parking lot like this," Leaf said. "I just got word from the boss that Brasseau never made it to lockup. Someone claiming to be from the DA's office said there wasn't enough to hold him, and they cut him loose."
"Tell him you're talking to Morelli," the voice said. Why was Leaf only getting word now? Lucien had been free for hours. He had probably been free while she was in the fucking Bank.
"I'm talking to Joe now. Just give me another minute?" Molly said.
"Yeah," Leaf said. "Be quick."
Leaf went back to the car.
"Useless bodyguard. Doesn't he recognize Lucien's ugly car?"
"He's new," she said.
"Useless," the voice said. "Watch the video again."
She pulled the phone away from her ear, and the video changed, it showed Joe, he looked like he was on the floor. He was unconscious, but he was breathing. Someone was shining a light on him, and he was lying on brown paper, the kind used to protect floors during construction. He stirred, and Lucien walked into the frame. Joe saw him and began to struggle, only to be punched so hard that his head thumped sickeningly against the floor, and he went still again. Molly stifled a scream, and her hands started shaking so badly that she had to put the phone down, so the screen was still enough for her to make sure Joe was breathing.
"I'm tired of playing games with you Molly Von G. Get the ring. When you show it to the camera, I'll give you an address for the exchange. I don't like to be cliche, so instead of having until Midnight, you have until eleven fifty-eight. Wear something elegant. And don't notify the police or your security, or I will kill him."
"My bodyguard knows I'm here. He's right behind me. He knows I came to drop off Joe's supper."
"Well isn't that sweet. Tell the goon that good ole Joe is on a stakeout," he said. "Keep me with you, so I know what you're saying." She put her phone in her pocket, and she walked to Leaf's car.
"Joe's not there. He's on a stakeout, so there's no point in dropping the food off," she said, "I'm going to go home, and I'm going to bed."
"Whatever," Leaf replied. "The sooner we have you locked up safely inside your house, the better."
"Agreed."
How she managed to get the car home without crashing, she would never know. She had to figure out how to tell someone what was going on, but the voice on the phone - whether it was Perkin or Mallory- was watching. She knew they were. She could feel it. How else would they know when to send her the text that stopped her from going into the station looking for Joe?
She didn't feel any safer inside of the house. She didn't like that she didn't know anybody in her house and that JigSaw had gone home. The people she trusted most to keep her safe, were nowhere near her, and she felt fucking helpless.
She tried to remain calm, to get her brain to think so she could formulate a plan, but it wasn't coming together. All she could see was Joe's face as his head smashed against the floor. She was standing in the kitchen, going through the motions of tidying up from dinner, hoping the routine of it would settle her mind when she got a text alert.
Ditch your car. I don't want them tracking you. I've already disabled the GPS on your phone.
She looked at the clock, and she didn't have a lot of time. What was worse was she had absolutely no idea how she was going to get the ring. It was locked in a bank.
"Ram's got a flat," Leaf was saying to another of her guards, "He's going to be another twenty minutes so you might want to call your date."
"Doesn't that thing have run-flat tires?" the man replied. JigSaw had given her his name, but she couldn't remember it.
"Yes it does," Leaf said.
"Then how does it have a flat?"
"If he's had a complete blow-out, it doesn't really matter if they are run-flats, now does it?"
"Well, he's fucked. He's not going to have a jack in the car."
That's when she got her idea. She went down to the basement for the toolbox and retrieved what she needed, then jogged out to the car to get the tire changing kit from the back.
"What's that for?" Leaf asked, "You planning on going to rescue Ram?"
"You gave me a brilliant idea," Molly said. "It's for one of the weddings I'm doing. I'm wondering if I can modify the mechanics of a car jack, to make it work."
"Miss Von G, has a minor in Mechanical engineering and she likes to incorporate it into her work whenever possible," the guard who was going to be late for his date, said. She really wished she could remember his name. He apparently knew her better than Leaf did. Would he recognize that something was wrong if she said something out of character? Better not to risk it. If Mallory and Perkin were stalking her, they would know if she tried to give a signal like that. But the safe word she teased JigSaw with, that would work. She just needed to bring it up in conversation somehow. "What were those things you made for that wedding you just did?"
"Heron fountains," Molly said. "Just simple little machines, but pretty."
She got herself a glass of milk, and put it in the microwave for a few seconds to heat it, and went upstairs to her bedroom and changed her clothes, pulling a thick robe over the black cocktail dress she'd grabbed at random. She opened the gun safe, retrieved her gun, and shoved it in her purse. Then she sat down at her computer, and she logged on to the Rangeman servers. She accessed security footage from the Cubed Root,and listed under the headings was, Personal Molly Cam.
She clicked on it and found the footage from JigSaw's body cam. She fast forwarded it to the time code of the bank. She knew the bank didn't use Rangeman for its security, but they usually had a sticker on the door that said who they worked with.
Maybe, just maybe she could log in remotely to Lester's account. She knew he kept strategies for bypassing all kinds of systems on his computer, so he could study them if necessary. With her brain working the way it was, she hoped it was a simple system because she wasn't sure she could do anything complicated.
The video showed a sticker for the alarm company, with a warning that stated they used a silent alarm.
That was lucky. "Keep it simple, stupid," Molly muttered.
She watched the video further and caught the code for the Door to the room that held the deposit boxes, and the code John had used to open her safety deposit box. She couldn't write anything down, so she memorized the numbers. That done, she needed to figure out how to get a message to Rangeman, while she knew Joe's captor was listening.
She went downstairs to the kitchen and put more coffee on; when she did, she picked up her car keys. She went down to the basement and stashed her bag with her gun and the car jack in the bathroom. Then she sat on the newly acquired sofa and scrolled through Netflix. She found the movie she was looking for and turned it on. A few minutes later, Leaf came downstairs to check on her.
"Everything okay?" He asked.
"Can't sleep," she said with a tremulous smile.
"Too much coffee," Leaf said and eyed her cup.
"I'm afraid of the dark; there's a psycho after me, and Joe's not here to protect me."
Leaf looked at the screen and raised an eyebrow at it. "Watching a movie about an art thief? Isn't that a bit thematic?"
"Ever since Ranger told me about what Pierre does, I keep picturing him as one of the men in the Trojan horse at the beginning of the movie."
Leaf sat on the sofa next to her. She had the Thomas Crown Affair, on. She figured Perkin would think she chose it out of irony, as a means of distraction. "I love this movie. I like the idea that he goes through all of this trouble to steal his own painting."
"He doesn't steal his own painting," Leaf said.
"Are you sure about that?"
"Yeah, he donates the stolen painting back to the museum, but the painting isn't his."
"Well that just changed everything for me," she said, and Leaf cracked a smile.
"Next thing I know you're going to tell me it's Daniel Craig in this and not Pierce Brosnan and that I've got my James Bonds mixed up," she said. She wrapped a light throw blanket around her and she curled up on the sofa.
"No, you've got that one right," he looked at her with a slight tilt of his head, "You still interested in a Bond marathon?"
"No," she said. Her voice broke, and she was about two seconds away from crying. She needed to get a grip.
"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked. She gripped her keys in her hand, and she looked at him.
"Stress, it's done a number on my stomach," she said. Without looking down at her hand, she deliberately put her thumb over her panic button and hoped Leaf's body cam caught it. She didn't press it, because she knew what it was programmed to do. It would turn on every light in the house, and dozens of cameras would come into life, and she would start broadcasting in every Rangeman vehicle. There was no way this would be subtle, and Joe would be dead.
A few minutes later, she squirmed on the sofa, and she got up and quickly ran to the bathroom. She made wretching sounds in the toilet and she waited for Leaf's knock. "Do you need anything?" he asked.
"Just a few minutes."
She stepped up on the back of the toilet tank, flushed using her foot, and opened the bathroom window. She took her blanket and draped it on the ground, so she didn't mess up her clothes, and she tossed her bag outside. Once outside, she rolled the blanket back up and stuffed it into her gigantic purse. She climbed the back fence and went around to the neighbor's backyard. Only Joe had a completely fenced in yard in deference to Bob. The rest of them were more or less open. She left the neighbors yard, and ran to the end of the row houses, and flagged a cab.
"I need to go to the police station," she said.
"Everything okay?"
"My idiot boyfriend got arrested, and his buddy dropped his car off in the parking lot," she said, "He's not freaked out about getting busted for peeing on a cop's shoes, but he's freaking out that someone's going to hurt his precious car."
"Why didn't his friend just bring it home to you?"
"Fucked if I know," Molly said.
The cab dropped her off at the station, she paid him and went to Lucien's BMW. Lucien had coded door locks. He always used the same pin code he used for his bank account. Assuming he hadn't changed it, she could probably get in. She punched 7891 into the door, and it unlocked. She waited for the cab driver to pull away before she put her keys on the dash, knowing that Rangeman would track her keys, find the car, and come to the station to examine the security footage.
She walked out of the lot, looking for an older sedan. When she found one, she used a coat hanger to open the door, and then she took a screwdriver and popped the steering wheel column off, so she could hotwire the car. She located the wires that would turn the car on, and then she stripped the ignition wires, and it rumbled into life.
Her phone rang on the seat next to her, but she didn't have to answer it; it did that by itself.
"Tic-Toc. Tic-Toc," the voice said. It was higher now, and more familiar. It sounded like Perkin. She was sure of it. "I would have thought you would just fly out the door to save dear Joeykins. And yet you're dawdling."
"I had to ditch my security," she said. "Ric and JigSaw are watching everything, so it wasn't exactly easy."
"Do you have the ring?"
"Not yet," she said. "I have to get it from the firebox in the store."
"Well that's irritating," he said, "But then again, how could you have known you needed it tonight? You're lucky you didn't leave it with Rangeman. You'd have a helluva time explaining to them why you need it."
The lie worked. He wasn't tracking her position anymore. He was listening to her, but he wasn't watching her. The dial screen was still showing on her phone, the seconds ticking away, but he was still listening.
She put the car in gear and drove to the bank. "The store parking is a dead zone. You're going to lose me if I pull up in front. What should I do?"
"Park on the street; leave the phone where there is still a signal. You have seven minutes to get the ring and show it to the camera on your phone, or Morelli dies."
"I'll be fast."
She got out of the car, and she left the phone on the front seat and ran to one of the big windows JigSaw hadn't liked. She pulled the jack out of her bag, and cranked it up as far as it would go, and used the tire iron to smash the glass of the bank window and quickly slid the jack into the frame. The bars came down hard on the jack, but it held, and she put the blanket down over the glass and wriggled under the gate. Her first stop was the manager's office for the keys. She knew she could get into his desk without a key, but there was no way she was getting into the room or her safe deposit box without them. She used a pry bar on the door to the office and jimmied it open. The desk got the same treatment. She used bolt cutters to release the keys from the cable in the drawer.
She grabbed two pieces of paper from John's printer, and a sharpie from the pen cup on his desk. She wrote, "Help Me" on both pages, then went to the room to get the ring. Precious seconds ticked by as she managed to open the cabinet and retrieve the box. She grabbed the ring, leaving the drawer open, and put one of the pages onto the tray.
She had twenty seconds left to show the ring to her phone. She sprinted back to the car out of breath and said, "I have it."
The light came on above the camera, and she held up the pine box. The camera shut off, and a map popped up on the screen with a highlighted address for a hotel that had been under construction for years. She wrote down the address, under the second note, put the sharpie cap back on the marker, and tucked the note under the clip on the lid. She dropped the note out of the door onto the ground and hoped that the police would find it when they got to the bank.
With that, and the sound of approaching sirens, she pulled out of the lot and drove to the abandoned building. The project was in limbo after the construction company went bust, and the building was bought out by someone new. There was a crescent in front of the main doors, and she pulled in, up onto the curb, with only a few minutes to spare. She left the lights on, the vehicle running, flashers on, and got out of the car, with her giant bag.
She was glad she left the lights on because they illuminated the dark lobby. She tried to locate a light switch, but couldn't.
It smelled of drywall compound and dust. It was totally a cliche for a hostage exchange; for a man who didn't like that sort of thing, there had to be a reason why he chose here. She walked to the roughed-in reception area, looking for some clue as to where she was to go. On the desk was a piece of paper that said, "Fifth floor." She looked around for a security camera but didn't see one. The flashlight on her phone activated, and she used it to further illuminate the lobby.
There was something about the room that looked familiar, and it wasn't until she got to the stairs, that she realized it followed the floorplan of an office building she remodeled on paper for her amusement, in her spare time.
"Oh shit," she said. "Is it all just the one building or did you use others?" Nothing. She looked down at her phone. The screen was blank, and she couldn't turn it on again. It was useless for anything but a flashlight. She opened the door to the second floor, if it were the same as the office tower, the second level would be conference rooms. No conference rooms. It was a rough-in of a penthouse suite she designed for Maggie. One that Maggie never got around to having constructed. Even the marble fireplace at the far wall was to Molly's specifications. It was carved to look almost exactly like the one she dreamt up in her head. It was also the second set of plans in her book.
She didn't bother exploring the other floors and climbed the rest of the flights. She knew what would be on them. Whoever was redecorating the building, was going in the order of her designs in her book. The fifth floor would be one of the suites from Metalla. She opened the door and looked around.
The floors were covered in brown paper; the exterior walls grey concrete. There were reclaimed lumber cabinets for a wet bar in the corner of the room, the interior walls were just framed in. She could see the bathroom fixtures sitting in place, but not installed. A movement in front of the bedroom fireplace caught her eye, and she shone her phone light over to see Joe lying on the ground, his hands bound with zip ties, his mouth gagged.
She ran to him and checked his pulse; it was strong, and aside from what looked like a lump forming his forehead, he was okay. She kissed his cheek and used it as cover to pinch the palm of his hand. Hard. He opened his eyes and looked like he was about to struggle, but she shushed him and removed his gag before she reached into her bag. His expression was pleading as he looked at her, horrified that she had come. As if she could just leave him to die? Didn't he have any idea just how much she loved him?
She looked into his eyes for a moment and gave herself a shake. They didn't have time for this. She pulled out the wire cutters she brought for boosting the car and used them to cut his bindings. She heard footsteps coming so she took her gun out of the bag and tucked it into the back of Joe's pants, and covered it with his shirt. He gave her a reassuring look, and closed his eyes, feigning unconsciousness. She pretended she didn't hear the footfalls of the man approaching them and tried to rouse Joe.
"Please wake up," she whispered, and kissed him on the mouth. "Please. I need you." He didn't move, and she jumped when she heard the click of a revolver.
"How touching is this reunion?" The voice said, only now without the distortion on the phone, she recognized it. It was definitely Perkin Porkin. "Look at you? Such a handsome couple." She went to look at him, but he pressed the gun to the back of her head. "Don't turn around. Take the ring out of the bag, and throw your bag across the room. You won't be needing anything in it."
She grabbed the box and threw the purse away, as instructed.
"Now stand up and turn around," he said.
Molly did as she was told. She almost stumbled when she saw Perkin.
The man in front of her didn't look like a wannabe Lestate. He was wearing a rose gold satin tracksuit and high top sneakers with gold laces. He looked like a poorly dressed, red-haired, Stanley Mallory.
"You?" Molly said. "I thought you were working with Perkin. I didn't think you were…"
"Do you know how much fun I've been having? Manoso pisses me off to absolutely no end. The number of enterprises I've had to abandon because he's a fucking bloodhound and he's managed to get wind that maybe I might be involved… You though? Imagine my delight when I discovered that the delectable little treat I was planning for myself was his cousin? And I've been playing with you right under his nose for years. It's made you all that more delicious. I loved walking into your store in my bad disguises, knowing that because of his past fuck-ups, he had no way of knowing that I was toying with a member of his family."
Mallory motioned for her to move away from Joe, and any windows. He walked over to a construction lamp and flicked it on, bathing her in what felt like a spotlight. It burned her eyes after being in the dark for so long.
"You really are quite lovely. Do you like how I've built you up? You're good, Molly, and I wanted your work to get the attention it deserves. I had to kill an art critic for you to do it; it's been fun playing him too. You should see some of the things I've been saying. So easy to raise up an artist who really is shit, and take someone with talent and crush them."
"So I guess I'm not as good as everyone says."
"Oh, you're better," he said, "They only know what to look at because I've told them how to look. You really do have an incredible eye for color; I have a mind to teach you to paint."
"I brought the ring," Molly said. "What do you want me to do with it?"
He approached her and took her left hand, examining Joe's ring. "The good detective works fast. He's not an idiot like Brasseau."
"Where are Lucien and Max?"
"You don't care about Pierre?"
"No," Molly said. "Where are Lucien and Max?"
"Max, I'm afraid, is no longer with us. You see I told Lucien there was room for four on the plane. I told him that I'd promised Pierre a seat, which meant that he had to choose between you, himself, and Max. Poor Max didn't make the cut. Don't worry. It was quick."
"And Lucien?"
"He is with your friend Pierre at the moment, organizing our flight. You see, Pierre is very good at getting people and things out of whatever country you happen to be trying to smuggle them in or out of. It's about the only thing he's good at. Well, not the only thing…" Mallory grinned. "Do you know why your beautiful cousin never clued into the fact that my Pierre and your Pierre were the same man?"
"Because Pierre is a common name?" Molly suggested.
"Well yes, but there's another explanation, my sweet," he said, "Pierre stole Pierre Lucas's identity. The real Pierre Lucas got accepted into several good schools and our Pierre, bored with his tutors, decided to see if he could impersonate someone else. Lucas's parents even paid for him to go to school. They didn't have a fucking clue because he stole from a trust fund that never saw any action. Their rainy day fund."
"What about at LMU?" Molly asked.
"He didn't officially go to LMU. He audited courses because he couldn't get in," Mallory said, "It's not like he needed the degree. He was always going to work for his father. As far as official records go, it looks like Pierre LaPorte fucked around Europe for a few years, getting high, and then went on to learn daddy's business."
"That's actually not far from the truth," Molly said. She was fully aware of the fact that Mallory was still holding her wrist. He was gripping it hard, and it was starting to hurt. He was stronger than he looked.
He took her engagement ring off of her finger and flicked it away. It made a tinkling sound as it skittered across the floor, stopping two feet from Joe. Mallory picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. "Put Lucien's ring on, like a good girl."
He released her; she opened the box and went to kneel to put it on the floor so she could lift out the casket. "I don't think so," Mallory said, "I don't have you properly trained for kneeling just yet. Let the box fall."
Molly put one hand in and took hold of the jewelry casket and the pine box clattered to the floor. She lifted the lid on the crystal box and pulled out the ring. Mallory took the little chest from her and put it in the deep side pocket of his tracksuit jacket. "Wouldn't want to break that. It's quite pretty, isn't it?"
Molly stifled a whimper, nodded, and slid the ring on her hand. She'd never liked it, and now she just hated it.
"There it is, as advertised," Stanley said. "It's even uglier than it looks in pictures. Your ex is completely useless. His family had hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of jewelry; beautiful, tasteful, things, and he bought you this at a junk shop?"
"They didn't give him handouts, and it was all he could afford at the time," Molly said.
"He should have sold it to someone and bought you something beautiful." She hated to agree with Mallory, but he did have a point there,
He took hold of her wrist once more and turned her hand over. His actions were slow and deliberate, and he kept eye contact with her as he slowly licked the palm of her hand.
"L'Occitan lavender hand cream," he said, "Oh we can do better than that. I'll have something custom made for these delectably dainty digits."
"Why me?" Molly asked. "If it's because of Ric, you should know, he barely likes me. Getting to me, won't hurt him. He never wanted me to be part of the family. He pays for my security because our grandmother would disown him if he didn't look after me. But if he actually cared, do you think Lucien would ever be able to get to me? Or Pierre? He didn't put extra guards on me until Joe started putting cops on the street, because he's locked in this fucking pissing match with him…"
"Oh, Pierre and Lucien have filled me in on your relationship with your beautiful cousin. As it happens, that you're related to him really is just a bonus. I promise you it really was a magnificent coincidence. I started watching you before Ricky even became a blip on my radar. I've wanted you since the museum when you were the only one who didn't need an explanation behind the purpose of the paintings. So I gave you a little test, and you passed with flying colors."
"Test?" Molly asked. "What test?"
"The lilacs," he said. "I saw your temptation and knew that with little effort you would be willing to join me, in my hotel room. But I wanted you to resist, and you did. I saw you toy with the idea of dialing the number on the card; I saw that little smile when you put it away."
"How?" Molly asked.
"I put a camera in the vase the flowers were delivered in," he said. "I've planted many cameras on you over the years."
She didn't even want to contemplate what he'd seen her do since that day.
"So, what happens now? You take me away on a plane, and we go someplace, and I'm just supposed to what? Arrange flowers for you, and put out?"
"Yes," he said. "But that would get dull after a little while, so there will be other things on the agenda. I've read that those with tactile synesthesia show uncommonly high levels of empathy."
"So?"
"I'm a sociopath darling; I don't have empathy. I get my jollies out of hurting people. You quit a lucrative job that you could have been very good at, to pursue a career making people happy. You, my dear, could not be more the opposite to me if you tried. I want to study you. I want to play with you, and then because I'm like every spoiled little boy out there, I'm going to break my new toy when I get bored with it, and I'll give you back to Lucien."
"Then what the hell did you want the ring for?" Molly asked.
"I don't want the ring," he said.
"Then, why?" Molly asked.
"Because I needed you to see what a useless bag of skin Lucien is," he said. "I told him that the ring is priceless, but it's not. It's exactly what Pierre thought it was, but by telling them otherwise, it gave them the hope of success. Hope is a powerful motivator. If he could get the ring, he could get you back. Then I apply pressure, let other men near you, make him desperate, and well, he never really was a good man was he?"
"He was once," Molly said.
"Never," Mallory said, "Molly, the first life he destroyed in your name was that teacher who was fired for having dirty limericks about his students on his computer. Lucien wrote those limericks. A good man doesn't do that. All of those dates he took you on after that, paid for through helping students cheat their way through School; breaking up relationships; obtaining blackmail material; planting evidence, that sort of thing. That's not the mark of a good man, my sweet."
He narrowed his eyes and examined her face. "Your skin is so pale, so flawless. Do you scar easily?"
She swallowed hard and was surprised that she didn't wet herself when he touched her. She had never been more frightened in her life; she didn't do pain well. She didn't do the whole stoic thing. She had reached her bravery limit, and the adrenaline that had given her the fight instinct seemed to say 'fuck this noise,' and had firmly relocated to flight. She heard the door open, and she looked around to see Lucien standing in the doorway with a garment bag.
He walked towards Stanley, and Stanley took the bag from him.
"You may go now," Stan said.
"You said I would have the chance to talk to her, alone," Lucien said.
"And you will," Stanley replied.
Lucien went towards the door, and Stanley, still holding the gun to Molly returned his attention to her. "Open the bag. Go ahead; see what's inside."
Molly unzipped the bag and looked at him, "You're sick."
"Yes," he said. Inside was a single sleeved, white silk cocktail dress. It was fell several inches above her knee, and the silk clung so that it was impossible to wear any sort of underwear with it. She knew that, because it was the dress she was wearing at her rehearsal dinner when Lucien humiliated her. She had told her father to throw it out.
"I'd like you to put it on now, Molly."
"If you were just going to make me change, I could have stayed in my pajamas," she said.
"But here you are, all made up, and ready. Your dress won't look incongruous on you. Turn around, let me unzip you."
She glanced at Joe. He didn't have a clear shot and Stanley could kill her before Joe could go for his gun. She needed to give him an opportunity. Joe was so still that Molly worried he was unconscious again. Stanley unzipped the black dress she was wearing, and he took a moment to lightly run his hand down her back. She didn't bother to hide the shudder or suppress the sob, that wanted out.
"Stop!" Lucien shouted. "You said that when you had the ring, you would give her back to me."
"I don't have the ring back, yet," Stanley said, "Molly is wearing it. It's Molly's ring. When I have her give it to me, then I will have it, and you may take your turn with whatever is left of her."
"You bastard!" Lucien yelled and ran at Mallory.
Stanley sighed as though he were about to deal with a recalcitrant child, and calmly shot Lucien in the leg. It was the distraction she needed, and she dropped to the ground as Lucien's scream echoed in the empty room.
She felt the gun press behind her ear, and she whimpered, just as another shot rang out. Stanley's body crumpled falling on top of her. She wriggled out from under him, grabbing his gun as she went. She stood up, and with shaking hands, she held the revolver on him. There wasn't a lot of point. He was staring blankly ahead, with an expression of surprise on his face, and a new hole in the middle of his forehead.
"Molly, he's dead! I need your help, or Brasseau will be too!"
Joe was taking off his belt when she got to him.
"What do you need me to do?" She asked.
"Bandages, I need anything for a bandage." He wrapped his belt around Lucien's thigh and yanked hard.
She didn't have anything. There was nothing in her bag, and the blanket was still at the bank. She looked down at Lucien's feet, and she took his shoes off, she tugged off his socks. She folded them and put them over the wound. "I think he's nicked an artery," Joe said. "You have to put as much pressure as you can on the wound."
She nodded and put all of her weight on Lucien's leg. She could hear the sounds of sirens in the distance, getting closer, and willed them to move faster. "I have to release tourniquet now because if I leave it on too long, he could lose his leg. Do not let go. I'm going to see if Mallory had a phone on him. I might be able to divert one of the sirens here."
"They are probably coming here," she said.
"How? He told me he hijacked your phone."
"I sort of had to rob a bank to get my ring. I left a lot of breadcrumbs."
"Shit," Joe said. He ran to Mallory's body just as the doors burst open and the room flooded with SWAT and voices yelling for them to put their hands in the air.
"MOLLY, DON'T MOVE!" Joe yelled when she went to comply. "He's got an arterial leg wound. If she moves, he bleeds out."
"Captain?" One of the men said.
"Yeah," he said. "Lower your weapons and go clear the building."
"This woman robbed a bank."
"Yeah," Joe said, "And she's very sorry. This is Stanley Mallory; he's on about a dozen most wanted lists, and he's probably booby-trapped the place. Clear the building and get a medic up here before this idiot dies." They hesitated, "GO!"