CHAPTER TEN

By the time Molly woke up, Greg was already on video-chat with Donovan and a young ginger man she recognised but couldn't place in her groggy, half-asleep stupor.

"All right," said the unknown ginger agent through the computer screen. "I'm in her email."

Greg nodded, eyes sliding to the portion of the window not covered by his colleagues' faces. "So, wait, what's going on here?"

"That's the wifi connection going wanky. That happens when it's being hacked sometimes." The agent said, seeming irritated. "Don't touch it."

"No, this other thing."

"That'd be her screen saver."

"Well, why is it doing that?"

The ginger sighed. "Probably because you haven't touched it in a while on your end. The hack makes it hard for you to see what I'm doing. Keeps your LCD panel live as though I wasn't messing around in her RAM."

"My what?" He paused. "Her what?"

"Is this really that important?" Donovan shouted from her end. "Can't we focus on, you know, the case?"

"No, you're right," Greg said, swiping a hand through his hair. "Sally, then, you'll stop by Molly's flat?"

Donovan nodded. "We'll do a DNA sweep as best we can. Look for fingerprints, hairs, and things like that. Extra surveillance in case he comes back."

Greg nodded.

Then, the ginger agent snapped his head upwards. "Hey, I think I've got something."

Greg instantly enlarged the ginger agent's window. "What?"

"Her machine's been hacked – a lot. Like, a lot a lot." The agent said, a fascinated smirk playing on his lips. "Looks like…two sources. Someone made it look like everything was fine – so she'd continue to use it while getting into her Macro, having a GIGO, and basically fucking up her entire system. And then the wanker encrypted everything. I can't find any software that'll work. But the signs are obvious enough." His head shot up. "Oh, sorry sir. Encrypting is when—"

"I know what it means."

The ginger agent blinked. "Are you sure? With all due respect, sir, my Nan knows more about computers than you do."

Normally, Greg might've asked what a Macro or a GIGO was, but the young man's attitude was beginning to strike a chord, and he hardly fancied giving him the satisfaction.

"Can you trace it?" He asked.

With confidence bordering on cockiness, the young man nodded. "Might take a while. He used precautions."

From where she was sitting, unseen, on the bedspread, Molly froze. would lead them straight to him.

The next moment she shook her head. Of course it wouldn't. This was Sherlock she was thinking of. They wouldn't be able to trace it to him unless he wanted it traced to him.

She must have unwittingly made a noise, for Greg's head snapped up and looked at her. He smiled. "Morning."

Molly tried to regain control over her breathing, which had suddenly begun to feel difficult. She smiled, and said as cheerfully as possible, "Morning."

Greg turned back to the laptop. "The email, Collin," he said to the ginger. "Can you trace the email?"

"Already did." He said. "London Library, public computer. Signed in anonymously."

"Damn it." Greg shook his head.

Donovan coughed slightly. "All right, now that we know what we're doing here in London – what are you going to do?"

"Try and keep her safe."

"That's not in your job description."

Greg gnawed on the inside of his cheek. "It is now."

He sighed, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Look, I'll keep connected with you, and look through things from afar. Do it over the Internet."

"Good luck with that," Collin, the ginger, smirked. Then, he caught himself, and added in a rather late "Sir."

"Quiet, you." Greg muttered, a small smile betraying his words.

"Remember what I said earlier?" Donovan said. "About Hooper?"

"Yeah." Greg grumbled, recalling that particular conversation – even the suggestion to use Molly as bait…it still infuriated him.

"Well, just be careful," Donovan shook her head. "If he's following her as closely as it seems, he's probably still following her to wherever you lot are."

Greg sighed, and after brief good-byes, shut the laptop closed, looking at Molly, still sitting up in bed, her shorter hair frizzed and mussed up from a night of tossing and turning.

"Conference?" She asked in her most cheerful voice.

He nodded. "How long were you awake?"

"They're going to look in my flat for DNA." Molly shrugged, and then let a small grin set on her lips. "And Collin's Nan is better with computers than you, apparently."

Greg shook his head, letting a short laugh permeate through the room. "Oh, come on, I don't think I'm that bad."

She raised her brows jokingly. "My screen saver? You couldn't've guessed?"

"Hey!" He said, "I am thirteen years older than you. I hardly grew up with technology."

"Neither did his Nan." Molly said, still smiling.

The two began to laugh together, shoulders quivering, the sounds echoing through the tiny space. It was a small moment of happiness, washing over them, jolting them both with some sort of newfound and nameless energy.

Once they quieted, Greg stood. "How are you feeling today?"

"Better." Molly nodded. "Almost safe."

"Almost?" His eyebrows drew close.

Molly looked into her hands, struggling to articulate. "I know it's silly but…I didn't really feel in danger before. Not really, at any rate. I hadn't experienced anything except for what the police said. I was getting paranoid, but…it wasn't real…fear, you know?"

Greg shrugged, not really understanding.

"He never made contact, before that. At least, none that I know of." Molly said, remembering Sherlock's words, You wouldn't know if he came up and talked to you in the street—he probably has… and almost shuddered. "So it was…it didn't seem quite real. And then…" She faded.

"He shoved it in your face."

She stared at him, eyes shimmering. Then, with a sigh, her head bobbed up. "Yeah."

They looked at each other. Molly felt his eyes penetrating through her. Dark eyes burning a hole through her brain. She couldn't tell what he was thinking – she couldn't even tell what emotion (if any) was behind it. The picture of his face just then burned through her skull.

A moment passed.

"Well, we should probably go soon. I made a few calls this morning – and we've actually got a destination now. Carlisle. I can get into better contact with the Yard once we're there – connections and whatnot." Greg said, shaking his head and beginning to pack up the sheets he had slept on.

Thus, they quickly packed up and found themselves back in Greg's car, beginning the nearly three hour drive to Carlisle from Liverpool.

The demeanour of this drive proved very different from the first one. While the day before Molly had been panicked, stoic, silent and frantic simultaneously, she seemed to negate all of those behaviours the further north they drove.

She sat up straight, feet resting on the floor, rather than being folded up and closed off. She stared out the window, quite a bit more engaged as the thruway hurtled around them.

The ride, however, remained quiet for the largest extent.

By the time they got to Preston, they were ready for a break. Greg stopped in a secondhand store car park.

"Feeling up to a quick shopping trip?" He asked.

Molly wrinkled her brow. "Sorry?"

Greg unbuckled the belt over his seat. "I figure I might need a change of clothes, pyjamas. A toothbrush'd be nice, too, and some food."

"Oh, right," Molly shook her head. "Food's important, isn't it?"

Greg smiled. "Yeah. And, I think it'd be good for us to get out and stretch our legs."

He looked about in bins at the secondhand store, throwing a pair of denim jeans two thinning oxford shirts, a couple of pairs of boxers into a basket haphazardly.

Molly walked warily by his side, still paranoid, looking over her shoulder, and jumping at any small noise.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to admit it, but it felt nice to have him walking next to her. It was assurance that everything had potential to be all right again. It reminded her of how lovely it was, the year before, when they would go out, have dinner or drinks. Unfortunately, this also reminded her of how it all fell apart.

Then they wandered about Preston until they reached a little village shop. Wandering in, they found pre-made cheese sandwiches, a packet of nuts, crisps, and a few bottles of water. After a few minutes of digging, Greg also managed to find a toothbrush, hiding away behind some corny local band's CD. They paid and made it back to the vehicle without any major repercussions.

Molly allowed herself to breath a sigh of relief as they entered the thruway once more, headed dead north, towards Carlisle.

An hour passed, and they munched on the cheese sandwiches. Greg used his right elbow to lean his head against his fist.

After about an hour, Molly spoke. "Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"D'you think…well, what I mean to ask…do you think we could talk now?"

Greg racked his brain, but came up short. "What about?"

"Whatever it's been going on between us?"

"Oh." He said. "Yeah, sure. What about it?"

"Well, I…" Molly began, but then abruptly stopped. She knew she wanted to talk about it – she had for a while. But, now that the perfect opportunity to do so arose, she found herself at a loss of words. Not that she was ever extremely articulate, but she seemed to hit a metaphorical wall just then.

She stopped, unsure of what message she wanted to convey. She knew she liked his friendship. It was so comforting to have a friend she could talk to so easily without worry of judgment. She'd enjoy the conversation, his smile, the happy feeling in her chest when she would close the door behind her, and childishly watch him leave from her window.

"I kind of expected something…" Molly muttered, heart beating in her ears. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I…I liked it. When we'd spend all this time together. It was nice."

Mulling over what she was saying in his head, Greg found himself at a dead end. It was nice, he agreed silently. He liked it a great deal too. But, obviously, it hadn't worked very well. Apparently he couldn't keep his hands to himself while hammered – and that was a failure. He was, honestly, surprised that Molly attached to a different memory. Any other girl might've attached to the memory of the drunken night and forgotten completely about the months before. But, then again, Molly wasn't any other girl.

"And I…" Molly inhaled slowly, bracing herself. Then, she spoke quickly, running her words together. "I reckon I'm beginning to fancy you a bit."

"Molly, I – "

"No. No, it's fine." Molly said, shaking her head, turning bright red. "Never mind. I shouldn't've said anything. Everything's really complicated. I just made it worse, didn't I? So, never mind." She inhaled sharply. "Thank you, Greg. For doing all this for me. I shouldn't have…well, it means a lot that you did all this for me. So…thanks. Oh, God. I'll just shut up now."

Greg sat in the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel a bit too hard. He wasn't sure what to think.

He allowed his eyes to slip to the corner, watching Molly – her face completely flushed, covering her cheeks with a hand, pulling her knees back into her chest.

Unable to look at her much longer, Greg thought about the image as it broiled in his mind. She was blushing, her eyes darted around the vehicle, incredibly embarrassed. He didn't really think she had much to be embarrassed about.

He thought about what she said. The way his own heart began to tremor when she confessed she had started to fancy him. The vibration of the vehicle was overwhelming. Too much for him, shaking his focus as it literally shook him.

He'd spent months and months repeating the opposite to himself. But, then again, lying to oneself rarely worked.

Well, fuck, Greg. You fancy her.

But everything was too difficult.

Actually, it was bloody dangerous. He'd read the email. The threat had been articulately written on the screen.

Then again, that wouldn't come to anything. He'd die before someone laid a finger on Molly – and he'd never let anyone call her a whore.

But, his feelings were so unethical. Molly was a woman who was being stalked by a serial murderer. He was supposed to be investigating and putting the bastard away. Putting him behind bars would certainly help her more than taking extra hours to stop and stare at her, and definitely more help than locking himself into the bathroom for a session of deep thinking.

It really wasn't the best time for these things to come up. It shouldn't be that abnormal, however, women always chose the worst times to bring things up. Although, he thought, staring as the cars whizzing by. Molly was probably very frightened – she might even be under the impression that she was going to die soon. It made sense she wanted closure on everything.

On the other hand, he didn't really need closure. He needed her to be safe. He knew he'd do anything to keep her that way. Still, she was being so terribly distracting, just carrying on like that, telling him what she was feeling.

Why did girls have to do that, anyway? Bring up their feelings all the time. Why couldn't they mull them over silently and then act on it. It worked wonderfully for him – always had.

Finally, they pulled into a long driveway, with a dark labelled sign out from Willow Lodge and Cabins.

"Oh, wow," Molly uttered, looking out the windows when Greg halted the car.

The building was enormous, four sets of long triangles peaking out from the grass. Windowed all over the front. The lawn was groomed to perfection over a small lake lying in front of them. The trees lit up as though it was Christmas, giving a rather exclusive feel to the whole.

"Yeah, well," Greg shrugged. "It's not exactly inconspicuous, I reckon. But they've got decent security. And privacy."

Pulling into a surprisingly empty car park, they unloaded and began the trek up to the front doors. Molly blinked around herself, almost forgetting why she was there. She'd never been any place quite so lovely. Her family always had troubles with money, so holidays – particularly in places like that, were completely out of the question when she was younger. And morgue attendants did not make that sort of money either.

They entered the front lobby of the great building. Elegant stuffed armchairs surrounded an elaborate glowing fireplace. The ceiling peaked far up high, almost four floors. Mahogany floors reflected the chandelier overhead.

Molly felt odd – out of place, and overwhelmingly confused as to what exactly they were doing there.

Greg walked up to the front desk. In a single move, he pulled his I.D card out of his breast pocket. "Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, Scotland Yard."

The heavily made-up woman behind the counter cocked a pencilled-in brow. "Scotland Yard? Bit far away from home, ain't you?"

"Mm." Greg said quickly. "I need a cabin for an investigation."

"Mind if I check your I.D, Inspector?" The woman said. "Just to make sure everything checks out?"

"Go ahead." He said, turning over his card to the woman. He leaned against the counter, putting a mint from the display bowl into his mouth. Noting Molly's quizzical look, he said, "What?"

She gestured around the elegant front office. "I'm not sure where to begin."

"I'll explain later."

Once his card checked out, and they were given a key to a little cabin on the adjacent side of the lake. Driving over, he did explain.

"All right. Collin's family owns the place. The cabins have great security he can enable with the computers very easily. And it's far enough away that I think…" he paused. "I really don't think he's followed us."

The words settled nicely in Molly's ears. And for a moment it calmed her to think that he didn't. That he'd just give up. That she could return to London without having to worry, that she could return to Bart's and life would go on the way it had.

"Here we are," He said, pulling into another driveway after fifteen minutes of scenic lakeside road.

Looking up, Molly again found herself gasping at the sight of the cabin. Built like a triangle, out of large logs laid one over another. Large windows bordered the front, but reassuringly lessened towards the back of the building. The logs were bright, waxed and cut to perfection.

Inside was even more beautiful. A long suede sofa curved to the side, surrounding a waxed mahogany tea-table with a little bowl of mints and a box of tissues. A large telly hung above an electronic fireplace roaring happily, filling the room with orange light. Opposite that, a large wall of windows loomed high overhead, making Molly feel exposed until Greg pulled the curtains shut.

There was a little alcove with bookshelves full of popular DVDs and classic novels. Built into the shelves was a little desk equipped with an IBM and a web cam.

On the other end of the cabin, there was a little kitchen with an island dividing it from the sitting room. Next to that, the dining room elegantly waited for the next mealtime.

The washroom sat upstairs, and had a large glass shower, mirrors along the whole far wall, and a small window in the corner.

There was only one bedroom in the cabin, next door to the washroom, with thick wood walls and a large memory foam mattress covered in blankets and quilts.

"I'll have to borrow some of those," Greg remarked as they looked about. "For when I crash on the sofa tonight."

Molly jumped in the next moment at a sudden vibration in her pocket. She pulled out her mobile and faltered instantly, heart pounding.

All ease from earlier in the day melted away in an instant as she read the words on the screen. BLOCKED CALLER.

Greg looked over at the vibrating gadget in her hand. "Put it on speaker."

"Are you sure?" Molly asked, reluctant. What if it was Sherlock again?

"Molly. Put it on speaker."

She followed the command. She waited a moment before whispering, in a mousy voice. "Hullo?"

From the other end: "Oh, you're all right. Thank God. I was worried about you, Kitten."

Molly fell to the ground and Greg was kneeling beside her in an instant, one concerned hand on her shoulder.

He made eye contact with her, and slowly mouthed. "Stay. Calm."

Molly nodded, obviously not calm, as the voice on the other end continued.

"You disappeared. I got worried. But, you're all right, Kitten? Don't worry. I'll come and get you."

Molly's breathing quickened.

The voice continued, "It was a long-shot, I know, that they'd let you have your mobile. But I guess that just shows what a stupid pathetic tosser he is. Who lets a person keep their phone in a kidnapping? I'd be much more thorough. But, I guess that isn't a surprise." He laughed.

She remained silent.

"Well, anyhow. Tell me where you are, and I'll take you back home. I'll keep you safe, you won't have to worry anymore."

Greg scribbled a note on a napkin that had been in his pocket and put it in Molly's other hand.

Tell him to call tomorrow.

Molly began to speak, but found her voice lost. Coughing once or twice, she made it come back. "Call me tomorrow. Busy right now. You know how it is. Okay, all right. Bye."

With this, she pressed End Call and fell back against the wall. She wasn't crying. It took something to cry. She couldn't feel anything. She was a shell – no substance. Just everything sucked out of her. Life seemed like a distant memory, and she was only just there – body, no soul attached.

Once Greg helped Molly move back to the sitting room, putting her on the sofa with a heavy blanket around her shoulders, he immediately pulled out his own mobile.

Molly watched as he dialled the numbers with his thumbs and put the phone up to his ear, looking tired all the while.

"Sally? It's Greg." He said quickly. "We've got an issue."

He paused. "He called her." Another pause. "No, he didn't call Paxton or Birdie, that I know of…We can hook up the mobile to a computer, can't we? Collin can trace it…Yeah. Why?" During the next pause his eyes slid over to Molly, giving her a quick once over. "She's bloody catatonic…well, no: if she couldn't handle talking to him now…no! I told you – we're not making her live bait. Especially not while we're so far away from London." He sighed. "Yes, I realise it wasn't the smartest decision. No, I don't know what came over me…It's late. He doesn't know where she is right now, so I think we'll be all right. Conference first thing tomorrow morning…All right. G'bye."

Hanging up abruptly, he slowly rubbed his temples, shutting his eyes. Molly had a subtle urge to reach out and touch his shoulder, but abstained. She couldn't feel her arms, much less lift them.

Then, without warning, it came over her. Crashing like thunder in her ears, pulsing through her body like lighting. Everything went from being unseen, unheard and ghostly, to suddenly very real and tangible. His voice – she shuddered – it sounded like snakes coiling in her brain. She couldn't stop hearing him. Are you all right, Kitten? I'll come and get you. She was surprised to find her cheeks streaked with tears.

She suddenly felt a hand over hers. Greg was leaning forward next to her, his expression utterly sober, lacing his fingers with hers.

Looking at him, she exhaled on shaky breath. Looking away, she thought aloud, "I wish…I wish I wasn't afraid. But I am."

"Hey," he said, his voice gravely and soft, his hold of her hand firming. "I'm right here, yeah? We'll get it sorted."

Pulling a tissue from the box sitting opposite them, Molly dried her face, and then smiled emptily. "Has anyone ever told you how amazing you are, Greg?"

"Oh sure. All the time," he said, leaning back onto the sofa with a slight grin.

"They probably should," Molly muttered. "I actually feel safe right now."

They stared at each other, one set of dark eyes burn into the other. The day seemed so long, the car ride up to Carlisle seemed ages ago. But, in that moment, it all came back at the forefront of his mind.

As for Molly, she couldn't shake the fear – or the realisation that that might not be the only reason her heart was racing – Greg was a bulwark for her. A kind, handsome, and incredible man of a bulwark. When she was with him, she was in the eye of the storm – he calmed the waters.

Greg looked back at her unblinkingly. His mind wandered. It was wrong, he knew it. She was disturbed and afraid – doing anything would be taking unfair advantage. And, either way, he couldn't afford to be distracted – even if she was the distraction. She was probably too overwhelmed with the issue at hand. There was another reason that his mind shouldn't have wandered where it did – She had a madman after her, that ought to be the only focus. Not how she looked under the lamplight.

They both had a bigger picture to focus on. He was in charge of the murder investigations of the two other girls who were followed by the same man. There wouldn't be a third. He would make certain of it. Which was why he didn't have time for this. But – and the realisation shook him – it seemed as though he was about to make time for it, with or without his conscious consent.

It all happened so quickly. Neither of them could be certain of who moved first, but in the next moment, their mouths came together. She was sweet and soft like candy floss, as she pushed gently against his lips.

Molly was in a haze. She felt drunk – the world moved slower, her heart pounded in her ears, hands, and every other part of her body imaginable.

He lifted his hand to touch the back of her neck – it was warm to the touch, soft, and felt like it belonged there.

Slowly, Greg pulled away. Their eyes came open together, and once a comfortable distance away, they smiled, light all but shining from their faces.

Greg coughed. "Think you'll be able to sleep tonight?"

"No." Molly shook her head, too awake from fright and too excited from him to even think about lying down.

"Well, let's see what they've got on Netflix."