Finding Serenity Page 8

  “It’s just that none of this is your business. Why are you making it your business?”

  Cool, calm, Vaughn summons his patience, years of training that makes this girl’s interrogation something of a joke. He could tell her the truth. He could let her know that his sister has asked him to protect her; that the witness stipulated that any harm coming to Mollie would end their negotiations very quickly. But, for the most part, Mollie has gone unscathed. The robbery could be random, so could the fire. And as long as she thinks he’s simply being nosy, then there won’t be any calls to the witness warning of a potential threat.

  “You really don’t like anyone giving you a hand, do you?”

  At this, Mollie laughs but it is a harsh, condescending sound. “Not when the hand is attached to someone I don’t really know.” She scoots forward, mouth pulled down into a firm line. “Not when that someone is using me for some sort of pet project.”

  “How am I doing that?”

  “You’re home how long now?”

  Vaughn clears his throat, uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. “A year.”

  “Uh huh. A year. And what were you doing those few months you were away?”

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “I’m trying to prove a point here.” The line her mouth makes softens, but only just. “See, I’ve been around guys like you before. Hero types trying to rescue me. I’ve seen it a hundred times since I was a kid. Guy spends his adult life in the military, years and years of duty and responsibility and purpose. Then he comes home, maybe he gets cabin fever, certainly he could be bored because civilian life is not guns and ammo and missions that must be completed.”

  “I lived it. No need for the rehash.” Vaughn crosses his arms, face stern as he stares at Mollie. If she’s expecting me to flinch, she’ll be waiting awhile.

  “Exactly. My guess? You did some sort of muscle work. Maybe you bounced at a club outside of town.” She narrows her eyes, scans his face for any reaction. “Nah. Not club work. I can’t see you going from Afghanistan to tussling with ornery drunks.”

  “You can’t?” This girl was good, perceptive, but Vaughn wouldn’t give her any hints.

  She seems to like that. Mollie smiles, keeps a small laugh under her breath. “Bodyguard? Your sister is Joanie Law. Maybe it was a politician.” When Vaughn’s expression remains impassive, Mollie releases the withheld laugh. Vaughn suspects she thinks his non-reaction gives away more than any confirmation would. “Am I warm?”

  “Is there a point?”

  She points to herself. “Pet project.” The slip of paper in her hand is folded in quarters, then unfolded as she watches him. “I’m thinking you did this gig for your sister, taking care of something for a friend or family member and when that gig ended you come back home.” She shrugs. “It hasn’t been that long and already the cabin fever emerges again. Hence you nosing into my robbery.”

  This time when they stare at each other, an unspoken challenge of who will blink first, Vaughn falters, moves his eyes to the left and Mollie’s smile is triumphant.

  “You can wipe the stupid grin off your face.” When she laughs, Vaughn can’t help but return her humor. She had to know she couldn’t rattle him, not with those weak attempts at guesswork. Vaughn relaxes, unfolds his arms to rest his hands in his lap. “And for your information, smartass, it was a buddy of mine. His kid brother has a band. Stalkers and groupies were getting out of hand.” Let her think what she wants. Let her have no doubt that my interest comes from sheer boredom. The longer she thinks that, the easier Viv’s case building will be.

  The thought of his sister has Vaughn recalling the mission, the job. Even though Mollie’s smile lights up her whole face; even though she smells like vanilla and the shine of her skin makes Vaughn’s mouth water, he knows he has to remember that she’s just a job.

  “See, and I thought maybe you liked me,” Mollie says, a cocky, smug smile on her face as she offers him a wink.

  But Vaughn doesn’t return the look. He wants to, but he doesn’t. There will be no more flirting with Mollie Malone, not if he wants his sister’s case to have legs. She notices his lack of response, she has to. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t do much more than look away from her and lift an eyebrow to make her see he’s not interested.

  “So,” he says, motioning to the waitress for another cup of coffee. “Tell me about this fire.” He hates that the smile has vanished from her face. But she deflects her disappointment, passes it aside with the firm set of her jaw and a quick nod. Vaughn instantly misses the warmth in her cheeks, the way her eyes brighten with her laugh. More than anything, he hates that he’d do anything to make the pretty smile return to her face.

  July in Cavanagh was stifling. Nine a.m., with the heat bubbling around them like a humid halo, and Mollie and Layla are already sweating.

  “Why are we here again?” Layla asks, fanning the back of her neck with her hand.

  “Autumn wanted us to keep her company. Also? Hello, rugby?” Mollie waves her hand to the pitch in front of them. Ninety-five degrees on a Saturday morning and the crowd swells as various amateur squads from around the region section off into matches.

  “Ugh.” Layla falls back from her sitting position to lay on the blanket. “I could be at Comic Con right now. I can’t believe Sayo went without us.”

  Mollie rolls her eyes. Layla has been bitching about missing their yearly trek to Geek Mecca all summer. She’d miss it too; the hot California breeze, the epic displays of CosPlay and here and there sightings of the actors, writers and personalities they all loved. Mollie would save for months, sometimes regulating her diet to Ramen and marshmallows just to put up enough for that flight to the coast. But with her equipment being stolen and her job prospects thin, Mollie couldn’t justify spending her savings on the trip. “Sayo needed a break. She works too hard. Besides, you only wanted to go to the Nerd HQ panels anyway.”

  “Shut up.” Layla slaps Mollie with her empty water bottle. “So did you.”

  “Hello, Zachary Levi.” Mollie thinks that should have been obvious. She knows no Geek girl worth her salt would miss seeing the “Chuck” star and the panels he hosts.

  “God, that man does things to my ovaries.”

  At Layla’s regretful swoon Mollie chuckles. “That man does things to everyone’s ovaries, Layla.” She lays next to her best friend on the blanket, shielding her eyes with her arm. “Besides, you couldn’t go. You have to work and I couldn’t afford it this year.”

  “I hate my father.”

  “He’s trying to teach you to be a productive member of society.”

  “No, he wanted to make sure I didn’t get arrested in San Diego.”

  A shadow falls over them and in unison, Layla and Mollie move their heads to the left. A sweaty, mildly stinky Declan looms down at them with damp hair sticking to his forehead. “You lot see Autumn?”

  Mollie sits up. “No, but she’s only a half hour late. That’s on time for her.”

  Declan nods, but seems distracted as he looks over the crowd. “She and Joe were coming to watch the tournament. She was meant to bring me my new trainers. I can’t run properly in these things.” He motions to his sneakers.

  “When she makes it, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.” Mollies watches Declan as he walks backward, still looking through the crowd on his way back to the pitch.

  “That man is sprung,” Layla says, returning to her spot on the blanket.

  “And paranoid. You’d swear Cavanagh is about to go all ‘Red Dawn’ the way Declan carries on.”

  “He’s just worried.” Layla sits up to watch the matches on the pitch. “I need another water. You want anything?” When she stands and stretches out her back, her spine popping, Layla’s eyes catch onto to something several hundred feet away. She reaches down, pulling Mollie up by her wrist.

  “What, Jesus, Layla.”

  Her best friend stands facing her, coming nearly nose to no
se before she whispers in Mollie’s ear. “Okay. Be cool and don’t look out there yet, but past Declan and Donovan’s squad is your Marine.”

  Mollie lifts her eyebrow, keeps her face trained toward Layla’s and moves her eyes to the right. Leaning against the bleachers several yards away from where Declan and his squad are stretching and preparing for their next match, she spots Vaughn talking to a group of guys all wearing matching red jerseys.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” Mollie narrows her eyes at his back, at the way he picks his legs up by the ankle to stretch it. Tattoos cover one of his shoulders and Mollie can see a scaly, tattooed tail inching up toward the back of his neck.

  “Obviously, he plays.” Layla turns around and joins Mollie in a small ogle of Vaughn and his friends. “And if he’s playing against Deco’s squad, he’s about to be highly embarrassed.” Layla’s head moves just a few inches and her eyes lock with Donovan. “Jackass.”

  Mollie tries not to laugh as she notices the occasional sparkle of stray glitter on Donovan’s skin, the leftover remains of Layla’s attack. “At least try to be civil today, please. I don’t have the energy for the L and D Civil War.”

  “He’s going to retaliate. I’m just waiting for his move,” Layla returns the glare that Donovan gives her. “Oh yeah, buddy,” she says to him, her voice low, “bring it on.”

  Mollie ignores the small snarl her best friend and Donovan exchange, preferring instead to watch Vaughn as he walks toward the pitch. He moves like a tiger, cool, collected, his shoulders straight and wide. Mollie swallows thick when she takes in the corded muscles of his bare arms, the way the veins on his hands and forearms stick out against his tan skin. She feels her cheeks heat, remembering the way he brushed her off last week at the coffee shop and the awkwardness between them after her small grilling. She left that day feeling ridiculous for flirting with him, then angry that he didn’t respond. When he walks up to Declan, shakes his hand and both men turn toward her, the small blush on her face deepens and Mollie knows that the quick fever of her skin has nothing to do with the scorching temperatures.

  “What the hell is he saying to Declan?” Layla grabs Mollie’s hand to walk toward the pitch.

  “Stop. I don’t wanna go over there.” She pulls her hand away from Layla’s grip and tries not to focus too much on the way Declan crosses his arms, defensive, or how Vaughn glances in her direction and then continues on with whatever he’s telling the Irishman.

  “Why? We were going down there anyway. You know that’s where Autumn will force us to sit once she gets here.”

  But Mollie doesn’t answer Layla’s curiosity. She’s too concerned with how Declan and Vaughn are now laughing together, how they continue to make quick glances in her direction.

  “I’d give my left tit to know what they’re talking about.”

  Layla moves her head to the side, as though she’s trying to decipher Mollie’s meaning. “Why the left one?”

  “Duh, it’s bigger than the right.”

  When Mollie continues to stare at Declan and Vaughn, Layla grabs her arm, pulls her around to get her attention. “Since when do you get all nervous and shy around a guy?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You don’t wanna go over there and watch our friend play because Vaughn is talking to him? That’s bullshit, Mollie.” She rests her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes at Mollie. “You’re gonna let Vaughn screw with your baking day in the sun? Who the hell are you and what have you done to my best friend?”

  “Shut up,” Mollie says, but she knows Layla is right. Vaughn is on her ground, in her territory, talking to her friend. She knows he’s likely fishing for information, trying to get Declan to disclose things she wouldn’t. And it pisses her off, his audacity, his continual butting into her life. “Screw this.” She pulls Layla toward the pitch. When they approach, Declan nods a greeting and Vaughn smiles, though it isn’t an overly friendly gesture.

  “Mollie.” Vaughn’s acknowledgment is quiet and he barely meets her eyes before he walks back toward his squad mates.

  When he’s out of earshot, she turns on Declan. “What the hell was that?”

  “He’s not the enemy, love.” Declan catches the ball that Donovan throws to him, as though Mollie’s presence is barely worth noticing.

  “Declan…”

  He returns the ball to Donovan and waits for another toss. “He’s a good lad. Just trying to find out what I knew about the fire.” Mollie steps in front of the ball and catches it, bringing an end to Declan’s dismissal. He sighs, resigned, but finally focuses on her. “I don’t know why me talking to him hacks you off.”

  “He’s sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  Declan pauses for a moment, his gaze moving over her head to where she knows Vaughn is standing with his friends. “I thought the pair of you…”

  “No. He thinks I’m a kid.” Over her shoulder, Mollie glances at Vaughn, but his attention is diverted, in a quiet discussion with one of his squadmates. “He blew me off last week, made me feel like an idiot for flirting with him so no, there is no ‘pair of us.’ I’d appreciate it if you kept my business out of his ear.”

  Declan’s forehead is dipped, and a small line works under his eyes as though he’s debating something over in his head. “Fair enough,” he says, giving Mollie’s shoulder a soft punch before he heads to the pitch for the beginning of the match.

  Mollie pulls Layla toward the shaded base of an oak tree just off of the pitch, yanking her best friend away from whatever nasty thing she mutters as Donovan passes them. She ignores Layla’s grumbles, thinks she hears something about “dog snatcher” and “glittering, rugby-playing Edward Cullen clone” before the blonde finally joins her. The squads enter the pitch, immediately form into the scrum when the referee calls them, but Mollie isn’t interested in watching the match. Instead she digs her phone out of her pocket and sends Autumn a text. She’s the reason they came, after all, and her ginger friend wasn’t doing either of them any favors by being late.

  Where the hell are you? she texts Autumn before she leans against the oak tree.

  The match moves forward, and is particularly violent as one of Vaughn’s squadmates tackles Donovan to the ground. Mollie sighs at Layla cheering on the guy with COLLINS draped across the back of his jersey and a penalty is called. She looks down at her cell a few minutes later when Autumn replies.

  Autumn: About to be there. We have to drop something off. Sorry!

  Mollie: Your man is doing that worried, Declan thing. Hurry up.

  Autumn: Be there in ten.

  Mollie isn’t really interested in the match, that’s what she tells herself anyway. She doesn’t care that Vaughn seems to be a fairly decent player, especially for someone so new to the sport. She doesn’t care that he’s playing a bit more aggressive than she thinks he should, especially when Declan and Donovan barrel down the pitch and waylay several of Vaughn’s squadmates like they’re high schoolers playing with National League vets. She really doesn’t care that if Vaughn isn’t careful—garnering penalty after penalty as he tussles against players that are lither and younger than him—that he’ll do some real damage to himself.

  “Hasn’t played much, has he?” Layla’s head moves up and down the pitch as the match powers on.

  “No idea, but I don’t think so.” She frowns when Vaughn and the Collins guy run into each other as they both make a play for the ball. “This is actually kind of pathetic.”

  Then, she echoes Layla’s quick hiss of disapproval as Vaughn and Collins collide on the field yet again. When Vaughn continues to lay on the ground, the girls stand, both moving their head to see if he manages to get up.

  The thing about league tournaments, especially in Cavanagh, is that there isn’t an overabundance of caution taken in the organization of the matches. Most residents are happy to watch the matches simply because they miss the university’s season. But these tournaments don’t have the funding that the Cavanagh sq
uad does. They are essentially just pick-up matches to fill the time between seasons. The refs tend to be coaches from the high school leagues. The pitch is rarely maintained in the off season and there are never any EMTs or even trainers there to treat any injuries a player may sustain during a match.

  That’s probably not something Vaughn realized when he agreed to this tournament and Mollie is sure that’s something he probably wouldn’t want to hear right now as he is still on the ground.

  “Shit,” she says when Declan looks her way and shakes his head. Mollie has zero formal training in medicine, but she has had to learn a thing or two over the years at the Compound. You can’t be a kid living the life she did without some “on the job” training.

  When she and Layla jog out to the pitch, Vaughn isn’t moving. He’s awake, staring out above the other players surrounding him, begging off their calls of concern.

  “I’m fine.” He waves off Collins and Declan as he slowly moves to his feet.

  “You sure, mate?” Declan asks only to have Vaughn frown at him.

  “Happens a lot, actually.”

  Vaughn moves his completely motionless shoulder in an odd wiggle and at the gesture, Mollie hears Layla next to her, covering her mouth as though she may vomit. The joint of his shoulder is lowered and protrudes against the skin. Dislocated. Mollie would know what that looked like anywhere. How many times had a fight or drunken horseplay at the Compound resulted in this exact injury?

  Despite her awkwardness with Vaughn the last time she saw him, Mollie knows how painful this injury is. She also knows that if it isn’t taken care of immediately, the treatment will be worse than the injury itself.

  “You’ve done this before?” she asks Vaughn.

  Despite his coolness to her earlier, Vaughn manages to look her in the eyes. “Yeah. I probably need surgery, but haven’t gotten around to it. I can pop it back.” But Mollie notices how hard Vaughn winces, how his bottom lip is trembling from sheer pain.