Hot Winter Nights
Page 6But after two years behind the front desk, she wanted more. She’d begged Archer to let her also take on the background checks and research that overloaded his men, and he’d been all too happy to comply. She’d kicked ass too, providing them with superior intel all year. Yeah, they had their resident IT person—Lucas himself—but she could be just as good as him with some training.
Probably.
In any case, she’d loved getting a foot in the investigative door, but instead of satisfying her, she only craved more.
She wanted to go out in the field.
Archer had told her point-blank that while she had a brilliant mind and he was grateful for it, he couldn’t let her get hurt. Joe had been far less diplomatic, flatly refusing to discuss it with her. And that’s when she’d realized that when they looked at her they didn’t see brilliant investigation work, they saw vulnerability and weakness. And she got it. Appearance made a strong impression, and her physical appearance suggested weakness, not strength.
There was nothing she could do about that but prove them wrong.
“Need you to fax us the paperwork,” the insurance guy said in her ear after being on hold for thirty minutes. “I told you this already, last week.”
“Right,” Molly said. “I’ll just jump into my DeLorean and drive back to 1987 to get my fax machine. Can’t I just scan you the pages?”
“We don’t accept scans. They must be faxed or snail-mailed.”
She needed more caffeine for this, and after her call, she hit up the staff room, where she came face-to-face with Archer. She pointed at him. “You turned away those two sweet little old ladies who needed your help.”
“We don’t take those kinds of cases.”
She glared at him. “You mean old people cases?”
In typical Archer fashion, he refused to engage. “We’re booked up solid for the next five months. I don’t have the manpower available.”
“Or the interest?”
She sighed. “Okay.”
“You’re a valuable part of this company, Molly. I’m not just placating you here. All I’m asking for is a little patience on your end until you’re ready.”
“Are you sure it’s not the other way around? That you’re not ready for me?”
At that, she got a rare smile and a low laugh. “The world isn’t ready for you.” Archer let his smile fade. “But they will be, and when things happen, you’ll be prepared, and safe because of it.”
“And in the meantime?”
“I’m bringing you in on two new cases where we need your research and intel. They’re in your in-box waiting on you.”
She knew this was a bone, but she’d take it. And though she appreciated the vote of confidence, she was having trouble accessing her patience. Especially when she ran into Joe a few minutes later.
“You’re not taking on any cases,” her brother said flatly while stuffing a huge sandwich down his throat. He’d just come in from a takedown that had involved the entire team and he had three minutes before he had to head back out again for surveillance on another job.
His job rocked, dammit. “I think I have a right to do whatever job I want to do,” she said coolly.
Joe sighed and put down his sandwich. A rare occurrence, letting go of his food, signaling he was very serious. “Molly, listen to me. I can’t think of you in this job that I do, in the thick of it, with the constant danger.”
“And yet you do it. Do you think I don’t worry? Or that Kylie doesn’t?” she asked, referring to Joe’s better half.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said stubbornly.
The unspoken word being again. Because they both knew what he was really referring to, which was the one time she’d been involved in his world and she’d nearly died. She still carried the scars, inside and out.
But she did not. “Look,” she said softly, wanting to make him understand and end this discussion once and for all. “I’m smart. I’m resourceful. I’m resilient.”
He nodded his agreement, which warmed her just a little bit. “All things I learned from you,” she said and squeezed his hand, smiling at the look of surprise on his face. “You’ve always taken care of me, Joe. Always,” she repeated fiercely. “And I’m thankful and grateful for it. But I’m good, okay? I’m better than good. And it’s time for you to let me go, to let me make my own decisions.”
“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted. “But I’ll try.”
“Try real hard,” she suggested.
Chapter 3
#BadSanta
By the time Molly got home that evening, she was completely done in. She lived in Outer Sunset, about twenty minutes from work on a good day with no traffic.
But there was always traffic.
When she walked up the few steps to her apartment building, she found three elves waiting for her.
Seemed they’d multiplied.
The shortest elf was Mrs. Berkowitz, her neighbor. The other elf was Mrs. White, Mrs. Berkowitz’s knitting partner. Molly had never seen Elf Number Three before, who was younger than the other two by a good decade. “Evening, ladies,” Molly said, getting her first real smile of the day. “Looking good.”
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Berkowitz said. “But your boss said he wouldn’t take our case.”
“I know. I heard. I’m sorry—”
Molly leaned against her porch railing. “You know for a fact that he’s actually stealing?”
“Yes. He’s saying there aren’t any profits to pay us from, but he has money. Bingo alone brings it in, I’ve seen the piles of cash. We need your help,” she said so earnestly that her little elf ears quivered.
Molly looked over at Mrs. White, who nodded. And then Elf Number Three.
“That’s Janet,” Mrs. Berkowitz said of the sweet-looking, softly rounded woman. “She heard us talking about the money and wants to join the cause.”
“The cause?” Molly repeated.
“Yes, the Santa Claus cause,” Mrs. Berkowitz said with a straight face. “We worked hard all year. We won’t stand for being ripped off, it’s not right.”
If true, it wasn’t right at all. The men in her life might not understand her need to step in, but they should. It’d been from them that she’d learned to do the morally right thing even when no one else believed. “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” she promised.
Mrs. Berkowitz looked relieved. “Oh, thank you, we so appreciate it. And of course we want to pay you, but until we can get our hands on our money—”
“It’s okay,” Molly said. “I’m not officially an investigator anyway. But if we get to the bottom of this case, I might be able to convince my boss to let me be one, so see, we’re helping each other.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Berkowitz said fervently. “You’re a godsend.”