Killian said nothing, but Juliette could see the hard lines of his jaw bunch as though Maraveet had punched him in the gut.
“Why shouldn’t he?” Juliette broke in. “Molly stayed with him and took care of him. He’d have to be a selfish asshole to toss her aside after that.”
Maraveet’s green eyes burned into hers. “Don’t talk of things you don’t understand,” she ground out through straight, white teeth. “You’ve barely been here a week and no doubt spent most of it in his bed.”
“Maraveet!” Killian rounded on his sister. “Enough.”
That only turned her wrath on him. “If something has happened to Molly, it will be on your head, Killian. You know that.”
With that, she stormed from the room with a vengeance that made every retreating stride crack through the house like gunfire. The vibration echoed all the way to the top of the stairs before carpet muffled her heels. Then there was silence.
“She’s wrong, you know,” Juliette murmured to the quiet man standing a few feet away. “It’s not your fault. Molly’s probably gone on vacation or she’s been sick. There’s a bad flu—”
“She’s not wrong.” Killian raised his head and she struck by the force of his anguish. It roiled in a dark tangle across his face. It creased the lines around his mouth and settled ruthlessly on his shoulders, stooping them. “She warned me years ago to cut ties and I didn’t listen.”
“That’s insane, Killian!” She hurried to him. “You can’t cut people from your life. You need people. You need family.”
He didn’t seem to be listening to her anymore. There was an unfocused glaze over his eyes as he stared unseeingly across the room. The hands tucked absently in his pockets bulged through the fabric in tight fists. Juliette ached seeing him that way and having no idea how to fix it. She wanted to touch him, her hands ached with it, but he didn’t seem like he wanted that.
“Killian…”
Frank returned to the room, phone in hand. His grim expression closed an icy finger around Juliette’s gut.
“There was no answer, sir.”
It was as though someone had let all the hope out of Killian. His body sagged forward, taking his chin to his chest. One hand lifted to close over his eyes. His shoulders rose once before settling.
“Get the car, Frank.”
There was nothing in his voice. The hollowness of it sent a cold chill through Juliette. His hand lowered and the emptiness in his eyes was even worse.
Frank left without a word and Juliette was left to find a way to pull Killian back from the chasm only she seemed to be able to see looming wide and open mere inches from his toes. He was teetering so close she was afraid to breathe in case it startled him. The helplessness closed around her chest with an intensity that made her ribs hurt.
“Killian…” Moving with the restrained hesitance of one trying not to spook a frightened animal, Juliette edged closer. Her hand lifted away from her side and gingerly reached for him. “It’ll—”
“You should go home.”
Her fingers lightly grazed his arm. When he didn’t pull away, she closed them around his hand. The coldness of his clashed with hers, but she held on.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.
Something in her words seemed to finally register. His eyes slid to hers finally and stayed. The face around them seemed permanently etched in blankness, but his eyes gleamed. They roared and clashed with every emotion she could feel thrashing around inside him. It took all her willpower not to reach out to him, to not soothe the torment twisting him up.
“Molly’s dead,” he stated with a bluntness that made her flinch. “You don’t want to see that.”
Her fingers tightened around his. “You can’t know that. It’s insane to think just because someone doesn’t answer their phone—”
“She’s dead,” he repeated more slowly, like she needed to understand and accept. “I’ve known Molly since before I was born. Not once in twenty two years has she ever missed a Saturday and she hasn’t been here in two weeks.”
Maybe it was the enormous gap that separated their worlds, but in hers, people went without talking for months and it didn’t mean they were dead. It just meant they were busy. But she wasn’t entirely schooled in his world rules. Maybe he knew something she didn’t.
“I’m still not leaving,” she whispered.
He didn’t try to talk her out of it. They walked silently to the foyer. Frank stood with Killian’s coat tossed neatly over one arm. Juliette relinquished her grip on him just long enough to allow him to throw it on before reclaiming his hand. He let her, although she wasn’t entirely certain he even noticed. He seemed so lost in the swirl of guilt and grief that swept around him.
They made a path to the SUV and climbed in. The door was shut behind them and they were off with Marco behind the wheel and Frank next to him. A secondary SUV rumbled along behind them with a small army of men. She wasn’t sure what they expected to happen. No doubt they’d give Molly a heart attack when they stormed into her house for no reason.
It was the thought she clung to as they tore through the city. It was the image of Molly giving Killian an earful for being so neurotic and paranoid, not to mention for thinking she was dead without a shred of evidence.
Nevertheless, she held on to his hand, gripping it tight in case he even considered breaking away. But he didn’t. He sat in rigid silence as the scenery changed from towering skyscrapers to neat little homes tucked against a gloomy backdrop of white and gray fields.
Molly’s home was a two story colonial revival with a built in garage surrounded by a crisp blanket of snow. Juniper bushes hugged the sides, running beneath wide picture windows and complimenting the mint green shutters and door. It sat alone on a strip of road miles out of the city overlooking a rolling field. The closest neighbor was a tiny hint of a roof in the far distance. Juliette guessed about a fifteen minute walk. Not exactly far, but when it had been snowing nonstop for days, no one tended to notice that there was a mountain of ice and snow blocking visitors from the pathway leading to the front door, or that the two cars parked in the driveway were practically buried. It could have meant anything, but Killian’s fingers nearly broke hers.
“Tactical formation,” Frank barked to the men scrambling out of the second SUV. “Secure the perimeter. Red team, flank rear. Blue team, take the front.”
It must have been something they did often, because they moved with the precision and grace of a very deadly ballet. The group of six branched off at the front curb. Three immediately started around the side while the rest climbed over mounds to reach the front door, guns Juliette had only ever seen in movies lifted to their shoulder. Frank stayed by the first SUV with Juliette and Killian. Marco remained in the car, probably waiting for Frank’s orders to take Killian and leave immediately. Juliette stayed close to Killian’s side, her fingers laced tight through his. Her insides writhed with a force that terrified her. It didn’t seem to matter how many logical explanations her mind came up with as to why the snow around the house was undisturbed or why Molly wasn’t answering the phone. All Juliette knew was that Molly had to be okay. She had to. For Killian’s sake.
“Red team, report.” Frank’s gruff voice made her jump.
Her head snapped back to the house to watch as the team in front paused on the front steps. One pulled away from the rest and edged along the side, to the window. He paused at the corner and peered carefully inside.
“Repeat, red team,” Frank said. Red team must have been the one at the back, Juliette realized, because the men at the front of the house weren’t talking. “Blue team, prepare to intercept.”
The guy at the window scrambled back to the door. The two covering him pivoted to flank either side of him as he hopped back onto the front step and reached for the doorknob.