Page 17 of The Chief
I shook my head, finally shucking off my jacket. I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, but the truth was the truth. At another time, maybe she would’ve been mine.
Fallon was all business once she got a good look at my arm. She inspected the wound, pressing here and there to check the depth. “It’s a clean slice. You’ll need a couple of stitches, but generally it’s okay. Let’s look at the one on your leg.”
Flicking the button on my pants, I stepped out of them and perched on the end of the couch beside Molly as Fallon crouched to get a better look.
“Fallon,” Orin called.
“Almost done,” she replied. “He needs stitches.”
There was a grumble of disapproval, then it went quiet.
Fallon’s head was bent over my thigh as she inspected the puncture wound. “You shouldn’t have removed the weapon,” she told me. “But it doesn’t look too bad. You’ll have to get checked out properly if you feel like there’s some nerve damage.”
“I climbed up and down four flights of stairs without so much as a twinge,” I lied. It had hurt like a motherfucker, but knowing Molly had been close was enough motivation for me to push through the pain.
Riffling through her bag, she pulled out a vial and syringe.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Lidocaine. It’ll numb the area before I suture.”
She waited until I nodded before drawing a dose of the clear liquid and injecting measured doses around the site of the wound. Each little pin prick hurt, but I resisted the urge to flinch. If I could take a dagger to the thigh without complaint, I could sure as fuck take a needle. Fallon worked efficiently, but I was waiting for the barrage of questions about Molly. I could practically see them sitting on the tip of her tongue. When she finished with my thigh and moved to my arm, I said, “Ask me again.”
She blinked her pretty blue eyes at me. “Why is Molly here?” Her voice was softer now, like she’d been turning over the possible reasons in her head.
“Molly left a bullet in my Rover. A bullet with Finnan’s name on it.”
She frowned. “Why was she in your Rov—Actually, I don’t want to know. What was she doing with the bullet?”
“That’s what Finnan wants to know. I’ve been trying to track her down, but she’s slippery.” My gaze settled on Molly, who still lay unconscious on the couch.
“Molly’s my friend,” she whispered. “What’s going to happen to her?”
“That is up to her. So far, she’s been … uncooperative.”
Fallon set down her needle and pressed back into her heels. “I know she’s not always had the easiest life.”
“She told you that?” I asked, suddenly greedy for information.
What had she told the people closest to her? Did they know she only moved to Galway a few years ago? That she had a whole other life before then?
“She’s hinted,” Fallon said, picking up a non-stick bandage and unwrapping it. “She’s told me that her mam made the wrong choices when it came to men, and she had to get away.”
“Any mention of a sister?”
A frown appeared between her brows. “A sister? No, she’s never mentioned one to me before.”
Fallon had just confirmed what I’d suspected about Molly. She had more secrets than anyone would ever know, and I would be the one to drag out each and every one of them—by force, if necessary.
Chapter 7
Molly
The absolute worst thing about being unconscious was the sluggishness of rousing, being stuck, knowing that waking wasn’t a linear process. My mind slowly being teased back to the present, only to fall back into unawareness, to resurface again a minute later. Sometimes a few minutes later, or maybe more. Confusion as everything became mixed up in my head.
Any mention of a sister?
I need to look at it before you die of exsanguination.
