Page 32 of In Her Sights
“Is she supposed to be home?” John asked, drawing her attention away from her phone. His expression had grown serious—worried, even—and she blinked at him, a little surprised by how much he seemed to care. Her phone’s text alert sounded, pulling her out of her distracted thoughts. It was Felicity, confirming that both she and Charlie were fine—frustrated by a lack of leads, but otherwise fine. John shifted closer, reminding Molly that he’d asked a question about Cara.
Holding out one hand, she turned it side to side. “She’s an adult, so she can go where she wants, but I just need to make sure she’s okay. That car outside…” She let her voice trail off, not wanting to admit that she was spooked. Her phone beeped again, saving her from having to complete her thought. “She’s fine.” Molly frowned at the text. “Weirdly cagey, but fine.”
“Weirdly cagey how?”
“She’s not admitting where she is exactly.” She typed as she spoke.
What animal would you be?
“What?” John asked. “That’s a random question.” He’d moved closer so he could read her phone. Without looking up at him, she put one hand in the middle of his chest and pushed until he took two steps back. Her fingers wanted to linger and explore the rock-solid planes of his upper torso, but she forced her hand to drop.
Panda bear. I’m FINE.
Although she was relieved at Cara’s answer, Molly was still immensely curious about where her sister could be. Telling herself firmly that it was none of her business and, as she’d told John, Cara was an adult who could go wherever she wanted without having to explain herself to her nosy older sister, she pocketed her phone.
“Do we need to go save Cara?” John asked, and she shot him a sharp look. He’d asked so calmly, yet seriously, and was obviously fully prepared to mount a sister rescue mission if it was necessary. Her heart did a funny little skip, and she could feel her defenses against John Carmondy crumbling even more. How could she keep from liking him when he went all white knight in defense of her sisters?
“No. She answered the Did your abductor take your phone and text for you? question right, so she really is okay. I’m just not sure where she is. Let’s head to Dutch’s before I’m tempted to track her phone.”
John looked a bit disappointed, making her think that he’d been hoping to do some tracking—or that he just wanted to put off their search for Sonny. He gestured toward the stairs, and Molly descended them in front of him. Normally, she liked to keep everyone who wasn’t family—actually, everyone who wasn’t her sisters—in her sights, since her years in bail recovery had taught her that she never could predict what panicked and desperate people would do. Strangely, she was comfortable with John behind her. For some reason, she trusted him to watch her back.
Surprised and a little discomfited by this realization, she glanced at him over her shoulder.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” It came out too quickly, and she hurried to face forward again, making a beeline for the front door.
“Now I really want to know.” Laughter underscored his words, and she sighed soundlessly.
Unlocking and opening the front door, she didn’t look at him as she walked outside. “Sometimes, Carmondy, nothing really means nothing.”
Now she just had to convince herself. Despite her best efforts, her feelings toward John were starting to turn into a very scary and confusing something.
Chapter 11
Although he grumbled, he didn’t ask again as he followed her out onto the porch, easing the screen door closed so it didn’t smack against the jamb like it usually did. She scanned the street, looking for any suspicious people or vehicles. Except for John’s SUV, the road and driveways were empty, the neighbors’ cars tucked neatly away in their oversize garages. Molly relaxed a hair.
“I guess there is an upside to living in a Stepford neighborhood,” she muttered, making John laugh.
“I’ve been wondering why you live here,” he said, swinging his arm in a wide gesture that encompassed the entire area, from the pin-tucked lawns to the wrought-iron gate bordering the resort’s property. “It doesn’t seem to suit you.”
“It belonged to Victor, the twins’ dad and my favorite of the stepfathers. It’s been in his family for decades.” As she climbed into the front passenger seat of John’s SUV, she wondered why she was sharing personal details with him. It might’ve been because she was still a little shell-shocked by the realization that she trusted him, or it could’ve been that he gave off the impression that she could tell him anything, and he’d keep her secrets safe.
Whatever the reason, she found herself spilling the whole—albeit abridged—story once he climbed into the driver’s seat. “My mom and I moved in here when I was a baby, so I grew up in this house. After he died…” The word still stuck in her throat. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d called him her favorite, even though he’d died when she was just a little kid. “After he died, Mom got the house, and we stayed here, even after she married again…twice.”
John made a thoughtful sound as he backed out of the driveway, his headlights reflecting off the somewhat battered garage door. Now that they were talking about how she and her sisters didn’t really fit in the neighborhood, the differences were more obvious, even under the cover of night. Despite her best efforts to keep up with repairs and maintenance, their house looked shabby and tired next to its polished and perfect neighbors. No wonder everyone in the area—from Mr. P and the Villaneaus to the owner of the hunting resort—had tried to buy it from them.
“I’m surprised Jane didn’t sell it,” John said. He winced slightly afterward, shooting her a sideways look as if checking to see if his comment had offended her.
Molly huffed a short laugh. There wasn’t anything negative he could say about Jane that one or all of her daughters hadn’t at least thought. “Me too. She did get a reverse mortgage on it and stopped making the payments, so it was really close to foreclosure. The bank would have it right now if I hadn’t taken over paying the bills.”
Again, he glanced at her quickly. “How old were you?”
“Too young.” The topic was depressing her and making her anxious at the same time, so she decided to change the subject. “What’s the plan at Dutch’s?”
“Plan?” He went with the abrupt switch in topics smoothly, and she appreciated his tact—or his short attention span. Either way, she breathed a relieved sigh and settled back in her seat as he pulled up to a red stoplight. “We need a plan?”
