Page 33 of Sinful Seduction
Molly’s eyes roll beneath her eyelids, her heart rate monitor pulsing faster and heavier. Mrs. Freemon jumps back in a frenzy of movement, shoving to her feet and standing over her daughter. “Molly? Honey?”
“Mom?” Tears squeeze onto Molly’s temples, tumbling over smooth skin and down until they’re lost in her hair.
“I’m here, baby. Mommy’s here.”
“You’re okay, Mols.” Mr. Freemon stands, too, gripping his daughter’s hand. “We’re both here, and you’re safe.”
“Where’s…” She presses her lips together for the B. For Benjamin. But her breath catches, and her monitors spike in response. Pain makes her hiss, a whimper and an explosive exhale gushing from the depths of her throat. “Where’s B?—”
“Ben’s in the hospital too, baby.” Her mother lies. Blatantly, boldly. But it ends with Molly’s eyes flickering open, and Mrs. Freemon’s breath stalling. “Oh my gosh, baby. Hi. I see you.”
“Ben…”
“He’s around.” Mr. Freemon squeezes Molly’s hand. “You just need to focus on you right now, Sweetpea. Everything else is going to be okay.”
“Are you in pain, Molly?” I inch forward, earning Archer’s glower and a wary glance from both parents.Not the doctor for the dead! But I catch Molly’s gaze—fearful, and then confused—and for the moment it takes for her mind to process my ridiculous outfit, her pulse slows and her machines quieten. “You’re in the hospital and you’ve had surgery. Do you need pain relief?”
“A-are you my doctor?”
Mr. Freemon laughs. It’s desperate and high-pitched. “She’sadoctor, Sweetpea. But she’s not yours. No chance in hell.”
“I’m a doctor.” I rest my hand over her blanketed foot. “But I’m not yours, no. I’d be happy to call yours if you want me to.”
“My whole body hurts.” Her eyes burn with an ache I’m not oblivious to. Her lips, glowing white, while her cheeks fight to turn red. I’m not sure how much blood she lost last night, and I have no clue how much they put back in her during surgery, but it’s clear she has less now than she did this time yesterday. “My back and my…” She digs her head backwards into her pillow, clamping her eyes shut. “Where’s Ben?”
“Molly?” Archer steps forward, meeting me shoulder-to-shoulder once more. But he doesn’t touch her feet the way I do. He doesn’t take her hands like her parents do. “My name is Detective Archer Malone, Molly. I’m sorry to tell you?—”
“Please don’t,” Mrs. Freemon sobs. “Please, not yet.”
“It’s important.” Archer tilts his head to the side, catching Molly’s eyes in the gap between her crowding parents. She’s stronger than they think. More determined than they want her to be. “I’m a homicide detective, Molly. Do you know what that means?”
“Homicide?” Her voice crackles with a deep ache. “Homicide means?—”
Mrs. Freemon wails, loud and piercing, right by her daughter’s ear.
“It means Ben is dead.” Archer takes out his badge and holds it in her line of vision, waiting for her to scan the shield. For her mind to read the numbers and process the implication behind them. “Ben was shot last night, in the same incident where you were harmed.”
“Dead?” Fat, flowing tears trickle onto her cheeks. “Ben’s dead?”
Archer nods, solemn and steady. “He didn’t make it.”
Her jaw trembles, shaking violently until her teeth chatter.
“If you’re feeling up to it, it would be really helpful if you could answer a few questions for me.” Archer sets my water on the end of her bed, taking out a recording device instead, followed by his little notebook and pen. “I know you’re in pain, Molly. And I know you’re scared and sad. But do you think I could ask you a couple of questions?”
“Can’t you come back another time?” Growling, Mr. Freemon brushes his daughter’s hair off her face. “This isn’t the right time.”
“Molly?” Archer searches her eyes. He pays attention only to her. “Please? It’s really important we do everything we can. The faster we work, the more likely we’ll find whoever did this to Ben.”
“I don’t…” She turns her face away, escaping her mother’s swiping hand and the tissue she wields. “I’m so tired. Ben…?”
“She’s too tired.” Grant straightens his spine and turns, from fearful to fiery. He summons new strength and firms his jaw, then he grabs the remote attached to Molly’s bed and mashes the call button. “You’ll have to come back another time, Detective.”
“But Molly?—”
“Come back tomorrow, Detective. My daughter needs rest.”
ARCHER
