but he knew it was out of the question. Women like Molly didn’t engage in casual sex and brief affairs. They were nurturers at heart, earth-mother types, wife material. Not for him.
She began explaining in a matter-of-fact way how she came to know the man she had married, how he had browbeat her for months until they’d endured a showdown that had ended it all.
During Molly’s recital of events, Damien watched with some interest as she gave her daughter more food.
The child had disgusting habits, Damien thought as he sipped his coffee. For all he knew, maybe all children did. So far, this one had done nothing to endear itself to him. He supposed he could claim admiration for the high decibel level it could reach. It could feed itself, which surprised him.
Somehow he had expected it would still be bald and practically toothless. But this one had grown considerably since Molly had taken those photos of it. It had hair now, curlier and a much lighter red than Molly’s. The wide eyes had a greenish tint, but not so green as hers. Bluer, he noted.
They dressed exactly alike, mother and daughter, in dark green sweats with bright red hearts stitched on the left breast. She fascinated him, this odd little Molly Jensen clone, almost as much as her beautiful mother did.
“So, what do you think?” Molly asked.
“Hmm?”
“Oh, that’s what I like in a man. Attention. Were you even listening?”
“Of course. Your ex made the calls, you’ve gotten the protection order…and…?”
“The police won’t arrest him unless he does something to me. Something they can nail down, anyway. By that time it could be too late. I sent him to jail, Damien, and I’m afraid he’s going to kill me for it. And he might kill Sydney, too. He hates that she exists.”
Damien gave her his undivided attention. Whether she had real cause or not, Molly Jensen was convinced their lives were in danger. He still thought she was probably blowing things out of proportion and overreacting to the harassment.
No doubt her ex was bitter about spending a night or two behind bars. The cops had likely hauled him in for disturbing the peace and to give him a chance to cool off after the argument she’d mentioned. Now he was playing on Molly’s fear to get back at her for it. Once Damien scared the life out of him, he’d back off quickly enough.
“Is there any way to make him stop?” she asked quietly.
Too quietly, he thought. She sounded like a child herself at the moment. A very frightened child who had no idea what to do next. Her deep green eyes looked to him for answers and her bottom lip quivered slightly.
Damien felt something turn over in his chest at the sight. At the moment, he wanted to strangle Jack Jensen with his bare hands for putting that look on her face.
He could do that, but he wouldn’t, of course. Was it possible that she thought he would? He had no idea what her brother had told her about their brief encounter.
Six months ago he had gone undercover as an assassin for hire to apprehend right-wingers who wanted rid of a senator visiting in Nashville. One of the Bureau’s informants had blown that scheme out of the water while Damien was recuperating from a gunshot. Good thing, since Damien’s cover had evaporated with the shooting and resulting publicity. Once he’d recovered, he had gone down to Florida on his next assignment.
Molly might think that his badge made him immune to prosecution, that it would allow him to act as judge, jury and executioner. He’d have to set her straight on that. Intimidating Jensen into behaving himself was about the best he could offer in this situation.
“We’ll think of something,” he assured her. He would have a talk with the police, then throw a scare into Jensen. That should take care of it.
Those long, graceful fingers of hers worried her trembling lip a second or two before she spoke. “It…it’s not as though I did anything to deserve all this, you know?”
Damien almost reached for her then, but clenched his fists instead. “No, no, of course you didn’t! The thought never entered my mind.”
With a sigh she crossed her arms and faced him again. “I’m not imagining this, really,” Molly told him. “He nearly succeeded the last time he tried to kill me.”
“He what?” Damien demanded, straightening in his chair.
“Tried to kill me,” she said with a shiver. “And he meant business. You should have seen his eyes.”
Damien noted the way her fingers dug into the fabric of her sleeves where she grasped her upper arms. She paid no attention to the child who was rhythmically banging her palms on the tray of the high chair.
“Find a paper and pen. Begin at the beginning and tell me everything, in minute detail,” Damien ordered curtly. “I want dates, times, names of anyone who was involved.”
Molly pulled a magnetic notepad and pen off the refrigerator, ripped off her grocery list, tossed the leaf in the trash bin and sat down. She pushed the ballpoint and small tablet across the table to him.
“Well, you see, we had this fight,” she said, avoiding eye contact as though the fact embarrassed her. He watched her absently rub the side of her head with two fingers. “Jack did two years in County for assaulting me. He swore I set him up but I had a great lawyer and a very sympathetic judge. She gave him the maximum sentence. When he got out, he called and said he wanted to get back together. I said no.” She uttered a mirthless little half laugh. “Actually, I phrased it a little more harshly than that.”
Damien tensed. Two years? What the hell had Jensen done to her? “How badly were you hurt?”
Molly smiled and made a fist, massaging the backs of her knuckles with the other hand. “I gave almost as good as I got. Landed a good one on his jaw. Amazing what you can do when you’re cornered.” She shook her fist as though it still ached from the blow she had delivered.
“He hit you,” Damien growled.
“Mmm-hmm. And choked me. After I broke away and slugged him back, he got in the parting shot.” She shrugged. “I fell backward and hit my head. Bled quite a bit and had a…concussion. Guess I looked pretty bad.”
Damien clamped down the sudden, murderous fury that shook him and struggled to remain objective. Molly was no frail victim. She was tall, strong, and courageous as hell. But she was still a woman. And, judging by the age of the child, she must have been pregnant at the time of the attack.
Damien decided he had better not dwell on the incident or he’d come totally unhinged. He cleared his throat and concentrated on taking notes.
“After you refused to reconcile, has he done anything overt to make you think he might resort to violence again?”
Molly looked down and flexed her long-fingered hands with their short, unpolished nails. “Oh, yeah. After I had a date.”
“A date,” Damien repeated, writing it down. “Which date and with whom?”
“My first and only since the divorce. The date took place a week ago. I went to a concert with Joe Malia, a guy who worked at the museum where I was a receptionist.”
