Special Forces Saviour. Janie CrouchЧитать онлайн книгу.
she could tell he had also suffered, at least to some small degree, from smoke inhalation. Derek’s sexy voice was even deeper and more gravelly than usual, and although she hated the cause, Molly couldn’t help but shiver slightly at the rougher sound of it.
Of course, then she felt like a fool, as she always did when Derek was around, for the way she was acting. Molly turned to a desk behind her and pretended to sort through files. She didn’t blame Jon and Liam for snickering. Her behavior every time Derek entered the room was snicker-worthy.
“We’ve got some evidence from a lead we followed dealing with the Chicago bombing,” Liam said as he began unpacking various evidence bags and laying them out on the table.
Molly walked back around to the table so she was on the far side, careful not to look at Derek in any way, not even out of the corner of her eye. It seemed as if they had about a dozen items that needed processing.
“We need a complete work up on all of it,” Jon told her. “DNA, fingerprints, any possible trace evidence. Everything.”
Molly picked up one of the bags containing some sort of piece of computer hardware inside. “Was this evidence from the burning building?”
“Not all of it,” Derek answered her, causing Molly to study the contents of the bag more carefully so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “Some of it is from what was left of a suspect before he killed himself. But the rest is from the burnt building.”
“Is the body coming in here, too? Will I need to process that?” She looked at Liam and Jon as she said it.
Liam shook his head. “Yes, but not until later. Local coroner will be bringing it by. We brought prints and DNA so you could get started.”
“You know, the stuff from the fire will take longer. It will have to be manually run through the system, based on layers of damage. Probably have to use a clean room.” Molly put the bag back on the table. “Put it all over on the in-processing shelf. I’ll try to get somebody started on it in the morning, but it might be in the afternoon.”
Both Liam and Jon started talking at her immediately, voices raised, speaking all over each other. Derek, she noticed, didn’t say anything. Molly held up a hand and eventually the two men stopped talking at the same time.
“Molly, this is a priority,” Liam said. “It has to do with the Chicago bombing.”
“I understand, Liam, but—”
“The largest terrorist attack on American soil in over five years,” Jon continued. “We need the results on all of it right away.”
Molly glanced quickly at Derek. He was just standing there, arms crossed over his large chest. She looked away again, not knowing what she would do if he interjected into the argument. Molly understood the men’s frustration, she really did.
She looked over at the pile of files and packages of evidence on her desk. The problem was, every case was this important to someone. Those packages might provide clues to missing children, or someone’s murder, or the identity of a serial rapist.
Everybody needed everything right away and that just wasn’t possible.
“You guys,” Molly looked at Jon and Liam, and even risked a glance at Derek. “I—I’m sorry. We’re backed up in here.”
“Molly.” Liam wouldn’t let it go. “We need all this now. It’s vital.”
Molly threw her arm out toward the files on her desk. “All those cases are vital to someone, too, Liam. And they’ve been waiting longer than you.”
Both Jon and Liam began their arguments again, but Molly tuned them out. She hated being in this position; hated having to tell them to wait. She knew the men weren’t making demands arbitrarily—what they needed was important. Brows furrowed, she looked down at the items on the table again, began trying to sort through them a little bit. Maybe if she stayed here all night she could get at least a couple of the pieces processed after she finished the cases sitting on her desk.
But which evidence pieces should she process first if she could only get to one or two tonight? In the midst of categorizing the evidence bags in her mind, and placing them in different groups on the table, Molly didn’t realize Liam and Jon had stopped pleading their case.
Or that Derek had come to stand right behind her as she sorted through the evidence bags. He reached over and took the bag out of her hand and laid it on the table, and picked up two others near it.
Startled, Molly spun around, then immediately regretted it as she found herself trapped between the evidence table and Derek’s hard body. Oh, dear lord. Was she supposed to be able to come up with actual words right now? Something coherent?
Derek took a small step backward, just enough so he could hold one of the evidence bags up between them.
“This one is most important,” he said softly, holding up a small bag with what looked like part of a phone or communication device. “Although I know it’s partially melted and will be difficult. The other is just the prints from the dead guy to run for ID. Should be simple. Both as soon as you can manage, Molly. But I know your other work here is also important.”
Molly just nodded.
Derek hooked a finger into the hip pocket of her lab coat. He took the two small evidence bags and dropped them in. But instead of letting her go as she expected, he placed both hands on her waist.
Molly pretty much forgot how to breathe.
“Thank you,” Derek said, his gravelly voice playing havoc with her insides. “I know this means more work for you, and I’m sorry.”
“It—it’s okay.”
“Did you eat dinner?”
“Um, today?”
Derek shook his head and sighed. “I want you to eat something, all right?” His hands tightened the slightest bit on her waist. “You’re too tiny as it is.”
“Wh-what?” Since when was Derek aware of her eating habits?
“And not the vending machine. A real, proper meal. Promise me you’ll go down to the cafeteria tonight and eat something if you’re working here a long time.”
Molly nodded.
“And not tomorrow morning. Tonight, okay? In the next couple of hours,” Derek asked again. “Promise?”
“I promise.” Molly forced the words to come out with no stammer.
Derek smiled, and for a second looked as if he was going to say something else, but then Liam and Jon began talking to each other as they repacked the other evidence to be placed on the in-processing shelf. Whatever Derek had been about to say in that moment was gone.
He dropped his hands from Molly’s waist and took a step back. “Thanks for processing that communication device tonight. I’m hoping it may be a key piece in the Chicago case.”
Without another word, Derek turned and walked out the lab doors. Jon and Liam said their goodbyes as they left, too. Molly finally began breathing normally again.
But as the doors closed, she heard it, although they obviously didn’t mean for her to: quiet laughter and the words Mousy Molly.
Molly stayed where she was against the evidence table as if glued there. It wasn’t Derek who called her mousy, it was never Derek. But it was everyone else. Molly didn’t think Jon and Liam meant any harm by the expression, but it was true. Molly was mousy in all its elements: nervous, shy, lacking in presence or charisma. Heck even her coloring was mousy: brown eyes, brown hair.
Okay, yeah, it hurt a little bit. Molly didn’t want to be mousy. And really most of the time she wasn’t that bad. It was just when she was around Derek that she became unbearable to herself.
Molly brought her hands down to her waist where Derek’s had been. Derek had actually touched her.