Finlay Donovan Is Killing It(Finlay Donovan #1)(42)

“Really?” I swallowed. “Did the detective … talk to you?”

“He was mostly interested in talking to the waitstaff who worked the floor, but the waiter who served the guy was off last night, and the rest of us were too busy to remember much.” A relieved breath rushed out of me. It caught in my throat when he said, “One of the busboys remembered seeing him leave the bar with a blond woman in a black dress.”

I drew my knees to my chest, hugging them tight. “Oh?”

“I told the cop I could count at least two dozen blond women in black dresses at The Lush on any given night. But the only one that stood out in my mind was you.”

“Me?” I asked around the knot in my throat. “Why me?”

“Aside from the fact that you’re beautiful and easy to talk to?”

A nervous laugh broke free. “Did you … What did you tell him about me?”

“Only that I bumped into you in the parking lot as you were leaving. And that, try as I might to persuade you otherwise, I saw you get into your car alone.” My head thunked against my knee. Good. This was good. Julian wasn’t a witness. He was an alibi.

An alibi who thought I was beautiful. And easy to talk to. And possibly wanted to date me.

I’m sure Vero would agree it would be smart to keep the lines of communication open, right?

“So, you thought I stood out?” I asked, picking at a loose thread in my sock.

“Without question.”

“Did anyone else in the bar … you know … stand out to you?”

“No one else ordered a Bloody Mary at nine o’clock at night, if that’s what you mean.” His laugh was soft, disarming, unwinding something inside me until a laugh bubbled out of me, too.

“You didn’t … by any chance … happen to notice if anyone followed me when I left … did you?”

“No.” Julian’s silence was tinged with concern. “Why? Did something happen?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I said quickly. Of course he hadn’t noticed. He’d probably already gone, while I’d lingered in the parking lot those few extra moments to call Patricia. And now he probably thought I was paranoid and clingy. I raked my hair from my face, surprised he couldn’t hear the rush of blood to my cheeks through the phone.

“Seriously, Theresa.” I loved the way he said my name, low and close, like we were in the same room. And I hated that the name he was whispering wasn’t mine. “Bloody Mary aside, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. So, to get back to your original question, yeah, I’m really glad you called. And if you want to know the truth, I’m still a little worried about you.”

I bit my lip, wishing I could take back so many things. Wishing I could start the week all over.

“You want to tell me all about your crappy week? I’m a bartender, which makes me highly qualified to listen.”

“No,” I said through a weary smile, wishing I could. “I’m better now. Thanks.” I was surprised by how true it felt. All I needed to do was plan a birthday party and not kill anyone else. Simple, right?

“I’m here if you change your mind. And I’d still like to take you out sometime.”

Sometime … when I wasn’t hiding from the police and the mafia. When I wasn’t pretending to be someone else.

“Maybe I could call you again,” I said, “when things aren’t so complicated.”

“Anytime.” Something in his voice made me think he really meant it. And I wondered if they still gave you one phone call from jail.





CHAPTER 20





My cell phone rang as I stuffed the last of the goodie bags. My mother’s name flashed on the screen, and I considered not picking up. Zach was running circles through the kitchen, his diaper hanging low, a ribbon of orange streamer hanging from the crack of his butt like a tail. Delia and her friends chased after him, ordering him to “sit” and “stay.”

“Hi, Mom. It’s kind of a bad time.” I wedged the phone between my ear and my shoulder while I poured bags of pretzels and Goldfish crackers into serving bowls. My house was already crawling with kids. I just hoped Vero made it home with the pizzas soon.

“I won’t keep you. Your father and I are having cocktails on the Promenade Deck at five. I’ve always wanted to say that.” She tittered. My parents were celebrating their fortieth anniversary on a cruise ship somewhere in the Mediterranean. “Let me talk to the birthday girl.”

I grabbed Delia by the back of the shirt as she scurried by. The doorbell rang. I pressed the phone to my chest and counted heads. All the girls Delia had invited were already here. I’d been expecting Steven nearly an hour ago, but he never bothered to announce himself; he usually just barged in.

The doorbell rang again. My feet were rooted in place. What if it was the police? What if they came to arrest me during my daughter’s birthday party? Or worse, what if it was Andrei and Feliks?

“Aren’t you going to answer the door, Mommy?” Delia asked.

I thrust my cell in her hands. “Here, talk to Grandma. She called to wish you happy birthday.”

Wiping Goldfish cracker crumbs on my jeans, I crept to the door and peered around the curtain just as the boy on the other side stood on his tiptoes and reached for the bell a third time. Relief washed over me. I threw open the door and flung a hand over the buzzer, my nerves fried. “Hi, Toby. What are you doing here?” Toby’s dad was a friend of Steven’s, but Toby and Delia weren’t close. He hadn’t been on the guest list, which had consisted entirely of girls.