Finlay Donovan Is Killing It(Finlay Donovan #1)(53)

CHAPTER 24





“What do we do with it?” I asked on Sunday afternoon as I held the bag up to my eye.

“He’s not an it. He has a name,” Delia said. I bit back all the arguments swimming up my throat. If we named it, it was more than a fish. It was a pet. And my track record for keeping things alive these last few weeks wasn’t exactly stellar. “His name is Christopher.”

“Christopher? Seriously?”

With a scowl, she reached to snatch away the bag, and I held it out of reach. “Daddy liked it.”

“Christopher is a lovely name,” I conceded. “I was just thinking he looks exactly like a Christopher. Christopher’s parents must be very proud.”

Vero smirked at me from the hallway, one shoulder leaning against the doorframe of Delia’s room, her body language daring me not to kill it.

I unwound the rubber band and poured Christopher into the glass punch bowl—a forgotten wedding-day relic from Steven’s grandmother that I’d dug out of a box in the garage. Delia put her face close to the glass, her forehead creased with worry as she watched Christopher wobble and list to one side, his bulging eyes wide and his mouth gulping. Great, it wouldn’t be the first creature I’d starved for oxygen within minutes of bringing it home. At least this one would be easier to bury.

With a bright orange shimmy of scales, Christopher rallied. Zach squealed as the fish zipped around in circles inside the glass bowl.

The doorbell rang downstairs. “I’ll get it,” I told Vero. “Steven must have forgotten something.” She rolled her eyes. “Hey, at least he used the doorbell this time.”

“Some animals can be trained.” She followed me down the stairs. My feet dug into the bottom step when I caught a glimpse of the car in the driveway through the window. A plain, navy-blue Chevy sedan, with several antennas on the trunk lid and a dome light on the dashboard, was parked in front of my house.

Not Steven.

Vero slammed into my back, nearly knocking me down the last step. She swore, falling silent as she followed my line of sight to the figure standing with his back to the front door. Tall, dark hair, broad shoulders. He even stood like a cop, feet spread to shoulder width apart and his hands planted on his hips. He looked up and down the street before turning slowly toward the door. As he did, his sidearm peeked from the holster inside his jacket and a badge glinted at his belt.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Vero moved around my frozen body and tiptoed into the kitchen, peering through the slit in the curtains. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” she whispered. “What do we do?”

The house closed in around me until all I could see was the cop on the other side of the window. My options narrowed with it, and I was seized by a sudden clarity. “We’re going to answer the door,” I said with a forced calm, “and we’re not going to say anything without an attorney. If he’s here to arrest me, you’re going to stay here with Delia and Zach. Then you’re going to call my sister and tell her to meet me at booking and bail me out.”

Vero paled. Nodded.

I moved to the door and commanded my hands to stop shaking as I twisted the knob.

The door cracked open. The plainclothes officer on the other side smiled.

“Jesus, he’s hot,” Vero said over my shoulder.

I threw an elbow into her ribs. Cleared my throat. “Can I help you, Officer?”

A deep dimple cut into his five o’clock shadow. He extended a hand, forcing me to open the door wider to shake it.

“My name’s Detective Nick Anthony and I’m with the Fairfax County police. I’m looking for Finlay Donovan.” My knees threatened to buckle, and I held fast to the door. The officer’s brow creased. “If it’s a bad time, I could come back.” His voice had the rough edges of someone who spent his days barking orders, but his dark eyes were soft under thick, long lashes, and my name had come out more like a question than an order.

“I’m Finlay,” I said cautiously, looking behind him for his partner. If he was here to arrest me on suspicion of murder, he probably hadn’t come alone.

His hesitant smile warmed, stretching to the sun-deepened creases around his eyes. “I’m a friend of your sister’s. I’m working a case you might be interested in, and Georgia thought it might be a good idea if I talk to you.”

“Me? Why me?” I asked, my body half-hidden by the door as Vero listened behind it.

The detective scratched the back of his head, his smile becoming almost sheepish. “I hit a wall, and she thought you might be able to help me.” He glanced over his shoulder at Mrs. Haggerty’s window. “Mind if I come in?”

He wasn’t flashing a warrant or reading me my Miranda rights. It didn’t seem like he was here to arrest me. I held open the door, hoping it wasn’t a mistake. “Sure. Okay.”

Vero raised an eyebrow, appraising his long legs as they stepped into the foyer. I jerked my chin toward the stairs, but she shook her head. Detective Anthony stopped short when he saw her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company. I probably should have called first.” He hitched a thumb at the door. “I can come back later—”

“No,” Vero and I said at the same time. If he walked out now, I’d spend the rest of the day panicking over why he’d come here in the first place. Better to get this over with and rip it off like a Band-Aid.