Finlay Donovan Is Killing It(Finlay Donovan #1)(73)

“Here, let me look at it.” Nick took my face in his hand, delicately drawing down my lower lid with his thumb. My breath caught as he tipped up my chin. Our eyes locked and held. His thumb trailed down, caressing a tear from my cheek.

“Better?” he asked quietly.

“I think so,” I breathed.

Nick’s eyes closed. He leaned in, closing the narrow gap between us. I might have forgotten about Theresa and Aimee altogether when his mouth grazed mine.

This was nice. This was … so much better than good. Oh, hell.

His tongue skimmed past my teeth. My fingers slid into his hair, and the seat-belt latch pressed into my hip as our bodies met over the console. He made a hungry sound deep in his throat, his fingers digging into the seams of my jeans before roaming under my sweatshirt and spreading across my back.

Holy mother, it had been a long time since I’d made out in a car. I arched into him, shutting out the voice in my head that said I was going to regret this.

His breath was ragged against my neck. “I want to take you in the back seat right this minute. But if I do, your sister’s going to shoot me.” He gave me a last lingering kiss that made my toes curl and left me panting. “Now,” he said as he nuzzled my ear, “what happened in the parking lot a minute ago that you didn’t want me to see?”

I froze, feeling the curve of his smile against my jaw as he slowly pulled away. He didn’t look mad. Just surprised. And maybe a little impressed. “If you didn’t want me to follow her, you could have just said so.” He leaned back in his seat, gauging my chagrin through heavy-lidded eyes. “You may be a helluva storyteller, Finn, but you’re a terrible liar.”

“How’d you know?”

There was a hint of nostalgia in the thoughtful creases around his eyes. “Because I’ve been shot and cut and had the snot beat out of me, and I’d take any of those over a corneal abrasion any day.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

He shook his head at my cynical look. “I’m dead serious. My first week out of the Academy, I blew my first traffic stop when some punk dumped his ashtray in my face. It hurt so bad, I couldn’t think straight. I stumbled across two lanes of moving traffic, desperate to get that shit out of my eyes. I was lucky I didn’t kill myself. I couldn’t see for a week.”

I slumped back in my seat, feeling foolish. And irritable. He’d known all along there was nothing in my eye. “If you knew I was lying, why’d you kiss me?”

“I was hoping it’d be worth it.”

Blood rushed to my cheeks. It had been more than a year since I’d kissed anyone. More than ten since I’d kissed anyone other than Steven. I’d spent the last year doubting myself, wondering why my husband had left, contemplating the possibility that maybe he hadn’t left me for Theresa’s hair or body or money or clothes. Maybe he had just left me. “Was it?”

Nick’s smile was wolfish. “Let’s just say I seriously considered letting your sister shoot me.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and adjusted his seat back. “I’ll take you back to South Riding. I’ve got to pick up my car and get something to the lab in Manassas before it closes.”

I knew from listening to Georgia that “the lab” was the regional forensics lab. When Nick had stooped behind the Lincoln, he’d tucked something into his pocket as he’d reached for his phone.

“You found something?”

“Don’t know yet.”

Whatever it was, it must have been important. “Want me to come with you?”

His low laugh was husky, his grin slightly dangerous. “Right now, I want a whole lot of things. Which is why I think I’d better take you home.”

I rested my head on the glass as he started the car, unsure if I was more curious about what he had hidden in his pocket or what would happen if I went along for the ride.





CHAPTER 32





Vero took one look at my hair and my clothes as I came through the door, folded her arms thoughtfully, and said, “You made out with him, didn’t you?”

“I did not,” I whispered, darting a look into the family room, hoping Delia hadn’t overheard.

“Don’t try to deny it.” She tapped the side of her neck, jutting her chin toward mine. “The detective left a little evidence at the scene of the crime.” She wagged her eyebrows.

“No!” My hand flew to my throat. I hadn’t had a hickey since high school. “I swear, I’ll kill him—”

Vero doubled over, stifling a cackle. “See, I knew it. You should see your face right now!”

I bundled up my sweatshirt and threw it at her.

“Relax,” she said, choking back her laughter, “they’re napping.” She dragged me by the sleeve to the kitchen, shoved me into a chair at the table, and set a bag of Oreo cookies in front of me. “On a scale of one to ten, how was he?”

I reached for a cookie. Vero yanked the bag away, holding my Oreos hostage. “Spill! I want to know everything.”

I snatched it out of her hands. “He’s an eleven,” I mumbled, stuffing a cookie in my mouth.

She leaned back in her chair and stole one for herself. “I knew it. I’ve always wanted to make out with a cop. I bet he was all fifty shades of assertive,” she said, fanning herself.