Finlay Donovan Is Killing It(Finlay Donovan #1)(98)

“A little jumpy?” Vero studied the note. “You think it’s Patricia Mickler?”

“Who else could it be?” I shredded it as I carried it into the kitchen and stuffed the pieces down the garbage disposal.

“You’re not gonna go?”

“No. It’s over. I’d be happy if I never saw Patricia Mickler ever again.” That was exactly how I felt about Irina Borovkov, too. I’d been dodging her calls for days. I didn’t want any more of her money. No matter how it might look to her, I wasn’t the one who’d killed her husband, so there was no reason for me to accept payment for it. As far as I was concerned, our business was over. I was ready to put this entire disastrous chapter of my life behind me.

I cracked open the oven, relieved to see my lasagna boiling, the noodles at the edges a light golden brown. Vero reached around me to lift the foil, and I smacked her hand away.

“It’s my turn to cook. This is your party.” I closed the oven and pulled down two glasses for wine. Vero had passed her accounting midterm exams, and tonight, the four of us were celebrating.

Vero grumbled as she set the table. “Well, I might have a few things to say to the woman if I were you.”

“Who? Patricia?” Oh, I wasn’t without things to say. I could go on for hours about her little disappearing act and what her boyfriend had pulled in my garage. I turned on the faucet and flipped the switch on the disposal, letting the last of Patricia Mickler and her crazy husband slide away as I washed the pots and pans I’d used to prepare dinner.

The doorbell rang. It had only been a few days since the police had dug up Harris’s body, and Vero and I still held our breaths a little, every time. I turned off the disposal. Vero’s eyes met mine.

“You expecting someone?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Probably just Steven coming to talk about the new custody agreement. It came in the mail today.”

Vero crept to the door. The lock snapped and the door swung open, letting in a rush of cold air.

“Hey, Vero. Is Finlay here?” My spine drew up tight when I recognized the gravelly voice outside.

“Detective Anthony,” Vero said loudly enough to give me fair warning. “We weren’t expecting you.”

Georgia hadn’t mentioned any new developments in the ongoing investigation when I had talked to her earlier. As far as I knew, the depositions had gone well. And Feliks had pled not guilty on every count, so Harris’s death didn’t necessarily stand out from the others. Nick and I hadn’t talked since the day he’d seen the press release about the book. So what reason did he have for coming here now?

I stood frozen in the kitchen through Vero and Nick’s awkward pause.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure, yeah, sorry,” Vero sputtered.

Steeling myself, I came out of the kitchen. Nick stood close to the door wearing a grim expression. His dark brows pulled lower when he saw me, and he held something behind his back. I hoped to hell it wasn’t an arrest warrant. “Hey, Finlay.”

“Hey,” I said, one eye on his hidden hand.

“What’s he doing here?” Delia asked, peeping around the stairs in the pink satin princess costume she’d been wearing all week. Vero and I looked to Nick for an answer, waiting through the tense silence. The shadow of his jaw was freshly shaven, the dark waves of his hair neatly combed back. He wore his signature black jeans and a hunter-green Henley, and through the open lapels of his leather jacket, I could just make out his sidearm in its holster. I couldn’t tell if he was dressed for work or a date, or if there had ever been any difference for him.

“I just came to visit your mom,” he said.

“Oh.” She fidgeted with her plastic tiara, her scrunched-up face the picture of bemused innocence. “My daddy says you’re an asshole.”

Vero expelled a hard cough into her hand. She pressed her red lips tight.

“Delia Marie!” I pointed with a hard finger to her room. With a huff, she tromped up the stairs. Nick took the hit with a self-effacing smile, wincing as if maybe it still stung a little.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be. Her dad’s probably right.” He cleared his throat, looking down at the floor.

“I … should check on the kids,” Vero said, disappearing up the stairs.

Nick didn’t speak for a painfully long time. “Is everything okay?” I asked. My gaze slid purposefully to the hand behind his back. If he was serving me a warrant, there was no sense dragging it out.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Every nerve in my body sagged with relief as he pulled a bottle of champagne from behind his back. “I never told you congratulations. For your book.”

Guilt gnawed at me as I reached for the bottle. “I should have congratulated you, too. Georgia told me you earned a promotion.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t exactly do it alone.” His eyes lifted to mine. I studied the bottle, feeling my cheeks warm. It wasn’t a cheap brand. He’d gone all in for the good stuff.

“You didn’t have to, really.”

“No, I did.” He rubbed his empty hand, as if he weren’t sure what to do with it now that the bottle wasn’t there. “I’m sorry for the things I said. I was just … caught off guard by the article in the paper. And you were right. About everything. It wasn’t your fault. I was the one who got you involved.”