Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead(Finlay Donovan #2)(104)

My mother’s lip trembled. “I’m so sorry, Finlay. Please”—she shook her head—“don’t tell your father or Georgia about this.”

“I won’t. But you have to swear to me you’re going to delete that email account. We’re going to pretend this never happened. No more forums. No more chat groups.”

She nodded as she dabbed her cheeks with a dish towel, taking a moment to collect herself before carrying the pie and whipped cream to the table. Vero slipped into the kitchen behind her with an armful of dirty dishes. She set them beside the sink, her eyes wide with the question I knew she was dying to ask me. I nodded, a hand pressed to my temple.

“Jesus,” she whispered. “I can’t believe I sent those photos of Steven to your mom. Is she okay?”

“I think so. Just a little shaken up.”

“Has EasyClean contacted her?”

“Not since that night.” I leaned a hip against the counter, exhausted. “I should probably call Steven and tell him it’s safe for him to come home.”

“Do we have to?”

“Vero.”

“I’m just sayin’.”

I sighed, looping my arm in hers as I led her back to the table. “Maybe we can let him sweat it out for a little while.”





CHAPTER 47


I always looked forward to my mother’s pecan pie, but this year, I hardly remembered eating it. The wine bottles were empty, the eggnog drunk down to a swirl of nutmeg-dotted dregs. The children had conked out on the floor beside the tree, and I was pretty sure my father had discreetly unbuttoned his pants under the table.

My mother got up with a heavy sigh and asked my sister to help her clear the dishes. I sat back in my chair, my lips slightly numb from the extra shot of brandy Vero had poured in my eggnog. One hand rested on my belly full of pie. I hadn’t managed to eat much dinner, but by dessert I’d found my appetite. Once the shock of learning my mother was FedUp had worn off, I felt strangely light for the first time in a month. The nightmare really was over. Steven was safe. My children were happy. EasyClean was off the job. Theresa was going to testify as planned, and thanks to her mother, Carl’s murder wouldn’t come back to bite anyone. And Vero had made arrangements with her cousin to get rid of the Aston. With any luck, Feliks would spend the rest of his life behind bars and that would be the last we’d hear of him.

The plot of my story was finally coming together into a book I knew Sylvia would be proud of. Soon, the rest of my advance would find its way into my bank account. Overall, I had a lot to be grateful for.

Nick rose stiffly to his feet, reaching for his crutch as he thanked my mother and father for dinner. He said goodbye to Georgia and Vero, and I walked him to the door. He paused in the foyer, resting his weight on his crutch, his voice soft and his eyes heavy lidded. “Help me with my coat?”

I was pretty sure he was capable of doing it himself. Maybe it was the wine. Or the simple relief I was feeling. I reached for it anyway.

“There’s something in the breast pocket. Grab it for me?” There was a strange gleam in his eyes as I plucked his leather jacket off the coatrack. Curious, I slipped my hand inside his pocket and withdrew my phone. Not my new one, but the one I’d lost weeks ago, the day we’d first found Carl.

My mouth went dry. “Where did you find this?”

“An officer recovered it from the scene at Mrs. Westover’s house. He found your name on the lock screen when he powered it on and thought you must have dropped it during the shooting. I told him I’d get it back to you.”

“Thank you.” My throat felt tight as I tucked it away. My lock screen would have kept them out, I assured myself. If the police had suspected there was evidence on this phone, they never would have returned it to me. And Nick definitely wouldn’t be looking at me the way he was looking at me now.

“Speaking of lost things, I’ve been wondering if your heroine ever found her missing attorney?”

The foyer seemed to shrink around us. The scrubbing sounds in the kitchen grew suddenly, suspiciously quiet.

“She did,” I admitted. “But the end of their story didn’t quite turn out the way I planned.”

“I’m sorry.” He leaned lower, letting me draw the heavy leather jacket around him. I tried to ignore the intoxicating scent of it as I maneuvered his good arm into the sleeve. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you since that night we went to dinner.” He pitched his voice low, his warm breath tickling my ear as I tugged his coat around him. “See, I’ve been dying to know what you and Vero were doing in Steven’s trailer the night of the fire.” My hands froze on his collar. I opened my mouth to tell him he must be mistaken, but words failed me when his nose grazed my temple and trailed a path slowly down my cheek. “I’d love to know why your voice was on that security recording. Why a piece of your credit card was in the weeds out front and a set of high-performance sports car treads were found in the mud out back.” His mouth paused beside the shell of my ear. “I’d love to know where you and Vero learned how to make those very effective Molotov cocktails, and how you knew Theresa was hiding at the Westovers’ house, which I’m guessing had something to do with your missing phone. But here’s the thing,” he said, his lips close enough to draw a surprising shudder of desire from me. “More than all of that, I’d really like to kiss you right now. And the answers to those questions would probably ruin it. So I think, for now, I’d rather just not know.”