Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead(Finlay Donovan #2)(40)

Vero ducked her head to watch as they slipped between the gap in the gate. “My cousin and his friend.”

“That’s Ramón?” I’d seen Ramón from a distance, when he’d towed Theresa’s car once, but I’d been fleeing the scene, running too fast in the opposite direction to get a good look at him at the time. All I remembered was his dark, closely cropped hair and the baggy blue coveralls he’d been wearing. “How have I never met him?” Vero had dropped off my van at his garage for repairs. I’d talked to him on the phone when he called to tell me it was ready. But when I’d gone to pick it up, Ramón’s office had been empty, and Feliks and Andrei were there waiting for me. Ramón had felt so bad about what had happened that night, he’d discounted my balance and delivered the van to my house. I hadn’t been home at the time, and Vero had paid the bill.

Vero shrugged. “He’s not here for a social call. He’s going to get us inside Steven’s storage unit, and then he’s leaving,” she said firmly. She checked her phone. “That’s him. Let’s go.”

We left the Charger at the curb, and I followed Vero through the gate toward the last row of garages. Crushed cans and empty oil pints littered the fence line. BEWARE OF DOG signs had been zip-tied to the rusted chain links.

“This place is a dump,” I said, my sneakers crunching on broken glass. “I thought you said it was a climate-controlled unit.”

Vero dodged a pile of fly-ridden dog turds. “Steven’s been paying extra for electric. I assumed that meant it was climate-controlled, but this place isn’t exactly the Ritz.” We rounded the last row of storage units and found Ramón’s friend kneeling in front of a dented steel door, a padlock cupped in one hand and a pick in the other while Ramón looked on.

“Lucky for you,” Ramón’s friend said without looking up. “Fancy storage places have cameras.”

I glanced up at the eaves above the garages, then up to the single security lamp mounted on a pole at the end of the row. He was right. No surveillance cameras. The garages didn’t even have power of their own. A thick orange extension cord snaked out from under the door of Steven’s storage unit. Daisy-chained to another extension cord, it barely reached the electrical outlet under the rental office window.

Ramón’s friend bent over the lock, his glasses perched on his head. His dark hair was pulled back in an elastic band at the nape of his neck, showing off deep bronzed skin and the dark edges of the tattoos that peeked out from the collar of his black T-shirt.

“Your mom called my apartment this morning,” Ramón said over the quiet scrape of the pick in the lock. “Said someone came around her place yesterday looking for you.”

Vero was silent for a long moment, the shift of her body language so subtle I would have missed it if I wasn’t so on edge. “Who?”

“He wouldn’t leave a name.”

“What did she tell him?”

“I’m done being your damn go-between, V. She’s still pissed that you didn’t show for Thanksgiving dinner. It’s been a month since you talked to her. Call her yourself and ask.”

“A month?” I asked. “Why haven’t you talked to your mother in a month? And I thought you said—”

“Ignore my cousin,” Vero said through her teeth. “His mom dropped him on his head when he was a baby. He’s got a shitty memory and he failed basic math.” She broke into rapid-fire Spanish and smacked Ramón’s arm. Ramón fired back a retort, and Ramón’s friend’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “You shut up, Javi!” Vero snapped at him.

“How long will this take?” she asked, changing the subject. A tiny click issued from the padlock. With a quick snap of his wrist, Javi popped the lock open. He slipped his pick in his back pocket as he rose and sauntered toward Vero. Chin high, she took a half step back.

“Good to see you, V.” He tilted his head, giving her a casual perusal. “Where’ve you been hiding?”

“I don’t remember inviting you.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “Thought you might need someone with particular skills.”

“Ramón could have handled it.”

“Wasn’t talking about the lock.”

Vero blushed. She crossed her arms over her chest. “When I need someone with skills, I’ll be sure not to call you.”

Ramón shook his head as he held out a hand to me. “Ignore them. She and Javier have been like this since we were kids. You must be the famous Finlay Donovan.” Faint grease stains colored his cuticles, and the pads of his fingers were calloused where they gripped mine. This close, I could see the family resemblances between him and Vero. Flawless skin, full lips, and a jaw that could double as a steak knife.

“I’ve lost count of all the favors I owe you. Thanks for fixing my van. And for the save at Theresa’s house last month. You really didn’t have to mark down my bill.”

“Yes, he did,” Vero cut in, shouldering past Javi toward the open lock.

Ramón’s smile grew a little sheepish in her wake. “I’m sorry about what happened that night with Zhirov. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“She’s fine,” Vero said, plucking the open padlock from the door. “Speaking of the garage, don’t you two have somewhere you need to be?”