Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead(Finlay Donovan #2)(53)

Nick waited for Ivan to leave before continuing. “Joey’s back in the office on Monday. Hopefully by then, I’ll know what we’re dealing with.” He forked into his chicken Kiev, his eyes roving around the restaurant as he ate. “What’s your new book about anyway?” he asked between bites.

“It’s just the next book in the series. The same character. You know … a hit woman … getting framed … solving crimes.”

“Is the hotshot cop still in the picture?”

I gave a tentative nod. “He’s in the story. For now.”

“For now?”

“It’s still a rough draft.”

“How about the lawyer?”

Our eyes caught across the table. How much had Vero told him when he’d been sitting at my kitchen table while I was with Bree? I twirled my fork through my noodles. “He went missing.”

“Is she looking for him?”

“I don’t know. It’s a little early in the story for that. Maybe she’s worrying for nothing.”

“Maybe not. She’s smart. She should trust her instincts.”

“And do what?”

He shrugged. “She could ask the cop for help.”

I laughed, the vodka dissolving the walls I’d been holding up. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea. She and the cop have a history. He’s too close to her. There’d be a clear conflict of interest.”

“Oh, he’s definitely interested.” I lifted my eyes and found Nick watching me across the table. I didn’t think it was the beer that had roughened his voice. Or the candlelight that made his irises darken. We definitely weren’t talking about my book anymore.

With a thoughtful pause, I set down my fork. I certainly didn’t want his help finding Julian. But maybe he could help me find someone else. “Let’s say my character did want to search for a missing person on her own … someone who didn’t want to be found. How might the cop suggest she go about it?”

His brow creased. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? She might not like what she finds.”

“You said anything.”

A resigned sigh escaped him. He set down his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Has she checked the location services on his phone?”

“No luck.”

“Social media accounts?”

“Dead ends.” Aimee knew how to keep a low profile. Vero and I had tried to find her through social media before, but she’d been a ghost online. And Theresa had shut down all of her own accounts after her arrest made national headlines.

Nick’s frown deepened. “If your heroine was really close with this missing person and she had access to his bank records, she could track his spending. Credit charges, gas cards, ATM withdrawals…”

I had no access to Theresa’s banking information. I seriously doubted she and Steven still shared any accounts. I shook my head and his worry lines softened.

“Look,” he said after a thoughtful pause, “I know you said your heroine doesn’t want any help, but if she knows anyone this missing person might feel close to, maybe she and her cop friend could try to stake them out.”

I laughed, reaching for the last shot of vodka as I pictured Theresa speeding off in Aimee’s SUV. “I’m pretty sure they ran off together.”

Nick took my wrist as I lifted the glass. “If you ask me, Finn, you’re better off without him.”

His touch lingered. We stared at each other across the table. Nick still thought we were talking about Julian. I opened my mouth to correct him when his gaze flicked to the door of the restaurant behind me. A muscle tensed in his cheek, and he let go of my hand. I turned in my seat to see what had stolen his attention so fully.

A statuesque brunette in a designer coat and perilously high heels strutted into the dining room, the long waves of her hair bouncing as she walked. She was stunning, polished in a way that reeked of money and power, with the same confident swagger I’d seen in Irina Borovkov. To Nick’s credit, his gaze never dropped below her face. With a smug smile, she signaled for the ma?tre d’. He glanced at our table as she whispered in his ear.

“This should be interesting,” Nick muttered as the ma?tre d’ retreated to his station and picked up a phone.

“Clearly, you two know each other.” I set down the last shot and slid it toward him.

He declined, pushing away his plate as if he’d suddenly lost his appetite. “You could say that.”

The woman stopped beside our table, tossing her Jaguar keys into her handbag. She pushed her tortoiseshell glasses in place with a stiff middle finger, and Nick barked out a laugh.

“Kat,” he greeted her, strangling the neck of his beer.

“Detective. I trust you’re enjoying your meal.” Her rich voice seemed to match the rest of her. Sophisticated and sharp, with the hint of an accent.

“I was until you got here.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Nick ran his tongue over the edges of his teeth. “Kat. Finn. Finn. Kat.”

She reached out with her left hand, forcing me to switch mine to match. Her heavy signet ring squeezed a little too hard. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said sweetly. “I’ve heard so much about you.”