Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead(Finlay Donovan #2)(55)

“What was that all about?” I asked, handing him back his phone as the door closed behind us.

“That was a message.”

“I thought it was a date.”

He paused in the middle of the parking lot, tugging me gently to a halt. A triumphant smile rode the thin line of his lips. “Was it? I seem to recall you insisting it was only dinner.”

When I didn’t answer, he started purposefully toward his car.

“Who was that woman?”

“Why? Are you jealous?”

I scowled. “Why would I be jealous? Of course I’m not jealous.” Okay, fine. Maybe I was jealous. But only just a little.

Mercifully, he let it go. “That was Zhirov’s star attorney,” he explained, opening the passenger side door of his car and ducking into it before I had the chance. He felt around under the front seat for a box of disposable gloves, peeled two sets from the box, and handed one to me. “If I have a nemesis, I guess you could say Kat is it. This restaurant just opened two weeks ago. I had a feeling it was one of Zhirov’s fronts. Feliks must have heard I was here checking out his new digs and sent his watchdog to warn me off. Come on,” he said, taking my hand with brisk steps and leading me behind the strip mall.

I tripped on a pothole, struggling to keep up. “This restaurant belongs to Feliks?”

“Apparently so.”

“That’s why you brought me here? Just to goad him?”

“It was the only way I could be sure he’s involved.” He dragged on his gloves and pushed back the lid of the dumpster behind the restaurant.

“What are you doing?” I asked as he hauled himself over the top.

He reached back for me with an impish grin. “Just a little digging around. You want in?”

“No!”

“Suit yourself.” He disappeared inside, bags and cans crunching under him.

“What are you looking for?” I called over the top.

“Anything that’s not related to food.”

“Is this legal?”

He laughed. “Aren’t you the woman who had to call a tow truck to rescue her from a botched B and E?”

“I’m not a police officer,” I reminded him. “And that house didn’t belong to Feliks Zhirov.” I whirled as a dead bolt slid open behind me. “Someone’s coming!” I whispered.

“Give me your hands!” Nick grabbed me as I reached for him, hauling me over the side of the dumpster. I landed on my butt in a pile of trash. He ducked beside me and held a finger in front of his lips.

A door flung open. Footsteps scraped against the pavement. We shielded our heads as two giant trash bags flew over the lid and landed beside us. Nick waited for the back door to the restaurant to click shut before rolling onto his knees and reaching for the bags. Unknotting one, he sifted through the contents. “Perfect timing,” he murmured. “Shake the tree and all the rotten fruit falls out.”

“What is it?” I asked, peeking over his shoulder.

“Delivery receipts. Feliks uses his own shipping and supply companies. His companies all feed and launder for one another. I’m betting most of these receipts come from businesses he owns under other names. It should be easier to trace them back to Zhirov, now that I know where to look. Kat’s probably in there now, cracking the whip, making sure they get rid of any bread crumbs, in case I come back with a warrant to search the place.” He retied the bags, slinging them over the top of the dumpster to the street below.

I stood up, my heels sinking into the trash as I brushed something I hoped was coffee grounds from my coat. Nick laced his fingers together and hoisted me out. He landed softly on his feet beside me and stripped off his gloves, tossing them back over the lip.

“I cannot believe you brought me here to go digging around in the trash.”

“Come on!” he said, hefting the bags. “You can’t tell me you’re not having fun.”

I rolled my eyes and turned for the car. Nick caught up to me. He dropped the bags as he reached for my arm. Turning me gently toward him, he boxed me in between his body and the side of the restaurant. “I brought you here,” he said, his voice falling low, “because you wouldn’t let me make you dinner at my place. You were the one who made me promise it wasn’t a date.”

I laughed as he plucked a piece of trash from my hair. He threaded his fingers in mine with a tenderness I hadn’t expected from him. Our laughter quieted, and a heavy thought seemed to pull on his brow.

“That’s not the only reason I invited you,” he confessed into the narrowing space between us. “Last month, when you came with me to the lab, and to the farm, and on the stakeout … when I busted you coming out of Theresa’s house…” He shook his head, as if that memory still surprised him. “That was the most fun I’ve had with anyone in a long time. Don’t get me wrong. Joey’s a great partner. But I wanted you riding along with me tonight. I wanted you there when I picked a fight with Zhirov’s attorney and went diving in his dumpster. Call it dinner. Call it a date. Call it research for a book. Call it whatever the hell you want, Finn. Whatever it was between us, I miss it.” It was hard to breathe when he was standing this close. Close enough to smell the warm hops on his breath over the stench of garbage on our clothes. “I’m sorry our date got cut short,” he said, his thumb tracing lazy patterns over mine. “I’d love to make it up to you. Maybe over dessert at my place?”