Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead(Finlay Donovan #2)(58)

A few heads turned behind the pristine glass walls of the showroom as my minivan rolled onto the international car lot. The rattle in my engine had grown more pronounced during the short drive, and I wasn’t sure if it was the grinding noise or the filthy, frumpy appearance of the thing that had attracted their disdainful attention. I eased into an empty space between two sleek sports cars that, even used, were probably worth more than the bounty on my ex-husband. Careful not to bump their doors with my own, I angled clumsily out of my van and headed for the showroom.

A man in a tailored suit stepped in my path as I reached the sidewalk. His mouth pursed, the shape growing increasingly sour as he made a slow perusal of my gym clothes. “May I help you?” His smile was doubtful.

“I’m meeting someone here. I’ll just wait inside.” I moved to step around him.

“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable waiting in your vehicle.” I jerked my hand back as he reached for my arm, clearly intending to steer me away. “The showroom is for customers only.”

“She is a customer, Alan. She’s with me.” We both turned at the sound of the woman’s voice. In a pair of burgundy stilettos, Irina Borovkov stood eye to eye with him, the collar of her fur coat ruffling with the breeze. She scraped a strand of her dark hair from the corner of her deep red lips with a perfectly manicured fingernail. Alan’s throat bobbed against his collar, his neck reddening to match his tie.

“Of course, Mrs. Borovkov. My apologies,” he stammered.

“Be a dear and fetch me the keys to the Spider. My friend and I will be taking it for a test drive.”

“Right away. The silver one has just been waxed. I’ll have it brought around.”

“The black one,” she corrected him, stripping off her gloves and sliding them into the pockets of her fur.

“Of course.” His head bobbed as he disappeared into the showroom.

“Thank you for meeting me,” I said when Alan was gone. “I need to speak with you about—”

Irina held up a hand, gesturing discreetly toward a large man in black cargo pants and a black leather jacket standing a few feet behind her. A tiny device hugged his right ear, and there were several suspicious bulges under his jacket.

“Not here,” she said in a low voice as the sleek black hood of an Alfa Romeo swung around the side of the showroom and parked at the curb. The salesman stepped out of a car that was worthy of James Bond. “Thank you, Alan,” she purred as he held the door open for her.

“Of course, Mrs. Borovkov. Keep it as long as you like.”

That was it? No may we see your license and proof of insurance to make sure you’re not on a wanted list? No sorry, it’s our policy to have a salesperson ride with you so you’re not tempted to steal it? Just here are your keys to this very expensive car, Mrs. Borovkov. Drive it to California if you’d like. We probably won’t miss it.

She winked at me as she slid into the driver’s seat. With a nod of her chin, she gestured for me to get in. The man in the leather jacket beat me to the passenger door, his grip tight on my arm. Irina leaned over the console. “Wait here, Sasha. We won’t be long.”

Sasha looked at me askance, his hand slowly falling away from me as Irina continued speaking to him in Russian. He stepped away from the passenger door, holding it open for me, his eyebrows arched with surprise as I got in and slammed it shut. “Why is he looking at me like that?”

“He is concerned for my safety.” Irina gunned the engine, leaving Sasha in a cloud of tire smoke as the Spider peeled out of the lot. “I don’t normally go anywhere without my bodyguards.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I explained that you are a highly skilled assassin. I told him he could wait here, or we could ask Alan to bring us a larger vehicle so he could join us. But I warned him that you may not take kindly to being asked to sit in the back seat behind him.” Her grin was wicked.

An attractive man in a BMW in the next lane surveyed Irina with obvious interest as we eased to a stop at a red light. She spared him a cool glance as he gave his engine a low rev. Irina returned it with a louder one. I held fast to the door handle as the light changed and her stiletto came down hard on the gas, forcing the man in the BMW into a turn lane. She watched him fishtail in her rearview mirror through the daggerlike points of her raven-black bangs, her smile triumphant.

“I apologize for Sasha’s behavior,” she said as the car accelerated. “Feliks’s men take their jobs very seriously.”

“Your bodyguards work for Feliks?”

“Feliks has insisted on employing them ever since Andrei’s body was found.”

I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut as she urged the Spider through a changing light, missing the bumper of a tractor trailer by inches and nearly clipping an Audi. Maybe I wouldn’t vomit if I couldn’t see my death playing out in front of me. I peeked at her sideways. “I don’t understand. I thought you cooperated with the police after Andrei’s death? Why would Feliks want to protect you?”

She let her attention drift from the road to me. “Do not make the mistake of assuming he does so for my protection. He knows I was forced to walk a very fine line with the police. I did nothing to hinder their investigation of Andrei, but I did nothing to further their case against Feliks. I gave them only what they asked. It’s in Feliks’s best interest to make sure it remains this way.”