Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead(Finlay Donovan #2)(66)

CHAPTER 29


On Tuesday night, Vero stood in front of me in my bathroom and fussed with my hair, her eyes skipping back and forth between the strands of the dark wig and the photo on her cell phone. She held the image of Ekatarina Rybakov out in front of her.

“I’m not sure if this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, or the most badass thing you’ve ever done.”

“Definitely the dumbest.” I tried to keep my mouth still as she smeared my lips with deep red lipstick.

“What are you going to do if you get caught?”

Truthfully, I’d been so worried about getting into the jail, I hadn’t even thought about what I would do once I made it inside. But failure wasn’t an option. With both Cam and Theresa missing, Nick would tear the internet apart trying to find a connection between Feliks and the forum, and there was only one person with the power to take it down before Nick found it. “I’m not going to get caught.”

“If you keep fidgeting like that, your wig’s gonna come off, and then yes, you’ll definitely get caught. Hold still,” she said, shoving me back down to sit on the lid of the toilet while she rummaged in her cosmetic bag. “I’ve got some bobby pins in here.”

“No pins.” I’d been in the jail once before with my sister. She’d come with me one night when Steven had been hauled in, belligerent and drunk beyond reason after he’d picked a fight at a bar. Georgia had signed me in, escorting me past the usual filters so I could wait with Steven until they released him. I distinctly remembered being thoroughly searched. “Pins might set off the metal detector.”

“Then stop messing with it.” Vero swatted my hands away as I tried to slip a finger under the wig to scratch my scalp. “You look great. How’s your accent?”

“Crap. I didn’t think of that.” I cleared my throat, making it low and breathy. “Hello,” I said in my best impression of Irina. “My name is Ekatarina Rybakov.”

Vero grimaced. “You sound like Angelina Jolie and Vladimir Putin made a baby. Just pretend you have laryngitis. Sign in, get through security, and don’t make small talk.”

“Right.”

“Here’s your business card.”

“What about ID? What if they ask me for a license or something?”

“Just waltz in like you own the place. Nobody wants to argue with a bitchy woman who could sue their pants off. Keep your glasses on and try not to make direct eye contact with anyone.” Ekatarina “Kat” Rybakov and I were apparently close in age, but that’s about where our similarities ended. According to Kat’s photo online, she had startling dark eyes that matched her tumbling brunette locks. And while the wig was a perfect match to Kat’s hair, my eyes were far too light to pass under close scrutiny.

“How do I look?” Vero’s sleek gray pencil skirt was perilously tight, and the stiletto heels I’d borrowed from her closet should have come with their own insurance policy. I was probably going to break an ankle. But Kat was nearly five foot eight, and Vero insisted I’d need the added height.

She opened an extra button on my blouse. The neckline flared, revealing a hint of the black lace cups of my bra. “What are you doing?”

“Giving the guards a distraction so they don’t notice your face.” She shoved aside my hand and straightened the strand of pearls over my collarbones. “Quit trying to cover them up. You look hot.”

“I don’t want to look hot. I want to look like Kat.”

“Kat is hot. Feliks obviously has a type. He likes his women smart, beautiful, and confident. Just pretend you’re Theresa.”

“That’s what got me into this mess. And Theresa got caught.”

“Stop messing with your hair! Here, put these on.” Vero slid a pair of dollar-store readers onto my nose. They were a close match to the glasses Kat had been wearing in her pictures.

I did a slow turn in front of the mirror, checking to make sure my wig was straight and there weren’t any runs in my stockings.

“If I don’t make it out…”

“Relax. Feliks isn’t going to murder you in jail. There are far too many cameras.”

“And if I get arrested for impersonating a lawyer?”

She gave me a reassuring pat. “I’ve got the kids. And your sister will bail you out. Here, I bought you a new cell phone and programmed all your emergency numbers for you. Text me when you get there.” She dropped the phone into a knockoff messenger bag she used for school and slung it over my shoulder. “Remember, you’re a badass bitch. You don’t take shit from anyone. Not even Feliks Zhirov.”

“Right.” My heels seemed to plant themselves in the carpet, digging all the way into the pad. Vero put her hand in the middle of my back and pushed me toward the door.



* * *



It was almost nine o’clock by the time I pulled into the parking lot of the county jail. Early enough that it would still be permissible for a lawyer to visit, but late enough that the real Ekatarina Rybakov should be well into her bowling league match.

As I touched up my lipstick in my visor mirror, a horrible thought gripped me. Feliks’s star attorney would know every bit of protocol. She’d know where to go once she got inside, how to fill out forms, and how to answer any questions. As I drew my new phone from Vero’s messenger bag and dialed Julian’s number by memory, I wasn’t sure if I was calling for information or just the comfort of hearing his voice.