Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead(Finlay Donovan #2)(81)

“Do we have to lift him to the bed?” Vero panted, bent over her knees. Steven writhed in his duct tape restraints, his eyes shooting daggers at me as I put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door and drew the heavy drapes closed. The room was a dump. The wallpaper was peeling from the walls, and there were yellow stains on the popcorn ceiling. I didn’t want to imagine what kinds of horrors were hidden by the funky 1970s patterns in the carpet, but I also didn’t think we could muster the strength to lift him onto the bed.

“We should at least move him away from the door.” We dragged him by his armpits into the gap between the beds. I tucked a pillow under his head and turned on the TV, cranking up the volume and changing the channel to ESPN. “Ready?” I asked Vero, brushing off my hands and reaching for my keys. Steven’s eyes flew open wide. His breathing became panicked and ragged as we headed for the door. “Sorry, Steven. Believe me, this definitely beats the alternative. I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you.”

The TV drowned out his thrashing as Vero and I left and pulled the door closed. I climbed into the driver’s seat, pausing before putting the key in the ignition.

“You’re feeling guilty,” Vero said, buckling herself in. “Don’t. He was manhandling you in your own damn garage. Meanwhile, you’re trying to save his sorry, miserable life. You have nothing to feel guilty about. Now come on. We’ve got a body to get rid of.”

With a resigned sigh, I turned the key. A familiar clicking sound mocked me from the engine.

“No! No, no, no!” Vero breathed.

I tried the key again. Nothing happened.

“What do we do?” Vero asked.

“I don’t know!”

“We can’t exactly call Triple A. We’ve got Carl!”

“We’ll leave the van here and rent a car. There must be a rental place around here somewhere.” I groped behind my seat for the messenger bag I’d taken to the jail the night before. I rummaged inside it, turned it upside down, and dumped out the folder and the wig. “My wallet. I must have left it in my coat.”

“Don’t panic. I’ll text Ramón and have him bring us a loaner.” Vero and her cousin exchanged a few quick text messages. She dropped her phone in the drink holder with a swear. “He’s halfway to an accident in Leesburg and he’s stuck in traffic. It’ll be at least two hours before he can get here.”

“That meeting at Carl’s house is in just over an hour! We can’t wait that long!”

“This isn’t Weekend at Bernie’s, Finn! We can’t prop Carl between us in the back seat of an Uber!” She crossed her arms and sank back with a huff. “When I find Cam, I’m going to kill him myself. We need a car. Preferably a fast one.” She wrinkled her nose. “I think our mummy’s starting to thaw.”

I stuffed the contents of the messenger bag back inside, pausing over the wig. It was long and dark, a perfect match to Kat’s cut and style. But close enough to Irina’s color and length to pass for hers in the dark. The gray December sky was already deepening toward sunset.

“Call an Uber,” I said as an idea took root. “Give Ramón the address of the motel. Tell him we’ll leave the keys in the van. Ask him to tow it to his shop.”

“What about Carl?”

“We’ll be back in plenty of time to pick up Carl before Ramón gets here. With any luck, we can still get to that meeting before it starts.”

“Where the heck are we going?”

I handed Vero the wig. “We’re going to find a very fast car.”





CHAPTER 37


The Uber driver dropped us off a block away from the international auto lot just before dark. The towering lampposts cast halos over the cars, and the bright lights of the showroom reflected off their sleek hoods. Vero’s mouth parted around a soft oh.

I stepped in front of her, breaking the spell as I dragged the wig over her head and smoothed down the edges. “Stick to the section of the lot farthest from the showroom. Pick something fast but practical. An SUV or something. Text me the color and model. Whatever happens, don’t let any salespeople approach you and don’t talk to anyone. Pretend to be on an important phone call. I’ll handle the rest.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get the keys.” I started toward the dealership. Vero jogged to catch up.

“And you think they’re just going to give you the keys to one of these cars without asking for ID?”

“No, they’re going to give them to Irina Borovkov. Go.” I nudged Vero toward the lot and headed toward the showroom.

As I reached for the glass door, it swung open for me. Alan stood aside, an uncertain smile on his face. “Good evening, Miss…” His face flushed red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name.”

“Probably because I’m not important.” I looked down my nose at him as my phone buzzed in my pocket. “I’m here with Irina Borovkov. She would like to take the…” I snuck a peek at my phone. “… Superleggera Volante in Modern Minimalist…” I checked my phone again. Was that seriously the name of a color? “… for a drive.”

“The Superleggera?” A swell of panic rose inside me when Alan’s eyebrows shot up. I wasn’t sure what a Superleggera was. But anything with minimalist in the title couldn’t be that bad, right? “Are you sure?” he asked.