Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead(Finlay Donovan #2)(98)

“She’d have to be there to notice.”

“What about your grandmother?”

He rubbed the dark bristles on his scalp. “She’s fine. I’m taking care of her.”

“Who’s taking care of you?” Cam was just a kid. A kid who’d grown up too fast and was in over his head. And while he might feel safe under Feliks’s arm, that safety was an illusion; a deal with Feliks didn’t make you bulletproof. “There has to be something … anything you can tell me about EasyClean, Cam. Who is he? Who did this to you?”

Cam winced. He dragged a roll of bills from the front pocket of his jeans and peeled off a fifty, folding it into my hand before returning the rest to his pocket. “Look, I wish I could help you. Just trust me when I tell you, you’re better off not knowing. Besides, even if I knew the guy’s real name, I couldn’t tell you anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Mr. Z made me give him that flash drive I was going to hand over to your cop friend. That was the other part of our deal. But don’t worry,” he said, pitching his voice low, as if maybe the walls were listening. “I might have scrubbed a few things.”

My throat worked around a hard swallow. How much had been on that drive?

Cam rubbed the bruise on his cheek. He blew out a hard, guilt-ridden sigh. “Look, the only thing I know for sure is that EasyClean is a cop. A real dirty one. Which means he has a lot more to lose if he gets busted, and he’s got all the tools he needs to cover his tracks.”

“How do you know he’s a police officer?”

Cam jammed his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been around cops all my life. My dad was one. They have their own slang, their own language. I read all his posts and the emails in his sent files. EasyClean talks like a cop.”

My mind raced back to my conversation with Joey. Every clue fit. Joey had means, motive, and countless opportunities to try to kill Steven. But last night, he’d also had an alibi. One I had yet to verify.

“Hey,” Cam said, dragging my attention from the window. “You still want my advice? Forget about EasyClean. He isn’t anybody a nice mom like you ought to be messing with. Neither is Mr. Z.” Cam withdrew a flimsy-looking flip phone from his pocket. It vibrated as he passed it to me. “This is for you.”

Before I could ask him who it was, he slid his hoodie over his head and slipped out the door. As he slunk across my lawn, a dark green Jaguar with tinted windows lurched to a stop at the curb in front of him. Cam opened the back door and ducked inside. Vero flipped him off from the front stoop as the Jaguar sped off.

The disposable phone continued to vibrate as Vero came inside and shut the door. Unknown Caller flashed across the screen. I thumbed it open, putting the call on speakerphone so both of us could hear.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Greetings, Ms. Donovan.” Ekatarina Rybakov’s voice was all business. “Mr. Zhirov regrets that he could not deliver the package himself, but I believe the contents are self-explanatory.”

Vero held the phone as I tore open the wax seal, thumbing through the pages inside the envelope. A title and registration from the car dealership were inside, along with a bill of sale for a Superleggera Volante in Modern Minimalist (black). The payment was made in full. In cash. By Feliks Zhirov. Vero took the sales slip from me, her eyes wide.

“Why are you giving me this?” I asked through a thin breath. Though as I read the name on the vehicle’s registration and title, I knew. Owner: FD Independent Consulting, LLC.

FD. Finlay Donovan.

Feliks had tied my name to a fake corporation. To a car he’d paid for.

I had become one of Feliks’s shell companies. At any point, Feliks could tip off the police and Nick would jump down the rabbit hole and find me. Feliks knew exactly what Nick and I had been doing after our dinner at Kvass.

And this was a message in return: Feliks Zhirov owned me.

“My client has been watching you for quite some time.” I could practically hear Kat’s mouth twist with amusement. “You must have made quite an impression.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think that means you get to keep the car,” Vero whispered.

“I don’t want the car,” I said, yanking the papers back.

Vero’s hand chased them. “Yes, you do.”

“The car is yours, of course,” Kat said as I took the phone from Vero. “But unless you want to risk certain information coming to light, I would strongly discourage you from driving it.”

Kat was right. One minor traffic violation and a cop would pull the registration. There were too many red flags. The car would have to be scrapped. Every single piece of it would have to be destroyed. Maybe Ramón could put it in one of those giant crushers. Then we could burn the paperwork and pretend it never existed.

“What does Feliks want from me?” I asked. He knew everything about me, which meant he knew I couldn’t possibly repay him the value of that car.

“For now, only your silence,” Kat replied. “Good day, Ms. Donovan.”

I should have felt relieved when the call disconnected. The car was handled. No need to bother Irina with the whole sordid story of how we got it. No need to make up a fake one for Alan, and no need to pay the money back. But two lingering questions weighed heavily on me as I slid the papers back inside the broken seal of the envelope: How had Feliks known about the car, and what had for now meant?