The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(4)

“I’m guessing,” Graves said, “he was going to say you. What do you think?”

Finley stared at the detective and said what any good prosecutor would. “He walked into the store, a loaded weapon in hand, with the intent to commit robbery and possibly murder. Whatever he was going to say is irrelevant, Detective. His actions spoke loudly and clearly.”

“What about your actions?”

“Are we finished here?”

The silence lagged for a beat too long. A cliché tactic to say the least.

“Almost.” His gaze searched hers as if he expected to see guilt or maybe fear. “You’re certain you didn’t know this man?”

“As I’ve told you already, I did not know this man.” There was a distinct difference between knowing a person and having met him before. The detective hadn’t asked the right question.

“Very well.” He exhaled a breath loaded with frustration. “I felt an obligation to send a copy of the report to your therapist—particularly since he refused to answer any of my questions.”

Fury whipped through Finley. “That’s crossing the line, Detective, and you know it.”

“Under the circumstances . . .” He shrugged. “I didn’t think so.”

She had to give him credit: the move was one she hadn’t anticipated.

Finley pushed back her chair and stood. “You have my number if you feel the need to repeat any more of the questions I’ve already answered.”

He followed suit, moving more quickly than she would have believed him capable of to open the door. Before stepping aside for her to exit, he spoke once more. “Like I said, I read the file on your husband’s murder.”

The anger still simmering inside her burst into outrage, but she knew better than to open her mouth when she was this furious. Courtroom battles were lost when emotion was allowed to make an untimely appearance.

“What the perp did to you after he killed your husband was unspeakable.” Graves shook his head. “I have a daughter, and I can’t even imagine.”

Could he not just step aside and let her go? Feelings she’d buried as deep as her psyche would allow threatened to surface. She forced them back.

She would not go there again.

“It’s a damned shame he hasn’t been caught.” He made a tsking sound. “Hard to do when the bastard left no evidence.” He shook his head. “Not one damned speck.”

The silent standoff lasted another five or so seconds before Graves finally moved.

Finley walked out.

What had he expected her to say?

No one wanted to get the person responsible for Derrick’s murder more than she did. In fact, no one had believed her when she named him. The ones—and there had been more than one—who carried out the execution had been following orders. Giving them up to the police would not have prompted the desired result. They would get theirs, just like the asshole who’d bled out on the floor of that convenience store on Saturday.

One down, two to go.

Three, actually. But she was saving the one who gave the order for last.

Not until she exited the building did her lungs fill fully with air. The scent of wisteria mingled with the thick humidity of July in the South was as familiar as the smell of her own skin. Heat wrapped around her like a wool coat, and instantly the sparse dab of makeup she’d bothered with felt ready to slip down her cheeks.

In the cross-body messenger-style bag draped against her side, her cell phone vibrated. Before she could reach for it, her attention snagged on the man propped against her car. Matt. She paused. He grinned and gave her a little wave.

Finley waved back as she closed the remaining space between them. “I’m thinking your timing isn’t coincidental, Mr. Quinn.”

Another of those broad grins split his face. The way that grin made his eyes sparkle never ceased to catch her off guard. Blue eyes, sandy-blond hair, tall, inordinately handsome. Had she mentioned smart? Like uber intelligent. She and Matthew Quinn had been best friends since they were children. Lived on the same street in Belle Meade growing up. Matt graduated from law school one year ahead of her and was promptly invited to clerk for one of the state’s premiere justices. Three years ago, he was handpicked to serve as the liaison between Metro, the DA’s office, and the mayor’s office. Sort of like a mediator of the unholy trinity. And he was good. Very good.

The man would be governor one day.

He pushed away from her car and gave her a hug. “I had a meeting with the three in the chief’s office, then a briefing with the commander here.” He hitched his head toward her decade-old Subaru. “Saw your Outback as I was leaving and decided to hang around. See if you had plans tonight.”

“No plans.”

She never had plans beyond work. Not the kind he meant. Not anymore. Except when Matt decided she needed to get out or when her dad persuaded her to attend some family function that just wouldn’t be the same without her. Saying no to her dad was something she’d never learned to do well.

“Good.” Matt opened the driver’s side door for her. “Then I’ll swing by at seven. You pick the place.”

She pulled the strap of her bag over her head and tossed the worn, comfortable leather into the passenger seat. “What’s the occasion?”

Had he finally met someone and decided to settle down? He’s not getting any younger, her mother, the Judge, would say. She certainly had pointed out Finley’s advanced age—at least until she’d met Derrick, and suddenly Finley was moving too fast. You scarcely know him. He’s not in your league, dear. You’ll never be happy together. Is he the father you want for your children? For my grandchildren?