Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun (Finlay Donovan, #3)(10)

Delia bounded down the steps, nearly tackling my sister into the wall with the full force of an exuberant five-year-old. “Whoa, Dee! Go easy on the knees. Save the takedowns for the bad guys.” My sister turned to me and said, “You should probably break the kids of the whole tackle-hug thing before they hurt someone.”

“Mmmm…” I said through a pinched smile. “Maybe you can come over and work on it with them when you’ve finished potty training Zach.”

“Very funny,” she said as she ushered Delia out the door.

“Thanks, Georgia,” I called after them, “I owe you one.”

“Forget about it. I lost count a long time ago. And for god’s sake, call Nick!” she hollered over her shoulder.

“Yeah, call Nick!” Delia parroted as she trotted down the sidewalk to my sister’s car. My daughter had been nagging me to call him ever since Christmas, when he’d given her a checkers game and promised to teach her to play. But inviting Nick to my home for a game of strategy felt decidedly risky under the circumstances. He had far too many questions about me, questions I’d narrowly avoided that night. Questions I shouldn’t answer. Not now. And if I was smart, I never would.



* * *



My ex-husband’s F-150 rumbled into the driveway just after lunch, earlier than I’d expected. I rushed downstairs, balancing Zach on my hip, startling Steven when I threw open the door.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless. His face was ruddy with the cold, his shirt slightly rumpled under his open coat, as if he’d just walked off the plane. He ran his hand through his hair and smoothed down his short beard, his blue eyes wide as they took me in. “It’s good to see you. You look great.”

“Thanks,” I said, gesturing for him to come in. “It’s good to see you, too.” For the first time in a long time, I actually meant it. The last time I’d seen Steven, we’d narrowly escaped an attempt on his life, and though our history over the last two years was marked by countless disappointments and betrayals, the night I saved him from EasyClean had been a turning point for us. Now that the threat to him was over, as well as his engagement to Theresa Hall, hopefully we could go back to co-parenting our children like civilized adults.

“Thanks for taking the kids on such short notice,” I said over Zach’s squeals. He leaned out of my arms, dropping his juice-stained blanket as he reached for his father. “They’ve missed you.”

Steven scooped up our son, a sheen in his eyes as he pressed a kiss to Zach’s cheek. “Oh, man. I missed you guys, too!” He turned to me, his throat a little thick when he asked, “You sure it’s okay for them to stay with me … you know … after everything?”

“No one’s going to try to kill you, if that’s what you’re asking.” He didn’t look convinced. “Trust me, Steven. It’s safe.”

An awkward silence stretched between us as Vero shuffled about upstairs, packing the last of the children’s pillows and toys and zipping them into their suitcases.

He set Zach down and watched him toddle off. “I’ll pick up Delia right after school, and I’ll text you pictures every day. You can call us anytime you want. How long can the kids stay?”

I wasn’t sure how long it would take to sell the Aston Martin and arrange a meeting with Marco. “Let’s start with a week and see how it goes.”

“A week? Wow, that’s…” Steven had never had the kids by himself for more than a weekend. I wasn’t sure if it was gratitude or nerves that had rendered him speechless.

“If it’s too long, I could ask my mom to—”

“No!” He held up a hand. “Please. Don’t call your mom. A week’s great.”

I had called my mother earlier that morning and explained that Steven would be taking the kids for a while. This time, she hadn’t argued, content to avoid any unnecessary confrontations. “If it gets to be too much, you can call me. We’ll figure something out.”

“We’ll be fine. We’ve handled a lot worse,” he reminded me. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing up at me with a nostalgic smile. “We made a good team that night. You were amazing, Finn. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up when you did.” He shook his head as he remembered it. “You know,” he said, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking—”

“That’d be a first.” Vero stomped down the last few steps and dumped two Rollaboards at his feet.

His smile was tight. “It’s good to see you, too, Vero.”

“How’s your head?” she asked dryly.

Steven gritted his teeth as he ran a hand over his crown where Vero had knocked him out with my frying pan the last time they’d seen each other. “You’re a real comedian.”

“What can I say? You keep giving me such great material to work with. Duct tape is a good look on you, by the way. Very slimming.”

A vein swelled in Steven’s temple.

I inserted myself between them. “Vero, can you please put the kids’ bags in Steven’s truck? We should get them on the road. We have a lot of things to handle here,” I said pointedly.

Vero smiled sweetly at Steven and hauled the children’s suitcases outside.