Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun (Finlay Donovan, #3)(12)

Her smile was devious. “You have no idea.”

The muscles in his face worked as if it was taking all their strength to hold him back. He turned to me. “Where’s Zach?”

“Probably hiding.” At his puzzled look, I explained, “It’s a phase he’s going through. Whatever you do, don’t let him out of your sight in the men’s room.” I grabbed a bag of Goldfish crackers from the pantry and dangled it below the dining room table. Zach giggled and crawled out from under it. I caught him as he reached for it with a squeal.

“I’ll call you tonight,” Steven said, stepping in close to take Zach from my arms. I froze at the cool shock of his lips against my cheek, at their distantly familiar bristle, keenly aware that it had been almost two years since those lips had touched me. I rubbed the strange itch they left behind as I watched him carry our son to his truck.





CHAPTER 5


“What was that whole business with Steven today?” Vero asked me later that night as we climbed into my minivan and drove to Ramón’s garage. It was almost eleven thirty, long after the garage closed. We had arranged to meet Javi there at midnight.

“What business?” I asked as I pulled out of the neighborhood.

“Steven kissed you.”

“So?”

“And he was about to ask you to go out with him.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“He said he had a lot of time to think about you while he was gone.”

“He said he’d been thinking about me and the kids.”

“Finlay,” she said as if I was being obtuse. “I hate to say it, but his ex-girlfriend was right. He’s definitely still in love with you.”

I blew out a heavy sigh. “I know.”

“And what?”

“And nothing.”

“You’re not seriously considering letting him come back?”

“Of course not,” I said, gripping the wheel. “Nothing is happening between me and Steven.”

“Good.”

“It was probably just the holidays making him nostalgic,” I reasoned. “After a week alone with the kids, he’ll be begging me to take them back. You know how he is.”

“Yes, I do,” Vero said. “Which is why I am telling you right now, you need to set some clear boundaries with that man or he’ll stomp right over them.” She pointed to a curb a block from Ramón’s garage. “Pull over there. Javi’s not supposed to be here for another twenty minutes. We should make sure Marco’s guys aren’t scoping the place out first.” She withdrew her set of binoculars from her bag and studied the street in front of the garage.

“See anything?”

“Nothing suspicious.” She put the binoculars back in her purse. “Let’s go,” she said, tucking it under her seat and hopping out of the van.

We walked quickly, hunched under our coats with our hoods pulled low, our breath streaming out in thin white clouds. Vero fumbled with a key ring as we approached the high chain-link fence that surrounded her cousin’s salvage yard. Chains clanked as Vero slipped a key in the padlock and snapped it open, ushering me through the gate.

The highway hummed in the distance as she closed the latch behind us, leaving the padlock hanging open for Javi.

“Come on,” she said, pulling me by my sleeve past the rows of parked cars awaiting repair behind the garage.

“What about the cameras?” I asked. I’d noticed at least two hanging from the eaves of the building.

“Ramón’s too cheap to pay for a monitoring service. Javi installed them and I run the software. Ramón doesn’t even know how to check the feed.”

The shadows thickened as she led us deeper into the salvage yard. Mountains of stacked cars in various stages of disrepair rose up on either side of us, forming a maze of crushed frames and abandoned parts. It all looked so precarious, rows upon rows of Jenga towers that might fall at the slightest provocation.

“This all belongs to your cousin?” The true size of the salvage yard hadn’t been visible from the road, or even the back of the garage. A giant crane hovered over the yard like a sentry, its claw-shaped hand silhouetted against the night sky. “What does he do with all these cars?”

“After he tows them here? He breaks them down. Sells the scrap. Whatever’s left gets squashed or recycled.” Vero paused in front of a rusting metal shed. “Hold this.” She handed her flashlight to me as she fiddled with her key ring. She wedged a key into the padlock and drew open the doors. I pointed the flashlight into the opening. The beam bounced off the splintered rear window of the Aston. With the exception of the bullet holes EasyClean had fired into it, the car’s matte black body hadn’t suffered a single scratch.

A car door slammed in the distance. Chains rattled as the gate to the salvage yard clanked open. “That must be Javi. Come on,” Vero said, tucking the padlock in her pocket. We started back toward the gate to meet him. His shadow stretched toward us, his shoes crushing softly against the dirt as he crossed the yard.

Vero reached for my elbow, dragging me to an abrupt halt beside her. Her body bristled as he approached us. I froze, too. The man’s gait was too stiff, his build far too thick to be Javi’s.