Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun (Finlay Donovan, #3)(17)
I watched him jog through the gate as I thought about what he’d said. He had a point. One that made a lot of sense. If EasyClean was a cop, the best way to find him was to get close to the detectives he worked with. My sister worked in Violent Crimes, but she was friends with a lot of the guys from Organized Crime and Narcotics, and if anyone happened to be working cases that might accidentally “step in EasyClean’s shit,” it’d be the detectives from OCN.
The only problem was Nick was one of them.
CHAPTER 7
Vero and I paused inside the door of the bar as our eyes adjusted to the aura of the place. Hooligans was a far cry from the elegant cherrywoods and rich amber lighting of The Lush. The air in the upscale bar where I used to meet Julian after his bartending shifts had always hinted at designer perfumes and imported hops. This one felt more like the kind of bars Steven used to drag me to when we were in college, low-ceilinged rooms that smelled like hamburger grease and the cigarette smoke that trailed in from outside.
Cues snapped against balls and darts thumped into bull’s-eyes mounted on the wall. The soft clatter of empty bottles being loaded into bins peppered low conversations, and a country song crooned from a jukebox near the back.
The bartender—a balding man with a bulbous nose and a ruddy complexion—glanced up as Vero and I eased into an empty booth. A server appeared, a woman with dyed auburn hair and deep smoker’s creases around her mouth and her eyes. I offered her a polite smile, surprised by the wave of melancholy that washed over me as I ordered a vodka tonic with lime.
“Stop,” Vero said after the server had gone.
“What?”
“Depressing yourself. You aren’t missing anything you can’t get with the right personal massager and an economy pack of double-As. Julian wasn’t ready for you.”
It wasn’t me Julian hadn’t been ready for, but everything that came with me—two young kids, a meddlesome ex, a history of questionable criminal behavior … I wasn’t exactly the ideal partner for a twenty-four-year-old law student who worked nights at a bar. And if I was being honest with myself, I knew he wasn’t the ideal partner for me. I loved my kids and Vero and my complicated, sticky life, and I wanted to be with someone who loved them too. It was one thing to have a separate identity to stamp on the cover of my books, but I was done compartmentalizing myself to fit in other people’s neat and tidy boxes.
“I’m not depressing myself,” I lied, busying myself with my phone.
“Sure you’re not. What’s the plan?” She cracked open a peanut from a bowl on the table, scattering dust and crumbs as she popped it in her mouth.
“We wait for Georgia to show up and pretend to be surprised. Then we ask her to introduce us to all of her friends.” My sister had already told everyone she knew that I was an author. If anyone struck me as suspicious, I’d strike up a conversation and ask them if they’d let me interview them for research for a book.
I scrolled through a few local news sites on my phone, skimming the headlines.
“Any signs of Ike?” Vero asked.
“Nothing yet. Let’s figure out who EasyClean is, get Feliks a name, and be done with it.” My thoughts died as the door to the bar opened and Nick’s partner, Detective Joey Balafonte, stepped inside. He nodded to the bartender, scanning the room as he slipped off his coat. His cool blue eyes made a brief pass over our table, then quickly doubled back. He froze, staring at me as if a breaker had tripped in his brain.
I offered him a small wave, doing my best to mirror his surprise, though I wasn’t at all surprised Joey was here. Not just because he was Nick’s partner. But because ever since that night when Nick had been shot and Joey was nowhere to be found, I’d had my doubts about him. If Mrs. Haggerty hadn’t confirmed his alibi, stating that she had indeed spoken with a police officer who vaguely matched Joey’s description in her driveway that night, I would have been certain that Joey Balafonte was the stranger on that dark country road who’d fired shots at me and Steven as we’d fled in the Aston.
The server handed him a beer. He accepted it with a congenial thanks, never once taking his eyes off me.
Vero looked up from her menu. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t look now, but Joey’s here and he’s heading straight for our booth.”
“First one to show up,” she murmured as he approached our table.
“Ladies,” Joey greeted us. “How was your Christmas?”
“Good, thanks,” I said through what I hoped was a convincing smile. “How was yours?”
Joey shrugged. “A little lean this year, but you know how it is, right?” His eyes locked on mine, the same way they had over Nick’s hospital bed the last time we’d seen each other, when every question had felt like a bullet fired at close range.
“Still moonlighting?” I asked.
He took a long pull of his beer as if he was rolling the question around. “It was seasonal work, the occasional odd job. Those kinds of gigs are harder to grab once the holidays are over.” Vero kicked me under the table. “What about you?” he asked me. “How’s the new book coming? Georgia mentioned it’ll be out in a few months. I’ve been dying to read it.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were a fan of romantic suspense.”