Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun (Finlay Donovan, #3)(54)

With a grimace, I used my wet wipe to retrieve the tooth from the floor. I crumpled it inside Cam’s note and dropped it back in my bag, unsure what else to do with it.

“That’s disgusting,” Vero said.

“That’s insurance,” I said, rubbing my hands up and down my jeans. The tooth was obviously a message from Feliks, leverage to make sure we fulfilled our end of the bargain we’d made with Kat. “She promised to handle Ike if we handle EasyClean, but we haven’t figured out who he is yet, and she clearly hasn’t disposed of Ike’s body. At least, not all of it.” I shuddered.

Vero patted my shoulder. “Look on the bright side. Cam said all we need to do is cough up a name.”

“So?”

“So we’ll give Feliks a name, Kat will make Ike go away, and we’ll find some other way to pay off Marco. Problem solved.”

“How are we supposed to give Feliks a name if we can’t figure out who EasyClean is? Did you talk to Pete?”

“I caught up to him after class,” she said, dropping onto her bed. “He talked to the guy who specializes in this stuff, but Dr. Sharif says he won’t look at our bullet because he only works on official cases for the police. And you want to know the worst part? The asshole kept our bullet. He says students aren’t supposed to have ammunition on the grounds.”

“That bullet was the only tangible evidence we had!”

“Pete said he’ll try to get it back for us. Meanwhile, I’ve been working on that whole second part of our plan, and I have some news about the money.” The eager gleam had returned to Vero’s eyes. I’d seen it before, and it never boded well.

“Should I be worried? Because I’m definitely worried.”

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

I peeled off my coat and tossed it on my bed. “What’s the bad news?” Might as well get it over with first.

“Javi called. He found a buyer. They’re meeting at Ramón’s later tonight to move the car. He should have the money by Friday.”

I frowned as I kicked off my shoes. “That’s the bad news?”

“He could only get a hundred and fifty grand out of the guy, minus Javi’s ten percent.”

“What’s the good news?” I asked cautiously, remembering the look on her face when I’d come inside the room. She’d been on my computer. On the training center’s Wi-Fi. I hoped, whatever she’d been doing, it didn’t involve any wheeling and dealing with loan sharks or the Russian mob.

“Sylvia loves your new ending.”

I froze, poised on one leg, my right sock peeled halfway down my foot. “I haven’t even written the ending. How could she love my new ending?” My stomach dropped at Vero’s smirk.

“Sylvia texted you this morning to ask how your revision was going. You were in the bathroom, so I texted her back for you. I told her the new ending was brilliant and that your characters were currently on a hot beach in Mexico, drinking margaritas in a state of postcoital bliss.”

“No, they’re not!” I cried, tearing off my sock and throwing it at her. “They can’t be in bliss, they’re in the middle of a—”

Vero dodged my sock and held up a finger. “If the word tsunami comes out of your mouth, I will finish the rest of this book myself. The cop and the assassin will hump each other for three hundred pages, I’ll write a velociraptor orgy into the ending, and I’ll send the whole damn thing to your agent.” She waited for me to shut my mouth before lowering her finger. “I just sent Sylvia a summary of the changes you are going to make,” she said sternly, “and I asked her to extend your deadline. You’re welcome.”

My blood pressure was so high I could feel it pulsing in my head.

“You know what you need?” Vero asked me.

“A paycheck?”

“That, too. Come on,” she said, tossing me my sock and dragging on her coat.

“Where are we going?”

“To the faculty lounge for cookies and booze.”



* * *



Vero and I cracked open the door to the dining hall. The cafeteria looked like a graveyard in the dark, its empty tables forming neat rows like tombstones and stacks of chairs casting eerie shadows against the walls. We tiptoed toward the faculty lounge, pressing our ears to the door before peeking inside.

I reached for the light switch, but Vero slapped my hand from the wall. “Are you crazy? Someone might see.” She pulled her flashlight from her coat and switched it on. “Where did Charlie say they kept the liquor?”

“The cabinet below the fire extinguisher.”

Vero circled the buffet table in the middle of the room, dropping to her knees in front of the cabinet in question. “It’s locked. Look for a key.”

I searched the cabinet above my head, recalling the fireproof key box I’d noticed when I’d been looking for a mug the other night. I pried it open, digging through a stack of card keys. “Try this one,” I said, passing her a tiny metal one.

Her grin was wicked as the lock popped open. She rifled through the contraband and withdrew a bottle of whisky. I pulled two mismatched mugs from the shelf, and we sat on the floor with our backs to the cabinet, the drape on the buffet table shielding us from view of the door.