Bitter Bite (Elemental Assassin #14)(30)

Jo-Jo’s power did.

Jo-Jo moved her palm back and forth over the gash in Finn’s forehead, using

the oxygen and all the other molecules in the air to stitch his skin back

together, fade out the bruising, and smooth out the bump he’d gotten from his

hard fall.

A minute later, she dropped her hand and gave him a tentative smile. “There

you go, darling. Good as new.”

“Thank you, Jo-Jo,” Finn said in a stiff voice.

He threw back the rest of his Scotch, then poured himself another. Everyone

remained quiet, except Rosco, who whined, sensing the tension in the room.

Finn downed the second Scotch, then poured himself a third one, before he

finally deigned to look at me.

He stabbed his finger at me. “Start talking, Gin. Right f*cking now.”

His voice was as sharp, clipped, and cold as I’d ever heard it. Anger rolled

off him in almost palpable waves, and a storm of emotions flashed in his green

eyes. For the most part, Finn was a cheerful, happy-go-lucky guy. But the

angrier he got, the more that cheer crystallized into something else—

something dark, dangerous, and deadly. I hadn’t seen this level of cold,

contained rage from Finn in a long, long time.

His rage increased my own worry, but I stepped up so that I was standing

directly in front of him, drew in a breath, and told him everything. He stared

at me the whole time, analyzing and cataloging every single word I said. He

didn’t interrupt, he didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t offer any comments

of his own. All he did was sit there and stare at me, his face solidified into

a chillingly empty mask.

I kept my own face and voice neutral, reciting the facts, just the way

Fletcher had laid out the information on Deirdre in his file. I also told Finn

and the others about the mementos and the letter that Fletcher had left me in

the casket box, including what the old man had said about how dangerous

Deirdre was and how she didn’t care about anyone but herself.

Bria gave me a sharp look, obviously wondering why I hadn’t told her about

the letter when we’d first gone through the casket box. I gave her a guilty,

sheepish shrug in return. But I still didn’t mention the second letter that

Fletcher had written to Finn. I’d already mangled things enough. I’d tell

Finn about the letter later, in private, so he could decide whether he wanted

to share it with everyone.

After I finished, no one moved or spoke, and the salon was so quiet that I

could hear the steady tick-tock-tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the

hallway. Finally, Finn downed his Scotch, leaned forward, and poured himself

yet another.

“So you’ve known that my mother is alive for days now, and you kept it to

yourself this whole time,” he said. “That’s why you were so eager to pay

for dinner at Underwood’s tonight. When exactly were you going to break the

news to me? After we got the bread basket? Or were you going to wait until the

dessert course? Oh, hey, Finn. By the way, your mother, the one you thought

was dead, is actually alive. Pass the f*cking cheesecake.”

I winced. “I didn’t know what I was going to do, how I was going to tell

you. But I was going to tell you.”

He snorted and gulped down some more Scotch.

“Believe me, it was just as much of a shock to me as it is to you. I don’t

remember Fletcher talking about your mother all that much. Finding that file,

realizing that she might still be alive, and then seeing her in the flesh

tonight, sitting with you at the bar like she was just another client . . . it

threw me too.”

“But not as much as it did me.” He took another hit of Scotch.

“No,” I replied in an even voice. “Not as much as it did you.”

A thought occurred to Finn, and he snapped his head around and glared at Jo-

Jo. “And you,” he snarled. “You had to know that Dee-Dee was alive too.”

Jo-Jo stayed calm in the face of his anger, shaking her head. The motion made

her pink sponge curlers sway back and forth. “Darling, I promise you that I

didn’t know anything about your mama until tonight when you came in here

ranting and raving about her.”

“How could you not?” he snarled again. “You and Sophia were Dad’s best

friends. You knew all his secrets.”

“Not this one,” Sophia muttered.

Jo-Jo gave her sister a pointed look, but Sophia just shrugged back.

“Of course, we knew Deirdre Shaw,” Jo-Jo said, focusing on Finn again.

“From the day they first met at the Pork Pit, your daddy was plumb crazy

about her, always talking and telling stories about her. He brought her by the

salon a few times, but they mostly kept to themselves. That’s how in love

they were.”

Finn’s eyes narrowed, but he waved his hand, telling her to continue.

“They’d been together a few months when Fletcher dropped by and told us that