Bitter Bite (Elemental Assassin #14)(32)

together a local charity exhibit. After that, we started seeing each other

more often, having coffee, meeting for drinks. Dee-Dee started getting a

little friendlier, opening up to me. It happens once a client feels

comfortable enough. We talked about movies, TV shows, books. All your usual

chitchat.”

“What about tonight?” Bria asked. “What were the two of you meeting about

tonight?”

“A couple of weeks ago, Dee-Dee asked me to put her in touch with some folks

who could help with her charity exhibit, and she was telling me how well

everything was going.” He paused. “Although she wanted to take me out to

dinner, said that there was something else she wanted to talk to me about.

Something personal. I guess I know what that is now.” He barked out a harsh,

humorless laugh.

“What about Hugh Tucker?” I asked. “What’s his story?”

Finn shrugged again. “Your typical assistant. Fetching coffee, taking

messages, and the like. He’s come into the bank with Dee-Dee several times

now. She rented some safety-deposit boxes in the basement vault for her

jewelry, and he carried in the briefcases for her. Nothing unusual there.”

Nothing unusual at all. Many wealthy people in Ashland employed personal

assistants. Still, the wealthier the person, usually the more obnoxious the

assistant was, some of them even more aggressive than giant bodyguards about

not letting you get close to their bosses. At least, not without an

appointment. And most assistants were actually concerned with, well, assisting

their bosses, not drinking, texting, and being bored like Tucker had been

tonight. Silvio would have given him a stern talking-to about proper decorum.

Finn fell silent again and stared at his glass of Scotch, brooding.

“That’s all?” I asked. “That’s all the contact you’ve had with her?”

“Yeah. Why?”

I could have told him that something about Deirdre just rubbed me the wrong

way. I could have told him that long-lost relatives didn’t appear out of thin

air for no reason. I could have told him that it was obvious that she wanted

something from him.

But I held my tongue and kept my suspicions to myself. Finn had gotten a

brutal shock, one he was trying to drink into oblivion, and he wasn’t

thinking straight right now. He was too close to the situation, too involved,

too hurt and curious and hopeful and a hundred other things to wonder exactly

why his mother had chosen this exact moment to reappear in his life after

being gone for the previous thirty-three years of it.

But I was here, I was thinking clearly, and I wondered all those things. More

important, I was determined to get answers to every single one of my

questions. And if Deirdre was, in fact, conning Finn, then I was going to rain

down a whole lot of hurt onto her for daring to think that she could sashay

back into his life and use him for her own dark, devious ends.

But first, there was something else I needed to do.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner, that I

didn’t tell you the second I found her file. I just . . . didn’t know how.

Of all the bad things that have happened to us, of all the secrets the old man

kept from us, your mom being alive . . . it’s not something that I had ever

even considered.”

Finn snorted, but his face softened, and a little more of the cold anger

leaked out of his eyes. “You and me both, sister,” he muttered, sounding

much more like his usual cheerful self. “So what do we do now?”

I grabbed the glass out of his hand and set it on the table. “You are going

to go upstairs, take a shower, and crash here for the night. Then, in the

morning, you’re going to call in sick so you can sleep off your hangover.

After that, you’re going to put on your best suit, come to the Pork Pit, and

talk to your mother.”

Finn nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

He got out of his chair, took a step, and wobbled. He would have done a header

onto the floor if Bria hadn’t rushed up and grabbed hold of him. Even then,

he kept wobbling back and forth.

Owen started forward to help Bria with Finn, but Sophia got there first. She

swung Finn up into her arms, as though he didn’t weigh any more than Rosco.

“My Princess Charming,” Finn drawled. “Sweeping me off my feet.”

Sophia snorted. “Lightweight,” she said, a fond note in her gruff voice.

He gave her a drunken smile, his glassy eyes indicating that he was feeling no

pain now, and pointed toward the hallway. “Yep, that’s me. Finnegan Lane,

lightweight drinker. Now, to the shower, my lady!”

Sophia carried Finn out of the salon, with Bria following them. That left me

with Owen, Jo-Jo, and Rosco. The basset hound had apparently had enough drama

for the night, because he hauled himself to his feet, waddled over, and curled

up in his wicker basket in the corner.