Finlay Donovan Is Killing It

by Elle Cosimano

  CHAPTER 28

  My fingers itched as I walked past my office. I’d felt stuck after I’d written the scene in the garage. I’d had no idea what was supposed to happen next until this new revelation about Theresa’s involvement had opened a door to the next chapter of the story. This plot line made sense. All the pieces seemed to fit. And I had less than a month to finish this book without implicating myself in the process.

  Even if I changed their names, Theresa and Aimee couldn’t be the murderers in my story. It would be foolish to skirt so close to the truth. No, the story had to lead somewhere else. Somewhere less believable. The killer had to be some larger-than-life character, some archetypical villain people could believe I had made up because they’d already seen him play out on a TV or a movie screen. And the only other person I could picture playing the part was the real-life villain I planned to feed to Detective Anthony.

  Feliks Zhirov was virtually untouchable. According to Georgia, he’d never spent a day in jail even though he was guilty as sin. If Feliks smelled an investigation—even one he wasn’t directly involved in—I was pretty sure he’d bring the case crashing to a dead end. He was my safest option. And maybe the only person capable of keeping me and Theresa out of jail.

  I sat down at my desk and opened the draft of my story, skimming the scenes I had written so far: A seasoned contract killer takes a job to kill a problem husband. She vets the target, stalks him in a bar, drugs him, and takes him to the dump site in an abandoned underground garage.

  I dropped my head against the desk, kicking myself for sending this draft to my agent without thinking it through. The details were all steering far too close to home. But maybe I could get away with tweaking it a little.

  I dove back into the manuscript, picking apart what I had written so far, making subtle changes to the characters and setup: The problem husband is an accountant working for a high-profile mob boss. He also happens to be super wealthy with a sizable life insurance policy that will go to his wife. Sometime between the first drink and the drugged one, my heroine realizes the wife never transferred payment into her offshore account as agreed upon. Too late to change direction, my heroine loads her mark into a utility van and drives him to the underground garage to let him sleep it off. The assassin steps outside to call the wife, to tell her the job is off for nonpayment. Meanwhile, someone else slips in behind her and uses a silencer to put a bullet between the husband’s eyes. Determined to seek a vigilante-style justice and solve the mystery of who murdered her mark, she investigates his death, pairing up with an unsuspecting hotshot detective to stay one step ahead of the police and tracking down the runaway wife in the process.

  Yes, I thought, cracking my knuckles over the keyboard. Yes, this felt like it could work! There was nothing in this story about hot young bartenders who studied law, or real estate agents who stole other people’s husbands. There were no subplots involving lewd photos or extorted hush payments. No mentions of custody battles or starving authors doing questionable things to pay their bills.

  Hours passed. My fingers ached and my mind felt weary. Smells started wafting from the kitchen—baking bread and steamed vegetables and the buttery, rosemary-coated skin of a roasting chicken. Night fell outside my window to the clank and clatter of silverware downstairs, the slide of the high chair from the table, and the hand-vac as Vero tidied up after dinner. No one knocked on my door. Three fresh chapters later, I jumped at the bright ring of my cell phone.

  Steven’s number flashed on the screen, and I contemplated not answering.

  “Hello,” I said, rubbing my eyes as I registered the time. The kids were probably already in bed. I hadn’t even kissed them good night.

  “Hey, Finn. ’S it a bad time to call?” A slur smoothed over the worn edges around my name. I wondered how many drinks it must have taken for it not to sound like a curse coming out of his mouth.

  “Why?”

  “Just needed to talk.” He sounded tired, and maybe a little defeated, and I hated myself for the soft spot in my chest that still managed to ache at moments like this, even after all he’d done.

  “You okay?” I turned off my monitor and sat in the dark, listening to liquid bubbling down the neck of a bottle and his hard swallow on the other end of the line.

  He coughed. Said in a rough voice, “I don’t know. Maybe. Not really.”

  The fact that he’d called me instead of his fiancée told me a lot, and at the same time, opened the door to so many more questions. A year ago, we were together, all four of us under one roof. Why’d he have to go and screw everything up?

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Theresa,” he said. “I’m worried I made a mistake.” I held my tongue, biting my lip to keep from saying the harsh things I wanted to say. “I was stupid to trust her. She’s hiding something. I don’t know exactly what it is, but…”

  “But what?” I asked cautiously, afraid of scaring him away. “Why do you think she’s hiding something?”

  He hesitated. Took another swig and swore under his breath. “I found cash in her underwear drawer. A lot of cash, Finn. And some cop called the house the other day looking for her. When I asked her about it, she got all defensive and refused to talk.”

  “Maybe there was nothing to talk about.”

  “I don’t know, Finn. She’s got this new big-shot client. She’s with him all the time. She says he’s only looking for property, but I’ve seen the guy and he’s…” Steven’s voice trailed.

  “Attractive?”

  “Sleazy’s more like it,” he grumbled. “I looked him up, Finn. He’s into some shady shit. What if he gave her all that cash? What if she’s planning…?” Steven fell quiet.

  “To leave you for someone else?” In the silence, a siren wailed, and I heard it in stereo, loud outside my window and more faintly through his cell phone. “Where are you right now?” I pushed my chair from the desk and crossed the room, peeling back the blinds to find Steven’s truck parked outside. He waved sheepishly through the window. “Hold on,” I told him. “I’m coming out.”

  * * *

  I bundled on a coat and slipped on my tennis shoes. I didn’t bother to check my hair or change out of my yoga pants. Steven and I were beyond all that. Arms folded against the cold, I crossed brittle grass to his truck. He reached over the front seat to open the door for me, and I climbed inside the cab. The air was close and warm, thick with the tang of whisky on his breath and the earthy smell of his farm that still clung to his clothes.

  He looked awful, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t take any joy in that. An empty pint bottle lay on the bench between us. His jacket hung open over his untucked flannel, and his hair stuck up as if he’d been dragging his fingers through it.

  A curtain shifted in Mrs. Haggerty’s kitchen window. She’d be on the telephone first thing tomorrow, making sure all the neighbors knew Steven was here, having a clandestine meeting in his truck with his ex-wife. “You want to go somewhere else?”

  Steven followed my line of sight to Mrs. Haggerty’s house. His shoulders shook with a somber laugh as he turned the key in the ignition and made a clumsy three-point turn, his huge tires chewing tracks in her front lawn.

  Steven’s hand was loose on the wheel. I wondered if I should offer to drive, but a moment later he pulled over in front of the small community park at the end of our street. He killed the engine and got out, and I followed his slow, unsteady steps to a set of swings illuminated by a dull halo of moonlight.

  The chains groaned as he eased into one. I settled into the swing beside him, shivering as the cold seeped from the hard plastic seat through my clothes. We sat, listening to the low hum of traffic on the nearby highway, watching the flashing lights of the planes overhead.

  “This reminds me of the night Delia was born,” he said, staring up at the night-bright sky. I gave him a long side-eye. Our memories of that night were very different. All I remembered was the pain and the long hours of labor,
leaving frantic messages for him between contractions as the time between them grew shorter. All I remembered was Georgia’s face. The smell of coffee on her breath, her hand clutching mine as she shouted at me in her police officer voice to keep pushing, and the fat lip she gave my husband in the hospital parking lot when he finally showed up, hungover and terrified. He’d been there all night, drinking in this park, afraid of becoming a father and screwing it up. “I’m scared, Finn.”

  “Of what?”

  “I’m scared Theresa’s involved with him.”

  I raised an eyebrow, twisting in my seat to look him squarely in the face. The chains spun around each other, keeping tension on the swing. If I took my feet off the ground, they’d turn me away from him and pull me straight again, and I found something oddly reassuring about that. “Aren’t you involved with someone, too?” I asked.

  He glanced up at me, surprised. “That obvious?”

  “Let’s just say I know the signs.”

  He shook his head, staring at the sod and mud on his boots. “It’s not just that. I know I’d probably deserve it if all she was doing was sleeping around. But I’m worried that she’s in over her head with this guy. He’s bad news, Finn. I’m afraid she’s going to do something stupid and get herself in trouble. Something that could cost me my business or my kids. The business I could come back from, but I already lost our kids once, and I don’t think I could…” A muscle bobbed in his throat and his eyes shone, reflecting the streetlamp on the sidewalk. “I’m sorry,” he said in a choked voice. “For everything.”

  “I know.” I reached out, my hand held open in the space between us. It hung there for a moment before I felt Steven’s cold, calloused fingers in mine. I squeezed them. Not because I forgave him for doing what he’d done. But because this was a fear I understood. Because I shared it. Because of all the things I had to be afraid of right now, this was the one that terrified me most, too.

  Steven’s eyelids were heavy. With a gentle tug of my hand, he pulled my swing closer, until I could smell the liquor and fear and hopelessness on his breath. His head tipped, just enough to be an invitation. Just close enough for our foreheads to touch. It would be so easy to lean into him. It was all so familiar, something I could fall into without thinking. I lifted my feet, my fingers sliding from his as the swing pulled me back to its center.

  “Are you really dating an underwear model?” he asked through a sleepy, drunken grin.

  A smile tugged at my lips. “My attorney would probably advise me not to answer that.”

  Steven nodded. He kicked softly at the circle of dirt under his swing, making me wonder if he was jealous. Which made me wonder if that mattered to me.

  I stood up, pulling Steven from his swing, making sure he was steady on his feet before letting him go. “Come on,” I said, taking his keys from his pocket. “I’ll drive you home.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Steven’s key was a warm, satisfying weight in my pocket as I walked home from his town house. When I’d driven him home, I’d slipped his house key off his key ring. It had seemed only fair since he’d kept a copy of mine for a year. He’d wake up tomorrow morning and realize it was gone. He’d tell Theresa some bullshit story about how he lost it, and then he’d nag me about it until I gave in and eventually gave it back. Even if it was only temporary, the sense of control it gave me felt good, and the walk home in the fresh air gave me time to think.

  My shoes were soft on the sidewalk, fallen leaves crackling as the breeze tossed them over the light frost on the grass. I froze halfway across my yard, staring at the dark shape lying supine on my porch.

  “So tell me,” Nick said, leaning back on his elbows on my front steps, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “What’d you dig up?”

  I took a cautious step closer, only releasing my held breath when I caught the flicker of his smile. It billowed out in a white cloud as I sat down beside him.

  “You scared me to death,” I said, clutching my chest. “I didn’t see your car.”

  He gestured along the street, where the retired cruiser melted into the dark. “Sorry I couldn’t get here earlier. I was tied up. What’d you find out?”

  Keep it simple, I reminded myself. As close to the truth as you can. Just enough to keep him busy. “I think Theresa’s having an affair with one of her clients,” I said. “I think that’s who she was with that Tuesday night, and she doesn’t want Steven to find out.”

  “If Steven doesn’t know, how did you hear about it?”

  “Vero and I staked her out.”

  Nick’s lip curled with a wry smile, his laughter coarse and teasing. “A stakeout, huh? Did your sister teach you that?”

  “I’ve been on a few ride-alongs,” I said defensively. “I’m not a total amateur.”

  His teeth flashed white in the dark. “Okay, Detective. What did you see?”

  I ignored the playful twinkle in his eye. “She came out of her office with an attractive man. Well-dressed. Late thirties. Nice figure. Dark hair.”

  “And why do you assume they’re having an affair?”

  “Their good-bye was a little less than professional.”

  “How so?”

  “He kissed her cheek, whispered in her ear, and, according to Vero, he was picturing her naked.”

  His eyes fell over me with a cop’s scrutiny. “And what exactly does that look like?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Blood rushed to my cheeks. I was grateful he couldn’t see them in the dark.

  “So you don’t know for a fact that she’s having an affair with this client. Or that he’s a client at all. Or that she was definitely with him the night Harris disappeared.”

  “No, not exactly. But I talked to Steven tonight. He said she’s been spending a lot of time with this guy. He’s worried they’re sleeping together.”

  This earned a less skeptical nod. “Do you know the client’s name?”

  “No.” The longer Nick chased his tail trying to figure it out, the better.

  “What makes you so sure she wasn’t at the networking event?”

  “I checked out that networking group online—the one you said she was involved in. That group is full of real estate agents and mortgage brokers. She probably knows half the people who were in the bar that night. If she’d been there, someone would have remembered seeing her.” I watched his face for a reaction, certain I was right. Theresa was definitely not at The Lush that night. At least, she hadn’t been inside. Nick was sharp. He’d said it himself, he’d been doing this for a long time. He would have interviewed the people on the RSVP list first. And if she had been there, her colleagues would have confirmed it.

  A few days ago, Detective Anthony had been certain Theresa was guilty. Today, his confidence seemed shaky at best. All I had to do was wear it down and throw him off her scent.

  Nick sat up slowly, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I went back and talked to the bartender at The Lush tonight.”

  “Yeah?” I cleared the surprise from my throat. “What did he say?”

  “I showed him a photo of Theresa Hall. He said he didn’t think it was the same woman he’d talked to, but…” He shook his head, frowning at the lawn over steepled fingers.

  “But what?”

  “Before I showed him the photo, I told him why we were looking for her—that she was more than just a witness, but a person of interest in the case. He was cocky. Told me I was barking up the wrong tree, like it was no big deal.”

  “So?”

  “So he’s a law student, straight A’s and honors at GMU. Last summer, he interned with a staff attorney at the public defender’s office. He knew exactly what we were after. He just kept repeating the same story, insisting that he’d seen her leave the bar alone. But then I showed him Theresa’s photo, and something changed. He clammed up. Said he didn’t think it was her. But if it wasn’t the same woman in the photo, why was he so upset about it?”

  My stomach turned. Of course Julian was upset
. Because I’d lied to him. At the gym, he’d looked at me as if he wasn’t quite sure who I was. As if he wasn’t sure he knew me. He’d had no idea how on the mark he was. Vero was right. Even if I was foolish enough to call him to apologize, I’d be lucky if he’d ever speak to me again.

  I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. “You can’t seriously believe Theresa was involved in this.”

  “Until I have a reason to rule her out, yeah. I do.”

  I jammed my hands in my pockets, scraping my knuckles on the pointed teeth of Steven’s key. There had to be a way to throw Nick off Theresa’s scent. And mine.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Fine,” I said through a sigh, “just tired. It’s been a long night. Steven showed up about an hour ago, drunk out of his mind.”

  Nick’s posture grew rigid. An abrasive edge sharpened his voice. “You want me to put in for a restraining order? If he’s giving you a hard time, I can—”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. He just wanted to talk.” Steven had never been an angry drunk. If anything, it just brought his guard down and made him a little more honest. “I let him complain about Theresa for a while and then I drove him home.”

  Nick’s laugh was a low rumble in his chest. “If you ask me, the guy sounds like an idiot.”

  “Why, because he gets drunk and falls back on old habits?”

  “Because he let you go.”

  I hunched into my coat. “I guess he had his reasons.”

  “That’s no excuse.” Nick pressed his lips shut tight, as if he’d like to say more but wouldn’t.

  “Have you ever been married?” I had a hard time believing Nick had always been single.

  “Came close once.”

  “What happened?”

  He blew out a long frost-laden breath. “She changed her mind. I guess she didn’t want to be saddled with a cop for the rest of her life.”

  “Well, clearly she missed out.” He tipped his head, his crooked smile inviting me to elaborate. “According to Georgia, we should all marry cops for the health insurance.” His sudden burst of laughter creased the skin around his eyes. The silence in its wake felt loaded, heavy. I looked down at my feet.