In Finn's Heart (Fighting Connollys #3)

by Roxie Rivera

  "Like. Fucking. Hell." He ground out each word between clenched teeth. "I'm not some puppet on strings you can yank whenever you feel like it."

  The Russian didn't say a word. He crossed the distance between them in deliberate steps, each one slow and carefully placed, and his movements disturbingly fluid. Finn had thought that Kostya was the most dangerous man in this room, but now he wondered if he hadn't been wrong. The intimidating tattoos covering the man's hands and neck warned Finn not to push too hard with this one. He was outmanned and outgunned. This wasn't a battle he could win.

  Nikolai stopped a few feet from him and clasped his hands behind his back. "Do you love your family?"

  His eyes narrowed with irritation. The voice inside his head urging him to be careful was snuffed out upon hearing that subtle warning. "I will tell you this once and only once. Don't threaten my family." He noticed the two soldiers move forward fractionally, their expressions taut, but he paid them little attention. "You might scare the piss out of everyone else, but I spit in Death's face when a bunch of coward terrorists blew me up on the side of some shithole road outside Gardez. Don't think for one fucking second that I'll hesitate to spit in yours."

  The Russian's eyes flashed. "You say you've seen war. Well there's a war coming to Houston. Unless you want to see it rage on the streets of this city where your family and mine live, I need your help."

  The tension left Finn's shoulders. "What kind of help?"

  "The cartel is fractured. Lorenzo Guzman is scrambling to stay in power. There's word that he's going to order a hit on someone important in the city. I need to know who that person is."

  "So you can save them?"

  Nikolai waited four long seconds to answer. "If saving their life furthers my position and keeps the city quiet? Yes."

  At least the Russian hadn't lied to him. "So you want me to betray a fucking cartel?"

  "I want you to survive, Mr. Connolly. If you tell the cartel no, they'll kill you, your brothers, their girlfriends, their girlfriends' families and everyone who ever made you happy. If you say yes, you feed the information to me, and I'll protect you and the people you love."

  His final words spoken, Nikolai nodded and exited the barn. The bigger of his two soldiers hefted up the body while the other one gathered the rifle. Left alone with Kostya, he eyed the man with distrust. Kostya extended a plain business card with a phone number printed on it. Finn reluctantly accepted it.

  "When you've heard from the cartel, call me. I'll arrange meeting spots for us to discuss whatever you learn. Buy some burner cells. Get rid of them after we talk."

  "And if you need to contact me?" Finn didn't know how he would do that if he tossed a phone every time he finished a call.

  "That won't be a problem. I can find anyone in this city." Kostya said it with a ghost of a smile, but it sounded like a thinly veiled threat.

  Left alone at the barn, Finn didn't dally. He slid behind the wheel of his truck and got the hell out of there. His mind raced in five different directions. Agree to take a job for a cartel? Betray a bunch of bloodthirsty narco-bastards? Say no to Nikolai Kalasnikov and bring the fury of the Russian mob down on his head?

  Finn still hadn't made up his mind when he reached the house. He let himself inside, locked the door and reset the alarm. He passed by the living room on his way to the stairs but backtracked when he felt his father's presence there. The old man had taken to sitting in the dark late at night to stare out the front window. The reasons why evaded Finn.

  "You all right, Pop?" He leaned against the door frame and waited for his father's answer.

  "Just thinking, boy."

  "About?"

  "Nothing that you need to worry your head over," Nick Connolly gently shot back. "How was your date?"

  "Fine."

  His father made a rumbling sound. "You headed to bed?"

  "Soon," Finn said, coming into the living room to take the chair next to the old man's. "Jack is staying with Abby tonight. I went ahead and set the alarm." He thought of the threat against them. "We should probably be more diligent about using that thing."

  "Why?" He couldn't see his father's face, but he could hear the curiosity in his voice.

  "We pay a lot of money for that service. We should use it."

  "Bullshit. What aren't you telling me?"

  Finn rubbed his hand back and forth over the upholstery stretched across the arm of his chair. "What if you were given a chance to save your family, but it meant you had to go against everything you believed in?"

  "I'm the wrong man to ask that question, son. I'm a selfish old bastard who put the bottle, cards, whores and horses before my family." His father rose from his chair, his arthritic knees creaking and popping. A strong hand settled on his shoulder. "But you? You're just honorable enough to get yourself killed doing the right thing."

  He listened to the old man shuffle out of the living area and slowly climb the stairs. Gazing out the window into the darkness of the night, Finn blew out a rough breath. There would be no sleep tonight, but he was sure of a beautiful sunrise.

  Chapter Four

  I bolted awake to the crash of cymbals and the outrageously brassy swell of an orchestra. Blinking and trying to catch my breath, I recognized the melody and groaned. Dropping back to the mattress, I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. Seven in the morning was too damned early for Wagner. The sounds of Elsa's Procession to the Cathedral were never a good thing in close proximity to Coby. It meant one thing and only one thing.

  Death.

  Rubbing my hands down my face, I sat up and tossed back the covers. I grabbed my thin cotton robe from the end of the bed and slipped into it, covering up my tank and shorts as I fastened the belt. I ducked into my bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face but didn't bother getting dressed.

  Before leaving my bedroom, I opened the second drawer on my desk and withdrew the gift I had put together for Coby. Her Navy SEAL father had been gone nine years now, but she still grieved the loss. She let herself wallow in it on his birthday and only his birthday. Unfortunately for me, Jacob Taggart was probably the only SEAL in the world who adored Wagner and especially Lohengrin.

  With the small package clamped in my hand, I followed the sounds of Elsa's Procession across the penthouse to Coby's bedroom and her adjoining office and studio. She had the door closed, but the music was ungodly loud. I knocked twice, and she turned it down a little before opening the door. Still wearing her usual club attire, she looked tired and rumpled. Her cobalt blue T-shirt emblazoned with the periodic table symbol for the element she used as her stage name had a stain on the front. Ketchup, maybe? The childish watch she wore looked too big for her wrist, and her hot pink and canary yellow fingernails were chipped and in sore need of a polish change.

  "Sorry," she said and bit her lip. "I didn't think it was that loud."

  "That's because you're ruining your ears at all those clubs and music festivals you play." I trailed her into the studio and dropped down on the cushy loveseat there. I set aside the box for now. "You're going to lose your hearing by the time you're thirty."

  She rolled her sea blue eyes and tugged the purple elastic free from the sloppy bun she had at the back of her head. Combing her fingers through her dark hair, she gathered it high and secured it in a neater ponytail. Motioning toward the box of Mexican pastries from the Marquez bakery we both loved, she said, "I brought breakfast."

  Never one to turn down a yummy start to the day, I opened the box and picked out the biggest, prettiest concha. The first bite of the yeasty, airy bread was heavenly, especially that crunch of pink sugary paste crowning the seashell-like markings on top. Seated on the floor and surrounded by old records, Coby picked out one of the dark brown little pigs sprinkled with sugar and nibbled at it. "So how did the doctor visit go?"

  My mouth full, I gave her a thumbs-down.

  "And the date?"

  Holding my pastry between my teeth, I gave her two thumbs-up.

&
nbsp; She grinned and waggled her eyebrows. Grabbing a can of that crazy caffeinated energy drink she loved from the stack near her desk, she popped the top and took a long drink.

  "That shit is going to kill you," I warned with all seriousness. "You cannot survive off of sugar and caffeine, Coby."

  "I eat real food."

  "When?"

  "On Sundays when I go to dinner at your parents' house," she answered like a real smartass. "Now, tell me about the doctor."

  I explained the situation to her. "So I'm going in for testing early on Tuesday morning."

  "I'll go with you."

  "You sure? It's early."

  "I don't spin on Monday nights. Even if I did, I would still be there for you."

  Of course she would. Even if my best friend's personal life was a total shambles, she always kept her word. "I'm glad you'll be there."

  Coby put aside her drink and puerquito and grasped my hand. "We'll get through this, Hadley. You know Bee will fly back in an instant too."

  "I don't want to tell her yet. My family either," I added quickly. "Ally's quinceañera is Saturday. I want her to have a perfect party without all this crap," I motioned toward my chest with the pastry, "hanging over it like a black cloud of doom."

  "I understand." Coby wouldn't breathe a word of this to anyone. "Now—what happened with the Connolly brother? And don't leave out the good parts! And by good parts I mean the dirty bits."

  I laughed. "There were no dirty bits last night."

  She pouted. "Lame."

  "It was our first date."

  "What is this? The nineteenth century?"

  "He came back here with me after we dropped off Mattie and Ellie."

  "Ooh! And?"

  "We kissed."

  "And?" She sat forward excitedly.

  "And that was it."

  She pouted again. "Just one kiss?"

  "Er…not exactly."

  "Ha! Knew it! So…how was the kissing?"

  "Good."

  "Just good?"

  "Fantastic," I allowed, my lips buzzing with the phantom sensation of Finn's pressed against them. I had gone to sleep with my arms wrapped around a pillow last night, all the while thinking about Finn's strong arms holding me tight.

  "Yes!" She practically bounced up and down on the floor. "Is this the start of something really awesome?"

  "I don't know."

  "What! You've been lusting after this guy for more than a month. He ran through gunfire to save you and rolled in glass to keep you from getting cut. Now he's kissed you—and you're not sure?"

  "My heart," I pointed out the obvious.

  "What about it?"

  "It's crapping out on me again. This isn't a good time to get involved."

  "Oh for the love of—Hadley!" Popping up onto her knees in sheer consternation, Coby forced me to look at her. "Chica, there is no perfect time to get involved with someone. There's always going to be a reason not to get into a relationship if you go looking hard enough. Look, you like this guy, and he likes you. The two of you had a great night, right?"

  "Yes."

  "If he asks you out again, you say yes, or I'm going to play Wagner around the clock for, like, ten weeks straight."

  Her threat was real. She would totally do it to me. Laughing softly, I nodded. "All right. But, actually, I've already asked him out."

  "Hey now! That's awfully progressive of you."

  I thumped her with my fingers. "We're going to the fundraiser tonight."

  Coby's pinched expression worried me. "Um…what about your dad?"

  My eyes widened, and I nearly fell off the loveseat. In the heat of the moment, I had forgotten all about my parents attending the fundraiser. "Shit."

  "Yeah. Won't you all be sitting at the same table?"

  "Yes." I cringed at the thought of poor Finn having to sit near my dad who had threatened to have him arrested and thrown in jail for saving me.

  "Well, I mean, he has to meet the family eventually," Coby said, searching for a positive spin. "You may as well do it in public."

  "Why?"

  "Your dad can't punch him at a fundraiser. There's too much publicity."

  I laughed. "Fair point."

  "You know," Coby resumed munching on her breakfast, "if the fundraiser goes well, you should invite him to the quinceañera."

  "You think?" I had been considering that all night. "It's not too early to do a big family thing like that?"

  She shrugged. "He can say no if he's not comfortable. If he goes, he can sit with me in the back of the church while you do all the ceremony stuff up front."

  "Maybe," I said uncertainly. Not wanting to dwell on the uncertain state of my love life, I reached for the box and handed it to her. "Here."

  She took it from me with some suspicion. "What's this?"

  "It's a gift."

  "What? Like a birthday gift for my dead dad?"

  "No." I rolled my eyes. "Nothing so morbid. It's something I thought you would like for remembering him."

  Her curiosity clearly piqued, Coby untied the ribbon and opened the box. I heard her intake of breath when she discovered the one-of-a-kind comic book inside. She carefully retrieved it from the box and ran her fingers across the glossy front. Grinning, she turned the pages to see the drawings inside. She looked at me with watery eyes. "How?"

  "You have all those pictures in your bedroom, and you've told me the stories about him a million times. I came up with a story of my own, a happy one."

  Coby reached the final page. She scanned the pages and ended on the final drawing. She traced her finger over the image of a younger version of her running into her father's outstretched arms. "Home," she said, repeating the caption. Lifting her teary eyes, she smiled at me. "Thank you."

  Gulping down the emotion that threatened to make me start crying, I nodded simply. "You're welcome."

  She stared at the last page. "Sometimes I wish I could tell you how much your friendship has meant to me. Words just aren't enough."

  "They are." I leaned forward and took her hand. We're like sisters so I don’t need her to say the words. Smiling at her, I read the answer on her face. "I know."

  * * *

  Growling at his reflection in the mirror, Finn struggled with the stupid bowtie that refused to come together neatly. He swore loudly and ripped it free for the tenth time. He was wrapping it around his neck and seriously thinking of strangling himself with it when a shadow fell over him.

  Glancing at the mirror, he spotted Connall Munro standing in the open doorway of the bathroom. He had arrived earlier that afternoon, dog tired after a series of flights from the war-torn hell of Sudan where he had been on one of his high-paid mercenary jobs. His weariness had been replaced with an amused expression that contorted his badly scarred face.

  A giant who stood a full foot taller than Finn, the imposing Scotsman had been blasted by the same IED that had nearly killed him. It hadn't been a US convoy that he and his spotter had hitched a ride with after completing their mission. It had been one of their allies who had picked them up to cart them to safety.

  An SAS Captain, Conn and his small team had also been hitchhikers on that ill-fated convoy. Over their many deployments to Afghanistan, the two men had worked together a handful of times. Finn had been glad to see the abrasive brute when he had hopped onto that truck. It was a comforting feeling to have capable men at his sides.

  Conn had lost four good men in the blasts and firefight. Even with half his face burned off, the Scottish beast had fought like a warrior and had refused help until every badly injured man had been treated and evacuated. It was Conn's trauma dressings and hastily improvised tourniquets that had saved Finn's life.

  "Jesus," Conn growled and stalked into the small bathroom. He jerked the strip of fabric from Finn's hand. "Give me that. I'm sick and tired of listening to your moaning. Now turn around."

  Finn did as instructed and stared at the snarling wolf image stretched across the T-shirt covering Co
nn's broad chest. "I thought you were sleeping."

  "Fucking hard to do that when it sounds like you're wrestling a bear in here, mate."

  "Sorry."

  "Learn to tie your own bowtie so you don't have to be sorry next time." In true Conn fashion, he ignored the apology and spouted off advice instead. His scarred hands made surprisingly quick work of the delicate procedure. "Cross, up and loop. Double over. Loop. Double over again. Poke through the loop. Tug. Adjust. Done."

  Finn marveled at Conn's speed. He turned around and inspected the elegant handiwork of such a deadly man. "Where did you learn this?"

  "Parents put me in one of those posh schools," he grumbled. "Some things you never forget."

  "Well, thanks, man. I appreciate it."

  Conn waved his hand and left the bathroom. Finn gave himself one final glance to make sure his waistcoat covered his suspenders and the pleats of his cummerbund were flat before following Conn. He grabbed his tuxedo jacket and wallet from his bedroom and headed downstairs. He found Conn in the kitchen making a pot of coffee. The real estate section of the newspaper sat on the round table there. A few of the listings had been circled. Finn took a moment to look at them and was heartened to see his father was making an effort to find a new place.

  Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, Finn snatched his keys from the peg by the side door. "I'll be home late, but I've got my cell on me if you need anything."

  Leaning back against the counter, Conn arched his brows. "I didn't realize the free room and board came with babysitting too."

  "Don't be an ass." Finn headed for the door. "You're in a strange new city, and you've just come off a bloody, violent job in a place no sane person wants to visit. I thought you might like to know that I'm here if you need anything."

  "Aye," Conn said finally. "I know." A moment later, he gruffly added, "I appreciate your help."

  "I know you do." Finn left the house and climbed into his truck. He flexed his thigh and grimaced at the unfamiliar weight and feel of the highly polished black oxford enclosing his prosthetic foot. He was used to the lighter weight and the harder grip of the rubber soles of his sneakers and boots. Making a mental note to take care if he came across any marble floors, he backed out of the driveway.