Finlay Donovan Is Killing It

by Elle Cosimano

  I pulled Steven aside and said in a hushed voice, “You know Delia. She has no idea what she’s saying.”

  “Why do you all keep saying that?” Delia huffed.

  “Don’t forget to feed Christopher,” I called back to her.

  “Christopher?” Nick asked, leaning close enough for his breath to warm the shell of my ear as Steven glared at him.

  “Her goldfish,” I answered.

  Delia padded into the foyer and tugged on her father’s sleeve. “Can we go get Sam today?”

  Steven screwed up his face. “Who’s Sam?”

  “The doggy at the shelter.” She gazed up at him with pleading eyes. “Aaron told me I could adopt him. But Mommy said since Christopher already lives here, Sam will have to live at Theresa’s house.”

  Steven gritted his teeth. “She did, did she?”

  “We should go,” I said, surprised when Nick’s hand found the small of my back on the way to the door. He smirked, making a grand gesture of holding it open for me as I blew kisses to my kids and told them I’d see them on Monday. I saw Steven’s face watching us through the window as Nick opened the passenger-side door for me. In my rearview mirror, Mrs. Haggerty’s curtains fluttered like a ghost. Nick got in and started the car.

  “So,” he said, “tell me about this attorney.”

  * * *

  I spent most of the drive to the lab dodging Nick’s questions about my love life. Everything that came out of my mouth was the truth; I wasn’t dating an attorney. Not technically. Technically, I wasn’t dating Julian or Nick. But knowing Nick, he would probably investigate my claims himself. And I hoped that investigation wouldn’t take him back to The Lush.

  By the time we pulled into the parking lot, I was grateful for the distraction. Nick clipped a visitor badge to the collar of my shirt, then clipped one to his.

  “What are you expecting to find?” I asked as we crossed the bright two-story lobby of the regional forensics lab.

  Nick headed for a set of long, winding stairs, nodding at the lab techs as we passed and greeting them by name. He waited until they were out of earshot before answering. “When we tailed Feliks and Theresa, they drove to four different properties without stepping foot on a single one of them. They never even stopped the car. But there was soil and grass stuck to the undercarriage of Feliks’s Lincoln that day. Which means they’d been off-roading somewhere pretty recently.” Nick’s pace quickened as he climbed the stairs, his focus sharpening. “My guess is he’s found a piece of land already, or at least one he’s seriously interested in. If I can figure out where it is and how it’s zoned, I can probably guess what he’s planning to do with it. Or at least be one step ahead of him when he buys it.”

  “Why?”

  “Feliks never records the deeds in his own name. He uses straw men or dummy corporations, which makes his holdings harder to find. If I know what name he’s using as a front when he buys this lot, I might be able to use that information to track down a few others.”

  “And do what?”

  “Raid them. See what kind of dirt I can turn up.”

  “What does that have to do with Theresa and Harris Mickler?”

  “Maybe nothing. But I’d love to find a reason to bring Feliks into the station, stuff him in an interrogation room, and find out.”

  Nick’s long legs ate the stairs two at a time, his pace eager as we neared the top.

  “And the guys in the lab can figure all this out with a piece of dirt?” I asked, struggling to keep up.

  “I wasn’t sure. It seemed like a long shot, but the call I got this morning sounded promising.” Nick pushed open a door and held it open for me. He led us to a lab at the end of the hall and rapped on the window glass. A tech in a white coat waved us inside.

  “Hey,” the tech said, meeting us halfway into the room and extending his hand to me. “Finlay Donovan, wow!” His handshake was enthusiastic and more than a little sweaty.

  “I’m sorry,” I said with a puzzled glance at Nick, then back at the tech. He was young, cute in a geeky, awkward sort of way. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Even when I could see through them more clearly, I couldn’t place how we knew each other. “And you are?”

  “Oh, right!” He shook his head, giving himself a playful slap on the forehead. “Sorry, I’m Peter. We’ve never met. But Georgia’s told me all about you. I’m a huge fan, actually.” He wiped his palm on his lab coat, his ears flushing pink. He snuck a peek at Nick and leaned toward my ear, confiding in a low voice, “I’ve read your books.”

  “Oh! So you must be the one.” I laughed as Peter’s face fell. “I’m kidding.” I pitched my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “There are at least two of you.” The corner of Peter’s lip pulled up with an uncertain smile. “Seriously, I’m kidding.”

  He released a nervous laugh. “Nick told me you might be coming. I was wondering if you’d sign an autograph?”

  “Sure,” I said through a blush. No one outside my family had ever asked me for an autograph before. “Why not?”

  Nick gave a reticent shrug, but I could tell he was anxious to get what we’d come for and his patience was wearing thin. Peter pulled a dog-eared paperback and a Sharpie from the pocket of his lab coat. Nick glanced at the bulging pecs of the model on the cover and heaved an impatient sigh as I scribbled a quick signature in it. Peter studied my face as I handed him back his book.

  “You don’t look anything like your picture,” he said, thumbing to my bio page. “You know, the one in the back of the book? You’re blond in your photo. And with the dark glasses, it’s sort of hard to see your face.” He held up the photo, scrutinizing my features against my headshot. My scalp itched, and I tucked my hair behind my ear. “If I didn’t know you were coming, I totally wouldn’t have recognized you.” I avoided looking at Nick as he glanced over Peter’s shoulder at my photo, then checked his watch. “You probably wear a disguise so you won’t be recognized in public and get swarmed by your fans, right?”

  “Right,” I said with a nervous laugh. Or be recognized when I’m abducting scary rapists from bars, breaking into real estate offices, or taking contracts to kill problem husbands while eating cheesecake in Panera. Through all of this, I had never stopped to consider that my headshot—which appeared in every copy of my books—was now an incriminating piece of evidence against me. Or that Nick could use it to place me at The Lush.

  “Georgia said you have a new book coming out. I can’t wait to read it. If you ever have forensic questions, I’m your guy. I’ve always wanted to—”

  “Pete,” Nick barked. Pete turned, as if only just remembering Nick was there. “Do you have something for me?”

  “Oh, yeah! You’re not going to believe this.” I released a held breath as Peter tucked my book back in his pocket and waved us toward a lab table. A wad of muddy grass sat in a specimen dish beside a microscope. He pushed up his glasses, his dark eyes brimming with excitement. “So, normally,” he explained, “this would be a monumental feat you’ve asked me to pull off, and the best I would be able to do would be to narrow the sample down to a particular growing region—like, maybe a few counties, or even states—but never a specific piece of property. However,” he said with a dramatic pause, “in this case, the grass you found is pretty rare.”

  Nick leaned in. “How rare?”

  “Like…” Pete’s eyes rolled up as if he were calculating in his head, the way Vero often did, “really rare. It’s a variation of a popular fescue, but this specific variety is new, so it hasn’t been widely used in this part of the mid-Atlantic. The sample you grabbed contained a layer of topsoil, and the combination of industrial-grade fertilizers and pesticides I found suggests it was professionally maintained. So I pulled up a list of seed distributors and used that to track down a list of companies in the mid-Atlantic that recently purchased it. There are three possible matches in Virginia. But only one of them hits all the criteria you gave me—west of the airport, east of Int
erstate 81.”

  Peter handed Nick a piece of paper.

  Nick’s brow pulled down, his posture becoming rigid as he read the report. He frowned, uncharacteristically quiet as he folded it and slipped it into the breast pocket of his coat.

  “Wait,” I said, curious about the reason for Peter’s excitement. “What did it say?”

  Nick turned me by the shoulders and directed me with a firm hand toward the door. “Thanks, Pete. Gotta go.”

  Pete’s smile crumbled. “Wait, you’re leaving? But there’s more.”

  “I’ll call you later,” Nick said over his shoulder.

  “Bye, Finlay!” Pete called after me. “It was great meeting you!”

  I didn’t get a chance to reply. Nick applied a steady pressure to the small of my back, ushering me to the head of the stairs.

  “Where are we going?” I clutched the rail to keep from slipping on my heels.

  “I’m taking you home. There’s something I need to check out.” His gait was tense and quick, his low voice rumbling like a revved engine.

  “What did you find?” Whatever it was, it must have been important. “Why won’t you tell me?” I asked, chasing him down the stairs.

  “Because I’ve already told you too much.”

  I stopped in the middle of the lobby, arms crossed stubbornly over my chest as he barreled toward the glass doors, his car keys already in his hand. “If this is because of last night, I’m fine. You don’t have to protect me from Feliks or his goons.”

  He doubled back and took me firmly by the elbow, hauling me toward the door. “You weren’t fine. I’m taking you home. I made a mistake. I don’t want you anywhere near this investigation.”

  I planted my heels, pulling him up short. “If you didn’t want me involved, you wouldn’t have brought me along.” A muscle tensed in his cheek. “You found something in that report you don’t want me to know. Didn’t you?”

  He raked a hand through his dark hair and swore under his breath.

  “You’ve told me everything else about this case. Why not this? Why not now?”

  He pressed a finger to his lips, casting anxious looks around us. “Because I thought we could help each other,” he said, struggling to keep his voice down. “You wanted proof that Theresa is unfit for custody, and I wanted to arrest her. But this isn’t just about Theresa anymore.”

  “You’re right. It’s not. And after what Feliks tried to do to me last night, I think I deserve to know.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and loosed a heavy sigh. “It’s better if you don’t.”

  “You can’t shut me out! You said it yourself, I already know too—”

  “Steven’s farm,” he surrendered in a low voice. “The grass on Feliks’s Lincoln came from your ex-husband’s farm.”

  I fell back a step. Of all the things I’d expected to hear, this wasn’t it.

  “There has to have been some mistake,” I said through a tight throat. “Theresa would never have been stupid enough to take her fling to Steven’s farm.”

  “You’re assuming they were there for personal reasons. What if it was business?”

  Ms. Hall and I share a purely professional relationship.

  That’s what Feliks had said. But that made even less sense. “Steven just bought the farm last year. It’s not for sale.”

  “If it isn’t for sale, what was Feliks doing there?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that.

  “Now do you understand why I didn’t want to tell you? If I can prove Feliks was conducting illicit business on Steven’s farm, and if a lawyer can prove you or your kids stand to benefit in any way from that business, then your involvement compromises the whole case.”

  “My involvement already compromises your case,” I argued. “No one has to know.”

  “Feliks knows, and he can use it against me in court.”

  “He can’t prove I know anything about your case. I told him we were romantically involved.”

  There was a challenge in the dark shine of Nick’s eyes. “Are you going to tell your ex the same thing when we roll up on his farm?”

  So that’s where Nick was going. To the farm. I could either let him drop me off at home and spend the rest of the day wondering what he’d found there, or I could make him take me along.

  “He won’t be there,” I said, my legs a little unsteady at the thought. “He’s got the kids.”

  Nick chewed his lip as he studied me, his knuckles white on his hips. He pitched his voice low. “I can do this without you, Finlay. The less you know, the better off we both are.”

  I wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, him or me. The only thing I knew for certain was that Harris Mickler was buried on that farm, and I couldn’t let Nick find him. “I’m coming with you.” I snatched the keys from his hand before he could object. If Nick was going anywhere near that farm, I’d be damned if he was going without me.

  CHAPTER 36

  “You’re sure Steven isn’t here?” Nick was wound tight as a drum as he turned down the long gravel drive into the farm. My own stomach was already tangled in knots, and the ruts in the road weren’t helping matters. I swallowed the urge to be sick on the floor mats of his car.

  “He has the kids until Monday.”

  “Is anyone else here?”

  I recognized the red VW bug parked in front of the sales trailer. “Bree. She works in the office.”

  “Does she know you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then this’ll be easy,” Nick said, swinging his car into the space beside Bree’s and slinging open his door. “Follow my lead.”

  A pit opened in my stomach as I followed him to the trailer. He held the door open for me, but I lingered just outside. “Should we be here?” I whispered. “I mean, shouldn’t we have a warrant or something?”

  “I’m just in the market for some sod.” He pasted on a wholesome smile and directed me inside.

  Bree looked up from her computer. “Hey, Mrs. Donovan! It’s so good to see you. But Steven’s not in.” Her head cocked as if I should have known. “He’s off today.”

  “I know. He’s got the kids. They’re probably at the animal shelter looking at puppies.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet.” She clutched her heart. I could practically hear her ovaries exploding. Nick raised an eyebrow. I gave a short nod in answer.

  He suppressed a wry grin and introduced himself. “I’m a friend of Ms. Donovan.” He placed a particular emphasis on my honorific, his hand moving to my lower back, a little lower than it had before in the lab. Bree’s eyes followed it, and I could see her tuck that morsel of information away. “I’m looking to dress up my yard, and Finlay tells me you’ve got quite a nice selection of sod.”

  “We sure do.” She dragged open a file drawer. “I’d be happy to get you a brochure.”

  “Actually, a buddy of mine recommended something called Blue Sheep’s Fescue. Do you carry it here?”

  “We do, actually. But we’ve sold through our very first batch of it, so it’s all been spoken for. A developer preordered the entire lot over the summer.”

  “So you all haven’t sold any of it anywhere else?” he asked. I stepped on Nick’s toe. Bree might be young, but she wasn’t naive about everything.

  “Not yet,” she said. “But we’ll be seeding another lot in the spring. I can get you pricing if you’d like to order some.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’d like to take a look at it first, if you wouldn’t mind. You said you have some growing here?” His fingers curled around my waist. A bead of sweat trailed down my side, and I hoped he couldn’t feel it through my shirt.

  “We sure do. I’d be happy to take you out and show you. Let me just put a note on the door in case anyone stops by while we’re gone.” Bree opened her desk drawer and withdrew a pack of heart-shaped sticky notes before Nick stopped her.

  “I can’t ask you to do that. You’re the only one here, and I’d hate to pull you away from yo
ur desk. If you tell me where it is, I can find it myself.”

  Bree seemed relieved. She dug around in her file drawer and fished out a photocopied map of the farm. I gnawed on my thumbnail as she marked the dirt road with a pink highlighter, pointing out the square of land Nick was searching for … the plot directly across the gravel road from Harris Mickler’s body.

  “Mrs. Donovan … err … Ms. Donovan knows the way,” Bree said, correcting herself as she handed Nick the map. She turned to me and said, “You’ve driven past it before, Ms. Donovan. It’s the very last field before the rear entrance, across from the big fallow plot. The grass you’re looking for has a blueish tint to it. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks, Bree. You’ve been very helpful.” Nick took me by the hand and led me to the door. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

  His shoes crunched over the parking lot in giant, fervent bites. I cracked the window as soon as we were in the car, sweat building behind my knees and under my arms.

  “Your ex is a real piece of work.” He glanced up at his rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing on something behind us. “I’ll probably catch hell for this, and I should probably feel guilty about it, but I don’t.” He leaned across the console, took my face in both hands, and kissed me. It was the kind of quick, hot kiss that would have made my toes curl if I wasn’t so busy wondering how I would look wearing his handcuffs and a pair of orange coveralls. I shoved him back with a firm hand to his chest.

  “What was that for?” I asked, flushed and breathless.

  “That was for Bree. Because she’s watching out the window right now. And since Mrs. Haggerty hasn’t seen anything quite so newsworthy, I figured someone should tell Steven we’re involved and back up our story. As far as anyone is concerned, we were here on personal business.” His smile was a little crooked. “Let’s go pick out some sod for my house.”

  My chest felt tight as he put the car in gear, the air thin as his sedan bounced down the long dirt road through the fields, kicking up brown clouds of dust. Nick parked before we reached the end, just within sight of the line of cedars surrounding the property line of the farm. Behind them, I could just make out the narrow rural road Vero and I had used to get here the night we’d buried Harris.