by Shea Godfrey
Finn threw her head back and laughed. She met his eyes with her own fire. “He did not say that, and don’t you fucking lie about it.”
Declan laughed, as well. “I’m just saying. He can’t get mad at you.”
“And why would that possibly be the case? Don’t be ridiculous.”
Declan’s right hand took hold of her left and he laced his fingers between hers. “Because you’re Finnegan.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Not to you.”
“There was only one girl in Rome.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Finn leaned over and put her head on his shoulder. “It’s true. Marco likes to talk.”
“He adores you.”
“I can be crazy with him.”
“I know. I like that.”
“You’re not mad?”
“God, no.” Declan laughed quietly. “I have a lot more free time now.”
“Asshole.”
Declan leaned down and tried to see her eyes. “You can be hard to keep up with, Finn.”
She thought about his words, and she knew they were true. “I’m sorry, Dec.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he replied in a quiet voice, just for her. “I know you’re angry. I know it, Finn. Not just about Dad, but…but about where your place is. You’ve always worried more about that than I have.”
Finn let out a faint snort of laughter. “That’s because I’m a butch lesbian, Declan, who’d rather fight my way out of a dress shop than ever consider actually wearing a dress.”
Declan chuckled and the sound was warmhearted and familiar. “I would so pay to see that. You know that, right?”
“You should’ve come to Rome with us, then.”
“Don’t tease me, and that is what I meant, by the way.”
“What?”
“About you. I meant, I don’t worry as much about your place in the world as you do.”
“This should be good.”
“The things that scare you are definitely not the concerns of most people. When you move through the world, you’re Finnegan, you know? And if someone wants to fuck with you, they usually think three or four times before making their move. And it’s not because they know you, it’s because of the way you stand. You’re not scared of them.”
“I’m not scared of an ass kicking, so no.”
“But you’re scared of someone believing that you’re less deserving than everyone else, because you’re a butch lesbian who’s willing to fight her way out of a fucking dress shop.”
Finn laughed. “Thank you, Dr. Adler, for that insightful analysis of my inferiority issues.”
“That, my darling, is not what I was saying, either.”
“What if Thomasino says no?”
His hand tightened around hers and she returned the pressure. “Then I guess we’ll find another way to be together.”
“Don’t run. It’ll be too dangerous for her, for the both of you.”
“If we run from him, Finn, we won’t ever run from you. Not ever. I promise.”
Finn looked into the distance and saw the car approaching along the back road to the estate. It was a black convertible Alfa Romeo, with a badass white racing stripe that ran up the hood and down the back. “I think your ride’s here.” She sat up, and he let go of her hand as he pushed from the wall. “Declan?”
He shoved the ring box into the pocket of his faded Levi’s and looked up at her.
“Dad would be so very proud of you. You know that, right?”
“I hope so.”
“You know how I know?”
He considered her question. “How?”
“Because I’m so very proud of you, and he liked you a hell of a lot more than I do.”
Declan’s smile lit up his face. “You’ll find her, you know.”
Finn’s brow went up a bit. “Find who?”
“Your girl,” he answered. “I just saw it now, like it was the next pitch. She’ll be a curveball, and she’ll bend away from you, but that’s just because she’s scared. She’ll come back around, so, you know, don’t be mad at her. Be extra sweet to her instead, okay? Make her smile.”
Chapter Thirty-one
San Francisco
Present day
Casey walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, which was empty but for the beer and the leftover Charlemagne Grand Cru.
She stared at the emptiness of it and immediately pushed back at the fear. They had gone to a twenty-four-hour bodega the night before and bought fresh fruit and warm Greek bread, and a cake that had tasted like heaven.
Finn had emptied her fridge.
Casey let the door close and turned back into the loft. Pick up your phone, my love.
“So who was he?” Malik asked again as he walked to the counter.
“Asher James was the man who raised me. My parents were killed when I was three, maybe four, Asher was never sure,” Casey explained. “He claimed he was my uncle, but there were things that never added up, and by the time I was old enough to understand, I didn’t care. He was the best man I’ve ever known, and we were a family, and we loved each other. The home I was in before that, when he found me, I don’t remember it well, if at all. We never spoke of it.”
“It was Asher James who led Finn to Dimitrovich and Arshavin, and to you, I suppose.”
“No,” Casey said quietly and looked to her left. “He wouldn’t have done that to me.”
Casey took a step to the side and grabbed up the envelope that sat atop the marble counter. Her name was on it, written in dark blue ink. She assumed it was Finn’s handwriting, but she realized she had never actually seen Finn’s handwriting.
Casey’s fingertips drifted over the letters. I’m going to fix that, baby, you’ll see.
She slipped a finger beneath the flap and it popped open.
Casey’s hands trembled as she pulled a folded piece of paper from the envelope and flipped it open. Finn’s penmanship was lovely and Casey felt like crying all over again.
Dear Cassandra Marinos,
I couldn’t wait for you to get back with the coffee—I’m sorry. I hope you’re not mad.
The box that Johann is holding is for you, from your Papa.
Casey lifted her eyes and found Finn’s cello case across the room, braced across the arms of the chair Finn had occupied when she had so easily opened the doors of Casey’s heart. The doors Casey hadn’t even known were there, much less locked so tightly. On top of the case, a black lacquered box waited with patience, as it must have waited for years now, since Asher’s death, waiting for her arrival. She returned to her letter.
I knew Asher James, and he was my dear friend. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was a coward. But from your first smile, that smile that was given only to me, I’ve been trying to find you again. And once I did, well, I’ve been terrified you would slip away, as you did one night in Monte Carlo. It turns out, while I was searching for three different women, all of them were actually you. And you should know I can explain that later, if you’d like.
Asher never gave you up, but then, you already know that. It turns out he didn’t have to, for I have a long memory. Long enough for all of us, I suppose.
I made a promise that I have to keep. I made several promises, actually. If things go smoothly with the first two, I’d like to keep the third, which I made to you. I’d like to tell you everything.
And I must ask you again to please forgive me, my love.
Forgive me for not being here to kiss you upon your return. The taste of plums cooked in sugar and distilled wine are but a shadow of the sweetness contained upon your lips. And I will give this up for no one, but should you find my love lacking in something that you need.
I love you, Casey. I have no words to describe how much. Declan would find that extremely amusing, just so you know.
With all my heart, I remain only yours,
Finnegan O’Connell
Postscriptum: I also like sunsets an
d long walks on the beach, if this turns out to be your thing.
Postquam post scriptum: Here’s the picture from my wallet. The light is perfect, but I can’t see your ass in this one.
Casey let out a breath of laughter and wiped at her eyes before she pulled the photo from the envelope. She stared at it for a long moment, and then she laughed again.
“What is it?”
“You need to answer a few questions for me, Malik, all right?”
“Yeah, I can do that, but”—he gestured toward the photo she held—“what is it?”
Casey pulled the photo and the letter to her chest with both hands. She knew he would never take them away, but she felt possessive regardless. She had never actually received a love letter before. Finnegan O’Connell, I’m going to make a complete mess of your fine ass.
Casey smiled. “It’s a picture of my damn cat.”
* * *
“Finnegan?”
Finn sucked in a huge breath, blinked, and then released a groan of pain. “Holy shit.”
Theresina Lazarini smiled down at her and touched her face. “That was truly fucking balls out, Finn, I have to say it.”
Finn grimaced, shifted her shoulders, and took another deep breath. She wheezed slightly and her left knee came up as she coughed from deep within her chest. Theresina’s hand was on her shoulder and held her secure. Finn took another breath, but the urge to cough was gone.
“You’ve been out for a little while. I think you should breathe through your nose.”
“Is that going to help?”
Sina smiled. “I have no idea.”
“So I’m not dead?”
“No.”
“Am I on the floor?”
“Yes.”
“Is he still here?”
“No. I told him you were dead and he went back to bed.”
Finn blinked a few times. “That’s nice…did you give him a cookie?”
“I sent Mary up with coffee and biscuits, smart-ass.”
“Ms. Lazarini? You have a phone call on your reserved line,” a voice interrupted.
“Don’t move yet, Finn, okay?”
“But I still have to pee.”
Sina smiled as she got to her feet. “Shut up.” She held out her hand as her secretary stepped forward and handed her the cell. “This is Theresina Lazarini.”
Finn considered the area that was currently experiencing pain to be about the size of a cast-iron frying pan, with the handle reaching down toward her belly button. She wasn’t sure what that was about, but she wasn’t enjoying it. Sina turned around smoothly and looked down at her with a surprised, intense look.
Finn stared back at her and breathed through her nose.
“How did you get this number?”
Finn frowned, but Sina ignored her while she listened. She smiled in a lovely manner and stepped back to her desk. “No, I can assure you that’s not the case, but I understand your concern.”
Finn leaned to the left a little and used her elbow to push herself up, letting out a hiss at the discomfort. She looked down and pulled at her shirt. The top three buttons were already undone and she ran her hand over the surface of her vest.
Sina picked up a pen and began to write. “Yes, I can make that. I was already on my way out, in just a bit.”
Finn pried the bullet from the vest and looked at it. How’s that for a souvenir, old man?
“No, actually, I’m looking forward to it.”
Finn slipped the bullet into the front pocket of her jeans and looked up at Sina. “I wasn’t kidding about having to use the bathroom.”
“I’ll see you there.” Sina hung up and held the phone out. Her secretary, a rather good-looking blond man in a finely tailored Italian suit, stepped forward and took it from her hand. “Thank you, Matteo.”
“They’re bringing the car around.”
“And Bennet?”
“He says they’re a go.”
“Thank you, Matteo. If you could wait until I return, before retiring for the evening?”
“Of course, Ms. Lazarini. I hope all goes well,” Matteo responded before he turned around and walked from the room. He closed the door behind him.
Sina crouched and balanced on the balls of her bare feet, her elbows resting on her knees as she looked Finn in the eyes. “You were right, Finn. He’s here.”
“Tell me.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Paris
August 2013
Asher laughed into the phone. “Did you write it down or not?”
“Listen, old man,” Finn said on the other end. “I think I can remember an address. Text it to me, if you’re worried about it.”
“For the love of God, man!” Asher barked, annoyed, and then he laughed.
Finn was laughing, as well. “I know, I know, you only text Domino, I remember. Sixteen twenty, Rue de Plaisance, the top floor. Montparnasse. Did I get it right?”
“Yes. Call if you get lost.”
“For the love of God.”
Asher chuckled happily. “And bring me something to eat.”
“You’re like a bottomless pit.”
Asher nodded. “I am glad you are in town, my friend. We have much to speak of, and I have information for you that you should know. It is important.”
“How important?”
“I’m going to take a nap for an hour. I will decide when I wake up.”
“All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Until then, Finnegan O’Connell,” he said with affection. “Don’t forget the food.”
He could hear Finn’s smile when she spoke. “I won’t…hey!”
“What, what?”
“I’ve missed you. And besides that, you’re the only person I like who stays up later than I do. It’s a hardship—you have no idea.”
Asher smiled and looked down at his shoes as he sat upon the side of the bed. He had not expected to care for her as much as he did. He had not counted on that. He should’ve known, though. He should’ve remembered. “Yes, I have missed you, too, my friend. And I have been up late. I’ve been working a new job.”
“Oh God, don’t tell me anything,” she said with a knowing laugh. “I’ll have a stroke, old man, and then you’ll be sorry. See you in a bit.”
“Yes, have a care.”
“Wait, I’ve changed my mind. What’s the job? Are you involved with a beautiful Frenchwoman who needs something shiny and expensive liberated from the safe in her closet?”
“No, it is too late. Now you will never know.” Asher looked at the screen and hung up as he laughed to himself, setting the phone on the bedside table beside his tobacco, papers, and lighter. He kicked off his shoes, rolled onto the bed, and groaned with satisfaction as he pulled the heavy quilt over. He shifted around a bit and kicked his feet for more space beneath the quilt. He pulled at the foam pillow which he had paid much too much for, and then the bed seemed to accept his weight and sink down in all the right places.
Asher smiled.
His beautiful Finnegan was on her way, and she would bring him food that would make his mouth water. She always found the best food. They were nearing the end of their quest—he could feel it. There was a deep pleasure in that knowledge, like no other. He could finally make things right, and perhaps it would help Finnegan gain her freedom. And he would see his Domino, in just two weeks’ time. They were going to Provence, and if he could survive the drive in her Aston Martin, they would sit in the sun and it would be like the old days. He would tell her about Madame Crueyè and her Cartier jewels. He could wear his Armani and dance with a beautiful woman.
Asher opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling, pleasantly surprised. “At this moment, I lack for nothing.”
* * *
As quietly as she could, Finn set the heavy bag of food on the landing beyond Asher’s front door, which was open to the hallway by several inches.
She had felt it, coming up the stairs, like a smell that would not go
away. It had tickled at the back of her nose and throat and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Her adrenaline had kicked in without conscious thought and her body had reacted in a practiced manner. She gave her shoulders a smooth roll and stepped to the door.
The wood was cold beneath her hand and she pushed it slowly, just a few more inches. The movement was blessedly silent and her eyes focused as the front room was revealed.
There was a broken lamp on the floor near the top of the room, where the windows faced the street, and the television lay facedown beside it.
She reached for her Walther at the back of her right hip, but it wasn’t there. The snarl that turned her lips was quick and she adjusted her thinking accordingly. She could smell the cologne, and though it wasn’t cheap, it wasn’t right. Asher would never wear something so gaudy.
She pushed the door open and waited, but there was no retaliation for the intrusion. She scanned the space with quick eyes and stepped over the threshold.
There was a dead man on the kitchen floor, and a second one crumpled near the wall of bookshelves, directly to her right. The carpet beneath him was soaked with blood and she stepped around it before she knelt down. Her hand searched for a pulse, though she knew he was dead, there was too much blood. The apartment was revealed to her from a new angle.
The bedroom doorway was on the opposite side of the small flat and there was a light on.
There was also a blood trail along the hardwood floor. She stripped the weapon from the man beside her and stood.
The man in the kitchen was lying faceup and she stopped at the edge of the carpet. There was shattered glass on the floor, and broken plates, and blood that had pooled and spread out beneath the body. It was a forensics nightmare and she avoided it completely. He’d been stabbed multiple times—she didn’t need to take his pulse. There was a silver .45 caliber on the floor near the edge of the carpet, but she didn’t pick it up.
Finn raised the Sig as she moved toward the bedroom. She took a breath, waited, and then called out softly. “Asher?”
