King of Thieves

by Shea Godfrey

  “I love you, Finnegan.”

  Finn stared at her for what seemed like three years, twelve days, and fourteen hours. With change. “What?”

  Casey smiled at the startled whisper. “I said, I love you, Finnegan.”

  “I don’t know how you—”

  Casey moved smoothly across the seat, swung her left leg over Finn’s, and straddled her lover. Finn’s skin felt extremely warm beneath her hands and Casey tipped Finn’s face up as she kissed her.

  Finn’s mouth was hot and lush and Finn opened to her without reservation. Casey raked her left hand through Finn’s hair as she tasted her, her tongue caressing Finn’s with a possessiveness she’d never really experienced before. And it felt good. It felt very good, and the rest of her body reacted to the pleasure of it.

  Finn took hold of her waist and Casey tipped her head back to take a breath. “You need to listen to your phone messages.”

  “Did you leave me a message?”

  “I did.”

  “What did it say?”

  “I just told you.”

  Casey kissed her again, pulling both of Finn’s lips between her own and then tasting the bottom one for the pure enjoyment of it. She moved her mouth along Finn’s jaw and then kissed her neck. Finn’s scent filled her nose and she felt the ache between her legs intensify.

  “Which…what, which part?”

  “What part?”

  “I don’t know, say it again.”

  “I love you.”

  “My phone’s not working.”

  Casey came back up and kissed her again. “I’m sorry I broke my promise, baby.”

  Finn’s tongue was in her mouth and her muscles happily surrendered as Finn’s arms went about her.

  “It’s…okay. I love you, Casey.”

  Casey smiled and pulled back, her mouth clinging to Finn’s. “I know, I’m so sorry.”

  “I missed your face.”

  “I’m not sure I approve of you carrying a picture of my cat around, and not me.”

  “She’s a very beautiful cat.”

  “She’ll keep your feet warm, if you’d like to…”

  “Like to what?”

  “Why doesn’t your phone work?”

  “I fell on it.”

  “You fell on your phone?”

  The car turned to the left and Casey smiled as Finn’s arms strengthened around her to keep her from tipping.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Finn’s eyes were alive with thought, but she didn’t answer.

  “Finnegan?”

  “I got shot.”

  Casey stared at her and then leaned back. Finn’s arms loosened but did not leave her as Casey sat on Finn’s thighs and checked her over. Her hands pushed beneath the shoulders of Finn’s jacket and she searched, her fingers exploring along the soft material of Finn’s shirt.

  “I have my vest on.”

  “I can see that.” Casey met Finn’s eyes before undoing the buttons of Finn’s shirt. The material of the vest was dented squarely between Finn’s breasts and Casey’s fingertips skated over the defect. “Is that why your skin is so hot?”

  “It’s okay, baby, I promise. I’ll have another bruise, that’s all. It just really hurts.”

  Casey didn’t like it. “How bad?”

  “It’s gonna be a beauty.”

  Casey sighed. “You don’t seem too upset by that.”

  “That’s because I’m not dead.”

  “Yes.” Casey refused to even touch that particular thought. “That’s a good point.”

  Finn smiled. “How did you find me?”

  “Malik isn’t as tough as you are, remember? He talked and I listened. You didn’t have a lot of options.”

  “Did you open Asher’s box?”

  Casey heard it in her voice and she touched Finn’s face. She had loved him. There would be more to their story, she knew that, but Finn had loved Asher. And he loved you, too, I think, my sweet Finnegan. How could he not? He finally had his very own Van Gogh.

  Finn’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I never looked inside, Casey, I promise.”

  “I know that,” she whispered. “I didn’t open it yet. I was waiting for you.”

  Finn’s expression was tender, but her voice was strong. “I have something I need to do first—I can’t change that. And you can’t come with me.”

  “I know that, too.” Casey kissed her. “I know, baby, but you can’t leave me behind anymore, either, okay?”

  “But I…”

  Casey knew for a fact that Finn’s mouth tasted sweet, she knew it, but she didn’t remember it quite like this. It scrambled her thoughts. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I love you, Finn,” Casey confessed again on a hushed breath. “Baby?” Her lips sought her lover’s. “Who shot you?”

  “Thomasino Lazarini.”

  Casey stopped in midkiss and met Finn’s eyes. She waited for the rest.

  “But on the bright side, he thinks I’m dead now.”

  “Why is that a bright side?”

  “Well, it sort of frees me up, I guess, for a few things I couldn’t do before, though it’s a long story…What’s the matter?”

  Casey slipped her arms about Finn’s neck. She held on tight as she turned her face, and she let the touch of Finn’s hair soothe her. It didn’t take very long at all. “Theresina Lazarini just took us for about seventy-five million dollars.”

  There was a long pause before Finn spoke. “How much?”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The driveway curved slightly and the shrubbery that lined it was incredibly well-kept. The lawn was thick and lush, and the lights from the huge brick house were bright as Finn stopped just beyond their reach.

  She reached into her inner coat pocket and pulled out a pouch of tobacco and a packet of papers, and she proceeded to roll a cigarette, just as she had seen Asher do a hundred times. She remembered the first time she had seen him, in the hills of Novi Sad, and how he had put all his energy into the artful task before he had gone back to his worries. She understood now why he had done it, and she smiled as she tucked the tobacco pouch back in her jacket. She brought the smoke to her tongue and sealed it.

  They had all been together that day, and the memory held more meaning now than it ever had. It was an odd moment in time, when pretty much everyone she had ever loved had been in the same place at the same time.

  She watched the two guards as they talked by the wide front doors, at their leisure and somewhat animated. She heard a laugh in the distance as she raised Asher’s gold lighter.

  The Zippo pinged open and the guards turned at the sound, silent as the wheel scraped beneath her thumb and its flame rose.

  She drew on the smoke, flipped the lighter shut, and slipped it back in the pocket of her jeans, where it came to rest beside Thomasino Lazarini’s bullet.

  She walked into the light and one of the guards came down from the stairs. His suit was good, it was true, but the AR-15 assault rifle that hung from his right shoulder appeared to be top-notch. He held up his left hand as he came down the drive. “No, you wait there.”

  His head popped back with a sharp jerk and he crumpled to the ground.

  The guard who had remained by the doors went for the weapon at his belt.

  His head snapped back and he spun to the left, fell, and slid down the stairs. His gun was still in its holster as Finn walked up the steps.

  She noted the blood spray on the door and along the bricks as she turned upon the landing. She didn’t like it, but it didn’t bother her that much, either. Badovinci held a price, and sooner or later they would all have to pay it.

  Nicola Bennet and Danilo Abruzzio walked out of the darkness, and Sina’s head of security handed his silenced rifle to Danilo as they approached. Finn took a drag on her smoke and then flicked it down onto the walk as Bennet drew the 9 mm at his hip. He gave her a clipped wave of permission.

  Finn s
pun around and turned the handle on the door as she pulled the silenced Walther from her right hip.

  The man who sat near the bottom of the stairs flipped a page of his magazine. “It’s not time yet.” His Russian accent was thick and he sighed as he sat back. “Assholes.”

  Finn took the final step, placed her silenced Walther beneath his chin, and tilted his head back with it. “Where is Petar Dimitrovich?”

  He stared at her with a shocked expression, but she could also see that he debated what his reaction should be.

  “Either we can kill you, or Petar will pay you for your services later. You could take your chances, if you like. It’s up to you.”

  “He is upstairs. Go right. There is a big, um”—he searched for the word—“office room at the end of the hall. Very big.”

  “Is there a porch?”

  He narrowed his eyes a bit.

  “A balcony? Ah, balkon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is Ketrin Arshavin?”

  “In his bed. There are two rooms, with the big one. He sleeps in one. Petar goes in the other, but he does not sleep.”

  Finn considered his unexpected statement. “Why not?”

  The man held her gaze for several seconds. “He waits for someone, I think, to come.”

  Finn smiled as all her pain rose up in a slow burn of rage. “And so here I am.”

  She took a step back and Bennet appeared on her right, lean and dapper looking in his three-piece suit. “We’ll clear the downstairs, O’Connell. Go.”

  Finn started up the stairs to the muted pop of Bennet’s weapon.

  She remembered the day she had played the sarabande from Bach’s Suite no. 4 for cello, with only Declan to bear witness. They had sat barefoot in the backyard, at the house in Boston, and Declan had convinced her she could do it. He had laughed and he had taken her by the shoulders, and he had told her to stop thinking. Don’t think. Don’t think. Just do. Close your eyes and play it.

  As she moved down the hallway, Finn lifted her weapon.

  The guard who sat beside the doors glanced up from his phone and her first shot took him in the chest, as did her second. She was at the double doors before the blood began to seep through his shirt.

  Declan had sat on his knees in silence and believed in her. And he’d been right.

  Finn opened the door and stepped in to the room.

  Petar Dimitrovich sat on a long leather sofa, with a book in his left hand. His expression was startled and Finn watched as the color in his face drained away.

  He was in a basic blue sweater, but it was made of fine wool, and his slacks were navy. He wore brown oxfords, but his socks were white, his right leg hooked casually over his left knee. His brown hair was slicked back, but it had fallen forward a bit, no doubt as he had read.

  He stared at her, and Finn looked down the sight of her Walther as she moved deeper into the room. He was adjusting to his new reality and she let him. He exhaled a long, slow breath, and then his expression cleared. “I knew you would come.”

  His voice was fuller than she remembered, but there was still that strange, warm mocking tone in his words.

  “May I stand?”

  “Go ahead,” Finn answered, and she willed her voice to be stronger.

  He stood in a single fluid movement and closed his book with a snap. He smiled at her. “I have thought about, for many years now, those words…his last words.”

  Finn’s legs began to tremble. Her body wasn’t doing the most efficient job of containing either her rush of emotions, or the adrenaline that pumped through her system. Her hand was steady, though.

  The sound of automatic gunfire echoed from somewhere beneath them and Petar’s eyes twitched to his left. There was shouting, and the sound of a handgun—two, three, four shots—and then silence.

  Petar laughed. “Should I tell you what they were?”

  Finn pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  “It’ll be okay, Casey.”

  Casey did not respond and Jack’s comment did nothing to soothe her.

  They sat in the back seat of Theresina Lazarini’s black SUV, and Casey leaned hard into the far corner. Her legs were crossed and so were her arms, and she stared out the window into the surrounding darkness.

  She’d been in Amsterdam when she’d received word of Asher’s death. A mutual friend had called her, one of Asher’s old cohorts and most trusted friends, though by the time he had reached her she’d been much too late for anything but tears. He’d told her that Asher’s death had been suspicious, and though his apartment had been robbed, the police had serious questions, for there were two dead bodies other than his. He told her to stay away, and that he would contact her again when it was safe. Six months later, she’d received a package in the post at her Paris apartment. An apartment she owned as Marie Ann Broussard.

  His ashes had sat upon the mantel in the Dordogne ever since, above the hearth where he’d made the fire each Noel and they had toasted with smooth French brandy, another successful year of living life on their own terms. In the house where they had last opened presents, and watched old movies, just as they had always done. She had not eaten crepes again until Finn had made them for her.

  Ketrin Arshavin.

  The photos Colin had sent were brutal, and the images of Declan’s body had been not only shocking, but tragic, and in the purest sense of the word. In that first instant of recognition, she had seen Finn. In the next, she had seen the truth.

  Casey’s heartbeat quickened and the gloom beyond the road seemed to move of its own accord. She had watched Finn walk down the driveway and disappear into the darkness, the night closing between them as if it were a weathered barn door that would creak upon rusted hinges. She had watched, completely helpless to stop it, and that was all it took.

  “Casey, are you all right?”

  She reached for her voice and found it waiting for her. “I’m all right, Jack.”

  The memories had come flooding back, as imperfect and incomplete as they were, distorted by the years. They were the memories of a child, but they held a power she could not deny.

  Gunfire popped in the distance and Casey flinched.

  Ketrin Arshavin.

  He had been an old man who would follow her about the house—when she would look up, he would be there. He was like a bear, and she had always wondered when he would finally grab her and take her into the trees. He had seemed to sense her presence and she would walk as silently as she could, so as not to disturb him. She had refused to speak, knowing he would hear her, and come for her, and take her into the house in back, between the red cedars.

  She thought he could smell her, as well, for bears had a wonderful sense of smell, and he looked as if he could, as if he would, as if she made him hungry.

  “She’s a badass, remember?” Jack’s voice was almost a whisper and she didn’t blame him for it. The night was watching. “And this time she has backup.”

  Casey closed her eyes. “I know.”

  Her kitten was small and always in danger, and she would not let her loose, especially at night. He could not steal her away if she did not let Naamah go.

  The silence had returned and she could hear the low talk of Theresina’s men, who had been left behind to guard the cars.

  Pavel, she remembered Pavel. She remembered hiding from him, for he would shout and scream and grab her arms. He had even tried to take Naamah once and throw her into the fire, but Magda had stopped him and he had beaten her for it. They had fought in the kitchen, where Pavel would taunt them with food. She and Naamah were always hungry, and Pavel smelled of perfume and bacon. Sharp smells, strange smells.

  Casey opened her eyes. Magda.

  She felt the tremble within her whole body, as if she were cold right down to her bones.

  She remembered being in the silver car and driving away from the cold light of the house, the empty light that never changed. And she remembered how scared she was. It had be
en so very long since she’d been in a car.

  It will be all right, little one, you will see. We’ll have an adventure, you and I, yes? Asher had spoken in a gentle voice, and she had watched him as they drove, the trees crowding the road as they went.

  He was soft looking but his hands were strong on the wheel of the silver car, pretty even. His brown coat was soft, too, and warm looking. She had wondered if he had any bread in his pockets and whether or not he would share it with her. She had wondered if the bear in the house that they left behind was after him, too. Bears could eat a lot, really, and he would be pretty tasty because he smelled really nice. He would probably taste good to a bear.

  A single gunshot echoed in the distance and Casey let out a harsh breath. The tears slipped down her cheeks and she reached out with a jerk of movement for the door handle.

  “Finn.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  The bullet took Dimitrovich in the right shoulder, and he twisted and hit the floor.

  Finn holstered the Walther and pulled the Sig Sauer from beneath her left arm as she walked toward him.

  The last time she had spoken to Declan, he had called her from Paris, and his voice had been filled with happiness. She had heard Isabella in the background, talking of the perfect dress. He told her that he had sat along the Seine, where Hemingway had once sat, and she had laughed.

  Petar got to his knees and then his feet, and he stumbled forward. He shoved at the balcony doors and they rattled open as he walked awkwardly into the night air. His right arm hung useless and his sleeve was soaked with blood. He let out a bark of sound, and Finn took note of his Luger on the table beside the sofa as she passed.

  Finn’s arm came up and the second bullet took off the top of his left ear, maybe more.

  The report of the weapon filled the room as she stepped onto the balcony.

  Petar bent at the waist and spun in a tight circle. He took several steps before he stood up straight. The left side of his face was covered with blood and Finn could see the pain within his eyes, even though he smiled. “You must…you must want to know.”