Page 26

The sound of Finn letting himself back inside the suite woke me from the light sleep I’d fallen into when I’d returned upstairs.

I opened my eyes, listening lazily as Finn moved around the main room. I heard the drapes opening, felt the light change in the bedroom, the wash of sea breeze as he opened windows and glass doors in the living room. It felt peaceful.

Despite everything that had happened, I felt strangely calm.

A little while later I heard Finn speaking on the phone, but his voice was low and I couldn’t make out the words.

He seemed to be on the phone a while, or maybe he made a couple of different calls. I continued to drift in and out of sleep.

When the floorboard outside the bedroom creaked, I opened my eyes and turned my head.

Finn had returned to his own room since that morning. He wore charcoal trousers and a flatteringly fitted moss-green dress shirt. He’d shaved and his hair was neatly combed. He looked handsome and assured—and unfairly well-rested.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better than I did.” I sat up and rubbed my head briskly. “What time is it? Do you have a panel?”

“Mm-hm. The Thin Blurred Line. With J.X., Pat Robinson, and your very favorite author T. McGregor”

“Ha. I wouldn’t say Thomas McGregor is my favorite author.”

Finn’s mouth quirked. “That’ll be a disappointment to Lila. She’s hoping you’ll accept an All-Star trade before the All-Star Game. T. McGregor for me.”

“For you ? Like hell. Are you serious?”

“I sure am. I heard her whole pitch to Vaughn. I think she wanted me to hear it.”

I absorbed it and said, “Is that what you want?” I braced myself for his answer.

“I do not. Damn. I forgot my pen. Do you have one? Preferably not red.”

“Do I have a pen ? Is that a serious question? Check my messenger bag. It’s by the little desk in the alcove.”

Finn moved out of the doorway. I called, “It’s all irrelevant, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ll be doing a lot of editorial work in San Quentin. Unless I’m in charge of the prison newsletter.”

He must have done a complete 360 because he stepped back into the doorway and said, “That’s a little pessimistic.”

“Just keeping it real.”

Finn’s brows drew together. “You’re not going to prison if I can help it.” He added, “What would your cats do without you?”

I got that he was joking, but I was still a long way from being able to laugh at any of it.

I said carefully, “I appreciate that. But there’s only so much you can do.”

He tilted his head, considering me. “What’s going on?”

“I’m pretty sure you were here for the grand reveal.”

“I was. And I’m still here. I plan to be here for the foreseeable future. Until such time as you decide otherwise.”

Like that was even a possibility?

“Is it up to me?”

“Hell, yes, it’s up to you.” He seemed a little perplexed.

I held his gaze. It wasn’t easy. “I kind of got the feeling this morning you’d perhaps experienced a-a change of heart.”

Finn looked taken aback. “About you?”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Keiran.” He frowned and came over to the bed, putting his arm around my shoulders. “Are you serious? You’re in doubt how I feel about you?”

“You were shocked this morning. Rightfully. Nobody expects the… Torquemada.”

Finn scoffed, “Is a panicked seventeen-year-old kid supposed to have been the Grand Inquisitor?”

Because Finn wrote bleak and bloody crime fiction and leaned into that jaded ex-cop persona—his author photos were full-color illustrations of rugged masculinity and athletic prowess—it was easy to forget that he’d graduated from USC with a B.A.

in Humanities. He was a tough guy—sure as hell he was tougher than me—but he was also educated, perfectly capable of clearly communicating his thoughts and feelings, of listening to others, of laughing at himself, and making love—not just fucking—with skill, delicacy, and tenderness.

I didn’t answer, and he said calmly, “One of the things about being a cop is you learn early on that good people sometimes do bad things. Sometimes with the best intentions.”

I nodded. That was a common theme in his books.

Finn said, “It’s a horrible story and, yes, I was shocked by some of what you told me.

But it’s not like I didn’t know I was going to hear some troubling things.

If I didn’t care—If I didn’t plan on helping you—I wouldn’t have pushed for the truth.

I’d have let you keep your secrets and I’d have moved on.

One way or the other, we’re going to work this out.

If you do end up doing time, well, you’ll serve out your sentence.

You’ll get through it one day at a time. There are worse things. Right?”

I swallowed. “I don’t know. Maybe not for me. I’ll be a convicted felon. My career, everything I’ve worked for…”

A muscle moved in his jaw, but he said briskly, “I think you’re a hell of a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.

But. The goal is to keep you out of prison.

The goal is to avoid destroying your career and the life you’ve built.

We’ve got some things going for us, including your age at the time and your home life.

But I’m not a lawyer. We’re going to get advice from actual experts at navigating this side of the system.

People who can recognize an extenuating circumstance a mile away. ”

I nodded.

Finn said firmly, “I’m not going anywhere. Believe it or not, I’m as invested in the outcome here as you are.”

Probably not, but I appreciated the thought.

“Okay.” I nodded, expelled a long breath. “Thank you. Sorry for the…wobble.”

“You’re allowed the occasional wobble.” I couldn’t see his face, but I heard the wry humor in the sound he made before he dropped a quick kiss on my temple and let me go. He rose. “Anyway, you have no idea what a relief it is to know that you’re not a love rat and that my retirement is still safe.”

That wrung a weak laugh out of me.

Finn grinned but was serious again as he said, “Take it easy until I get back. We’ll order breakfast and talk. We’ll figure out our next steps.”

His expression was relaxed, neutral, but I knew him well enough to know what he wasn’t telling me.

“The tire was slashed, wasn’t it?”

His eyes met mine briefly. “Yep. It was. And Troy Colby is staying in this hotel. So, I think it’s great idea for you stay here and prep for your Backstory interview.”

It’s not like a lot of preparation was required to discuss my career in publishing.

“I can’t hide out in my hotel room. That’s not going to solve anything.”

“I’m not suggesting you hide out. I’m saying cool your jets while I do this panel and the signing and then we’ll sit down and put together a plan for moving forward.”

I truly did not like the idea of sheltering in place; however, I couldn’t help wondering what I’d do if I happened to bump into Troy Colby.

Also, if the driver of the Cadillac DeVille was connected to Colby—and it was hard to believe that the slashed tire had nothing to do with U.N. Owen—then he knew exactly where I’d been headed last night. He knew exactly where to find me.

Which, frankly, was an alarming thought. So yes, maybe I could use my down time to do a little online reconnaissance.

“All right. It’s not like I don’t have plenty of work waiting. I can catch up on some email.”

“Exactly. How about you deadbolt the door after I leave?”

“Yes. Okay.” I got up and followed him to the entryway. Finn opened the door, leaned back, and kissed my mouth, gently, casually. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Knock ?em dead.” I heard the echo of that and winced.

Finn suppressed what sounded like a chuckle and pulled the door shut behind him.

For the record, I did touch base with Angelique, who did send proof-of-life photos of Wing Ding and Sing Song. I smiled like a goof at pics of my little pals getting along perfectly well without me, and then settled down with my laptop in the airy sunlit living room of my suite.

There’s a lot to be said for the beneficial properties of fresh air and sunshine. Oh, and getting enough sleep. I felt a thousand percent better than I had even a few hours earlier.

After drinking a couple of glasses of water, I briefly checked email and texts, read the social media posts on the conference. It was all pretty much as expected.

General complaints.

Why do they schedule the best panels all at the same time??

The moderator talked more than the panelists. Again.

Why are so many men on the ‘Women in Crime Fiction’ panel?

Newbie author anxiety.

Smiled at someone I thought I knew. They were a total stranger. Now we’re apparently having drinks at 5.

Someone asked what I’m working on. I panicked and said ‘a memoir’

Why does every networking event feel like the cafeteria in Squid Games?

Judging by the live reporting, Noir at the Shore seemed to be going off without a hitch. Or rather, the hitches were all the normal and predictable ones. None of my authors had posted anything offensive or career-harming. Frankly, a little more posting would not have come amiss.

I skimmed my email for emergencies and urgencies, and saw nothing that couldn’t wait until next Friday. Was I still flying back on Thursday? I had no idea. It seemed unlikely Finn and I would be sightseeing. But maybe we’d be working on my legal defense. Maybe I’d be running for the border.

My heart sank. I’d been so absorbed in work I’d actually forgotten the looming disaster for a few minutes.

“God.” I rested my head on the back of the sofa, blinked up, watched the shadows from the ocean flickering on the pristine white ceiling. My cell phone went off. I gave a disbelieving laugh. There really was no rest for the wicked.

I picked up my cell, peered at the caller. Lila.

I swore softly and tried to infuse warmth into my voice as I answered.

“Hi, Lila.”

There was a pause and she said, “I didn’t expect you to answer.”

“Why?”

“Well, you never do.”

That was utter bullshit but I let it go.

She said, “Nobody’s seen you today. I thought perhaps you were making another pilgrimage.”

Wow.