CHAPTER 6
Josie
I’ve changed clothes four times and am still not sure I’m presenting the right vibe for a date with a man I’m admittedly intrigued by and attracted to, but at the same time, want to use for information.
I still can’t even wrap my head around the fact that he might be a criminal that I’ll at some point have to turn over to the police, but that’s a problem for another day.
This evening’s problem ends up being solved by settling on my fifth outfit of a cream cashmere sweater cut loose at the shoulders, tighter at the waist with dark jeans and knee-high brown boots with a low heel.
I curl my hair in beachy waves and keep my makeup light with some tinted moisturizer, pale blush and mascara. Nothing but gloss on the lips.
I look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I’ve always looked younger than my thirty-one years and my dad always blames it on the freckles across my nose. “It lends to a youthful appearance,” he’s said on more than one occasion.
Maybe.
But tonight I don’t want to give any impression I’m youthful or lacking maturity. I want Finn to take me seriously as a woman—no, an agent—pursuing a very dangerous and ruthless criminal. How I manage that and still be present within the date is part of the game.
I’ve done a great deal of professional preparation in my life for assignments, briefings, even one memorable Senate testimony when I was with the NSA.
And none of those moments involved the question I’ve been chewing on for the last forty-five minutes while I got ready for my evening, which is whether the cream cashmere is too much or just enough for a man like Finn Marlowe.
I don’t have an answer to the question, but I’ve decided to keep this outfit, just as I’m decided on trying to focus on using this man as a source of information.
It’s an internal pep talk I’ve been giving myself all day, trying to focus on professional rationalization.
This man is a confidential source, I’m going out with him for intelligence gathering, and we’re operating on a tit-for-tat deal.
But the more I consider my appearance and whether I should have put on lipstick, I know that this can’t be all professional and need to stop pretending otherwise.
I’m going on a date with a man whose criminal record I have read. I’m wearing a sexy sweater but did nothing to draw attention to my mouth. I’m not telling anyone where I’m going.
I take a breath and the doorbell rings. I glance at my watch and see he’s five minutes early. That’s okay though, because I’m ready.
Finn is standing on my porch in a pair of jeans and a fitted dark sweater under a black wool peacoat.
He’s freshly shaved, his wild mane of hair carefully swept back into stylish waves.
I’m as mesmerized by his green eyes as I was the moment I first saw him, as I was at his house last night.
Against his black hair, they’re incandescent, and the way he’s looking at me now makes my blood sing.
“Hi,” I say lamely.
His mouth curves into a charming smile. “You look beautiful.”
Heat flames my face and I force myself not to lower my eyes. “Thank you,” I murmur, and then pay a true compliment back. “And you… look very handsome.”
“Thank you, milady,” he teases with a slight bow. “I know I’m a little early. I don’t mind waiting out here.”
“No, not at all,” I say, waving off his concern. “I’m ready.”
I grab my coat off the hook, my purse from the small foyer table and step out onto the porch, setting the electronic lock pad.
When I turn to face Finn, his elbow’s cocked toward me and I don’t hesitate to slip my hand into it. He escorts me down the steps to his black Range Rover that smells of new leather and his faint but woodsy cologne.
When we’re both settled inside, he starts the engine and turns to me. “I’m not taking you to a restaurant. Hope that’s okay.”
“You’re not taking me somewhere to kill me, are you?” I quip, and I realize in that moment, that’s a pure joke on my part. For some odd reason, I feel safe with this man.
Finn laughs. “No, I’m not going to kill you, but if you let me, I might kiss you later.”
Another blush, but this one is less heated. I’m learning that this guy doesn’t keep his feelings or wants bottled up, and his flirting is straightforward and honest.
I actually like it.
“I usually never kiss on the first date.”
“Which implies you’re already thinking about our second one,” he says, sliding a glance my way as he pulls away from the curb.
“I’m unwilling to commit to that this early in the game,” I say with a laugh.
“Fair enough. I’m actually taking you to my boat for dinner.”
“Boat? The Quartermaster?”
Finn shakes his head as he checks his blind spot, moving into traffic. “No. That’s a fishing vessel. I’ve got another boat that I use for recreation. I keep it over at the Elliott Bay Marina.”
“I’m sensing a theme here,” I say thoughtfully.
“And what’s that?”
“That water is in your blood. Boats, waterfront home… it’s all coming together.”
“You’re not wrong,” he says, settling one hand casually on the wheel. “I hope it’s okay. I probably should have asked first.”
“It’s fine and I’m intrigued.”
The Range Rover handles beautifully, and Finn drives confidently but not aggressively. It’s exactly how I would describe the man with what little I’ve come to know.
We drive west, the lights of downtown moving past on our left. “How long have you lived in Seattle?” I ask.
Finn’s head turns my way briefly. “Why do I feel you already know the answer to that?”
It’s true… I do. And he knows that because he knows I researched him. “Sorry… I do know a little about you. I know you were born in Portland and grew up there, but now you’re in Seattle.”
Finn nods, checks the left lane and pulls into it to go around a slower car. “I don’t know how deep your sources are on my criminal record, but I did some time in juvie when I was seventeen and when I got out, I came to Seattle and never left.”
“And what did you do when you came to Seattle?”
He looks at me again, long enough for his eyes to lock onto mine. “I did things that landed me in prison. I know you know that much.”
I nod. “But you turned it around, right?”
“I like to think so,” he says with a smirk.
“A fine art gallery owner. It’s impressive.”
“It pays the bills,” he replies.
“And what exactly does a gallery owner do on a daily basis?”
We chat about the intricacies of art intersecting with business, and it’s clear to me that he’s not overly passionate about the art itself. Finn seems to be all about the business of it, all bottom-line dollar and profit margins.
The conversation carries us all the way to Elliott Bay Marina with its long docks running out into the dark water and the Space Needle visible on the eastern horizon.
Finn parks and comes around to my side, opening the door and holding out his hand to help me alight.
I’m assaulted by the smell of salt water and the soft creak of dock lines as he walks me through the security gate.
The boats in this portion of the marina are for the serious yachters… the people who put money into their passion. I find my hand tucked back into the crook of his elbow as he leads me along a long dock, stopping at a slip about two-thirds of the way down.
The boat is magnificent, at least fifty feet long and lit up like a Christmas tree. It’s dark blue, low and sleek, with cream upholstery I can see through the windows and wood trim that glows like honey in the dock lights. There are brass details everywhere.
I don’t know boats, but I know this is the kind that costs more than my house.
My eyes catch on the name in elegant cream lettering.
Catherine.
“This boat, Finn,” I breathe as he leads me to the boarding ramp. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah,” he says with a puff of pride. “I’d happily sell my house and just live here if I could.”
“And why don’t you?” I ask.
He lifts a shoulder. “Doesn’t seem… practical, I guess. But one day, when I retire. It’s going to be me and the water.”
We step onto the teak deck with a table set for two and a large heat lamp already glowing. There’s a silver bucket with a bottle of wine chilling and I’m stunned when a man emerges from the cabin. Mid-forties, dark hair, kind eyes, and clearly a chef as evidenced by his white coat.
“Daniel,” Finn says. “This is Josie.”
“Pleasure,” I say as the man offers a small bow.
“Likewise.” He sweeps a hand at the table. “I have the wine you requested, and I’ll have the first course up in about twenty minutes.”
“Thank you,” Finn says, and Daniel disappears back belowdecks.
“A chef, huh?” I ask, clearly impressed with his efforts.
Finn moves the wine, which has already been uncorked, and pours two glasses. “Well, I only have one chance to impress you into a second date.”
“How do you know you want a second date?” I ask, accepting the wine. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough,” he says, lifting his glass. “Here’s to not getting shot at tonight.”
I smile at him over the rim. “I’ll drink to that.”
The wine is excellent and we take our seats at the table.
There’s a basket of warm bread and sweet, soft butter.
The city lights dapple the water with sparkled color and the boat softly rocks.
It’s in the low fifties but the heat lamp works so well, we drape our coats over the backs of our chairs.
I know this date has just started, but I’m enjoying it way too much.
“Tell me a little about your background,” Finn says, bracing one arm on the table, the other holding his wine goblet on his thigh.
“Hmm, let’s see.” I take a sip of my wine. “My dad was in the Marine Corps, so I had a typical military brat life moving around the world.”
“What did he do?”
“Intelligence.”
“You took after him,” he says thoughtfully.
I nod, because yeah… he influenced my career. “Except for the marine part. I went to school at UW for computer engineering, did my master’s in cybersecurity at Carnegie Mellon. Then I was recruited by the NSA.”