CHAPTER 9
Finn
I’m on my third walk through the house—some would call it pacing—and I don’t have any clarity. The Lagavulin I poured thirty minutes ago is on the kitchen counter. I’ve been past it four times and not spared it a glance.
This is what I look like when I can’t decide what to do. A genuine pacer by nature, trying to figure out my problem stride by stride.
It’s been a little over twenty-four hours since Mikhail waltzed onto The Quartermaster looking for Josie and two days since I’ve seen her.
It’s only been about thirty seconds since I last thought about her, though.
I can’t figure out what to do in my mind.
I’ve analyzed it over and over again. Voronin’s people are now active, and the wide-berth arrangement we’ve had in place is now broken.
Mikhail boarded my boat and proclaimed they think I was the vessel that rescued her.
They’re never going to accept my word that it wasn’t me and every additional contact with Josie increases her exposure.
It also increases the risk to Marcus and my crew. Hell, it even exposes a man named Walt Brown to harm who’s done nothing wrong except take my money so I can use his dock a handful of times a year.
My mother had a thing she used to say whenever I came to her with an important decision I couldn’t make.
Most of those were decisions a teenager has—should I quit the kitchen job, should I tell her about the kid I was running with, should I take the deal an older man offered me when I should have known better.
She would say, “Finn… when you can’t decide what to do, the answer is usually not the smarter choice but the scarier one.”
And Josie is the choice that scares me the most. Because it means I’m committing to taking on Voronin and that’s not wise at all.
The smarter choice is not Josie, and maybe if I can go another twenty-four hours without calling her, the urge to do so will recede.
I look at the glass of scotch and consider taking a sip when the doorbell rings.
My head comes up and without needing to look at my security camera, I know it’s her.
I take very quick stock of the main emotional punch I’m feeling and without a doubt, it’s happiness. Joy to see her but also to have the decision taken out of my hands to let her go.
I cross the foyer, open the door and there she is.
She is in a tailored skirt and a silk blouse plus a wool coat against the cold. Her hair is down and her eyes are tired, but she’s the most welcome thing I’ve ever seen on this porch.
“Come on in,” I say, stepping back. I get a whiff of her perfume, a faint jasmine scent as she moves past me, and it brings back all the memories of our kiss the other night.
Josie stands in the foyer with her hands in her coat pockets. A million things I’d like to say spin through my head…
I’m glad you’re here.
I want to kiss you again.
This isn’t a good idea… you and me… but let’s do it, anyway.
Instead, I say, “I’m guessing you’re here to talk about Voronin.”
She gives me a faint smile. “Yes. But I’m also here because I want to know if you were serious about wanting the second date since you didn’t call.”
I blink at her in surprise.
“Because if you were serious about it,” she continues, “I think we need to be honest with each other about a few things. Whatever’s happening between us has gotten complicated and we can’t afford to pretend otherwise.”
It feels like the air pressure in the room has changed. Complicated, indeed.
“Take off your coat and I’ll make us a drink.”
Josie hangs her coat on the rack by the door and follows me to the bar area.
“Lagavulin again?”
“That’s fine.”
I pour her a glass, nab mine from the kitchen counter and take her into my study.
I spend a lot of time here. The water-facing glass runs floor to ceiling, and I find myself staring out at the Sound as I try to think through life’s problems. Two oxblood leather chairs are angled toward the view and I motion Josie into one, setting both glasses on a low walnut table between them.
A Persian rug covers most of the original oak floor.
Built-in bookshelves sit on the wall behind the chairs—mostly nonfiction—and a heavy partner’s desk resides along the inside wall, laden with a brass banker’s lamp, leather blotter and a silver-framed photograph of my mother.
Josie takes a sip, staring at me with those big blue eyes over the rim. When she swallows, she says, “Let’s talk business first. Then we can talk about us.”
I have to say, I appreciate that about her. I’m a romantic by nature and I haven’t figured out yet if she is or isn’t. But I know that the more pressing issue between us is Voronin and we need to get that out of the way.
“What I’m about to tell you is confidential and I shouldn’t be doing it.
” That has my attention because she’s admitting to a breach of ethics for my benefit.
I sit up straighter. “I’ve downplayed your role to Jameson and they have no clue that you and I have seen each other romantically.
” There’s no blush, no shy dip of the eyes.
“However, they’ll eventually find out if they ask the right questions.
And they’re going to reach out to you to ask questions.
My fellow agent, Cole Mercer, is tasked with interviewing you and Marcus. ”
“I can handle that with no worries. But do you want me to lie about my involvement with you?”
“No,” she says quickly. “Always the truth, but don’t volunteer anything.”
“Understood,” I drawl, because I sense this is just the tip of what she wants to talk about.
“The FBI has been after Voronin for about two years now and long story short, they had two very good informants who are now dead by Voronin’s people.
So they’ve stalled. There was the suspicion that the informants’ deaths could have been part of an internal leak and that’s one of the reasons they hired Jameson.
That and for additional support, particularly on intelligence analytics.
At any rate, we met today to go over the case. ”
“Okay,” I say so she knows I’m following.
“Do you know a man by the name of Mikhail Sokolov?” She watches my face.
“I do,” I reply, thinking of his visit yesterday.
I wait for her to grill me on him, but she doesn’t.
“He’s been on their watch list and they’ve connected him to Voronin on multiple fronts. They’ve been able to prove he works for Voronin, and I’ve identified him as one of the men on the dock that night.”
“They want to go after Mikhail and flip him on Voronin,” I guess.
“Yes, especially since I can tie him.”
And why I didn’t see it before now, I don’t know, but it hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. Josie is the linchpin in this now.
I take my first sip of the Lagavulin and it tastes flat. “You’re the case.”
“I’m the case,” she agrees. “Malik wants to put me in protection… a safe house Jameson owns.”
“That’s a really good idea, Josie.”
“It’s not going to happen,” she says, and I can tell that this might have been an argument in her meeting today, but she won that battle. “I want to know about Voronin.”
“Because that was our deal,” I say with a faint smile.
“Because I want this case solved so I can get on with my life.”
“Both good reasons.” I take another sip of scotch. “What exactly are you looking for?”
“Anything that will help us, but I suspect your knowledge is rooted on the water. Do you have any other off-load locations other than the one on Fidalgo?” I hesitate in my answer, enough of a time lapse that it prompts her to add, “I will never give your name as the source of this information, Finn.”
Oddly, I believe her. “South Sound. It’s a private dock that he uses for smaller, irregular runs when he wants to avoid the north patrols. I can show you on a map.”
“Thank you,” she breathes out and I can see the gratitude in her eyes. It’s not what has me sharing more.
No, I want Voronin behind bars because that’s what will make Josie safe. “He only moves on the darkest nights. Always. The new moon and the few nights on either side of it. That’s the window. Anything outside that window, he’s not on the water.”
“That narrows it considerably.”
“The lunar calendar will be your best friend.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, eyes searching mine to see if there’s any more to dig out. But there’s not.
“All right,” she finally says. “Now, let’s talk about us.”
“There’s no us,” I say, setting my glass down.
“What?” Her tone comes out soft but rough with shock.
“I need you to get out of Seattle. I just gave you information that should expedite the FBI’s ability to get Mikhail, which will get you Voronin.”
She looks at me. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re the case, Josie. You’re the witness who will link what happened on that dock to Voronin. You’re in danger and so you need to leave.”
“We don’t know that. I went into the water and—”
“Voronin is looking for you.”
Her mouth drops open but then closes as she frowns. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Mikhail came to see me yesterday. He’s looking for you.”
“The same Mikhail who tried to kill me?”
“The one and only. And he strongly suspects I was the boat out there. They most definitely are not assuming you’re dead. So you need to leave.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No,” she snaps in frustration. “I went through this argument already this morning and I won. I’m staying.”
“You won it because the FBI needs you to land this case.”
“I’m not leaving. I’m not the type who will ever walk away.”
I stand up and cross to the window. I look out at the dark water and the lights of Seattle across the bay because I need to not look at her for a second. “As someone who knows Voronin’s people, you’re making the wrong choice.”
“But it’s my choice.” I turn to look at her and find that she’s standing.
Her glass is abandoned on the table, her arms crossed defensively.
“I saw those women being marched off to slavery and I’m the same woman who for years has carried the burden of losing two operatives.
I don’t get to look away from this and live with myself afterward.
I’m picking the one option that will let me sleep at night. ”
I take a step toward her. “You’re being stupid.”
Her arms drop and her chin lifts. “I’m being honest.”
I continue to move to her and she doesn’t back up. Lifts her chin a bit higher.
“I’m doing this with or without your help,” she murmurs just as I come toe to toe with her. Her head is tipped back, stubborn defiance in her eyes. “And I’m still waiting to hear whether you were being serious when you said you wanted a second date.”
The fight in my chest competes with the need there. I can’t seem to separate them, so I pull Josie to me and kiss her.
It’s not the kiss from when we were on the Catherine. That was the kiss a man gives a beautiful woman after a romantic dinner. This kiss is representative of a man who’s just been told by the woman he’s falling for that she won’t move from a path that’s going to get her killed.
It’s rougher… faster.
And fuck if she doesn’t kiss me back in the same way with the same desperation.
I break it for one second—long enough to look at her face, to make sure—and she says it before I can ask.
“Yes.”