CHAPTER 15
Finn
Ipull up in front of Josie’s bungalow and sit for a moment with the engine running. I contemplate the intersection between the two distinct halves of my relationship with her.
I’ve got the half that I’m all in on. The one where I’m going to take her to my gallery and have an evening with the woman I’m falling hard for.
But there’s the other half that revolves around a dangerous Russian trafficker and my involvement with him.
I’m going to have to tell her about my meeting with Cole today and just how clear it’s become those two halves are merging. Not only that but everything about this could end up driving me to ruin and possibly ending with me in prison.
Is she worth it?
I’ve asked myself that a dozen times and the answer is that I’m here, pushing forward.
I cut the engine and get out. I’m dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a charcoal suit coat with a white dress shirt open at the collar. It’s as fancy as I tend to get these days.
When Josie opens the door, the breath is momentarily knocked out of me.
She’s in a deep emerald wrap dress that silhouettes her perfect body, hitting right at the knee.
She has on a pair of sky-high black heels that show off her toned legs.
The neckline is modest enough to be appropriate for the gallery event but entirely insufficient for the kind of evening I would prefer to be having with her.
“Wow” is all I manage to say.
She appraises me, eyes roaming top to bottom. “You’re kind of wow yourself.”
And then she steps into me, hand to my chest, and places a featherlight kiss to my mouth that punches me right through the gut.
I take Josie’s hand, lead her down to the car and help her into the passenger seat. I try not to notice the way the skirt rides up slightly as she swings her legs in, nor the devastating smile she gives me just before I close the door.
As I pull away from the curb, I ask, “How was your day?”
“Long,” she says with a huff. “Mostly working on the pattern stuff from your information. They’re going to set up a sting watch on that dock information you turned me on to since the focus is still trying to nab Mikhail red-handed and get him to flip on Voronin.”
I don’t tell her that I think it’s a long shot.
Even if they get Mikhail in the act, chances of him flipping on Voronin are small.
It would be a death sentence for him, but it’s not for me to say.
I’ve done my part and now my job is to make sure Josie stays as safe as possible and hope to hell this all works out.
“How was your day?” she asks.
“My day?” There it is. The handoff. I don’t have a graceful way to do this and I’ve stopped trying to find one.
“Your buddy Cole came to my office this morning. Surprise visit and all.”
Josie’s head whips my way. “He did? He didn’t tell me.” When I don’t say anything, she says, “I’m sorry. He should have at least called you to set up an appointment.”
“It’s all right.” I reach over and take her hand, give her a reassuring squeeze. “And you and I both know that’s the way he should have done it. The element of surprise to set the tone. I assume he was looking for a reaction in real time.”
“Did he get one?”
“Not the kind he was looking for.”
I can feel the weight of her gaze as I drive. “What happened?”
“It was what you’d expect. Detailed digging into the night I pulled you out of the water. He was very focused on what I observed on the dock. Wanted to know why I was out there, how I managed to see you in the water.”
“That’s not so bad,” she murmurs.
“He didn’t push back on any of my answers. He didn’t catch me in anything. He asked the questions in an order designed to see whether I’d contradict myself, and I didn’t.”
“That’s great.”
“He then asked me if I knew Voronin.”
“And what did you say?” she asks, a slight tinge of worry in her tone.
“I lied to him, Josie. Told him I had no clue who he was.”
“Good,” she says on a gushed breath. “That’s good. He doesn’t need to know that.”
“But he didn’t buy it,” I tell her.
Once again, her head whips my way. “Why not?”
I glance at her. “Because he’s very good at his job and he can put two and two together. You came to them with information and I’m the most logical source.”
“Did he buy it?”
“What do you think?”
“No, he probably didn’t buy it. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you involved like this.”
I squeeze her hand. “He asked me what my relationship with you was.”
“Oh God,” she groans, letting her head fall back against the headrest.
“I told him you and I were seeing each other.”
She sits bolt upright, turning in the seat toward me. “You told him that?”
“Yeah, because it’s the one thing I don’t want hidden.
I’m not going to skulk around with you in the dark.
I told him because lying about that to a man who has clearly already worked it out is worse than the truth.
So I gave him the truth. I told him we’re seeing each other, it started after the rescue and it’s serious. ”
“It’s serious?” she asks, her mouth curving into a sappy smile.
I turn to look at her. “You and I both know it’s serious.”
Josie blushes and if I weren’t driving right now, I’d kiss the fuck out of her.
“What did Cole say?”
“He thanked me for being straight with him.” Except he didn’t say it quite that way.
He said, “Thanks for being straight with me about seeing Josie.” Which meant he didn’t believe me when I told him I didn’t know Voronin.
And now for all I know, Cole’s put me on the FBI’s radar, but that’s not something I want to worry Josie about.
I squeeze her hand again. “Hey… it’s going to be all right.”
“You don’t know that.”
I pull Josie’s hand to my mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Well, I have to believe it. The alternative isn’t acceptable to me.”
She sighs, and it tells me she’s going to choose to believe it too.
My gallery’s on Western Avenue in Pioneer Square in a 1909 brick warehouse I bought and gutted five years ago.
The front windows are seven feet tall and the interior is whitewashed brick walls with dark stained oak floors.
There’s a single low-watt track lighting system on warm dimmers that highlights every piece on the walls, which is something my gallery director and I argued about for three months before we installed it and which she lords over me every time we host an event.
Tonight’s opening is for a Seattle painter named Margaret Nguyen whose work I’ve represented for two years. She does large-format abstract landscapes in oils, mostly of the Pacific Northwest, which sell well in the Bay Area private market.
It’s a low-key event with wine and small plates, the art community circulating among small talk and ambient mood music.
I hired a valet service and turn my car over to one of the attendants, along with a fifty-dollar bill, before helping Josie out of the passenger side.
Her hand finds my arm without looking, and we cross the sidewalk to the front doors of Marlowe Fine Art, where my gallery director, Janelle, meets us.
I’m greeted with an air kiss and then introduce her to Josie. “Janelle pretty much runs the gallery, which means Janelle runs me.”
“That has never been more accurate,” Janelle says with a laugh. She takes Josie’s hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
I take Josie by the elbow but before we walk away, Janelle leans in. “Heads up… Mr. Norris is here and wants to talk to you about the Christensen piece.”
“I’m not lowering the price,” I reply.
“I know that, but he doesn’t seem to know that. Maybe you can tell him again.”
“I’m on it,” I assure her.
Josie looks around as I lead her across the floor. “This is incredible, Finn.”
I take in the scene, and yeah… I’ve built something worth being proud of. It’s truly just a cover for what I really do, but it’s legitimate and it makes money, and it fits me more into Josie’s world than smuggling does.
The place is filling up, and I shake hands with several regulars as we make our way to the bar. The wine is from a Walla Walla producer I’ve been buying from for the past few years. Waiters circulate with trays of fresh oysters from Hood Canal.
Josie is a complete hit and it’s clear she can hold her own in a room of art-world people with the same competence she holds in a room of analysts.
I introduce her to Margaret, and they chat for ten minutes about the Pacific Northwest light evoked in her paintings.
Josie asks intelligent questions but never pretends to know more than she does.
She makes Margaret laugh, which is something because she’s a bit dour.
While they’re talking, I notice Marcus over in the corner. He’s in a dark gray suit with no tie. The coffee thermos is absent and he raises a glass of wine in my direction when our eyes meet.
“Excuse me,” I say to Josie, squeezing her elbow. “I’ll be right back.”
She waves me off, turning back to Margaret to ask, “And where do you get most of your inspiration from?”
I cross the room to Marcus.
“Boss man,” he says with a wide grin, his eyes moving past me to Josie. “I see you brought a date.”
I glance back at her. “Yeah.”
“And you can’t keep your eyes off her,” he teases.
“I’m aware,” I reply dryly, not bothering to take my eyes off her.
“It’s bordering on embarrassing.”
“I’m aware of that too.” I turn back to him. “Is Connie here?”
Connie and Marcus often come to the gallery events. They’re my crew as well as my friends, and the invitation is always open. A way for them to step into the legitimate world of art and partake of good food and wine.
Marcus takes a sip from his glass and sets it on the bar. “She’s around here somewhere.”
“We all set for the run next Tuesday?” I ask casually, my voice kept low so only he can hear.
“We’re all good,” he assures me, and that’s all we need to discuss. He has my full trust.
Movement catches my eye and I see her. Connie in a plunging black dress with a black leather jacket. Her hair is styled, makeup dramatic. She’s a woman the room notices and many heads turn her way. Her eyes land on me and she walks toward us.