CHAPTER 17 #2
His eyes go soft. “I’m your best friend and that’s why it’s not my job. You want a guy to tell you what to do, you call your accountant. You want a guy to ride this out with you whatever you decide, you call me.”
Never have I ever wanted to hug the man more, but I refrain.
“She works for law enforcement, Marcus. I’m a felon and I’m a criminal.
We’re not Romeo and Juliet, we’re a federal indictment waiting to happen.
Even if I quit tomorrow, there’s nine years of cargo that has my prints on it.
I don’t get to walk away clean. And she doesn’t get to be with me without that hanging over her for the rest of her life. It’s not fair to her.”
Marcus picks up his coffee, takes a huge swallow like it’s the well of life. “You think she doesn’t know that?”
“She knows it.”
“And is apparently accepting of it. It’s not yours to decide for her.”
I sit with the chart table between us and the fact I’m running out of arguments for why I should hold Josie at arm’s length. She’s already in my house. She’s already in my life. She’s already in me in a way I don’t have words for.
The question isn’t whether I can have her. The question is what I have to give up to keep her.
“You ever think about it?” I ask him, because I’m tired of being the one in the spotlight. “Walking away?”
“Sometimes.”
“What stops you?”
His expression softens. “Lori and the kids. The money’s too good working for you and it’s too needed by them.”
His sister, niece and nephew. Lori’s divorced and her youngest son has cerebral palsy. Marcus has been supporting them and they’re all super tight.
Lori works in admissions at a hospital and she does fine but fine doesn’t pay for the insurmountable medical bills that insurance doesn’t cover.
Marcus reaches across the chart table and picks up his gun. He slides it back into the shoulder holster and pulls his jacket closed.
“I’m going to start prep on The Quartermaster today,” he says. “You go pick up your girl from work.”
“She won’t be ready to leave for a few hours, but I do have some stuff to do over at the gallery.”
Marcus nods and that’s when we hear footsteps on the deck above. His hand reaches for the gun in his jacket as the cabin door opens and Connie steps through.
She trots down the steps in a rush of cold air and apologetic energy. Hair pulled back, no makeup, oversized sweater and jeans. She looks like she slept on someone’s couch and rolled out of it twenty minutes ago. She looks like Connie when Connie’s hungover and rushing to make up for it.
“Friday night went sideways,” she says, dropping her bag on the floor by her stool. “I’ve been at Tara’s since Saturday. My phone was in her dryer until an hour ago. I’m so sorry. I know I’ve missed everything.”
Marcus and I look at each other, and one of his eyebrows lifts in a slight cock of surprise.
She doesn’t catch it because her back’s to us as she reaches into the galley cabinet for a coffee mug. She pours the cup and sits down on the bench in her usual place. “Tell me what I missed.”
Marcus leans back in his chair, rests a forearm on the table. “The usual run from Steveston. We’ll pick up at…”
I tune Marcus out as he catches her up. I watch as she blows on the coffee, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She looks normal. She looks like Connie having a normal morning after a bad weekend.
I watch her and I don’t trust it. “Connie.”
Her head swivels my way as Marcus falls silent. “Yeah?”
“We good?”
There’s a hesitation. It’s small, the kind you wouldn’t see if you weren’t looking for it, but I’m zoned in on it.
She smiles at me. “Yeah, Finn. We’re good.”
She holds my eyes a second longer than she needs to, perhaps to convey her authenticity, and I don’t know what to trust so I let it go.
“Steveston pickup at midnight,” I say, sliding the chart toward her. “Marcus is running it solo. You’re off this one.”
Her face changes a fraction. “What? Why?”
“I need you in town. Janelle’s running short for Margaret’s collector dinner Tuesday night and she needs another body.”
It’s a fabrication. The collector dinner’s real, but Janelle has it covered. I make it up on the spot and watch to see how she takes it.
Her eyes flash with anger. “Come on, Finn. That’s not fair. I was counting on this cut and I’ve never let you down, not once. So don’t be an ass. Let me run with Marcus.”
A slight pulse of relief hits me as that was the response I was hoping for. Connie isn’t a pushover. Had she meekly accepted my decree, it would have meant she was feeling guilty for something. The fact she’s fighting me on it seems like we’re truly okay.
“Fine,” I say with a curt nod and tap my finger on the table. “But don’t be late again.”
“Sure thing, boss,” she says caustically. Classic Connie and that too makes me feel a bit better.
She and Marcus go through the run logistics.
I half listen, instead studying Connie to see if I can detect anything else that will fully assuage my worries.
I watch her hands when she reaches for the chart, I watch her eyes when she answers Marcus’s questions about Walt’s signal and the Coast Guard window. She seems locked in.
She seems normal, as if our fight three nights ago was nothing.
Connie’s very good at this work and always has been. She doesn’t make mistakes and is a valuable member of this team, all other things put to the side.
Twenty minutes later she stands. “I should go shower and put on actual clothes.”
She picks up her bag and squeezes Marcus’s shoulder the way she always does on her way past. She turns to me and hesitates for half a beat, then leans in and kisses my cheek. It’s short… feathery… seems to be without any more meaning than a quick apology.
Then she turns for the steps and trots out the way she came in.
Marcus and I look at each other.
“What do you think?” I ask.
He lifts a shoulder. “Seems all right. Maybe she’s decided to accept things with Josie.”
“Maybe.”
Or maybe she’s already turned on me.
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know yet. Keep her close and watch her. Don’t tell her anything that doesn’t need to be told.”
Marcus nods once and rises from the table. “I’m going to run errands. Watch your six, boss.”
“You too.”
He climbs the cabin steps. The door opens, then closes.
I sit at the chart table alone and mull over the last ten minutes.
Connie’s back and I don’t know if I can trust her. Until I know that with clarity, I’m not going to give it. I don’t know if she’s gone to Mikhail. I don’t know if she’s forgiven me. I don’t know which version is in front of me.
What I do know is that she’s not safe to trust with anything that matters until I figure out which Connie I’m dealing with.
I pick up my phone and look at Cole Mercer’s number.
He gave it to me after our interview. I think about the conversation and his concerns for Josie’s safety.
He could add an extra layer of protection, but more importantly, if I clued him in on my concerns about Connie going to Mikhail, he might insist Josie leave Seattle.
I think about what I would have to admit to him to get his complicity. I think about what he would do with the admission. I think about whether he could keep Josie safer than I can.
I put the phone face down on the chart table.
If I bring Cole in on Connie, I bring Cole in on me and Marcus, and the second I do that, I’m not the man who saved Josie anymore.
I’m the man Cole’s reluctantly trying to keep out of a federal cell for her sake.
The way she looks at me changes. The way her father looks at me when he meets me for breakfast changes.
The architecture of the life I have somehow earned a place in changes.
I’m not ready for that change.
Not yet.
I will be. I know I will be. But not today.
Today I’m just a man trying to keep the woman he’s falling in love with alive.