CHAPTER 19
Finn
There’s an onion, three bell peppers, and a half pound of mushrooms on the cutting board, and I’m working through them methodically, cutting them into one-inch pieces.
I came down a little after seven and left Josie in my bed, sleeping on her back with one arm flung out to the side.
She didn’t even move when the bed shifted, telling me that she’s exhausted and needs the sleep.
Of course, part of that might be because I kept her up late last night, but I can’t fucking help myself when she’s near me.
The water outside the kitchen window is still and there’s a heron at the edge standing on one leg, still as a statue. He’s been there since I came down and my gaze keeps cutting his way to see if he’s going to try to nab a small fish from the shallows.
I think about last night and the significance of it.
After ten minutes of indulging Josie in a walk through Occidental Park, we came here to my place and completely ignored the fact that we had told each other we were falling in love.
We didn’t feel the need to discuss it, but I’m sure we were both processing it.
Josie kicked off her shoes by the door, and I poured us some wine.
We made dinner together and she was a terrible help, stealing pieces of broccoli off my cutting board, distracting me by reaching past me to put something in a bowl with her hip pressed to mine, and I let her.
We carried our plates out to the patio and turned on the heaters.
We sat there with the gas humming and the water lapping at the shore’s edge.
We ate pasta and talked about mundane life things like the best way to unclog a drain at her house and why Tom Hanks can’t seem to make a bad movie.
It was a beautiful evening made more so by the way she watched me as I peeled her out of her clothes in my bedroom.
She put her palms flat against my chest and looked at me like she wanted to remember the shape of my face so she’d never forget it.
And I had this thought, very clear, that I’ve spent thirty-six years on the planet and this is the first time another person has looked at me like I was something they wanted to commit to memory.
After, when we lay in the dark with our breath leveling out, she said my name once in a voice I hadn’t heard her use before. Just before she fell asleep and I swear it was like she was putting a stake in the ground.
Josie fell asleep with her head on my chest and one hand curled at my sternum. I didn’t sleep for a long time but lay in the dark and counted her breaths. I tried to stop my brain from running the math on how many ways she could be taken from me before I had the right to keep her.
The complications are still complications.
I’m still a man who smuggles illegal art for a living and I’m still a convicted felon. I’m still standing between a Russian and the woman I’ve fallen for. I have an old friend who’s either back in the fold or one phone call away from putting Josie’s name in the hands of a killer.
None of that went away as I was making love to her, but some of it got quieter.
My phone vibrates beside the cutting board and I wipe my hands on a towel before I nab it.
It’s from Marcus. All good here. C’s been on The Quartermaster since six. Helped me clean the bilge pump filter without bitching once. Old Connie. Maybe we’re okay, boss.
I read it twice and hope beyond hope it’s true. I want that old Connie back. I want the run to go clean and once we get to the other side of this with everyone alive, I want to make some decisions with my life.
My fingers type out a quick response. Good. Keep watching.
I put the phone face down on the island and stare at the stool where Josie sat last night when I finally banished her from helping me with dinner.
I was stirring the angel hair pasta and she said, “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything,” I replied without thought or hesitation. Because there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her, and that probably includes leaving my smuggling life.
But she didn’t ask me to give that up.
Instead she said, “If anything ever happens to me, will you make sure to call my dad to let him know?”
My stomach dipped. “Josie.”
“Anything,” she reiterates, putting emphasis on the word.
“If Mikhail grabs me, if I get hit by a bus, if I have a brain aneurysm and drop dead in the produce aisle at Met Market. I don’t want him to find out from the news or from Malik or from a uniformed officer at his door. I want him to find out from you.”
I should be relieved she’s not just talking about Mikhail but rather any unfortunate incident. Except I don’t want to think about it at all. “Don’t talk about that.”
“I’m talking about it because… well, I’ve never had someone who was important enough for me to put that responsibility on them.”
And those were exactly the right words. Telling me that this was an honor she’s never asked of anyone before, and I nodded without hesitation. “Yeah… sure.”
Josie sent me her dad’s contact information right then and there and I put it in my phone for safekeeping, hoping I’d never have to call the man.
But then about an hour ago, as I was waiting for the coffee to brew, an idea struck me and next thing I knew, I was calling Bill McAdams.
The doorbell rings as if on cue. “Speak of the devil,” I murmur and wipe my hands once again before heading toward the door.
Josie’s father stands there holding a small paper bag. He’s in jeans and a flannel under a canvas barn jacket, no concession to the weather beyond a wool watch cap he pulls off and tucks into a pocket. I noticed the first time I met him, Josie inherited his blue eyes.
“Good morning,” he says with a broad grin.
“Good morning,” I say, waving him inside. “I’m glad you came.”
“Hey,” he says with a laugh. “Any chance to hang out with my daughter, I’m going to grab it.”
Bill’s eyes sweep the interior of the great room, takes in the open kitchen to the right and the wall of windows overlooking the Sound. He whistles low. “This is a hell of a house, Finn.”
“Thank you. I really love it here.”
“My daughter still asleep?”
“Yes, sir. I imagine she’ll be up soon, though.”
“Then we have a window.” He hands me the paper bag. “Bagels. From the place on Queen Anne she likes. Don’t tell her I bribed you.”
“I’ll deny it under oath.”
He gives me half a smile, and it looks just like Josie’s half smile. I have to force myself to stop cataloguing the resemblance between the two.
Bill settles onto one of the island stools and I pour him a mug of coffee from the carafe. I get back to my chopping.
“Josie’s usually an early riser,” Bill muses in a way I can tell he’s fishing for information.
“She’s been working hard and is a little overtired,” I say neutrally. “She hasn’t had a day off for a while, so I figured she was due a sleep-in.”
He watches me cut for a beat. “She moved in?”
I still the knife and look up at him. “Not officially.”
“Unofficially?” he prods.
“She’s staying here temporarily.”
“And is there a reason?”
“Does there have to be?” I counter.
Bill chuckles, but it’s not one of amusement.
It’s the laugh of a man who has my number.
“Son, I know my daughter and she’s not one to move into a man’s house after knowing him a handful of weeks.
Your answers to my questions are too vague, and I’ve gathered intel for my entire adult life. Something’s going on.”
I was afraid this might happen. Bill McAdams isn’t a man you bring into your kitchen and hand a coffee. He’s a retired marine general who spent his entire career asking hard questions and he can spot a deflection from a mile away.
But most of this story isn’t mine to tell. I’ll give him as much truth as I can without divulging the full truth.
“Her work is in a complicated place right now and it’s been pressing on her. She and I both agreed she’d be more comfortable here than at her house until it resolves.”
“Complicated how?”
“Complicated in ways I can’t speak to, sir.”
He sets the coffee down and folds his hands on the island. The blue of his eyes is glacial.
“Finn… my daughter is one of the best intelligence analysts this country has produced. She’s also my only child.
I’ve spent many years watching her work cases I’m not cleared to know the details of, and I’ve lived with it because that’s the deal.
So I’m not going to ask you to break confidence with her about her job, but I am going to ask you a question, and I would like a straight answer. ”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is she in physical danger right now?”
I don’t break eye contact. “Yes, sir. There’s a good chance she is.”
“Serious danger?”
“When it comes to Josie, there’s no other kind,” I reply.
His jaw moves and he nods in understanding. “And that’s why she’s here in your house instead of at her own?”
“I think she’s fully capable of protecting herself, but I believe she’s safer with two of us watching out.”
He looks at me for a long beat. “Good answer.”
A floorboard creaks at the top of the stairs. “Dad?”
Bill’s whole face changes and he swivels on his stool to face Josie.
“There she is.” Bill beams like a father who watched his daughter take her first steps.
Josie comes down in a white robe I haven’t seen her in yet, belted at the waist, her hair loose around her shoulders. No makeup, her feet bare on the wood, and so fucking beautiful, my chest squeezes.
She gets to the bottom step and stops, looking at Bill like she’s trying to decide if she’s actually awake. “What are you doing here?”
Bill throws his thumb my way. “Finn invited me.”
She turns her gaze slowly to me, her lips curved into a soft smile. “You invited my father over?”
I lift a shoulder and sweep the diced pepper into a bowl. “I thought you’d like it.”
She crosses the kitchen and goes straight into Bill’s arms. He folds her into a hug and kisses the top of her head.
Then she turns to me. She doesn’t say anything but comes around the island and slips her arms over my shoulders for a tight hug. She then kisses me once on the mouth in front of her father before murmuring, “Thank you. That’s so sweet.”
“You’re welcome.”
She turns back to Bill. “Coffee?”
He nods to his cup. “Got one.”
She pours one for herself, climbs onto the barstool next to his, and wraps both hands around the mug. “All right. What did you two talk about while I was asleep?”
Bill doesn’t blink. “I asked your boyfriend if you were in danger.”
Josie’s head tips back and she groans. “Dad.”
“He said yes.”
Josie’s head whips my way.
“But that’s all I told him,” I rush to assure her.
“Finn didn’t give me any details,” Bill says, his eyes cutting between me and his daughter. “But I’d like you to fill in some of the rest.”
She looks at him, then looks at me. I keep my hands moving on the cutting board because I’m not going to be the one who answers a question her father asked her.
Josie sighs and says, “All right. I’ll tell you what I can.”
Bill settles in and listens quietly without interruption as Josie tells him about the Voronin case and how Jameson was hired to help.
She moves without pause into her stakeout at the docks, and I’ll give her dad credit, I see no signs of distress when she tells him she got captured other than a slight tightening of his grip on the coffee mug.
She tells him that I fished her out of the water and then only mentions that there’s the fear that Voronin’s men are looking for her since there’s no proof she died.
She doesn’t say anything more about me and Bill doesn’t ask. When she finishes, Bill lets out a gust of pent-up air, his eyes drifting over to me. “You were out on the water that night and you saved her.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll never be able to repay you,” Bill says with a thick voice.
“No repayment needed.” I let my gaze drift to Josie. “My life got better that night.”
“Be that as it may,” Bill says, and the hardening in his voice has my skin tightening as his attention returns to me, “I am going to ask why you were on the water at that time of night.”
Josie cuts in before I can answer. “Dad… that’s one I’m going to ask you to leave alone.”
Bill looks at her. “Josephine.”
“Leave it,” she says sternly, like trying to train a puppy to leave a stick alone.
They engage in a staring war, but eventually Bill nods.
“Okay, fine. And truth be told, it doesn’t matter what he was doing out there.
” He turns his entire body my way, eyes locking on mine.
“He pulled my girl out of cold water and brought her home alive. As far as I’m concerned, son, you’ve got a permanent line of credit with me on the question of why you were where you were. ”
I stare at him a long beat and then nod, a silent thank-you.
Bill picks up his coffee, takes a long sip and sets it down. His attention goes to Josie, who’s smiling at me.
“Now,” he says. “Let’s talk about you leaving Seattle.”
Her head snaps his way. “Dad—”
“I have a friend in Santa Fe with a guest house and a long driveway. We can be on the road in two hours.”
“Dad.”
“Or I can take you to Maui. I have miles. You can sit on a beach and pretend to be a tourist until your people put this guy in a hole.”
“Dad.”
“Josephine.”
“No,” she says with a huff.
Bill looks at me. “Help me out here.”
I hope my expression is as pained as my heart. “I’ve tried, Bill. I really have.”
I get a look of disappointment from the man whose approval really means everything.
Shit.
Bill turns back to Josie. “Honey—”
“No,” she says again. She sets her coffee down and takes her dad’s hand. “I’m going to say this exactly once and then we’re going to talk about something else or I’m going home.” Her eyes land on mine briefly so I understand I’m involved in this as well. “To my house. By myself.”
“Josie—” her dad chides.
“I’m not leaving Seattle. I’m not going to Santa Fe. I’m not going to Maui. I’m not running. There are women being trafficked through the Sound and I’m going to help put this man away. Are we clear?”
Bill stares at his daughter with a mixture of frustration and pride. “All right.” He picks his coffee back up. “I had to try. I’m your father and that’s the job.”
“Thank you,” Josie says, offering him a forgiving smile.
“For the record, I think you’re being stubborn.”
She rolls her eyes. “For the record, I learned it from you.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“For the record,” her dad drawls, “that is also true. Now, are we eating breakfast or are we just going to sit here and look at the cutting board?”
I get the omelets going and Josie pulls plates down from the cabinet. Bill, without being asked, finds the silverware drawer on the first try, and the father-daughter duo joke with each other as they set the table by the window.
Josie pours juice and I plate the omelets and the three of us sit down like a family to eat.
It’s surreal… the familial experience, but I realize that I’d hand over every painting I’ve ever moved to keep this.
I’d hand over the gallery.
I’d hand over the boat.
My priorities have changed over the course of cooking omelets.
I just need to figure out how to change things.