Deirdre hung her head but not before a couple of tears streaked down her cheeks. One of them plopped onto the photo of her, Finn, and Fletcher, oozing across the paper.
“I’m sorry, Finnegan. So sorry. And so ashamed. I should have been stronger. I should have found some way to contact you years ago.” A few more tears rolled down her cheeks, dripped off her chin, and splattered onto the photos. “But Fletcher always kept such a close watch over you, and me too. Although I did try a few times to reach out to you.”
“What happened?” Finn asked in a low, strained voice. “What did Dad do?”
Deirdre let out a tense breath. “I got a packet of photos in the mail, of myself, from where Fletcher had been spying on me, along with a note warning me about what would happen if I ever came back to Ashland. That he would make good on his promise to kill me.”
She shuddered, wiped the tears off her cheeks, and raised her head, staring at Finn again.
“When I heard that Fletcher had died, I knew that I finally had a chance to reconnect with you. But I was still a coward, so instead of immediately coming to town, I thought about the best way to approach you. The best way I could have some sort of relationship with you. I knew that you were a banker, and I needed some help with my charity investments, so that seemed like the most logical place to start. I was working up to telling you who I really was. Last night, during the bank robbery, I realized that I needed to just go ahead, take a chance, and make the most of the time I’d been given with you.”
She let out another breath.
“So that’s it. That’s my story. I’m sorry, Finnegan. So sorry. For everything. But I’m here now, and I want a second chance, if you’ll have me. Even though I know that I don’t deserve one.”
Deirdre stretched out her hand, a pleading look on her face. The sunlight streaming in through the windows added a golden glow to her hair, making her look like a fallen angel, begging for forgiveness and a chance at redemption. Her words, voice, gesture, expression—it was all beautifully done, right down to her trembling fingers and the fresh tears glistening in her eyes. Even I might have been suckered in by her, if I hadn’t known Fletcher. If I hadn’t known down to the very bottom of my black, rotten heart that he would never, ever hit a defenseless person, much less threaten the mother of his own son, unless he had a damn good reason.
But Finn . . . he couldn’t see that. He didn’t want to see it. Not right now, anyway. Maybe not ever.
Finn reached out and wrapped her trembling hand in both of his. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said in a rough, raspy voice. “What matters is that you’re here now, and we have a second chance, just like you said.”
“Oh, Finnegan, you don’t know how happy that makes me.”
Deirdre smiled, and the two of them stared at each other, lost in their own little moment.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please. Finn, don’t tell me that you’re buying this bullshit story. I’ve seen better acts at the carnival.”
Finn’s mouth gaped. He was shocked that I was raining all over this tender, tearful moment. Oh, it was raining, all right. And it was about to fucking pour.
“I know that Fletcher was your mentor,” Deirdre said in a soft voice, as though she were talking to an idiot and didn’t want to use too many words too quickly. “I know that he took you in off the streets and that you loved him very much. But just because you love someone doesn’t mean that you know everything they’ve done or everything they’re capable of.”
“And I know that you’re lying through your teeth about Fletcher,” I snapped back. “Maybe Finn is too starry-eyed to see the holes in your story, but I’m not.”
“What holes?” Deirdre said, her voice still annoyingly calm. “Ask me anything. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, Gin. Anything to set your mind at ease.”
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. “All right, then. Let’s play Twenty Questions. How many times did you think about Finn? Every day, once a week, once a month? How many times did you try to contact him? When? I could go on, but there’s really only one question that matters in the end. Why didn’t you try harder?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“If I had a kid, I would do everything in my power to be a part of his or her life,” I said, my voice as cold as ice. “Not let someone keep me away because of a few threats. But that’s exactly what you’ve done, by your own admission.”
“I know this is difficult for you to accept, Gin, but Fletcher is the reason I stayed away for all these years,” Deirdre said. “He threatened me, just like you said.”
“Bullshit,” I countered. “Fletcher’s been dead for more than a year now. If you were so concerned about Finn and so truly desperate to finally see your son again, then you would have come to town the second you knew that Fletcher was dead. But you didn’t. You didn’t come back to Ashland after the old man died because you had other things to do. You stayed away because you just didn’t fucking care. Not about Fletcher and certainly not about Finn.”
Deirdre gasped, and more tears streaked down her face, as though my words had cut her to the core. I certainly wanted to do that to her with my knives but not in front of my customers. The few folks dining in the restaurant might not have heard my exact words, but the icy rage in my tone had been unmistakable and threatening enough to make them all freeze in their seats, eyes wide, sandwiches and sodas halfway to their lips.
Deirdre wiped away her tears, lifted her chin, and stared back at me. “I know that this is hard for you to accept . . .”
She started her spiel again, but I was tired of listening to her lies, especially the ones she was telling about Fletcher, trying to poison his own son against him. The old man wasn’t here to defend himself, but I was, and I would defend him. And Finn too, whether he liked it or not.
“You should know this,” I said in a cold, hard voice. “When you hurt Finn, I will kill you.”
Deirdre gasped again, her blue eyes widened, and her hand flew to her heart, as though she were truly startled by my poison promise. As if I were Fletcher threatening her all over again, like she claimed. In that moment, I supposed that I was exactly like the old man.
I was okay with that.
Her chin quivered, and her fingers trembled. I wondered if she’d practiced those moves in the mirror. Probably. She was certainly the best con artist I’d ever seen.
But her shocked, scared look had the desired effect on Finn.
“Gin!” he hissed, anger sparking like fireworks in his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Watching out for you,” I snapped. “I can’t believe you’re falling for her lies. If she tells you that Santa Claus is real, are you going to believe that whopper too?”
Finn opened his mouth, but Bria cut him off before he could snap back at me.
“Okay,” she said. “That’s enough. Let’s take a break.”
“I think you’re right,” Deirdre said in a shaking voice.
She started to slide out of the booth but stopped when she realized that I was still sitting at the end of the table, blocking her escape.
“Gin,” Bria said, a sharp note in her voice.
I slowly scooted my chair back and stood up.
Deirdre got out of the booth, being sure to stay out of arm’s reach of me. Smart woman. She gestured at the photos still spread out on the tabletop. “Feel free to look at those as long as you like, Finnegan. I hope that you’ll give me a chance to get to know you. I’d like that more than anything. And I want to get to know your friends too.” She turned toward me. “Even you, Gin. Despite your feelings about me.”
I stared at Deirdre, but she kept giving me that same hurt, wounded look, as though I’d gravely offended her by not swallowing her lies.
Finn slid out of the booth and walked around me. He hesitated, then stepped forward and hugged Deirdre. She seemed startled by the motion, but her arms wrapped around his back, and she hugged him eve
n tighter.
I glared at her all the while, but she didn’t look at me. Of course she didn’t. I wasn’t the one she was conning, so I wasn’t important.
They hugged for a few more seconds before finally breaking apart.
“I’ll call you later,” Finn said. “Maybe we can talk some more then?”
“I’d like that,” she whispered.
He nodded and started to step back, but Deirdre reached up and cupped his cheek with her hand. This time, he was the one who seemed startled, but he grasped her fingers and gently squeezed them. She smiled at him again, then grabbed her purse and walked out of the restaurant.
The bell over the front door chimed softly at her passing, but the sound seemed as loud as a gunshot in my mind.
Deirdre Shaw had definitely won this round. Now I just had to figure out how to keep her from winning any more.
14
Deirdre might have left, but the show wasn’t quite over yet.
Everyone in the restaurant turned to look at me, whispering and wondering about the drama they’d just witnessed. No doubt, somebody here had some underworld connections, which meant that news of the confrontation would spread like wildfire among the bosses. I ground my teeth. Terrific.
I ignored the curious stares and glanced over at Silvio, who slid off his stool, buttoned his suit jacket, and went outside. With his enhanced vampire senses, he’d heard every word of our heated conversation. Silvio had realized that I wanted all the information I could get on Deirdre, even if it was something as mundane as what kind of car she was driving.
Finn waited until Deirdre was out of sight of the storefront windows before he whipped around to me. “Are you happy now? You just chased away my mother. Just like Dad did.”
I opened my mouth, but he snapped his hand up.
“Forget it. I can’t even look at you right now,” he growled.
He stormed toward the front door, but Owen was already there, blocking his path. Finn glared at him, but Owen put his arm around Finn’s shoulders.
“Come on, man,” he said. “Let’s go out back and get some air.”
Owen looked at me, and I nodded my thanks. He nodded back, then half led, half strong-armed Finn across the storefront, through the double doors, and into the back of the restaurant.
Everyone swung around to stare at me again, wondering what I would do next. I glared back at the curious crowd, until they all decided it would be better to focus on their food and started shoving sandwiches and French fries into their mouths at warp speed.
“That went well,” Bria drawled, still sitting in the booth. “You know you played right into her hands.”
I huffed out an angry breath and ran my hands down my blue work apron, trying to rein in my emotions. “I know, I know. I should have been calm, cool, reasonable. Just like she was. But I just couldn’t sit there and listen to all those damn, dirty lies about Fletcher. I just couldn’t. And I don’t get Finn. He’s going to believe some strange woman who shows up out of the blue over his own father? The man who was here for him all these years?”
I shook my head. “Sometimes I don’t know what is going on in that boy’s mind.”
Bria picked up the photos. “Think about it from his point of view. He gets a second chance with the mother he never knew. That would be tempting for anyone.”
“Yeah, but this is Finn we’re talking about. He usually has women eating out of the palm of his hand. Not the other way around.”
She shrugged. “And growing up without a mother is probably one of the reasons he likes women so much and is such a terrible flirt. He’s trying to have that connection he never had with her.”
My eyes narrowed. “When did you go all Freudian on me?”
“You’re not the only one who takes classes, you know. I’ve been doing some psychology stuff online through the police department.” She grinned a moment before the smile slipped from her face. “You need to talk to Finn. Hash out this thing between the two of you before it gets any worse. If Deirdre really is a threat, then you need to stay close to him. Not alienate him even more.”
I sighed. “I know. But he’s not going to like what I have to say about Mama Dearest.”
Bria shrugged again. She didn’t know how to make Finn listen to reason any more than I did.
But she was right, and I had to try. So I stepped behind the counter, yanked off my apron, and hung it on a rack on the wall, just to give myself a few more seconds to cool off. When I felt calmer, I headed toward the double doors, where Jo-Jo and Sophia were now standing, both with worried looks on their faces.
I stopped in front of them. “What did you think about what Deirdre said?”
“Bullshit,” Sophia growled, her nostrils flaring in anger. “Every single word.”
Well, at least I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Then again, Sophia had loved Fletcher too, especially since he’d saved her from a horrible situation, and she was just as biased about him as I was.
“Forget about what she said for now. Go make things right with Finn,” Jo-Jo said. “He’ll come to his senses, sooner or later.”
I nodded and flashed her a smile, but my heart remained heavy as I pushed through the double doors. Because part of me couldn’t help but wonder if it was already too late for Finn.
* * *
The waitstaff must have been as transfixed by the ugly scene with Deirdre as the customers were, because the back of the restaurant was empty. Good. I didn’t need to have anyone else see me lose my shit today.
I moved past the metal shelves full of sugar, cornmeal, and ketchup and headed for the back door. I reached for the knob, but the door had already been left open a couple of inches.
I should have opened the door and gone outside to talk to Finn, but instead, I peered through the gap, wondering what he and Owen were saying—and how much Finn was probably cursing my existence right now.
My foster brother was pacing back and forth in the alley behind the restaurant, his shiny black wing tips snap-snap-snapping like rubber bands against the dirty, cracked asphalt. Owen was on the opposite side of the alley, leaning one shoulder against the brick wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Finn pace.
Owen shook his head. “Do yourself a favor, Finn. Don’t be that guy.”
“What guy?” he growled, and kept right on pacing.
“The guy I was when Salina came back to town. The guy who doubted Gin. The guy who hurt Gin with those doubts. She’s just looking out for you, man. Nothing else.”
Salina Dubois had been Owen’s ex-fiancée before I killed her. At the time, she’d been trying to murder me and all the people she blamed for her father’s death, but her appearance in Ashland and subsequent death at my hands had driven a rift between Owen and me, one that had almost been the end of us.
But here was Owen, sticking up for me and trying to keep Finn from making the same mistake. Owen knew how much I valued my relationship with Finn, and he was doing everything he could to keep the situation from getting any worse. My throat closed up with emotion, and my heart swelled with love for him. He always did the thoughtful things that meant so much to me.
Finn snorted. “Well, she has a funny way of showing it, threatening to kill my mother.”
Owen shook his head. “You really don’t see it, do you? How suspicious this all is? Your mom suddenly coming back to town? Surely you can understand why Gin is worried.”
“Of course I know it’s suspicious. I’m not a complete idiot. But apparently, Gin thinks that I am. I can take care of myself, you know. I did it for years before she came along.”
“And you know Gin,” Owen replied. “She always looks out for the people she cares about. That’s one of the things I admire most about her.”
Finn snorted again. “You are such a fucking hypocrite sometimes.”
“Excuse me?”
He stopped pacing and pointed his finger at Owen in accusation. “You—you’re a hypocrite, Grayson. You’re absolutely r
ight. You were that guy. You were the guy who doubted Gin, who pushed her away, when all she was trying to do was help you. You were an idiot for believing Salina’s lies. We all knew it, but Gin stuck by you anyway. She put her life on the line for you time and time again, and when the truth about Salina came out, what did you do? You walked away from Gin. Just like that.”
He slapped his hands together for emphasis. Owen winced at the sharp sound.
“And now here you are, lecturing me about doing the same thing? Like I said, fucking hypocrite.” Finn started pacing again.
Owen’s hands clenched into fists, and he pushed away from the wall, like he was thinking about pounding Finn into a bloody smear on the pavement.
That was my cue. I opened the door and stepped out into the alley before things got any worse between them. They both turned at the faint creak of the door swinging open.
“Hey, Gin, you’re just in time to bail out your boy toy.” Finn sneered. “He’s about to fall off that high horse of his.”
“Shut it, Lane,” Owen snapped back. “Or I will mess up that pretty-boy face of yours so badly even Jo-Jo won’t be able to put it back together again.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
By this point, the two of them were nose-to-nose, jaws and fists clenched tight, eyes narrowed and glinting with anger. I put my hands on their shoulders and pushed them apart. The last thing any of us needed right now was a brawl.
“That’s enough,” I said. “Separate corners, boys. Now. Owen, I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Owen glowered at Finn another second, then leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Anything you need, Gin. You know that.”
“I do know that. Now, go. Please.”
He turned around and stormed back inside the restaurant, slamming the door shut behind him.
For several seconds, Finn and I were still and quiet, and the only sound was the rumble of traffic on the surrounding side streets, punctuated by the occasional honking of a car horn. Finally, Finn lifted his chin, his mouth a stubborn slash.