CHAPTER NINE

 

The next morning beneath a low gray sky left over from the day before, Finn drove up St. Charles to meet Jack at the morgue. She found herself thinking about Emmy. Naturally. Nothing like dead bodies, formaldehyde and refrigerated steel vaults to remind her of her sister.

There was a good reason she was thinking about her older sister and morgues. During Emmy’s senior year, her best friend, Cissy Delahunte, a Mardi Gras Carnival ball debutante, died in a car accident after the prom. Emmy had been riding in the car with her as well as their dates, one of whom, Emmy’s boyfriend, had been drinking and driving. Although he walked away without a scratch, he was charged with vehicular homicide. Emmy and Cissy’s date were hospitalized with broken bones and bruises, but nothing life threatening.

Emmy walked out of the hospital several days later with a broken arm, broken memories and a broken heart. She was never again the same fun-loving, joyous young woman. Finn wondered if Emmy had to identify any of the bodies. She’d never considered such a horrifying idea before but now here Finn was doing it.

“Deal with it, Finn,” she muttered, reaching forward and turning up the AC a notch.

She parked on the street, marched inside and met Jack who waited for her in the fluorescent-lit lobby. He gave her a grim nod.

As they started down the quiet hall, a sudden and unwelcome urge to giggle overwhelmed Finn. Oddly enough, it erupted when Jack took her elbow and steered her around the corner bringing them closer and closer to the morgue.

“What’s the matter?”

She clapped a hand over her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Are you crying, chere?”

She shook her head, holding back the inappropriate laughter. What was wrong with her? A man was dead.

His steps slowed, his brow creased with worry. “It’s not so bad. Honest. You won’t even have to get close to him if you don’t want to. The smell is hardly noticeable.” He leaned in toward her and stared at her face until she looked up at him. “We can do this another time.”

“No, it’s not that.” A giggle slipped out and she slapped her hand over her mouth again.

“You’re laughing?” His mouth quirked in a quick grin, then he shook his head. “Laughing?”

“I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I’ve never done this before.”

“It’s all right. It’s better than crying, but what is going on now in that messed-up brain of yours?”

“I’ve watched a zillion of those stupid cop shows on TV. At least once an episode the characters are standing over the autopsied body discussing something serious and earth shattering. The heart-stopping drama in their faces, really—” She threw her arms wide. “Come on, how realistic is that? It’s supposed to be a real person. But this, this, is a real person.”

“It’s entertainment, I guess,” he said, nodding in agreement. “But if you deal with death every day it’s not entertainment.”

“I know but I couldn’t seem to help it. I know this is serious but I had this unbelievable urge to laugh. I was imagining those shows and me on one of them standing with my arms crossed looking at a dead body with a faux caring expression on my face. I know it’s crazy and inappropriate but it hit me funny.”

He shook his head, then took her arm, turned a corner and stopped in front of a metal door with nothing but a numbered plaque on the wall to indicate what was within. He tipped her chin up and stared at her face. “It’s no crazier than standing beside a dead body and calling it entertainment. So buck up, chere, it’ll only take a minute and then you can go home.”

“Unless I recognize him.”

“There might be more for me to do but you won’t have to look at a dead body ever again.”

“Unless I stumble across another one.”

He reached for the door handle, his mouth twisted in a grimace. “Promise me if you see anything looking the least bit suspicious you’ll turn around and run like a maniac in the opposite direction. For me, if not for yourself.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Great.” He turned the handle and pushed the door open. “Let’s do this.”

Finn went inside and looked around. Jack crossed the room and whispered to a man seated at a cluttered desk.

The urge to giggle dried up and floated away on the disgusting fumes of formaldehyde and alcohol. And the smell of death which was probably her imagination working overtime.

Stainless steel enclosed her in every direction. After taking a quick surreptitious peek at her surroundings, she kept her gaze on Jack and refused to let it wander.

He came back to her, gently took her arm and led her away. The other man got to his feet, grabbed a handle on one of the myriad stainless steel drawers and pulled it out. Like in the movies and on TV, a body, a rather large body, lay beneath a white sheet. Finn’s heart lurched.

Jack looked at her and asked in a quiet voice, “You ready?”

She nodded, slipping her hands into her jeans pockets.

He pulled back the sheet so Finn could see the closed eyes, the immobile gray slack face. It was more than enough. “It could be him but you know—” She didn’t want to, but to get a closer look, Finn leaned in and stared, then backed up. “I think I know him from somewhere, but I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean? From somewhere?” He ran a hand through his hair, then looked toward the ceiling.

“Do you know his name?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“So, you know who he is.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

He pulled the sheet back over the body, and nodded to the attendant. He steered Finn out of the room and back down the hall to the front of the building. Once they were outside, she released a slow, uneven breath.

Jack turned to her. “I’m not supposed to tell you but I will anyway. His name’s Simon La Fontaine. Do you recognize the name?”

“How did he die?” Finn’s heartbeat slid back to normal. Emptiness hollowed out her insides. Seeing him lying dead on cold hard steel struck her how fragile life was. One day you were walking down the street minding your own business and living your life, the next day your life was over. Kaput. It seemed to Finn a person should know when he was going to die so he could prepare for it. The unfairness of it all struck her anew.

“Where’d you go?” Jack asked.

Finn shook her head, thinking hard. “I remember seeing him alive somewhere, not lying dead on a steel bed in the morgue.”

Brow furrowed, he asked, “But where?”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“Dammit, Finn,” he said. “I don’t know where you’ve seen him. I know where you might have seen him but I can’t put words in your mouth.” He shook his head again. “Damn, damn, damn. I'd hoped you'd give me something solid I could run with.”

Somehow, they’d left the building without Finn realizing when it happened. They stood on the street in the sunshine. She took in a slow, uneven breath of the thick humid air. Jack pulled the sunglasses he’d stuck on top on his head down over his eyes effectively concealing his gaze. “What?”

“You’re not saying anymore, are you?” Finn asked.

“No,” he said, with a quick shake of his head. “Not unless you tell me positively this is the guy you saw lying on the gallery in the Quarter.”

“It kinda looks like him. It could be him, but I never said I got a good look. When I tried to, I got knocked out. Remember?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“So if you’re not saying anything more and I’m not saying anything more, this conversation must be over.”

She walked away without looking back, but she heard him mutter an obscenity beneath his breath as she reached her car.

“Damn,” she said in total agreement. She wanted this whole fiasco over and done with.

Finn left Jack in front of the morgue with his mouth hanging open and obscenities falling out. She hurried on to her culinary class.

An hour and a half later, she was deep in contemplation. Giving tours, attending classes, then studying, practicing and experimenting in the kitchen, to say nothing of taking pictures for Tommy. There weren’t enough hours in the day for Finn to have a normal life, or even a life of her own. A love life was out of the question. She could barely keep up with her family and friends.

After an exceptionally stressful class of slicing, dicing, julienning and jardiniering, her arm felt like it was ready to fall off at the shoulder. Her wrist and fingers ached. If this is what it took to make vegetable stock, she was thinking about becoming a meatatarian. She didn’t know if such a word existed and what’s more, she didn’t care, because right now it sounded great.

She schlepped out of the classroom building wishing for a long, hot shower and a cool, soft bed. She didn’t even mind she’d be alone in both of them.

The street was quiet and dark. Finn’s Bug beckoned beneath the dim glow of a street lamp, the heat of the day still rising like a mirage off the street. She unlocked the door and tossed her pack in the back seat. She climbed in, pulled the door shut behind her and locked it. She closed her eyes and took a long breath, letting it out slowly. Gradually, she relaxed.

It wasn’t the crazy schedule she kept or trying to keep school a secret exhausting her; it was the quite obvious fact that someone, probably Miss FBI’s Most Wanted, wanted her gone. Gone. As in dead, deceased, departed and not dearly.

Finn was tired. Plain and simple.

She started her car. When it jumped to life, she shoved it in gear and headed home.

The streets weren’t busy but she was so exhausted she needed all her concentration to stay focused on her driving.

Her trip to the morgue replayed, repeatedly, in her mind. She couldn’t, no matter how hard she tried, place the dead guy. She knew why. It was that odd phenomenon where if you saw someone away from his usual place you didn’t recognize him. If the librarian was at the zoo, he was out of place. You knew you knew him but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember where.

Of course, lying on a steel table in a morgue was out of place for anyone who’d ever crossed Finn’s life.

She pulled into her parking spot behind Gert’s garage, and noticed the light over the kitchen sink glowing inside her cottage. Debbie must still be up, not surprising since it wasn’t quite midnight.

She fit her key in the lock and tiptoed inside so as not to wake her if she was asleep. She flipped on a table lamp inside the front room and dropped her backpack on the floor.

Simultaneous gasps sprang from the couch.

Finn was so startled she reached into her backpack for her Mace, and instead got hold of the string on a box of animal crackers first. She stopped rummaging around when she saw Debbie and the Arnaud boy hastily rearranging their clothes. Debbie wore a black sports bra and black boy leg panties; Benjy wore nothing but tented green flannel plaid Tulane boxers. He quickly turned his back to her.

“Debbie,” Finn said, hanging onto her cool by a mere thread. “What the hell?”

Good God. There should be a law. She slapped her palm against her eyes and turned around.

“Finn,” Debbie began, her breath coming in short bursts, “aren’t you, like, home early?”

“Like, no.” She listened to the sound of rustling clothes, her eyes closed even though her back was turned.

“We were just—”

“Don’t say anything. I’m not blind.”

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” Debbie whined. “We were playing cards.”

“What it looked like? Very funny.” She wasn’t laughing. Finn was performing deep breathing exercises to calm herself. She wasn’t Debbie’s mom. She wasn’t Benjy’s mom. But she was the adult here. And walking in on two healthy people in their underwear, yikes, well...it was her baby sister for crying out loud.

“We’re dressed. You can turn around now.”

She turned around. They both stood facing her—red-faced, hair mussed and clothes on but disordered.

“Are you going to tell my mom?” Benjy asked in a grudging voice. “We were just playing strip poker. Debbie was winning.”

“She probably cheated,” Finn muttered, then stared at the two of them. Debbie, aside from her crumpled clothes, wore a grin from ear to ear. Benjy’s hair stood on end. He seemed embarrassed and uncomfortable in his inside-out tee shirt with a quite noticeable bulge in the front of his beach shorts. A deck of cards lay scattered across the coffee table. Maybe they had been playing strip poker but they’d moved on to something else before she walked in.

“Not my job,” Finn said, dragging her gaze up to Benjy’s crimson face. Seventeen, huh? She was twenty-five. Michael Douglas was twenty-five years older than Catherine Zeta Jones. Of course, Catherine wasn’t an underage seventeen when they met. Besides Finn wasn’t interested in teenagers and Debbie had no business doing...whatever it was she’d been doing. “I think you’d better head on home.”

He ducked his head and started for the door. Before he made it, Debbie ran up to him, gave him a quick kiss and a pat on his butt. He left without another word.

“Debbie,” Finn said again as she sat down. “Isn’t this what got you in trouble in Florida in the first place?”

“Yeah, kinda,” she said plopping down on the couch next to Finn, “but not with Benjy. Isn’t he scrumptious? And we really were playing strip poker.” She gestured to the pile of chips and playing cards on the coffee table. “He’s really terrible.”

“It doesn’t matter what you started out doing.” Finn brushed an errant strand of hair off her forehead. “I’m beyond tired. I’m taking a shower then falling into bed. And I’m going to forget I ever saw this. Or try to. And you’re going to keep your clothes on from now on or I’m sending you home to Dan and Dorie on the next bus.”

“That’s it?” Debbie asked, one pierced eyebrow raised, her expression wary. “You’re not going to yell or anything?”

“I’m not your Mom but I am responsible for you right now.” Finn dragged herself to her feet. At the door to the hallway, she turned around and said, “Not that I think you should be having sex at all but you’re at least on birth control, aren’t you?”

“You asked me already and, like, f’sure.”

Finn rolled her eyes. “F’sure. And using condoms?”

Debbie nodded.

“Thank God. We’ll talk in the morning. I am exhausted, Debs, but I do know the difference between playing cards and having sex.”

“Whatever.” Debbie reached for the remote. “We started out playing poker.”

“Whatever.” Too tired to argue or try to carry on an intelligent conversation with a teenager, Finn left the room. Was it even possible to have an intelligent conversation with a teenager? Or was that an oxymoron?

***

Early the next morning Finn sat at the kitchen table eating a bowl of Cheerios. A cinnamon bagel slathered with cream cheese awaited. The sun, peeking through the yellow gingham-checked curtains, patterned bright squares across the kitchen table.

Debbie, surprisingly, was not only up, but awake and gobbling her own bowl of cereal when Finn had padded into the kitchen, barefoot and yawning. She wondered how to gracefully bring up last night’s escapades. She didn’t feel terribly authoritative dressed in a pink cami and dancing pink elephants pajama pants. On the other hand, Debbie wore a faded, tie-died sleep-shirt with a peace sign on the front of it.

Finn’s cell phone chimed saving her. Debbie grabbed it out of Finn’s backpack where it lay on the floor before Finn could even get out of her chair.

“It might be Dorie,” Debbie muttered in a loud whisper. “I, need to, like, steer her clear of any mention of, you know, last night.”

Finn nodded, unwilling to argue at this time of the day. She’d slept badly, tossing and turning, dreaming of morgues, dead bodies in morgues and being attacked on the street by dead bodies from morgues. Her life used to be so normal. Now it was an episode of Bones.

“Good morning,” Debbie chirped. “This is Debbie Jones, teenage sex goddess. How may I be of service?”

Finn rolled her eyes and shoveled another spoonful of cereal in her mouth. She’d hoped to study for an exam on Computer Applications for Foodservice this morning before her first walking tour. It looked like her plan was jumping out the window along with her good intentions.

Debbie listened for thirty seconds, the expression on her cherubic face changing from humor to fascination to resignation.

“It’s Tommy. He’d like to speak to you but first he told me to stop trying to, like, sell my wares over the phone. That I was better than that. Doesn’t the guy have any sense of humor? Like, what are wares anyway?”

Finn held her hand out for the phone. “The man broke his leg. He broke his sense of humor at the same time. You’d be cranky, too. And, besides, he’s too old for you.”

Debbie plopped down at the table and took a big bite out of Finn’s bagel. In a garbled voice, she said, “I think I’ll stick to boys my own age. They get me.”

“All too often,” Finn murmured. She ate the last of her Cheerios. “Hello Tommy.”

“Finn, damn, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“How are you?”

“I’m off the drugs. For good. Forever. And I need to get back to work. Sitting around here is driving me crazy. A man can only watch so much ESPN.”

“How can I help?”

“I can’t drive. Hell, I can barely fit into my car. Do you have time to drop me off at the office before you start work?”

“Can you climb the stairs?”

“I could. Slowly,” he admitted. “But since the furniture store is already open, I can use their freight elevator.”

“You do know I drive a Bug?”

“Damn, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Wait. I have an idea. I can borrow Gert’s car. She won’t mind. She thinks the Bug’s cute. If she needs a car, she can drive mine but I think she’s leaving on a cruise anyway. Her car is a boat, a Buick or something, and you should be able to stretch out in the back seat or whatever you need to do.”

“Great. When can you be here?”

“How about half an hour?”

“Works for me. It will take me that long to get my pants on. You have no idea how hard it is to get dressed with a broken leg. I owe you, Jonesy.”

“No, you don’t. See you in thirty.” Finn ended the call and placed the phone on the table. “What are your plans today?”

“Benjy is taking me to the Audubon Zoo since that kinda went by the wayside yesterday.”

“Excellent.” How much trouble could she get into at the zoo? “Don’t forget to look for the Komodo dragon. As you would say, he’s awesome.”

“Okay.” She leaned forward and stared at Finn.

“What?”

“When were you going to tell me about what you’re doing all secret at night and in-between your walking tours?”

Finn shot to her feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is this your way of diverting my attention away from what you and Benji were up to last night?”

“Oh, come on, I won’t tell Dorie.”

“What makes you think I’m doing anything?”

“I’ve been here four days and, you know, you’ve never, like, dated much, but still you’ve been gone every night since I got here. I may not be smart, but, you know, I think you’ve been lying to me about what you’re doing.”

“Oh, Debbie.” Finn took her into her arms and squeezed her tight. “You may be a wild child but no one ever accused you of being stupid. And since you’re such a great detective, maybe you should join me and work for Tommy, too.”

“Working? No thanks. I’m taking the summer off.” She backed away to look Finn in the eye. “So, like, what are you doing for Tommy?”

“I want you to keep this a secret. Okay?” At her nod, she continued, “Since you’re so damned smart I’ll let you know. I’ve been going to culinary school.”

“Cooking school?”

“Yep.”

Debbie stuck her palm in the air. “High five!” she crowed. Finn slapped her own palm against Debbie’s. “Awesome! Why do you, like, want to keep it a big secret?”

“Because no one in this family believes I’ll ever be anything more than a damned tour guide. And they don’t like my cooking.”

“Well, you know, it has been kinda, well...”

“Bad. I know. But I like to cook and I’ve always wanted to be a chef and, damn-it-all-to-hell, I’ve gotten better.”

“Hey.” Debbie gave Finn a cheeky grin. “I noticed.”

“Besides, I’ve started other things and they never went anywhere. I always got bored and dropped out so I figured it was easier to keep this quiet until I had the actual degree in my hot little hands.”

“Yeah, I remember a few. Flower arranging for one,” Debbie offered. “I thought I’d like messin’ with flowers myself. And driving school, blech, and accounting.”

“Double blech. Really hated accounting,” Finn admitted. “Really, really hated it.”

“And something to do with animals. What was it?”

“Animal control. Picking up strays. I couldn’t do it anymore because I kept crying, especially when I knew the poor dogs would end up being put to sleep if nobody adopted them.”

Debbie nodded and took another bite of Finn’s bagel, which by now had, maybe, two bites left. Finn reached across the table and wiped a smudge of cream cheese from the corner of Debbie’s mouth. “Thanks. I’d be bawling like a baby, too.”

“We’re just softies. Anyway, I like giving walking tours but it doesn’t pay much and one day I’d like to say I have a career. A real career. Walking tours isn’t a career.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re keeping it all a secret.” She picked up the bagel and had it halfway to her open mouth when her eyes widened. “I get it! You want to finish the school before you tell anyone so then they can’t say, like, you never finish anything.”

“Exactly.” Finn paused. “Who says I don’t finish anything?”

“Dorie. She says you’re a good girl but...”

“Oh, thanks, Mom.”

Debbie smirked, enjoying her moment, then finished off the bagel with one last big bite. She chewed a bit before continuing, “She says she loves you like she does all of us but she, you know, worries about you. Not as much as me, of course.”

“Of course. You’re on track for teenage pregnancy. Have you seen the movie Juno?”

“Yeah,” Debbie said, grinning. “A cautionary whale.”

Finn grinned right back at her. “You got it. Glad you’re paying attention but try and keep your pants on, will ya?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want a baby. I practice, like, you know, safe sex.”

Finn put up her hand. “Good to know but I’d prefer you didn’t practice sex at all. So tell me what Mom’s been saying about me. This should be interesting.”

“It’s not, you know, like, a big deal. She says you’re living here alone coasting through life like a lot of people do.”

“I’m only twenty-five, for God’s sake. What does she expect me to do? Go back to college and get a PhD in Nuclear Physics?”

“I don’t even know what Nuclear Physics is but I don’t think it’s what she means. She says she wants you to be happy.”

“I am.”

“And make something of yourself.”

“Like Emmy?”

“I suppose so. She’s popular, and she always has money. She wears Prada and has a new Coach bag, like, every year. She even drives a brand new BMW...”

“And has several boy toys paying for her extravagant lifestyle, and she lives rent-free in Mom and Dad’s old house.” Now she was sounding petulant and whiny. And, she had the nerve to call Debbie immature?

Debbie frowned. “You live rent-free.”

“In maybe, nine-hundred square feet.”

“Yeah, but, like, it’s still rent-free.”

“Okay, this conversation has gone on way too long and I’m not going to argue about Emmy or the house. I need to get dressed, go see Gert about swapping cars and then pick up Tommy.” She took her bowl and empty plate to the sink. Debbie stood by the table with a thoughtful look on her face. “You won’t tell anyone about culinary school?”

“Nope.” Debbie gestured over her chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“It’s not worth dying over,” Finn muttered. “Believe me. I want to be taken seriously for once in my life and the only way I can do it is to hand over the damned degree.”

“I promise. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Good. Have fun at the zoo. Wear sunscreen. Keep your clothes on.”

 

After a quick shower, she headed out the door to see Gert about switching cars. She swapped her old, baby-sized Bug for Gert’s enormous, black, brand spanking new, four-door Buick sedan, then picked up Tommy. She maneuvered him and his cast into the back seat, then drove to his office in the CBD.

She dropped him off in front of the building, found a parking spot where she managed, barely, to park Gert’s boat of a car in the space. She walked Tommy through the furniture store to the freight elevator. She’d promised not to leave until he was comfortably ensconced in his office. He seemed fine, drug-free and coherent, but she could see he was in pain and somewhat awkwardly lurching around on his crutches.

As they rode up in the massive freight elevator, he said, “Thanks for all your help. You know I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Tommy, you’d do the same for me. Besides, it was hysterical seeing you drugged out. And you sure looked cute in your boxers with the red kisses.”

He frowned, shaking his head. “If only I could laugh with you. I don’t remember much of anything. It was like being drunk for three days without the hangover. It’s all pretty much a big, fat, gray fog. And I’m still covered in neon pink marker.”

When the elevator opened, they stepped out and headed down the hall toward Tommy’s office. He opened the unlocked door and with a look of pure disgust on his face, took in the disaster of papers tossed all over the carpeted floor, files scattered and drawers pulled out of the desk. It would take him all day to put things right.

“Franco.”

“Yep, or his girlfriend,” Finn agreed. “They really want those pictures.”

“And you’ve still got them, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.” She handed the camera over. “I’m damned glad to get rid of it.”

“Just a sec.” He hobbled over to the wall where his PI certificate hung and pushed it aside. Finn was astounded to see a wall safe hidden behind it. He twisted the dial a few times, unlocked the combination and pulled the door open. “Give it to me.”

Finn heaved a big sigh. He took one look at the camera, shook his head, then set it inside and shut the door with a resounding thud. He gave the lock a spin and swung the framed diploma back in place so nothing looked any different.

“Wow,” Finn muttered. “That thing has been nothing but a pain in the ass.”

“And the leg.” Tommy limped to the desk and gingerly settled himself in his chair. “What I want to know is who wants it more, Franco or his lady friend, the FBI’s Most Wanted?”

“Good question.” She set her backpack on the floor, and sat down across from Tommy. “Here’s a couple more thoughts for you to ponder. Franco attacked you here, then came to your apartment to harass you. Since you were incoherent, he couldn’t get the answers he wanted so he trussed you up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Gotta ask why?”

“Out of spite, maybe.”

“Maybe. Then the Barron woman kidnapped me, did I tell you about that?”

“What? No way!”

Finn proceeded to relate the story of her kidnapping and abrupt dumping on Canal Street.

“You weren’t hurt?”

She shook her head. “Only my pride.”

“Wow, this keeps getting weirder and weirder.” He frowned. “I’m worried about you. I don’t want you involved in something like this.”

“Much too late, boys and girls.”

Finn turned at the sound of the deep voice.

Johnny Franco, tall, lean and menacing, stood in the doorway, brandishing a weapon. Not, Finn noticed, the same weapon he’d been “holding” in the photos she’d taken of him and his lover. No, this time, he held a gun. What looked like the biggest handgun Finn had ever seen. Behind her, she heard Tommy mutter an obscenity under his breath, his fingers tapping the tabletop.

Finn’s heart fluttered. She felt exactly the same way.

“This has gone on long enough,” Franco said. “You two should know I’m serious. I want them pictures and I want them now. If you don’t hand ‘em over, I’ll shoot ya, both of ya.”

Tommy got to his feet and shuffled around the edge of the desk.

“You best not be reaching for no gun,” Franco warned, his beady eyes never leaving Tommy, the barrel wavering between him and Finn.

“Don’t be an ass, Franco. I can hardly stand up, much less pull a gun on you.”

“Yeah, heard dat one before.”

Tommy moved to stand in front of Finn who couldn’t have gotten out of her chair if her life depended on it. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her brain frantically scrambling for something to do to defend herself.

“Franco, you don’t want to do this. Getting involved with a felon is one thing, but murder is a death sentence. Don’t even go there.”

“Margaret is mine and I protect what’s mine. If she don’t want those pictures circulating, then neither do I. I love her.”

“And she’s leaving you as soon as she says good-bye to her sister,” Finn muttered. “You’re nothing to her but a good time, a quick roller coaster ride.”

“Shut up, Finn,” Tommy whispered.

“What do you know about it?” Franco asked. “Like she been talkin’ to you.”

“Yes, she has. She gave me all the gruesome details. You’re nothing to her—”

“Finn!” Tommy said, grabbing her shoulder in a tight squeeze. “Shut the hell up.”

The elevator doors down the hall opened with a chime. Franco, standing in the doorjamb, turned to look. What he saw apparently shocked him because he took one last hateful glare at Finn and Tommy, then bolted away.

Without warning, two uniformed cops burst through the door. Finn bounded to her feet ready to defend herself. When she saw who it was, she sat back down, arms tucked to her sides.

Tommy explained the situation in a matter of seconds. The police left in as big a rush as when they arrived.

“How did they know?” Finn asked, waiting for her heart to return to a normal rhythm.

“My cell phone was on my desk, right at my elbow. When I spotted Franco, I simply texted the address to 9-1-1.”

“No way. I didn’t even notice.”

“Neither did Franco, thank God. Otherwise we might both be dead.” He tapped his desktop with one finger. “This is something more than protecting his lady friend. No one can be that desperate to get back a few lousy photos. He’s as crazy as any murderer.”

“You think Franco’s a murderer?”

“I don’t know. He’s more than an exposed lover, though. Did you see the look in his eye? Stone cold. Something strange is going on here. Did she really talk to you?”

“A little bit.” Finn let out a long, slow breath and got to her feet. “I’ve got to get to my walking tour. I’m going to be late.”

Tommy took hold of her arm. “Please be careful.”

“I will. I have Mace in my backpack.”

“Use it if you have to. Ask questions later. Franco is one dangerous dude. I don’t know what he’ll try next. I don’t even want to think about it.”

“I don’t either.”

“He’s probably running from the cops now so you should be safe for a few hours. At least long enough to get your tour in.”

Finn hugged Tommy. “Thanks.”

“No, thank you,” he said hugging her back. “I’m as sorry as can be for getting you involved in this. I feel like a total jerk.”

“Who knew? It looked like every other job I’ve done. Simple and uncomplicated. Snap a few pictures and be done with it. You collect your money and I go on to the next job with a little extra cash in my pocket.”

“It sure looked like it, didn’t it? The cops have to grab that dude before he kills someone. If he hasn’t already.”

Finn couldn’t even comprehend such a thing.

“All I know for sure is he’s dangerous and out of control.”

Finn left Tommy with a look of anger on his normally placid face. She had a walking tour, people waiting for her. She hoped she got through it with all her parts intact.