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Her shabby little house had never looked so good.
Finley paid the driver and stepped out of the car, her messenger bag draped over her shoulder. Her emergency overnight bag in hand. Staying overnight had never been the plan, but these days with flight delays and cancellations, one never knew. There had also been the risk that staying overnight would be necessary if she couldn’t pack all the needed meetings into one day.
Matt’s car was behind hers in the driveway. He sat on her porch steps, the jacket and tie gone, shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He smiled as she walked toward him. The car that had delivered her sped away, likely headed back to the airport for another arrival.
“I would have picked you up at the airport,” her friend said as he pushed to his feet. He took the overnight bag from her and moved aside for her to climb the steps.
“I wasn’t sure I’d be back tonight, much less a little earlier.” She unlocked the door. “You know how it is.”
“I do indeed.” He followed her inside, carried the bag to her bedroom. She would have tossed it on the sofa.
She needed wine. Now. “You want a beer?” She headed for the fridge. His yes had her reaching for the beers left in the six-pack she’d shared with Houser last night. She hoped like hell he would make it through this. With her free hand she grabbed the bottle of rosé already chilled and bumped the door shut with her hip.
She had called Houser’s partner as soon as she landed and given him most of the story. She’d opted to start at finding Lemm in her garage rather than across the street from the Turnip Truck. She was supposed to go to the precinct tomorrow and make an official statement. She’d also called the hospital and learned that Houser’s condition had been upgraded to good. Her relief at the news had been so profound she’d almost wept.
Matt joined her in the kitchen before she rounded up a clean glass. She did sometimes miss the dishwasher she’d had at her condo.
“Nita told me you’d changed your flight and what time you’d be home, so I took the liberty of ordering pizza.”
The doorbell sounded just then.
“Right on time,” he said with a grin.
“You’re my favorite guy,” Finley shouted after him as he hustled to the door.
“I won’t tell Jack,” he teased as he opened the door.
While Matt interacted with the pizza delivery guy—judging by his deep voice—Finley poured herself a hefty glass of wine. She downed a good portion of it and almost moaned at the promised relief. God, she had needed that. She closed her eyes and attempted to stop the whirl of pieces from this case in her head. She needed a few hours of space away from those thoughts to put it all into perspective.
“You want to eat in here or in there?” Matt called from the living room.
She opened her eyes, forced away thoughts of the case. “In there. I’m on my way with the drinks.” She refilled her glass, tucked the bottle under one arm, and grabbed the six-pack ring with its remaining beers.
She joined her friend in the living room. The two of them piled onto the sofa, drinks on the coffee table. They devoured slices of pizza. Finley couldn’t think about anything else until she’d finished off two. As often as she forgot to eat, she sometimes made up for it when she did. And though she appreciated Matt showing up at her door unannounced and having ordered pizza, she wasn’t looking forward to whatever was on his mind. They had known each other forever, and showing up unannounced was not his MO except in an emergency, like when he couldn’t reach her and he was worried. He was far too considerate and gentlemanly.
Finally, fingers greasy, wine bubbling down her throat, she listened while Matt launched into what he had to say.
“I found a connection”—he shrugged—“think the loosest definition of the word ... between Dempsey and Derrick.”
The warm, spicy pizza turned to a cold, hard lump in her stomach. “I asked you not to get involved with the investigation. Houser can handle it.”
Shit. Maybe not. He was in the hospital, and God only knew what his memory of the events that had happened would be like. She should be at the hospital sitting at his side. Except she wasn’t family, and with the new visitor restrictions, the chances of her getting in to see him were less than zero. Damn it.
“Maybe you didn’t hear,” Matt said, wiping his hands on a napkin and then reaching for his beer, “but Houser was shot last night. He’s in pretty rough shape. The chief says he’ll make it, but he’ll be out of commission for a while.”
Finley grabbed her own wad of napkins and swabbed at her mouth and then her hands. She tried valiantly to tamp down the flash of regret wrapped with intense frustration, but it wasn’t happening. This ...thingwith Derrick was out of control. It was one thing when she put herself in danger for the sake of finding information, but putting other innocent people at risk ...Breathe,she told herself. This had gone too far.
“Why do you think I asked you to stay out of this?” She threw the knot of napkins on the coffee table. “Dempsey will do all in his power to keep trouble away from his door.”
Matt stared at her then. “But it’s okay for you to poke that bear.”
“I have no choice,” she snapped before she could stop herself. Her lips clamped together to prevent any other words from slipping out.
“Because he had someone you love murdered?” Matt’s jaw hardened with his own mounting frustration. “The son of a bitch almost killed someone I care deeply about. Don’t I get the same privilege?”
She glared at him. “I didn’t die.”
“What do you want me to say?” Anger spiked in his voice. “It’s okay that he did what he did because you survived? I don’t want him to get away with it.”
