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“Try our anniversary.”
Incorrect.
Damn.
“Birthdays,” she suggested.
Incorrect.
Incorrect.
“Damn it,” Matt grumbled. “We’re locked out.”
“We need someone who knows a work-around.” Finley’s body vibrated with urgency. It was late. “Do you know anyone? Preferably that we can call right now?” The resource she had used since law school had moved to the other side of the world, literally. She hadn’t found anyone as good since.
Matt nodded. “I’ve got a guy. But we might not be able to get him tonight. You okay with me taking this to him first thing in the morning?”
“Please do. The sooner we know what that’s about, the better.” Hope and worry warred inside her. What if this was it? The information she’d searched for all this time. Answers ... the truth.
“All right then.” He removed the thumb drive and dropped it into his shirt pocket. “I’ll call you as soon as I have anything.”
“Okay.”
He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “This ...” He hesitated at the door. “This could be important, Fin.”
“I feel torn. Part of me wants to desperately cling to that thought, and then the other part of me wants to laugh it off as some sort of joke. There may be nothing on there but porn.” The hope and worry vanished only to be replaced by fear ... dread. Did she really want to know all Derrick’s secrets? Would knowing be better than wondering?
Finley’s breath stalled deep in her chest. Yes. She needed to understand. She had to know once and for all.
Matt gave her one of his lopsided grins. “Maybe, but Derrick didn’t really seem like the porn type. See you tomorrow.”
She laughed, a totally exhausted bark of a sound. She searched his face, shook her head at what she saw.
He frowned. “What?”
She reached up, swiped a streak of grease off his jaw. “Thanks for being you.”
He hugged her hard. She relaxed into him. Needed his strength and reassurances more than anything right now. She couldn’t do this alone anymore.
“We got this, Fin.”
For the first time in a long time, she believed they did.
28
The Widow
9:30 p.m.
Mount Olivet Cemetery
Lebanon Pike, Nashville
Ellen never visited her mother during daylight hours. There was never time. At least this was what she told herself, but it wasn’t true. She didn’t want to run into anyone who might recognize her. Her history was buried far deeper than any of the residents in this prestigious cemetery. She had every intention of keeping it that way.
She never spoke of it, and she had paid a great deal of money to have her ancient history wiped from the internet. Of course, it wasn’t possible to clear away everything, but she’d made it as difficult as she could to find information about her early life.
Over the years Ellen had rectified a number of wrongs from her childhood. For example, her mother hadn’t been buried here in this lovely mausoleum when she’d died. No. Ellen’s worthless father had turned her body over to the state for burial in a pauper’s grave at the old Bordeaux Cemetery. She hadn’t had so much as a marker until Ellen was old enough to get a job and pay for something small and cheap.
