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“Eat before it gets cold,” Matt urged.
Finley pushed away the distracting thoughts and slid onto a stool. “It all looks so good. I’m suddenly starving.”
“I picked up all our favorites. With the decorating and preparing dinner for what? Eight? I figured we would need the fuel.”
“Good idea.” She passed him chopsticks and reached for the second set herself, pulled them free of the slim paper packaging. These disposable ones were always too pointy and rough, but she wasn’t about to go searching for the nice bamboo ones she knew Matt had around here somewhere.
The doorbell rang.
Matt started to get up. “Stay!” Finley held up a hand. “I’ll get it. It’s probably the flowers for tonight.”
She admired the view once more as she crossed the great room. She actually enjoyed flower shopping in person, but she’d had too much to do to go out today. And this close to Christmas, traffic would be murder. Besides, who could resist delivery when it was available.
Singing along with Mariah Carey, she walked into the entry hall and opened the door.
The business end of a handgun stared her in the face.
Her heart crashed against her rib cage, then plummeted to her feet.
Not flowers.
Carson Dempsey moved across the threshold, forcing her to back up a step.
“You,” he kicked the door shut, “are a fucking cat with nine goddamned lives.”
Finley didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t breathe. “I thought you were the florist.” Her heart rushed back into her chest and fluttered like the wings of a trapped bird.
Please don’t let Matt get up. Please don’t let him hear any of this over the music.
Dempsey waved his free hand. “I finally realized if I was going to get this done, I had to do it myself. You just can’t hire good help anymore.”
“I get it,” she said. Rage roared to life in her veins. Pulsed in her muscles. “Every time I think this is over, you pop into my life again.”
She was so over this back and forth.
“Fin, who is it?” Matt called.
“The flowers,” she shouted, her gaze never leaving the bastard in front of her. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Dempsey smiled. “Isn’t that sweet? Do you really think you can protect him now?” He adjusted his grip on the weapon. “In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m about to kill you. Finally.”
Something dark and all consuming expanded inside her.
Enough!
“Then fucking do it, you piece of shit.” Her fingers tightened on the cheap-ass chopsticks.
“With pleasure.”
Determination exploding in her chest, Finley threw up her right hand, sidestepped, simultaneously bringing down the chopsticks like a dagger, aiming for the bastard’s neck.
The gun went off.
Blood squirted across her face.
She blinked, the blast echoing in her ears.
The gun clattered on the floor.
