Counterfeit Love

I didn't know what gift was significant enough to thank someone for saving their life, but whatever it was, I had to track it down and offer it to her when she found me.

Because I knew it would be when, not if.

The woman would not sleep until she figured it out. She wouldn't let anyone else sleep either.

Which meant I just had to bide my time. Try to keep my sharp tongue to myself for a bit, keep my wits about me. Maybe try to find some clever ways to send out signs about where I was being held.

At least I wasn't blindfolded.

I guessed Ewan figured that I wouldn't need to be since I was probably going to be shoved into a basement somewhere, never to see daylight again. It didn't matter if I saw landmarks. There was no one for me to tell them to.

Or so he thought.

I was a fair bit cleverer than he gave me credit for. And Chris so observant, and with her intense attention to detail, I knew she would be able to figure any clues I left out.

Maybe not in a day. Or two. Or even a few weeks. But I could get it something there without Ewan suspecting a damn thing. And she would know someone somewhere who would pick up on it, get it in front of her eyes, and she would put the pieces together. She would assemble her team. And she would come barreling in, take absolutely no prisoners, and throw open that basement door.

Then coming down and giving me a lecture about not calling her.

Yep.

That was what my girl was going to do.

So I just needed to sit pretty and wait for her to do it.

And try not to get my ass kicked too much before then because I couldn't keep my mouth shut.

Some things would prove easier than others.Chapter ThirteenChrisBreathe.

I needed to breathe.

If I could breathe, I could focus.

If I could focus, I could make sense of this, then figure out what I was going to do about it.

I placed a hand on my chest, the other on my stomach, taking in a slow, deep breath, making sure it made both of my hands move, that it expanded both my chest and belly.

Then out.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Until the increase in oxygen made my fingertips and face feel tingly, until it made my head feel light and floaty, chasing away the panic, putting focus in its place.

Finch was gone.

There was some sort of struggle.

There was a lot of blood.

Not just the one decent puddle in one spot and the spots that lead away from that point in the space. But it was smeared on the wall, on several pieces of broken glass, on the leg of a chair.

The blood was dried, all of it, even the bigger spots. Which meant this happened a while ago. Maybe even right after I dropped him off.

Even as the word formed, the answer came rushing in.

Ewan O'neal.

Because, who else?

As far as we knew, the only people in Navesink Bank that knew who Finch was, and what he did were me, were Ferryn and Vance. I wasn't even sure if my parents had figured out what he did yet.

I knew Ferryn and Vance would never talk about it. And since Finch seemed determined to keep himself as anonymous as possible, it seemed unlikely that he had screwed up and let other people know what he did, spurring them to attack him.

So, yeah.

The only suspect was Ewan.

Which was good, yes, but also problematic. Because even with all the research I had done on Finch when I saw him pop up on my radar, I hadn't been able to pinpoint where Ewan was these days. Likely in Louisiana because he seemed to be a creature of habit geographically. But other than that, I couldn't get a pin in him.

That said, I hadn't needed to look too hard. I made it sound like I knew how to get in touch with him.

Now, though, now I had a lot of motivation. And now the word was out that Finch and I were an item of sorts. Which meant I could use anyone I wanted at Hailstorm to help me dig up information.

My hand dug into my purse, pulling out my phone, dialing up Ferryn.

"Yeah?"

"He's gone."

"That asshole," she grumbled, but not with as much malice as you would think for a family member. Then again, Ferryn was as new to the relationship stuff as I was.

"No, Ferryn, he's gone, and his apartment is a wreck, and there is blood everywhere."

"On my way," she said, ending the call.

My next call was to Malcolm who, after learning the news, mumbled that he would let his mother know, so that she could 'get on it'.

And if Aunt Janie got the word, then my mother would be next. I moved back out onto the deck, needing to take some more deep breaths, and not wanting to breathe in the coppery scent of blood.