Frank helps me up. “Marco and I didn’t wanna go up and bust into your bedroom or anything. But maybe he’s in there?”
I take a deep breath, willing my body to respond, and I start towards the foyer. Frank has to help me up the stairs, and for once I let him, because I need to get there fast.
Upstairs, the house is silent. I feel the beginnings of something in my stomach, building up. It’s not an emotion I’m used to: terror. With Frank by my side I make for the bedroom, although I know there’s no one in there—no one living, anyway. I can’tfeelthe presence of a human being on the other side of the door.
My heart is beating faster and faster. I call Finch’s name outside the bedroom, my voice hoarse. There’s no response. As I open the door I don’t know what would be worse—to find Finch in there, or not. Because if heisin there, he might have…
But Finch is not in there. The bed is still made from the day before—or today—I can’t tell.
“What time is it?” I demand.
“It’s six-thirty,” Frank tells me. “Seriously, bro, what’s going on?”
“If I fucking knew I’d tell you!” I shout, my voice breaking. I’m overcome with a coughing fit, and Frank takes a step back, blinking at me.
“I’ll text Celia,” he mutters. “She might have heard from him.”
While Frank contacts his wife, I stumble around from room to room upstairs, checking each room as methodically as I can in my sluggish state. There’s no sign of him anywhere, but his toiletries are still there, along with the burner phone his father gave him, whichshouldtell me something if only I could get my brain to figure itout. I slap the heel of my hand at my forehead, trying to wake myself up, and then drench my head under the cold tap.
God. It’s freezing, but it helps.
I think things through again. Finch’s belongings are still here, so either he’s leaving everything behind him, or he’s coming back. Or something else might have happened. Someone might have…
I need to find my phone. Where the hell is it?
I half-stumble back downstairs, the night before coming back to me now in fits and starts, and my heart squeezes tighter and tighter as I remember.
Tino and I were in the study. I could have sworn I heard footsteps outside in the hallway, but when I went to check, no one was there. I’d hoped I was wrong about it. I wouldn’t have wanted Finch to hear what I’d said about not loving him.
Because it wasn’t true. I realized that the moment I said it. Despite my best intentions and all the walls I built up, Finch just frog-leaped right over them.
I just didn’t want to admit it to myself or to anyone else, not while we were still in danger. Not even to Tino, who told me I was being paranoid for checking the hallway, and then he’d told me…he’d told me something else.
Something important.
Something right at the edge of my memory.
After Tino and Connie left, I followed Finch into the kitchen, where he’d taken the dirty dishes after dessert. So I go there now, and more memories come back to me. I’d never felt happier in my whole fucking life. Everything was finally coming together for me. Tino had told me something, taken me into his confidence…
“You did it,” I’d said, and I came up behind Finch and wrapped my arms around him.
Was it my faulty memory or had Finch paused before he turned around in my arms with a bright smile?
“Wedid it,” he’d said.
“Let’s face it, angel—it was mostly you.”
Yes. There had definitely been tension in his body, but I’d put it down to nerves when he said next: “Did you ask Tino about my mom?”
“I did, in a roundabout way. He denied it. Said whoever ordered that hit on your mother never owned up to it, but it wasn’t anyone’s recognizable style at the time.”
“Hm.”
There was something I wanted to tell him; I was bursting with it. Tino had warned me to keep it to myself, but I’d already decided I was going to tell Finch as soon as Tino and Connie left. But before I could speak, Finch offered me a glass.
“Here, drink this.”
I took the glass from him. “More cognac?”
