I’ve been wondering that myself. “You’re sure Maggie sent him?”
Finch looks at me like I’m crazy. “He said it himself. Plus he has a Boston accent.”
“He actually said ‘Maggie Donovan sent me to kill you’?”
Finch rolls his eyes, but before he speaks again, he stops and thinks. “No,” he says slowly. “He told me he wasn’t a rat.”
It raises my estimation of the guy. At least there’s stillsomehonor around.
“But Maggie was, like, thesubtext,” Finch continues. Besides, if not Maggie, whoelsewants me dead? Fuscone is gone.”
There’s something Finch hasn’t realized. But after our recent conversations, I don’t want to point it out and have it playing on his mind.
“It must be Maggie,” I say. I approach Finch cautiously, like he’s an animal betrayed one too many times by human hands. When I’m sure he won’t bolt, I pull him to me and hug him as hard as my stomach will allow.
The thing is, this assassin wasn’t aiming for Finch. He was aiming forme. And sure, maybe he figured he’d take out the muscle first. But what if that’s not what it was? What ifIwas the target?
It’s not like Maggie Donovan doesn’t hate me, but her fixation has always been on Finch. If she’s coming after me, it suggests she’s doing someone a favor. A new ally?
If we were in New York, I’d still have resources around me. I could ask around, find out if there are any rumors. Unfortunately, killing Sam Fuscone and fleeing the city like a cowardwasn’tsomething I foresaw and I had few contingencies in place to deal with something like that.
Not like a coward, I remind myself.You did it for Finch. To keephimsafe.
“But if it’s not Maggie,” he says, and then stops, grabbing at his hair. “If it’s someone else—does that mean it’s one of our men? Or…” He goes pale. “Or does it mean we should’ve learned our lesson?”
“What lesson?”
“Never trust a Donovan,” he says darkly. “Maybe Tara wants us dead along with Maggie.”
“That’s a stretch,” I tell him gently. He’s still pulling at his hair, tugging at it sharply. “Please stop doing that.” I take his hands and hold them in my own.
His face goes blank. “I can’t do this anymore, Luca. I can’t keep letting people get close to me only to betray me.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him he shouldn’t, that he should put up walls like I have, and never let anyone get close, because it’s the only way to bereallysafe. But I’ve seen Finch like that over the last few months, seen him edging towards my own more cynical view of the world.
It doesn’t suit him.
And it’s not healthy for him. He’s not made to function in an atmosphere of doubt and pessimism. It’s not that he trusts blindly—he’s never been like that. But heneedspeople around him. When he pushes them away he ends up trying to throw himself out of windows, or swallowing handfuls of pills.
“There’s no reason at all for us to believe that Tara is some criminal mastermind,” I point out. “Why would she try to take us out?”
“Because she’s working with Maggie,” Finch whispers. “It makes sense. We told no one but Tara where we are, and the day she leaves, someone from Boston tries to kill us.”
He makes a valid point there. But still. “Other people knew.”
“Not people who want us dead. I mean, if it’s not Tara, then it’s Angelo? Or Marco? OrFrank? They’re theonlyother ones who knew where we were headed.”
“You’re not thinking straight, baby bird,” I say gently. “There are ways to find out information. We were careful, but these things get out. Social media—”
“Comeon. Why wouldn’t he justsayit was Maggie if—”
“Stop.” I put a finger on his lips. “The only aim that guy had was to fuck with your head, and he succeeded. He succeeded well enough that you—” I stop myself, not wanting to think about it.
“What does itmatterif I order someone killed?” Finch whispers. “It’s not like I was doing it myself. The guards would’ve done it for me.Youdo it every day, order a hit.”
“You keep saying that, but it’s very, very untrue.”
“You’ve killed men with your own hands.”
