Fanatics don’t make good Family men, in my opinion, but I’ve already stood on Tara’s metaphorical toes once this conversation. I won’t offer any more free advice. “Finch is convinced Byrne and O’Hara are…?”
With a laugh, Tara sweeps her hair around to one shoulder, nodding. “Yes, they’re very close. I’m happy for Conor. He works so hard, it’s good to see him have some more fun. And in other good news, we have reclaimed Innisfree.”
“Thatisgood to hear,” I say. Innisfree, the Donovan’s private retreat outside Boston, isn’t exactly strategically significant, but it is symbolically important for the Donovan Family. Rather like my townhouse on Fifth Avenue was symbolically important. “I hope there weren’t too many casualties.”
“Not at all. They must have gotten cocky, the IFF; when my people went in, there was only a skeleton crew guarding the place. I know it’s just one battle,” she says. “But…” She gives me a sheepish smile. “Well, it helped morale.”
The property was important to her, I know, as the place where she and Finch spent their childhoods. And it was also the place where Gus and Maggie Donovan died.
“Unfortunately, the IFF really did a number on the place,” Tara goes on. “I mean, they ripped out floors, blew out all the wall safes, took sledgehammers to the plaster…” She shakes her head in disapproval. “What bothered me most was thepettinessof some of the things they did. Pulling all the books out of the bookshelves. Smashing all the ornaments. I don’t understand that mentality.” She looks up, expecting agreement, but I’m just staring at her thoughtfully. “What is it?”
“It sounds…like they werelookingfor something.”
“Looking for something?”
“Yes. And the interesting thing is, I thought the same—I mean, when they attacked the townhouse. I remember wondering why they squandered their initial advantage by searching the front room instead of coming straight for me. But now I think they were on a mission, and that mission was not necessarily about killing me. And now, as we found out at the hospital, they actually wantFinchfor some reason.” I put down my fork as another thought strikes me. “And the fire—I don’t think it was intentional. If they’d planned arson,andwanted to search through the place—why not searchbeforesetting it on fire? Or at least take protective equipment? More than one of them died from smoke inhalation.”
Tara studies my face. “So you think there might be more to this vandalism of Innisfree than spite?”
For a moment I hesitate, but then I incline my head slowly. “I do. Yes.”
She pushes her meal aside and leans forward. “It makes sense. When they invaded Hillview, most of them stayed on the lower floors at first, and I never could figure out why. A few worked their way up, but once we’d cleared them out and had a look at the damage—now that you mention it, itdoesremind me of what happened at Innisfree. Everything overturned.Searchedthrough.”
“And at the hospital, they wanted Finch for some specific reason,” I say, trying to follow the logic. “So—”
The thought strikes us at the same time, and Tara gives it voice. “They think Howie knows where it is, whatever it is they’re looking for.”
“Maybe.”
“But what could itbe?” she asks. “What on earth do a bunch of terrorists think the Donovans or the Morellis are keeping from them?”
“I suppose,” I say slowly, “we’ll have to ask Finch.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
LUCA
But Finch, when I ask him later that night, is perplexed. “Lookingfor something?” he parrots blankly.
“Tara and I thought you might have an idea ofwhatthey were looking for.”
“You thoughtImight have an idea what they were looking for?” His brow wrinkles, and there’s a change in his attitude. “Luca,” he says carefully, “honey. You can’treallythink I’ve been working with the IFF?”
I let out a short laugh, although I’m coming to the end of my tether with all these paranoia insinuations. “Of course not,” I say sharply, and then add, “I’m notaccusingyou of anything.”
“Then…why do you think I might know something?”
I recount my conversation with Tara. He looks doubtful, but less worried about my mental state when I finish. “Well, I have no idea what they might be looking for, sorry. Money?”
“They always want that,” I allow, “but if that was all they wanted, why target the Donovans—or us, for that matter? Wouldn’t they…rob a bank? Hack someone’s Bitcoin? There are easier ways. Launching a paramilitary assault on three private residencesanda hospital seems, well, excessive.”
Finally I’m getting through to Finch, who looks thoughtful. “I mean, good point, husband. But I still can’t think of anything they’d want fromme.” He shoots me a look. “I’m not privy to either the DonovanorMorelli dealings, after all.”
“Perhaps they don’t know that.” I ignore the underlying thread of his words. If I can put it off long enough, maybe we can avoid that particular conversation. Because I won’t have Finch any more involved than he currently is, no matter how hard he insists, or how many doors he listens at.
I’m not sure what’s gotten into him lately, anyway. Things were working so well with our separate interests—his club, his charity, quite removed from my…business interests.
“Think about it some more,” I tell him, deciding to end the conversation. “Right now, though, I want to turn my mind to other things.”
