The next morning,I feel so much better than I have for the last few days that I sweet-talk Finch into letting me go downstairs for breakfast. He really doesn’t like the idea, but I compromise by agreeing to the wheelchair after he points out that I should preserve as much strength as I can for sex.
I kiss him breathless to show him just howmuchI agree with him. After that, he’s even prepared to plead my case to Darla, who is disinclined to let me get out of bed for more than bathroom and shower needs. But then I suggest she go back to bed herself for a while, have breakfast sent up, relax for a while…and I win her over.
Teo Vitali left yesterday, but Carlucci and Vicente are downstairs in the breakfast room, at the lounging area in one corner. They’re talking with O’Hara and his sidekick, Rory Byrne, about security protocols. Byrne has his arm casually slung along the back of the small sofa they’re sharing, and I suspect his finger is tracing circles on O’Hara’s shoulder.
At the large round table in the main part of the room, Tara is reading something on a propped-up iPad, sipping tea while she waits for the staff to serve up. She looks up with a smile when Finch wheels me into the room, her eyes going first to him. “Good morning,” she says, and then adds, “Good morning, Luca. I hope you slept well.”
He’s her brother, and naturally she’d greet him first. But I don’t like how much of an afterthought I appear to be, just because I’m not walking on my own two feet. Still, I’m not going to let something like that spoil my mood. I hold up my hand for Finch to stop the chair, and reply, “We both slept very well,” before I kick the footpads aside and get out of the chair.
“Youpromised,” Finch says, throwing up his hands.
“I am perfectly capable of walking to a table and sitting at it.”
The chatter at the other end of the room pauses.
Tara sets her teacup back in its saucer and waves a hand to the table. “Please,” she says graciously, “join me.”
The security crew start talking again as I take a place at the round table. “Finch has been talking about taking on staff,” I say, as he noisily clatters himself into the seat next to mine. “Perhaps you can give us some hiring tips.”
“Oh,” Tara says vaguely. “Conor takes care of all that, usually. I think.” She raises her voice. “Is that right, Conor, you do the staff security checks? Or is it Rory?”
“Rory’s on comms,” O’Hara calls back. “Murph does the background checks these days.”
Finch gives a snort. “I haven’t mentioned getting staff for months,” he says. “And besides, no one would pass Teo’s checks. He’s way too harsh.”
“Not without reason,” I point out.
After an awkward pause, Tara says, “Of course, yours is a very different situation in New York, Howie.”
“I don’t want fucking staff, okay?” Finch groans. “I just think Hudson should get a morning off now and then. Gio agrees, don’t you Gio?” he calls across the room.
Gio, who has evidently been keeping one ear trained on our conversation, grins. “Would be nice to sleep in now and then, Mr. D, can’t deny.”
His remark brings smiles, and I try to push the conversation back into safer territory. “What did you have planned for the week, Tara?”
“I’m glad you asked,” she says, as the security team returns to their own concerns. “Since Aidan is in town, he’s asked us over to his parents’ place for dinner later in the week.”
“He has?” I ask blankly.
Two of the house staff members have wheeled in a tempting-smelling trolley and are laying out silver trays and covered dishes along the buffet table at the side of the room. “I’ll get a plate for you,” Finch says, and shoots off before I can demur.
“Alright,” I say to his back, and turn my attention to Tara again. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
The smile she gives seems slightly tighter, although I’m not sure why. “I was saying, we’ve all been invited over to Aidan’s parents’ house for dinner on Friday night.”
I frown a little as I think that over. Aidan O’Leary is one of Finch’s favorite people, and I like the calming influence he has on Finch. But I’m not sure if we should really bepaying visitswhile I’m in town. It just gives more opportunity for the IFF to strike when we’re out in the open.
Finch has come back with a plate piled high with food I wouldn’t get through in three breakfasts, and slaps it before me with silverware.
“What does Carlucci say?” I ask, and call over to him myself before Tara can speak. “Carlucci? You heard about this dinner on Friday?”
He stands up and comes over to the table. “I did, Boss. O’Hara’s just been filling me in on it. Looks like they got everything covered security-wise.”
“I don’t want the priest and his family put in any danger.”
“He won’t be,” Tara says sharply, and this time I can’t mistake the irritation in her voice for anything else. “Conor has given the green light himself, and I trust his judgment.”
“Of course,” I say, and then I give a nod of assent to Carlucci.
