CHAPTER 14

DAY 26

Friday

FINN POV

AN: You guys are the best. I wasn't sure anyone would like the direction I was going in book 2 or my new character Finnegan Scott, but your reviews show me otherwise. Your reviews mean so much to me. Please keep them coming. If you haven't left a review, I'd love to hear from you.

Stephanie came into the kitchen as I sprinkled parmesan cheese into a saucepan of heavy whipping cream. "Yum!" she said. "Please, tell me you have sausage to go with that alfredo."

"Nope. No sausage."

"Yeah, I figured that was too much to hope for." She opened a cabinet, looking for something. "Where's the pasta? I definitely know how to boil water." I suppressed a laugh. She's not as bad in the kitchen as she believed.

"We're making our own noodles."

She spun around, looking alarmed. I handed her a zucchini and pointed at the spiralizer. She stared at the white plastic tool as if it were an alien. I showed her how to load the zucchini on the prongs and crank the handle. She was mesmerized as the zucchini turned into spiral-shaped noodles. She reached into the bowl and lifted a handful. "What do you call these?"

"Zoodles," I said with a straight face, "and that tool is a spiralizer."

She continued staring as if she'd never seen anything like it. "Where does one buy a spiralizer?"

"Amazon."

"Let me see if I have this right. We're having alfredo, but you want to use these… these zoodles instead of pasta?"

"We're making zucchini alfredo. Trust me, you'll like it."

"I've got no complaints so far. Well, except for that week of oatmeal for breakfast. That was kind of diabolical of you." She loaded another zucchini and cranked the handle. "How do you come up with all these healthy recipes that taste so good?"

"Pinterest."

"What?" She was trying hard not to laugh.

I smiled, too, enjoying the easy camaraderie. I didn't mind being laughed at. Not a lot of men used Pinterest, but I found it useful. "Cooking is sort of a hobby."

"Well, you're good at it. Your blueberry pancakes are probably my favorite. I could eat them all day. I can honestly say I don't miss all the junk I used to fill up on." She tilted her head as if she was getting ready to admit something shameful. "I'm not a good cook, but do you think I could get some of your recipes before I leave? Who knows, I might try cooking when I get back home."

I nodded, and she went back to spiralizing another zucchini. She enjoyed cranking out zoodles which meant we'd have far more than we needed, but I didn't stop her. It was nice having someone to cook with and eat with.

She picked up one of the spirals and stretched it until her arms were wide. My eyes were drawn to her t-shirt pulled tight across her breasts. I swallowed and looked away before she noticed. Early this morning, while still in her nightshirt—and braless—we collided in the hallway. I could still feel the soft peaks against my bare chest. I shook those thoughts away and tuned back into my surroundings. Stephanie was prattling on about something and threw her head back, laughing. Damn, she was beautiful.

I hadn't looked at a woman that way since my wife Deborah died seven years ago. I deserved a life of loneliness after what I allowed to happen to her and our daughter, Katie. My need to catch serial killers had consumed me, and my family suffered for my selfishness. They begged me to cut back on my hours and spend more time with them, but I couldn't leave the cases at work. Now it was my turn to suffer, and I would for the rest of my life.

I should go back to eating alone in the sunroom. It would be rude and probably confusing to Stephanie. She'd have questions I wouldn't want to answer. So, here we were, eating on the deck, in the freaking moonlight. Getting to know her better was the last thing I should be doing, but I found myself inquiring anyway. "What made you become a bounty hunter?"

"I was laid off as a lingerie buyer and ran through my savings while looking for a new job. The economy was in the dumps. Six months later, I still had no prospects that came close to the money I made at my old job. Having my car repossessed was humiliating, but I knew I'd hit rock bottom when I had to pawn my toaster." She shrugged. "I was so desperate for a job that I blackmailed my cousin Vinnie into hiring me. My first big skip cleared my debts, but I wasn't good enough to consistently go after the bigger bonds, so I made do with the low bonds. I hope to change that when I get back home."

"After working in this business for a while, are you considering looking for work in a different field?"

"Over the past few years, I've considered everything. Believe it or not, I was thinking of going to pastry school. Can you imagine that?" She bit her lip and wrinkled her nose. "But then I tried baking a cake. It was a disaster. Then I thought about Cosmetology school, but I don't have the patience to deal with my own hair most days. My mother is always harping at me to get a job at the Button factory or something else dependable and safe. I seem to be a magnet for trouble. I've worked at Cluck in a Bucket and a local dry cleaner… both burned down during my employment. Oh, and I can't forget the funeral home. It also burned down, but even though none of those were my fault, I can't seem to shake the reputation that I'm a magnet for destruction."

I didn't like hearing that. It sounded like Stephanie was surrounded by people who fueled her low self-esteem. I've seen firsthand how competent she is, yet she bought into what everyone said, condemning herself to some degree. I wondered how many toxic people she called friend.

I pushed my empty dinner plate away and watched the orange haze of the sunset. Soon, it'd be warm enough to swim in the lake. Maybe I could teach her to water ski if she didn't already know. Dammit, I was supposed to distance myself, not get more involved.

I gathered our plates.

"Cleanup is my job," she said and moved to get up.

"Stay," I told her as I carried our plates inside. I intended on closing myself up in the garage, but I found myself grabbing two bottles of beer and going back outside. I lit the fire pit, and we moved our chairs around it.

I was enjoying the comfortable silence when she asked. "What made you become an FBI agent?"

After debating how much of my personal details to share, I realized I trusted her. Somewhere along the way, she'd proven herself to me. "I obtained my undergraduate degree in psychology from Georgetown, intending to become a therapist. Instead, I did a complete 180 and joined the DC Police."

"That was definitely a 180, but it explains why you're so good with my panic attacks." She was quiet for a minute. "But you ended up an FBI agent. How'd that come about?"

"While working as a DC cop, I noticed we were expected to solve domestic disturbances by arresting those involved instead of getting them mental help. I went back to school to get my master's in psychology. Right after graduation, 9/11 happened, so I joined the FBI hoping to make a difference on a larger scale."

"A lot of people changed direction after the attacks on America. I was only 13 then, but even I felt like I wanted to do something to help."

I decided to gloss over this next part. Jeanne knew why I left the agency, but I was unsure if she shared the reason with Stephanie. "I burned out after a decade as an agent. My superiors didn't want to lose me, so they convinced me to transfer to the training academy."

"You said you trained Barry Hobbs and Agent Kinkade."

Right. I almost forgot they were the agents on the Durant case, and she didn't like Hobbs.

"Barry was friends with my ex-husband, Dickie. That should explain enough about his character and why I dislike him. I was thrilled when Agent Kinkade told me he'd been reassigned to the Alaska field office. Please tell me you have some embarrassing stories about him." I was mesmerized by her laughter. "It's Barry we're talking about, so there's probably several."

She was right. Barry Hobbs was a memorable guy, but not for the reasons he thinks. I recalled a few incidents that happened during Hobbs' training that were pretty funny. I picked one that had stuck with me and probably everyone else who witnessed the incident. "Part of training is understanding how to deal with injuries in the field. Obviously, we weren't going to shoot cadets so they could experience what it was like to be shot, but being stunned by a suspect is something we could give them firsthand experience with. We lined the cadets side by side and went down the line, tasing them. They each dropped to the floor, rolling around, screaming and cursing. Jennings was next. He was a stocky guy—wide and muscular like a tree trunk—you know the type?" Stephanie nodded with rapt attention, and I laughed a little, knowing what was coming. "When I tased him, Jennings didn't drop like the others. His whole body spasmed, and he flung his arm down, hitting Hobbs in the crotch and grabbing a handful."

She put her hand over her mouth and squealed in joy. "Oh my gosh. I wish I could have seen his face."

"Jennings was really locked on to the goods, and Hobbs was squealing at a decibel that would make dogs howl. Instead of rushing to help, we covered our ears. Finally, Jennings was able to let go, and everyone stared at the wet circle on the floor at Hobbs' feet."

"He didn't?" She laughed so hard she fell out of her chair.

"The cadets nicknamed him Puddles and filled his dormitory room with diapers and depends." Tears formed in my eyes from laughter. This was the most fun I've had in years.

"Tell me more," she rubbed her hands together, begging, as she pulled herself off the deck and back into her chair.

I wanted to see that kind of happiness on her face all the time. Thanks to Hobbs, I had a lot of material to pull from. "You know when you watch a little kid's ballgame, and they run the wrong way to score a point for the other team? Hobbs went the wrong way in Hogan's Alley and shot a civilian. Luckily, it was only with a paintball, but the other cadets wouldn't let him live it down." Her confused expression had me explaining. "Hogan's Alley is a simulated town where cadets are placed in real-life situations, and actors play the part of victims, criminals, and innocent civilians."

Stephanie crinkled her nose. "No one liked him, did they?"

I shook my head. "Not even his own uncle."

"How'd Kinkade get stuck with him as a partner?"

"I put in for his dismissal because he consistently failed to meet standards and would be a danger to anyone he was partnered with. His uncle denied the request. He may not like his nephew, but he made it clear Hobbs would graduate. I quit the bureau after that and bought this place. Been here ever since."

We sat quietly for a while, enjoying the crackling fire. Every now and then, I would catch the floral scent of Stephanie's shampoo. I knew what her shampoo smelled like because I might have opened the bottle in the shower out of curiosity. I tried to tell myself she was nothing special, just a woman like any other, but she wasn't. She was tough—a fighter—and I was going down. It was just a matter of when.

"I think I'll turn in," she said so quietly I almost didn't hear her.

"Good night." I watched her go inside and heard her start the dishwasher. I stayed outside to give her time in the bathroom and to get my head on straight.