CHAPTER EIGHT

What the hell’s going on?

Eric hopped the stone fence to his right, intent on saving the professor if at all possible. The three guys who’d run him down were definitely not Abdul-Mutaal’s men. Not with that French accent, but what the hell had they done? Set fire to the place as a parting gesture?

Eric crouched behind the low hedge surrounding what he guessed was Grover’s property. The sky ahead glowed with all the colors of fire, an eerie sight in the thickening fog. Damn. I’m too late.

He dropped one knee to the soggy moss and watched, needing to be sure. The front door stood wide open. White smoke billowed upward from the door and the thatched roof. Out every window. There was no one around except for a black cat skulking in his direction. When the roof caved with a hissing groan, the cat jumped high in panic and landed sideways, it’s back arched, and its tail twitching like a whip. It hissed at the scene on its heels, then walked straight up to Eric.

He stroked its silky fur from its skull to the tip of its question mark tail. “Is that your home going up like a torch?”

It rubbed against his fingers, purring as it marked him with its whiskers.

He scratched behind its ears, sick at heart that he’d arrived too late to help. If Finn’s professor was in that conflagration, there was no getting to him. The place was unapproachable. Any evidence of his murder, if that was what had taken place tonight, was already lost.

“This just isn’t our day,” he told the cat, his gaze on the fire. Burning to death was a damned hard way to die.

A siren sounded in the distance. Emergency response vehicles were en-route, and before long, the crime scene would be overrun with firemen and the local Garda. It was time to go.

The only thing he’d saved was this black cat, the ultimate sign of bad luck. Scooping the friendly feline up, he tucked it inside his jacket. Maybe Rosie would keep it.

“Where is he?” Eric whispered as he entered Rosie’s and dropped the cat to the floor. If she was still asleep after all the comings and goings of the night, more power to her.

Seated at the wooden bench just inside the entry, Jordan pointed upstairs. “Taking a shower. Who’s your friend?”

The crazy cat wound itself through Eric’s boots like a long-lost friend. “Found him at the professor’s place, what’s left of it. Couldn’t leave it. Hope Rosie won’t mind that I brought home a pet.”

“Was that his place that burned? Grover’s?”

Eric nodded. “Thatched roofs burn fast. The whole place was fully engulfed by the time I got there. No sign of anyone but this cat.”

“I thought we were going after Abdul-Mutaal. Those French jokers weren’t Mideastern.”

“Could’ve been ex-Berets Verts, you know, France’s version of our Green Berets. I’ve worked with them before overseas. They’re bad-ass operators.”

“But why were they after Finn?”

Eric shrugged. “Damned if I know. They might be contractors like us, working for someone without Alex’s ethics. He talk much on the way back?”

Jordan pursed his lips. “No, but he’s an odd duck. Kept looking over his shoulder like he was worried for you. Did you notice his hands?”

There was no way Eric could’ve missed Finn’s little hands. Delicate was what they were. Dainty. Weirder still, along with that limp handshake, came a sizzling jolt of energy that raised the hair up the back of his neck. Felt like an electric shot of déjà vu. Things got weird then. He’d nearly thrown that little hand back at Finn.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Do you mean Virginia time or Greenwich mean?”

“I don’t care, smart ass. Local time, I guess.” Eric ran a quick hand through his hair, his temper rising, another odd response for the man he knew he was. Ever since ‘Operation Find Finn’ had commenced, he’d been antsy and out of sorts, not himself at all. Downright edgy. What was up with that?

“Zero three hundred. Hit the sack. I’ll take the rest of the watch tonight.”

“Good enough. I’ll spell you in two.” Eric shot a quick glance up the stairs. “Which room is he in?”

“The one next to yours.”

Finn was on the other side of Eric’s bedroom wall, which for some peculiar reason felt a little too close for comfort, but Eric was damned if he knew why. A yawn overtook his answer. He scrubbed a hand over his face, waved Jordan off, and headed upstairs.

“He’s not a bad guy. You oughta try talking to him, you know, be nicer.”

Eric paused halfway up the staircase at that out of the blue comment. “When haven’t I been?”

Jordan lifted one shoulder. “Just saying. You were pretty rough on him tonight, but you’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

Whatever the hell that meant. Eric turned his back on his suddenly verbose buddy and aimed for his room. Sleep was calling, and for once, it wasn’t asking for Jordan.

Back in her room with the door locked, Shea couldn’t settle down. She’d wanted Eric to save her because he was the only one who could, but now that he’d arrived and done just that, she didn’t want to deal with her deceit. Her failures. The truth. They’d all caught up with her.

With all of her heart, she wanted nothing more than to run downstairs and ask after Professor Grover. Did Eric get to him in time? Was he hurt? Burned? Heaven forbid, was he even alive? But she couldn’t. Eric would see through her. He’d detect the Shea in Finn’s voice and he’d know. She stalled the inevitable.

After two days of running, the padded suit of Finn smelled of sweat, and, well, it just plain stunk. If she could detect the body odor emanating off the layers of foam and cloth, Eric and Jordan surely could. She and Finn needed a bath.

Easing out of her extra-large clothing, she commenced the arduous process of reverting to Shea. Constructed of lightweight foam sewn inside a flesh-colored adult-sized suit, her Finn disguise was similar to a baby’s onesie. It snapped at the crotch, and vented mesh panels down the sides allowed ventilation. Plain and simple, her alter ego was a fat suit. Finn zipped up the back and he was easy to care for, but he was still mostly stuffing. Heavy. Sweaty. Stuffing.

By the time she’d laid Finn on the bed, she was down to bra and panties, and shivering. After she finished with her bath, he’d get his, then she’d hang him on a hanger over the tub to drip dry until morning. Shea shivered at the loss of all those layers. She’d been Finn too long this time. The inside of her legs were chafed. Her armpits, too.

Turning the faucet to warm, she removed her facial disguise while the tub filled. Carefully, she wiped each appliance with the bottle of astringent she’d kept in her bag. Once Finn’s nose, cheeks, brows, and wart were cleaned, she set them on the counter to wait until the process began anew in the morning. She cleaned her extra pair of thick glasses and attached an elastic to the stems so they wouldn’t get lost again. What Eric couldn’t see, wouldn’t hurt him.

Once she’d unveiled her face, the gaunt woman she’d become stared back at her. Short dark chopped brown hair. A beautician she was not, but the close cut simplified getting in and out of Finn. Long hair would’ve been too much work.

Shadows curved under her eyes. She’d lost the pretty naiveté of her youth. Loneliness stared back at her with its hollowed cheeks and expressionless eyes. Her brows never lifted in surprise anymore. She’d forgotten how to smile.

The cost of my betrayal…

At the edge of the tub, Shea knew with all of her heart that Jordan was right. Eric had the right to know everything. In her hurried escape from her flat in Amsterdam, she’d actually thought to bring a light cotton dress along for the day of reckoning that was sure to come. The best way might be to waltz down the stairs in that dress tomorrow morning and simply declare, “I’m back, Eric. We need to talk.” The truth would shock Eric, but it’d be out. Either he’d forgive her or not.

A hard knot filled her chest at the prospect of hurting him once more. There has to be a better way.

Testing the temperature, Shea dragged one fingertip under the running tap, watching her nail slice through the ribbon of water, dividing it into two silvery streams. She was that water, divided. There had to be a way to bring those two streams back together before both Finn and Shea went down the drain.