Every ounce of resolve she possessed was required to restrain her emotions as she walked away.

  Finley boarded the elevator once more and headed back to the waiting room on the OR floor. If luck was on her side, the Judge and the chief would be gone by now. Her poor father. Finley felt guilty for wishing her mother away, which inevitably meant less time with her father.

  If Matt was okay, she could deal with anything else.

  Jack, the Judge, and Finley’s father were seated in the waiting room. For the first time in her life Finley looked at the three and wondered how they could be in this room together with all the secrets and pain that stood between them.

  Who was she kidding? She was as guilty as any of them.

  She’d understood when she decided to work with Jack that she would be on a different side of the aisle in the courtroom. Sometimes she was certain she could do the most good there.

  Other times, like now, she wasn’t so sure. Maybe all the good in her was gone.

  Her chest squeezed. She no longer knew this person she had become. As much as she loved Jack, even he had crossed certain lines because of her that he never would have crossed before.

  They all stared at her now. Maybe because she’d been standing there for about thirty or so seconds without speaking, her gaze fixed on them in the same way theirs were fixed on her now.

  She uttered the only thing she could manage: “Any news?”

  “He’s in recovery,” her father said.

  “The surgery went well,” Jack followed up. “The ruptured spleen has been repaired. He has a grade-three concussion but no skull fractures or other injuries to the brain.”

  “Good.” Finley’s legs felt stiff as she made the short journey to the collection of chairs. Then her legs gave out, and she folded into the seat.

  She was next to Jack. Her father and the Judge were seated directly across from them, maybe three feet away. Her chest felt tight again.

  “Are you all right?”

  The question came from the Judge. How was it, Finley wondered, that the Judge’s tone was always the same? Always. Perfectly modulated with no hint of emotion. Finley, on the other hand, wanted to scream with indignation. She wanted to rant at the injustice of it all.

  And just like that, all those years of expensive education vanished.

  There was no reason in any of this. There damned sure wasn’t any justice.

  And no, she wasn’t all right. But that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was that Matt was in recovery from life-threatening injuries. Houser was a few floors away after having been beaten, shot, and left for dead, but he, too, would survive.

  “No.” Finley shook her head. “I’m not all right.”

  “We should get coffee.” Jack stood. “You up for a stroll to the cafeteria, Bart?”

  “Sure.” He rose from his chair. “We’ll bring coffee,” he said to his wife and daughter. His eyes urged the two of them to remain calm.

  Finley might never feel calm again.

  The two men were out of there faster than either one should’ve been able to move in light of their ages.

  The thumb drive in Finley’s pocket seemed to sting her skin through the fabric of her slacks. She had to find a way to open it, assuming it required a password as well. “Dempsey got to Matt.”

  The Judge stared at Finley, her face clean of emotion. “Jack explained what happened.”

  Finley struggled to hold back the emotion threatening to explode from her. “It was one of his hired guns. Dempsey’s. One of the three who broke into my house and killed Derrick . . . and raped me.”

  Her mother flinched. “If what you say is true, you have my word Dempsey will not get away with it.”

  Finley suddenly felt more helpless than she ever had in her life. “You don’t understand. He already got away with it, and now he’ll get away with what he’s done to Matt and to Detective Houser. He won’t ever stop.”

  Not unless Finley stopped him.

  The door opened and a nurse appeared. “We have Mr. Quinn in a room now, and he can have one visitor.”

  Finley shot to her feet. She turned back to the Judge. “I’ll be back soon so someone else can see him.”

  The Judge nodded. “Go. I’ll let your father and Jack know.”

  Finley followed the nurse down the seemingly endless corridor and to the elevator. One floor up, and they were in another long corridor.

  The nurse paused at a door. “He’s still drowsy. He may go in and out on you, but that’s normal.”

  Finley nodded her understanding. “Thank you.”

  She stepped inside. The sight of her dear friend made her breath stick deep in her lungs. His eyes were closed. There was a repaired cut on his forehead. Like Houser, he was attached to the machines monitoring his vitals and keeping him hydrated and hopefully out of pain.

  Finley moved closer. For a long time she stood there staring at him, terrified to touch him. She’d never seen Matt look vulnerable or fragile. When she had been recovering after that night, he had sat at her bedside night after night. Whenever she opened her eyes, he would be there. Sometimes reading to her. Sometimes just smiling at her.

  She needed—wanted—to do that same thing for him.

  Nothing could have stopped the tears. She didn’t even try. She just stood there and cried like a damned baby.

  When the tears finally stopped, she squared her shoulders and did what needed to be done. She leaned down and kissed his cheek, then walked out of the hospital and to her Subaru. She climbed behind the wheel and sat for a long time. Minutes, maybe a half hour. Then she picked up her cell and made the call to the only person she knew who had the necessary expertise to help her with no questions.

  “Finley,” Winthrop said, “I’m surprised you called.”

  Finley licked her lips. “I need your help.”

  There was a distinct moment of silence.

  “How can I help?”

  The words poured out of her. She couldn’t have stopped if her life had depended on it.

  When she finished, there was no hesitation. “I understand. I’m sending someone to you now. When we have the thumb drive unlocked, I will notify you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Finley ended the call.

  Desperate times called for desperate measures, and right now Finley was way past desperate.

  32

  10:30 p.m.

  Winthrop Financial Consulting Group

  Commerce Street, Nashville

  Finley parked on the street. She climbed out of her Subaru and stared up at the towering glass building where Ellen Winthrop waited on the top floor. If someone had told Finley five days ago that she would be here meeting their latest ex-client for help with her own husband’s murder, Finley would have laughed.

  It was surreal.

  Go big or go home.

  Finley wasn’t going home. She was desperate, and Winthrop had the resources she needed.

  Thankfully there were no reporters loitering about. Jack and Ventura had released statements earlier in the day. Winthrop was no longer a lead item for the news.

  A security guard opened the front entrance and allowed Finley inside. She walked straight to the bank of elevators and climbed inside a waiting car. Her chest tightened as she moved upward. The likelihood that this thumb drive would be nothing, like before, was great. But Finley had to be sure.

  The elevator doors slid open, and Winthrop was there, waiting for Finley. She stepped off the elevator, and the doors closed with a whoosh behind her.

  “Thank you.” Whatever she was about to learn, Finley appreciated her help.

  Despite their differences, this one thing—a dead husband, one who had betrayed them—bonded the two of them in some strange way. More likely it was all the shit they had done related to their dead husbands that really tied them together.

  “Don’t thank me,” Winthrop said, “until you’ve seen the files. No one has gone beyond the gate. Whatever is inside, I made sure all understood that it was for your eyes only.”

  Fighting that damned hurricane of emotions again, Finley followed the older woman to her office. Dim lighting beyond all the glass walls showed the empty offices and conference rooms. By the time they reached Winthrop’s office, Finley’s pulse was hammering. An open laptop sat on the conference table. With monumental effort, Finley restrained herself from rushing to it . . . to what Derrick might have left there, if anything. Instead, she stood in the middle of the other woman’s office, oddly at a loss for words.

  “I like you, Finley,” Winthrop said.

  When Finley met her gaze, she went on, “I’m aware you know things that could change the course of my husband’s homicide investigation.”

  Finley took a deep breath. This was completely off the record. The Finnegan Firm no longer represented Winthrop. It was late, and Finley cared only that maybe, just maybe, she was about to find some answers.

  She shrugged. “I know you didn’t kill him.”

  Winthrop’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “How can you be sure?”

  Finley shook her head. “I know a cold-blooded killer when I interview one.”

  “You’re that sure, are you?” Winthrop countered.

  “I am.” Finley inclined her head. “But you did protect the person who killed him, and I don’t think it was Marsh. It would have been too risky for her to come into your home and carry out the act. She would have chosen more neutral, safer territory unless she was doing you a favor, and I’m guessing that isn’t the case.”

  “But her prints were on the murder weapon,” Winthrop challenged, her face clean of tells.

  Finley laughed. “We both know how easily that can be done.”

  Really there was only one possibility beyond Marsh. Only one partner who was left handed. Finley and Jack had discussed this scenario; it made the most sense. As it turned out, they had been right.

  Winthrop opted not to comment.

  Finley figured she might as well say the rest. “You expected better of her, but she let you down. All those years you kept her close, took care of her, and still she betrayed you.”

  Ellen assessed Finley a long moment. “When did you know for certain?”

  “An employee at the spy shop confirmed it was Jessica who bought the code grabber.” This was the part that had sealed it for Finley. “When you discovered it was Jessica who’d purchased it—and you must have—and planted it in your husband’s sock drawer, did you realize she was the one who’d killed him?”

  That truth must have cut to the bone.

  “I did.” Ellen drew in a heavy breath. “At that stage I wasn’t completely convinced she and Marsh had formed an alliance of sorts. Not until Ventura found Marsh’s prints on the murder weapon. Obviously, Jessica used Marsh to get what she wanted—a scapegoat for her big exit.”

  Finley mulled over the idea. “And disappearing was her endgame? Take the money and run. Away from a handsome, well-bred husband and an enviable career by anyone’s standards. It just wasn’t enough. Or maybe it was too much.”

  Winthrop dipped her head in acknowledgment. “I couldn’t protect her from herself. Sometimes when that level of brilliance blooms at such a young age, it comes with other issues. Jessica never learned to play well with others. Jarrod should never have continued to play with Marsh while he toyed with Jessica. It was a destructive combination for all involved.”

  “How long do you plan to continue protecting her?” Apparently, Finley hadn’t completely snuffed out her former ADA self. She was interrogating the woman like the star witness for the defense. “According to her husband, she left, took her passport with her. Should we expect Marsh’s body to show up anytime now? I can’t see Jessica sharing the money with anyone.”

  “You and Jack needn’t worry. I am very, very good at tying up loose ends,” Winthrop assured her. “As for Marsh, Jessica will toy with her as long as it suits her.”

  Finley smiled with the realization of what Winthrop was telling her. “You know where they are, and you have a plan.”

  “You really should have higher aspirations, Finley. No offense to Jack, but you are capable of so much more.”

  She’d heard that a lot lately. Except she didn’t feel all that capable right now.

  Winthrop gestured to the table where the laptop waited. “Make yourself comfortable. If you have any questions, I will summon Vivian. She’s working late tonight.”

  Finley moistened her lips, hated that her pulse was suddenly tripping. “Thanks.”

  Winthrop left her office, closing the door behind her.

  Finley stared at the laptop only a few steps away. Surely if the thumb drive had contained nothing, Winthrop would have said as much.

  This could be it.

  The moment Finley had been waiting for all these months.

  With a deep breath, she moved to the conference table and sat down. She tapped the space bar, and the screen lit up. A barrage of unopened files and images filled the space. She flinched. So it wasn’t empty.

  “Okay,” she murmured. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. A lump had settled in her gut, and her chest felt so tight she couldn’t get a breath. “Just do this.”

  She opened the first folder and scanned the contents. Lists of dates and locations. Names. Images and more images. All regarding Dempsey and his company. Numerous meetings with a South American drug lord were listed. Finley sat back, stunned. “Holy hell.”

  She kept going. This drug lord, Ivan Orejuela, was one of the primary sources of heroin in the illegal drug world. The information Finley was staring at suggested Orejuela also represented a significant source for Dempsey Pharma.

  “Jesus Christ. What the hell were you doing, Derrick?”

  There were detailed documents and research studies about the issues with Dempsey Pharma’s newest miracle painkiller. The rumors were right, and Finley was looking at the evidence. Deep inside, she started to shake.

  Derrick had been collecting this information for months before his death.

  Finley’s hands fell to her lap, and she leaned back once more, away from the screen. She felt as if she’d just run a marathon. Out of breath. Her heart pounding. Her muscles quivering. The only reason for Derrick to have been collecting this sort of evidence was if he’d worked for the police or the DEA. Some law enforcement group.

  She bit her lips together and squeezed her eyes shut to hold in the emotion. No damned tears. Keep it together.

  Was it possible that he was one of the good guys?

  She forced her eyes open and placed her fingers on the keys once more and opened the final file icon. The file opened and revealed a video. Blood roaring in her ears, fingers trembling, she adjusted the volume, braced herself, and hit play.

  Derrick’s face appeared on the screen.

  Finley’s heart stumbled.

  “Finley, if you’re watching this instead of hearing it straight from me, then I’m probably not around, and you or someone has found the evidence I stashed.” He smiled, a pale version of his usual broad grins, and still every fiber of her being reacted. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I wouldn’t have left you like this if I had a choice in the matter.”

  Finley swiped at a damned tear that escaped despite her best efforts to hold it back. His face . . . his eyes . . . the sound of his voice . . . it all seeped into her. Made her weak. God, she had missed him so.

  “Six months before we met, I managed a feat no other agent before me had been able to do. I found my way into Carson Dempsey’s dark world. Not the world the public knows about but the one he operates behind that facade.”

  Finley held her breath. So he had worked for the authorities. Agent, he’d said. The trembling that had started in her fingers spread through her limbs. She fought to steady herself.

  He looked away from the camera for a moment. “When it became clear you were going to be successful in taking his son to trial, Dempsey asked me to get close to you. He wanted me to watch you, to keep him informed of your every step.” Derrick cleared his throat. “It wasn’t a hardship by any means.” He smiled sadly. “The trouble is, I didn’t do a very good job of pretending.” He stared directly into the camera, his eyes bright. “I fell in love with you, Finley, and this made me vulnerable. Not your fault.” He shook his head. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty. You got that? None of this is your fault.”

  A fat plop fell against her hand, and she realized the tears were pouring down her cheeks. She didn’t care. She reached out, touched the screen, bit back a sob.

  “I’ve been copying data for months now. Every time I think I’m done, the powers that be want more. I guess they just need to be sure it’s enough to take this son of a bitch down.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve learned how to get beyond the security system and how long to stay before the anomaly is spotted. I don’t think it will be long now. I have to admit I’m getting a little nervous at this point.” He looked away a moment. “I wanted to make this video for you just in case something happened.” He smiled and her heart lurched. “I’m sorry about all this, Finley. I had hoped when my assignment was done that we could have a real honeymoon and maybe start a family.”

  A sob escaped her lips. She pressed a hand to her mouth and rocked back and forth in her chair for what could have been. For the man she had been right to love and trust.

  “If something unexpected happens to me and you find this thumb drive, you should turn it over to Scott Langford, DEA. He’ll know what to do. I’ve been keeping this copy hidden because . . .” He exhaled a big breath. “I’m kinda worried that the agent I’ve been working with, Wayne Bates, is up to something. I hope I’m wrong, but this is my insurance. So you be sure to give it to Langford, not Bates.” He recited the agent’s email address, then managed another sad smile. “I love you, Finley, and just know that I wouldn’t have missed loving you for anything. I’m only sorry that my timing sucked.”

  He looked away again, silence filling the video, then said, “Whatever happens, you deserve to be happy. Forget about me, and be the amazingly wonderful and happy woman I fell in love with.”