Highways & Hostages (28 page)

“I bet everyone in the FBI is pretty dedicated to their work, if it’s anything like the movies,” Stella said.

Diane narrowed her eyes. “What does the FBI have to do with anything? Derek’s a business consultant.”

Stella repressed a smirk. It seemed Derek didn’t tell his mother
everything
. “Of course he is. You were saying?”

“Derek was, for lack of a better term, a robot…much the same as his father, to be honest. And then one night he stopped in here, and from then on his entire demeanor changed. He called more often, usually singing your praises. He was more relaxed at Sunday dinner…those kinds of things. I fear that he’ll regress. Will you call him? Perhaps you could come to Sunday dinner this week?”

Stella rubbed her temples. She’d been to Sunday dinner at the Warner household before, and she could think of a million things she’d rather do on a Sunday—like play piñata with a beehive. She did have to give it to Diane, though; normally, she grudgingly tolerated Stella’s presence at the table, but here she was, inviting Stella over. “I can’t be single-handedly responsible for Derek’s happiness. That’s something he should find within himself.”

Diane stared at Stella for a few seconds, then stood. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” she said stiffly. “Have a good evening.” She turned to leave.

Stella stifled a groan. She hated the part of her that couldn’t stand to let someone down. “Hey, Diane—”

Diane turned around at the door and raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll think about it.”

Diane gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I really hope you two can work things out,” she said, exiting the bar.

After being fitted with the wire, and following a lengthy lecture from Cameron, Finn got into his car and made his way to von Rothschild’s mansion. He was in no hurry to see Billy or von Rothschild, and hoped he would be able to pick up Claudia and make a hasty exit. He felt a twinge of guilt; it would be his fault if Claudia were implicated in von Rothschild’s schemes.

Claudia buzzed Finn through the gate, and Finn wound the Roadster up the drive. By the time he crested the hill, Claudia had walked outside and stood next to her car, a white Vanquish Volante. Seeing as Claudia could be a spoiled ice queen, it was the perfect vehicle for her. She glanced at her wristwatch and arched an eyebrow as Finn parked.

“I got here as fast as I could,” Finn said. “Hop in, and let’s get this show on the road.”

Claudia shook her head. “No way; I’m driving.”

“Look, I’m already in the car. Just get in.”

Claudia opened the door of the Volante and got inside. “I’m in charge, so
I’m
driving.” She put on a pair of ridiculously large sunglasses and started the car.

Christ, she
always
had to be in control. That was one of the major reasons he’d called it quits with her. He thought about arguing further, but the sooner they made this drop, the sooner he could go back to his condo. He sighed and got out of his car.

In the driver’s seat, Claudia sat ramrod straight. Even though the top was down, not one hair on her head dared escape her ponytail. She wore simple pearl studs, and her white dress seemed to meld into the seat. She was perfect.

Finn looked in the other direction. The last time he’d been in the passenger seat of a car, it was the Beetle. He wondered if Josie had safely made it back into Stella’s possession. Riding in the Volante was a completely different experience. The Volante purred and glided over the street. Its interior was so pristine he was scared to touch anything. It was funny; his relationship with Claudia had been like that—he’d always felt like he was walking on eggshells.

When he’d started his journey with Stella, the Beetle was so cramped, he truly felt he couldn’t spend more than ten minutes in it. But by the end of their trip, the small, funky car had grown on him, despite its inclination to be fussy—much like its owner. Finn pictured Stella behind the wheel of the Beetle, her strawberry-blonde hair dancing around her face as she sang off-key along with Madonna. He recalled her eyes sparkling as she glanced over at him every so often and tried to get him to sing along. Finn racked his brain—he didn’t think he’d ever heard Claudia hum a note, let alone sing. Ugh. He had to get Stella out of his head…but he had to deliver her share of the money first.

“What are you thinking about? You only brood when you’re pissed off about something or working on your plan for world domination. So, which is it?” Claudia asked, risking a glance in his direction. Her tone was playful, but Finn couldn’t see her eyes behind those damn glasses.

“Neither. I wasn’t brooding. You never did learn how to read me.”

Claudia pursed her lips and didn’t respond.

Finn sighed. He was starting to think he’d prefer being back in jail to working with the von Rothschild family.

“You didn’t send one fucking letter. Not even an email or a text. Nothing. I waited. For months.” Claudia’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “I heard from Alex, but that’s not who I wanted to hear from.”

“I tried to call—”

Claudia ripped off her glasses and the car veered scarily close to the shoulder. Finn grabbed onto the seatbelt across his chest, closed his eyes, and crossed himself.

“No, Jacob. You did not
try
. Not where it mattered, anyway. You tried so hard to fit in with the high society crowd that you didn’t have enough energy or time to try with me.”

“What are you talking about? I worked DAMN hard to get your parents to like me, Claudia. I tried to be someone you deserved—not just some orphan kid Julian rescued from the streets, like everyone sees me. And it
still
didn’t work.

“You only liked me because I wasn’t one of the pretty trust fund boys you grew up with. You wanted to be a rebel and slum it; I happened to be in the right place at the right time.” Finn grimaced. He was wearing the wire, and imagined the smug smirk on Derek’s face as he listened in.

Claudia slammed the wheel to right and whipped the car into an empty church parking lot. She took off her seatbelt, turned in her seat, and punched Finn in his chest.

“Jesus!” What was it with all these women wailing on him? Did his forehead say “Punching Bag” or something? He was satisfied to see her flex her fingers as if she had hurt herself as well.

“Stop making yourself a fucking victim. I would’ve thought after five years you would have grown up and gotten over yourself.” She shook her head in disgust. “You’re still the same old Finn.”

That was it. He was done. With this charade, with these people, with everything. He clearly didn’t belong in this world, even after spending years learning and assimilating into their stupid highbrow culture. He opened the door and leapt out of the car. Wrestling off his shirt, he ripped the wire from his chest, the tape pulling at his chest hairs. He clenched his teeth against the flash of pain and slammed the device into the ground over and over again.

“Get back in the car, Finn. You’re being ridiculous.” Claudia put her sunglasses back on, buckled her seatbelt, and looked forward.

“I’m being ridiculous? I’M BEING RIDICULOUS?”

“ARE YOU DEAF?”

Finn picked up his shirt from the ground. Slinging it over his shoulder, he strode away from the car, the late morning sun toasting his skin.

“Jacob Finley Gilroy, where are you going?” Claudia shrieked. “You are so immature! It’ll take you hours to walk back! Get back in this car.”

He gave her a middle-fingered salute and continued on his way.

“Don’t make me call my father; this won’t end well for you,” she threatened.

Finn really didn’t care anymore. About this job, about these people, about his life anything. He’d been living a transient lifestyle for the last few years; it would be so easy to pack his bags and be gone in a few hours. He could go hang out in Florida with his Gram for a while. Was there anything worth staying in Vegas for?

Stella absently wrapped paper napkins around silverware for the expected dinner rush. It was a good thing it was such a mindless task because she had plenty of other stuff to keep her mind occupied, like the fact that she was sitting here when she could be learning how to cook an impeccable
pepián
in Guatemala or mix the perfect pisco sour in Chile. But no, she was here. Rolling cutlery.

Finn kept creeping into her thoughts. It had been nearly two days since they’d gotten back to Las Vegas, and she hadn’t heard from him. Stella had forgotten all about his promise to share some of his earnings with her until she opened her mail last night and laid eyes on her water bill.
That
reminded her. She needed to speak with Phoebe about taking shorter showers—was the girl part fish or something?

Stella sighed. Despite his choice of profession, Finn was unlikely to pull one over on her; he was probably just busy. Busy enough not to call after she’d finally crossed the line and kissed him. She’d only done it to diffuse all the sexual tension, of course.

Yep, that’s the only reason it happened.

A large mitt of a hand entered Stella’s vision and waved frantically in front of her face. “Earth to Cadet Stella. Earth to Cadet Stella! You’ve wrapped five napkins around that fork. I asked you to wrap the silverware, not mummify it.” Bert stood rooted near the booth, arms crossed, a no-nonsense expression on his face.

“Sorry, Bert. I’ve had a lot on my mind these last couple of days.”

Bert furtively glanced around the bar. He leaned over the table, his hard expression morphing into one of concern. He said softly, “Is everything okay? Ever since you got back from this emergency trip you’ve been so distracted that even the guys in the kitchen are noticing.”

Stella toyed with the mummified fork and thought of what to say. She did kind of look up to Bert as a father figure, but he was still her boss, and she didn’t want to blast her business around the bar. Although, given enough time, Valerie would probably do it for her.

Bert glanced at her left hand. “Oh…want to talk about it?” Though he’d asked, his face said he hoped she wouldn’t. Stella decided to let the poor guy off the hook. Besides, she would much rather he think she was brokenhearted and distraught about calling off the engagement than know the real deal.

“It’s okay,” Stella said. “I’m all talked out.”

Bert couldn’t keep the sigh of relief from escaping, and his face reddened. “I just thought I’d ask.” He straightened. “I don’t want you bringing the morale down around here,” he boomed, giving her a wink and a firm nod. “Stop lollygagging and get back to work.”

Bert stormed away and Stella returned to work, doing her job correctly this time. She hummed to herself as she finished making her little bundles. She had acquired—
Finn acquired things, where is he
—a nice little heap of them when someone strode over to her booth. With nervous excitement—
did I really manage to conjure the guy up?
—Stella looked up at Derek. Her face fell. First his mother the night before, and now him? Didn’t these people realize she didn’t just come here for fun? That she actually had work to do? She glanced at the pile of silverware. Not meaningful work, but work all the same.

“You looked like you were expecting someone else,” Derek said.

“No—not expecting anyone,” Stella said in a rush. Why did she still feel so damn guilty?

He gestured to the other side of the booth. “Can I sit?”

“I’m really busy right now—” she was saying when Derek plopped down anyway. “But I guess I can take a tiny break. Did you know your mother stopped by here last night?”

Derek chuckled and arched an eyebrow. He clasped his hands on the table in front of him. “
My
mother
came
here
? Was she in a hazard suit?”

Under the table, Stella rubbed the ring finger on her left hand. It was good to see him laugh. “Practically. I couldn’t really understand her through the gas mask so she had to take it off.”

“What did she want?”

Stella shrugged and looked down at the table. “She wanted me to rekindle things with you.”

“Ah.”

“That’s all you’re going to say? ‘Ah’?”

“What do you want me to say? That I want to get back together, too? Because you already know I do.”

Stella made the mistake of glancing up at his face. His expression was earnest, just like the night he’d asked her out and she’d finally relented and given him her number. But still, she couldn’t go along with the relationship just because Derek and Diane wanted her to. Stella’s thoughts must have been written on her face because Derek quickly shook his head and gave her a weak smile.

“I didn’t really stop by to try and convince you of my undying love, but I
did
want to see if you would let me take you to dinner sometime. When you’re ready, I guess.”

Oh, great, he wasn’t here to profess his undying love, but he
was
here to ask her on a date. Stella felt a sense of déjà vu—this had all happened before and run its course, leading them to this day. If she accepted she’d be sucked in, and the whole cycle would start all over again.

“How about this—I won’t say no, but I’ll get back to you? I’ve still got your number
and
I know where you live if I need to find you.”

Derek raised his hands in surrender. “You know what? I’ll take it.” He stood and wiped his palms down his pants to iron out the creases. He was definitely his mother’s son. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Stella gave him a tight-lipped smile and a small wave. Derek stood a moment longer, and just as she was about to break the awkward, tense silence that was building, he walked away. As soon as he was out the door, Valerie was taking his seat.

“Ooo, still warm!” she exclaimed, bouncing up and down. “First Dragon Mama comes in, and now the man himself. Details, details, give me details. I need to know
everything
.”

Stella wrinkled her nose. “I’m starting to think you’re some kind of succubus, but instead of sexual activity you feed off drama.”

Valerie tilted her head as she considered it. Finally she nodded. “I’m good with that, although I’d argue I’m the regular kind, too. Now spill!”