“You were lucky,” Finn said.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Lucky.”
His eyebrows drew together in puzzlement, as he wondered why I was being so snarky to the woman who had just saved his life, but I wasn’t about to explain the irony to him.
“Oh, don’t mind her,” he said in a cheery voice. “She’s just upset that the bad guy got away, and she couldn’t give him the smackdown she wanted to. Right, Gin?”
I ground my teeth, but Finn didn’t notice that I didn’t answer him. Instead, he fixed his green gaze on Deirdre, curiosity filling his face.
“Although I have to ask you something, Dee-Dee,” he said. “Why did you shove me out of the way of that bullet? Not that I’m complaining, mind you. But it was a really brave and heroic thing to do, especially for someone you’ve only known a few weeks.”
“Well, good investment bankers are hard to find. I didn’t want my favorite asset to get hurt.” She winked again, then let out a loud laugh, trying to play it off as a joke, trying to charm him the same way he’d done to countless other people over the years.
But Finn wasn’t that easily swayed. “No, seriously,” he said. “I really want to know. Why did you risk your life to save mine? Why did you think to protect me like that?”
Deirdre froze, her smile slowly slipping away, her expression turning serious, until she was staring at Finn like he was the only thing that mattered. She clamped her lips shut, then opened her mouth, then clamped her lips shut again, as if she was having trouble getting out the words.
My stomach twisted with dread. I knew exactly what she was going to say, but there was nothing I could do to stop her.
“I’m your mother.”
8
Everyone had a different reaction to Deirdre Shaw’s bombshell.
Bria bit her lip and stared down at the floor. Owen blinked and blinked, trying to process Deirdre’s words. Tucker glanced at his boss, his black eyebrows arching a bit, then went back to his phone, still searching for a healer. My hands clenched into fists so tight that my nails dug into the spider rune scars in my palms.
And then there was Finn.
He stared at Deirdre for several seconds. Then his eyes crinkled, his lips twitched, and he burst out laughing.
He just . . . laughed.
And laughed . . . and laughed some more . . .
Maybe he’d hit his head harder than I’d thought.
“Oh, Dee-Dee, you’re a hoot, all right,” Finn said between deep belly laughs. “But my mother died in a car accident when I was just a baby. You know that. We’ve talked about it several times now.”
My jaw clenched, and my hands fisted together even tighter. I wondered exactly what Finn and Deirdre had talked about. How long had she been pumping him for information? How long had she been insinuating herself into his life? How long had she been laying the groundwork and buttering him up for this moment?
Deirdre lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, still staring straight into his eyes. “That’s what Fletcher wanted you to think. But it’s true, Finnegan. I’m your mother, and I’m alive. I’ve been alive this whole time.”
Finn kept chuckling for a few more seconds, until he realized she was serious. His laughter died on his lips, his entire body stiffened with shock, and he didn’t even breathe for several seconds. He blinked, then blinked again, peering at Deirdre in a close, intense way that he never had before. I could practically see the gears grinding in his mind, all the memories he was calling up, all the mental calculations he was doing, trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with what little Fletcher had told him about his mother.
Deirdre’s red lips creased into a sad, wistful smile. “You’re even more handsome than the photos I’ve seen,” she said in a soft voice. “I always thought you had my smile, ever since you were a baby.”
She reached out and slowly placed her hand on top of Finn’s. He started at the contact, but he didn’t automatically jerk his hand away. Instead, something flashed in his eyes, something I had never seen before.
Longing.
A raw, naked longing that made him seem much younger than his thirty-three years. An old, aching longing he would do anything to ease. A bone-deep longing that worried me even more than all the pretty words Deirdre was spouting. In that moment, Finn seemed . . . vulnerable, in a way that I had never seen him be vulnerable before.
Finn shifted on his feet. From one moment to the next, he accepted what Deirdre was telling him as truth, that she was his mother. I could tell by the way he intently scanned her face, trying to find himself in her smile, her nose, her cheekbones. But the worst part was the way the longing in his eyes immediately flared up into a bright spark of hope.
“But . . . but how . . . why . . .” Finn stammered, for once at a loss for words.