Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“I realized that eventually, but not in enough time to ever really make it up to her.”
“You said you moved to Seattle after your time in juvenile detention,” I poke around the edges of his life.
“Lived on the street, existed on petty crime for a while until someone took me in and gave me a job.”
“Someone?”
“Jim Price was his name.”
“And the job?”
“Unfortunately, the type that lands you in prison,” he says, his upper lip curling slightly.
“I’m sorry. He doesn’t sound like he was a good role model.”
Finn laughs and shakes his head. “On the contrary, he was. The only person other than my mother who loved me unconditionally. He was like a father to me, and the only person to blame for me landing in prison is myself. I made a stupid mistake.”
I’ve got a million questions. I know his time served was for trafficking in stolen property, which is the biggest reason I think he’s a smuggler. I want to know how someone considers another criminal to be a father figure, and more importantly, how in the hell did he turn his life around?
But I get the sense that Finn is a complicated man with so many layers to his history that I’ll never uncover it in one dinner.
I also know he’s only going to tell me what he feels safe in doing so, and he’ll never divulge anything criminal.
Moreover, I really don’t want that level of information. I don’t want to be in a position of having to turn him in.
Daniel emerges from the cabin, his footsteps causing our heads to swing his way. He’s carrying a silver platter with the first course, which he sets on the table. “Hama Hama oysters on the half shell. I recommend the mignonette with lemon, but my cocktail sauce is to die for as well.”
“Thank you,” I say, setting my wineglass to the side and leaning forward to check out the beautiful display on a bed of crushed ice.
“Do you like oysters?” Finn asks, taking a tiny silver fork from his place setting.
“I love them,” I reply.
I pick up one of the ramekins of mignonette and drizzle it over a large oyster. I spear it with my fork and place it in my mouth. It’s a burst of bright lemon and saltiness, the flesh firm as I chew it. It’s probably the best oyster I’ve ever had in my life and I’m sure it has nothing to do with the oyster and everything to do with this boat and this man and his complicated but compelling story.
“What about your mother?” I ask, sipping my wine to cleanse my palate. “Did you repair the relationship?”
Finn’s eyes lose a little of their luster. He nods, but his tone is somber. “I did. We enjoyed a very good relationship, but she passed a few years ago, so you and I have that in common.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry you lost your mom too,” he says with a gentle smile.
We look at each other across the small teak table. The boat creaks softly in its slip and we feast on fresh oysters while we fill in the holes of each other’s childhood memories.
Daniel comes back with halibut done in a piccata style with charred asparagus. It’s all beautifully plated, served with a new wine pairing, but I only accept half a glass. During the main course, I delve more into Finn’s gallery.
Daniel offers us both a small trifle with Washington blackberries and cups of decaf coffee with cream. I don’t think I can eat another bite, but after I take a small taste, I know I’ll eat the entire thing.
Finn thanks Daniel for his work, slides him an envelope, and the man leaves us alone on the boat.
I take a breath. I’ve been waiting for the right moment all night. “I have a question for you.”
He looks at me, dipping his spoon into the trifle. “Go on.”
“I found a vessel pattern that could potentially be trafficking lanes Voronin uses. There’s a correlation and two of his ships appear in it.” Finn listens as he puts the trifle in his mouth and doesn’t seem to be put out. “I was hoping I could show you the data and get your thoughts.”
I have phrased this very carefully. I’m not asking him for identifying information, only to confirm a pattern.
He sets his spoon down, takes a sip of coffee. When he puts the cup back on the table, he says, “No.”
“No?”
“No,” he says with a firm nod.
“No you won’t look at the data? Because you said—”
“I said I’d help you but only if you agreed to a date.”
“But I did. I’m here.”
“The date’s not over. Not by a long shot.”
My heart skitters, thumping madly. I don’t know what he means by that, but I know my pulse likes it. “We had a deal.”