Page 108 of The Silent Note

From the corner of my eye, I sense movement. The delivery guy is taking advantage of my distractedness. His hand slips under his coat just as Finn sprints toward us.

My brother’s hands fling me to the side. My hip slams against the ornate glass table that Cadey decorated with stupid little music trinkets and a framed photo of us at one of our concerts.

The frame loses its balance. It rocks back and forth twice before giving everything up to gravity and hurtling to the ground. I hear the crash seconds before another clap of thunder booms through the house.

Wincing, I look up.

Finn’s in front of me, knees crouched slightly and hands lifted in a fighting stance. The delivery man has one foot in the house and the other on the porch. He tilts his head to the side, allowing the light to illuminate the bottom half of his face. He’s clean-shaven, but that’s about as much as I can tell about him.

Slowly, his hand retreats from whatever he was reaching for.

The rain coat flaps into place.

Scrambling to my feet, I join my brother at the door. I’m not much help with one arm in a sling but, between me and Finn, that’s three arms. And three arms are better than two.

The tension in the stranger’s shoulders releases and he lets out a breathy laugh. “Sorry. Wrong house.”

There’s a hint of an accent to his words, reminding me of the heavy accent Finn had when dad brought him home after his first ‘sorry, I almost killed a mother and her children drunk driving’ apology tour.

My eyebrows hike when the delivery man runs back into the night. Soon, an engine rumbles to life and two headlights pierce the sleet of rain.

Finn straightens and looks me over. “You good?”

I nod, my eyes glued outside as I peruse the driveway. The boxy delivery truck roars down the street, cutting around the corner and disappearing from sight.

“Who the hell was that?”

Finn tenses his jaw. “Not a delivery guy.”

“That was obvious.” I wince when I shift my weight from one leg to the next and feel a throbbing in my hip.

Finn’s sharp eyes catch my expression. “You got hurt?”

“The glass table did some damage, but I’ll live. We should call Dutch. Tell him to reroute. I don’t think the girls are safe here tonight. Might be better to take them to the lake house.”

“Where there’s even less security?”

“You think our gate security and a few cameras can stop that guy if he comes back?”

Finn glares a hole in the ground. It’s the most aggravated I’ve seen him since… well, earlier today. Between all of us, I can get on Finn’s nerves with precision, and I find it personally rewarding to do so. But I can tell there’s something more going on than mere annoyance with my suggestions.

“How did you know something was off with him?” I ask, watching Finn’s face for any clues.

He shrugs.

I wait for more.

He says nothing else.

I ponder my next words carefully, considering the best way to get Finn to talk. Something about what he did at the door niggles at me. I can’t shake the feeling that my brother is holding something back.

“When did you get home today? Why didn’t you use the front door?”

Finn narrows his eyes until they’re slits. “I’ll call Dutch.”

I set my hand on his shoulder.

He twists his neck, looking at me. My determination must show on my face because he rattles off an annoyed explanation.

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