Page 197 of The Silent Note

I smooth a hand over my curls. My appearance is, undoubtedly, different than the prim, composed Miss Jamieson he knows. I haven’t washed my hair since the night I left the hotel. My clothes haven’t been changed in days and I probably have vomit stains on my shirt.

But he’s polite enough not to say anything.

“I’m fine. Did Zane tell you to find me?”

Finn shakes his head.

Disappointment comes rushing up and I force it back down. What did I expect? That the guy who went live as he wasgropedby four women in a nightclub would miss me—his much older teacher turned step-sister?

“Please tell Zane to delete the tracking app as we have nothing to do with each other and, frankly, it’s creepy. Now, if that’s all…”

I’m not hiding my grumpiness. The sun is blasting in my eyes and I feel weak after all the vomiting.

“Can I come in?” Finn asks.

“No.”

“Yes.”

I narrow my eyes at Sloane who’s abandoned her post at my side to cuddle against Finn. She’s looking up at him like a dog whose owner has a bone.

Pathetic.

“It’ll just be a few minutes,” Finn says.

“I was actually on my way out,” I answer, trying not to let Sloane distract me.

“It’s about The Grateful Project.”

I give Finn a long, thoughtful look. “What’s left to talk about? Zane destroyed the evidence. The Kings have nothing to do with me or my investigation anymore.”

“That’s actually… not true.”

I look up at him, hearing something in his voice that gives me pause.

“What do you have to lose? It’s not like you’re getting anywhere with these documents anyway,”Sloane points out.

Sighing heavily, I step aside and let the most mysterious member of The Kings slip into my motel room.

Chapter Fifty-Two

GREY

I notice how deplorable the motel is when Finn steps into the room and fills it with his dignified presence. He smoothes a hand down his expensive, white sweater and takes a seat on one of the boxes.

I sit on the edge of the bed, while Sloane remains standing beside me.

Finn’s sharp, knowing eyes take in the chocolate wrapper hill and the files scattered everywhere, but he doesn’t comment on it.

Watching him, I wonder how many things those intelligent eyes have seen that he’s never spoken about.

After a while of silence, I frown. “Finn, you said you had information on The Grateful Project?”

He finally pins those mysterious brown eyes on me.

“Go on,” I urge him, “what’s so hard to say?”

“Have you heard of the Japanese yakuza?” He speaks in a calm, even tone.

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