Page 56 of Code Name: Harbor

“How did you two meet?”

I open my mouth. The lie’s on my tongue before I’ve entirely thought it through. “Finn owns an art gallery. I went and we got to talking.”

I cut a glance at Finn, who cocks an eyebrow with a smirk. I can see he’s recalibrated to my version and picks up the thread without looking at me.

“She told me a painting was hung too low,” he says easily. “I took it down. Raised it three inches. Asked her to dinner.”

My father nods as if he’s following the story and accepting it. But he’s going to be nosy. “How long ago?”

“Couple of weeks,” I say, lifting my shoulder slightly when Finn tilts his head at me.

“And she’s already letting you in her kitchen,” my dad muses.

“Dad,” I say with a warning tone.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m allowed to comment, Josie. It took me a few months before your mother let me in her… um… kitchen.”

The mention of my mother—the small, casual, present-tense way he drops her name—makes my throat catch for half a second before I recover.

Finn ducks his head, tries not to laugh. My father takes a long drink of his coffee and sets the cup down. He looks at Finn with the expression that says he’s going straight into intel collection mode. “Where are you from, Finn?”

“Portland originally, but I’ve been here in Seattle almost twenty years.”

“What brought you up?”

“Trouble,” he answers, and I’m stunned by the honesty of that one word.

But I’m also glad. My dad appreciates plain talk.

Still, it’s not the answer my father expected. I watch Dad register it and decide what to do with it.

He decides to laugh. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind seventeen-year-old boys with no money and no parents around get into, sir.”

“Bill.”

“Bill.”

“No parents around?” My dad’s eyes soften with empathy. “That must have been tough.”

“It was,” Finn admits. “Never knew my dad and my mom did the best she could. Worked three jobs to support me and I was never grateful enough for it. She passed three years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But look at you now… you own an art gallery. That’s quite the success story. How did you get into that?”

“By pure accident,” Finn says, holding a piece of bacon in his hand. “An older art aficionado was selling the business, and it looked like a good investment to me.”

My father nods slowly and I’m wondering how much of that story is truth. We haven’t really discussed how he got his gallery.

I can see my dad constructing a picture in his head. The picture’s most likely accurate, but I’m sure it’s also missing more truth Finn’s not ready to reveal. He’s sitting at my kitchen island eating eggs, telling my father the version of his life that’s most likely to be received well and my father, who spent thirty years professionally separating real pictures from constructed ones, is being charmed by him, anyway.

I watch this happen with a mixture of horror and pride.

“And you know what Josie does for a living?”

Finn grins at my dad. “Pretty sure she wouldn’t have let me in her kitchen if I wasn’t enamored with all things that your daughter does.”

“Now that’s the right answer,” my dad says with satisfaction. He reaches for another piece of bacon and waves it at Finn. “She’s the best analyst the feds ever lost.”