Page 63 of Code Name: Harbor

A wave of fury hits me so white-hot words fail me.

Not Josie, though. “I’m sorry… are you talking about me?”

“Yes, I’m talking about you,” Connie sneers. Her eyes track Josie up and down. “I love your dress, by the way. Green’s a bold choice.”

Josie’s brow narrows in confusion because the words of the compliment don’t match her condescending tone. “Thank you,” Josie says, almost as if it’s a question.

“Connie,” I warn, my mouth finally working.

“Finn hates green,” Connie says simply. “If you knew him at all, you’d know that.”

Josie stiffens beside me and I growl low. “That’s enough.”

But I can tell by the look in Connie’s eyes that she’s nowhere near done. “He hates green. Blue’s his color. He’s been telling me for years he hates green. But wear what you want, sweetie.”

“Come on, Connie,” Marcus says, almost pleading. “Don’t be that way.”

“What?” Connie asks him, batting her lashes. “I complimented her dress. That was nice, right?” She then turns to Josie, her voice turning pure saccharine. “I’m sure she’s secure enough to handle a bit of feedback. Aren’t you, Josie.”

“I—”

“Connie,” I snarl, leaning toward her. “Stop.”

She doesn’t stop, her face mottling red. She drinks the rest of her wine in three long guzzles and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

Her eyes blaze. “I can’t believe you brought her here, Finn.”

I scrub my hand through my hair. “Jesus Christ.”

“Into our house.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable.”

Connie’s voice is strangled. “She works for people who hunt people like us. Do you understand that? Every problem we now face has been because of her, and she’s going to keep being the problem until we’re all in a federal cell or a hole in the ground because we crossed Voronin, and you brought her here. Tonight. To stand at our bar drinking the wine you bought with the money she’s going to put us all in prison for. I’m not having it, Finn. I’m not standing in this room and pretending it’s normal.”

The gallery hasn’t noticed, everyone still buzzing in their own conversations. The jazz is on the speakers and the wine is moving and no one is watching us closely enough to have heard what Connie just said.

But Josie heard it and I can feel the fear and confusion moving through her body. Rather than pull her in close, I release my hold and reach for Connie.

I take her by the upper arm. “Outside. Now.”

“Finn—” she whines all while her eyes flash angrily at Josie.

“Now.”

I turn to Josie who’s stepped back half a step. Her color is high, but her face is composed. I imagine she’s spent her entire career being composed.

“I am so sorry,” I say to her. “I’ll be right back. Five minutes.”

“Take your time,” she murmurs, eyes relieved that I’m removing Connie from her presence.

I don’t blame her.

“Marcus,” I say, sparing him a glance. A silent message.

“I’ve got her,” he says softly, his hand going to Josie’s elbow. “Come on. Let’s get you another glass of wine.”

I walk Connie across the floor toward the side door that leads to the loading alley. She lets me hold her arm until we’re halfway across the gallery and then she shakes loose.