Page 26 of Resurrection

He leads us out of the building. She trails him, and I bring up the rear. When we get to the bank of elevators, she turns to me. “Still hungry?”

“Do bears shit in the woods?”

“That’s a yes, then.” The elevator pings. “I have a place,” she says.

“You want me along?” Jay asks as we step into the metal box.

“You’d better.” She’s focused on the closing doors. “If Valeriya calls her father to tell him I threatened her, there might be trouble.”

“Who is he?” I say.

Her eyes twinkle in amusement, a smile playing at the edges of her lips. “Russian mafia. Your favorite.”

“Thinktheycould have taken your product?” I suggest.

“Doubtful. They use my business in Russia to clean their money. But it’s good to be sure.” As the elevator doors open, she exits.

“If Valeriya doesn’t tell Daddy you threatened her…” I slot the pieces together.

“Exactly.” Carys glances over her shoulder. “She doesn’t want him to realize what she’s been doing behind both our backs.”

“Impressive.”

She mocks a tiny curtsey. “Why thank you, kind sir.” Her Southern accent peeks out, reminding me of the other times she’s let me hear it. My chest aches at the memories.

Jay holds the door of the car as we both climb into the rear seats. With the middle space between us, we head to dinner. I stare at the scenery outside as we glide through the streets, determined to keep these old feelings for Carys from rising too far.

Chapter Ten

Carys

I’m on my third glass of vodka in the quaint restaurant down the street from the hotel my family frequents in Volgograd. The place is a bit of a dive bar, grungy even, but I love the Russian food. Their kebabs are exceptional. If the man across the table from me wasn’t so distracting, I’d be in heaven.

We’ve barely said two words to each other since we were seated and ordered. I’m praying for our meals to come faster even as I gulp more vodka. Drinking this much is a mistake, but I can’t stop myself.Liquid courage.

“What are you thinking about?” As soon as the question leaves my mouth, I curse the alcohol. The stupidest, most girly ask in the world.

The vinyl on the chair squeaks when Finn leans back and crosses his arms. “Trying to puzzle out your employee.”

“Valeriya?”

He raises his eyebrows.

Another stupid question. More vodka makes its way past my lips.

“Who has more clout than you?” He picks up his drink. His pain must be substantial because he took painkillers and opted for water instead of alcohol. Weirdly responsible.

“In Russia?” I reply. “Pretty much everyone. I’m a small fish here.”

The ice in Finn’s water clinks together as he rotates his glass. “Do you suspect your father? Could he be the reason for the theft?”

“My father?” I rear back, my glass dangling from my fingers. Wasn’t my first idea when I found out. In fact, he would be one of the last people I’d accuse.

“Charles never liked to play by the rules.” Finn stays focused on the swirling water.

“He’s retired.”

He glances up at me. “He never sticks his nose in? Never once had remorse over giving up control?”

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