Page 59 of Resurrection

It’s not uncommon for him to come to my rescue. Despite everything, he can be strangely protective. I used to find it sweet. Today I’m annoyed.

“What I do and who I do it with outside of office hours isn’t any of your concern.” I swirl my drink around, watching as the whiskey comes close to slipping over the edge. “It has been none of your business for years.”

If Sook solved my legal troubles without even coming to Ireland, it means they sent Kim in as a last-ditch effort to get something out of me before they had to release me. I’m growing weary of subterfuge and half-truths. Is it that hard for people to be honest?

“When you’re using company funds to pay off an FBI agent, it becomes our business.” My father arches his eyebrows.

He doesn’t have a single gray hair. The inclination toward vanity is one of the few things we have in common. He appears so much younger than his actual age. Another half-truth.

“I was in a hurry and needed access to cash. With time, I would have paid the money back from my personal accounts and investments.” I swallow my drink and then slide the glass onto the table next to Eric’s. “Instead, I only gave him half what I owed and almost died trying to sort it out.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” my father scoffs.

Shoving down the sleeve of my shirt, I reveal my upper arm and the bandage still gracing it. “The FBI agent who helped me is dead. There was a shootout at his rental in Volgograd. So, if you two geniuses thought you were helping me out by cleaning up my mess, you almost cleaned me up with it.”

Eric holds up his hands. My father’s face has lost color. Either they’re both incredible actors, or they don’t understand why Ricardo’s house ended up riddled with bullets.

Eric’s tries to caress my injured arm, but I step out of his reach.

“I don’t suppose either of you knows why I’ve been getting packages in Switzerland with an old-fashioned alarm clock and various versions oftime is running out, do you?”

Out of the corner of my eye, my father gives Eric an annoyed glance.

“Not a clue,” Eric says in a breezy voice as he pours himself another drink. “But doesn’t seem like a legitimate worry.”

He used that voice whenever I asked about the women I was sure he was fucking while we were engaged. He uses the same attitude in the office with people he believes are being irrational and stupid. Just before Kim went to Boston, he tried his patronizing tone with her. She threatened to shoot him. I should have let her.

“I realize you’re lying.” I point at him and then wander toward the windows.

I need space from the two of them before I strangle them both. They’ve cooked up a scheme, and it’ll be me who pays the price. “I’ve got other, more pressing things to worry about right now. Who the fuck is dealing with the PLA behind my back?”

Another uncomfortable silence materializes, settling between us. As I approach the corner of the room furthest from them, I glimpse a duffel bag under the armchair closest to the armoire. Familiar, but I can’t place why. Then the realization hits. The bag is from my house in Switzerland; it’s the one I gave to Finn.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My heart rate skyrockets. He could be hiding somewhere in the suite, which wouldn’t be like him. Or he’s out with Jay searching for me. He might return at any point. If my father or Eric see him, they’ll turn him into the authorities, or they’ll alert the Irish mob. They’ve both made it clear they don’t agree with me fishing him out of the FBI’s net.

“Well.” I spin on my heel. “Is someone going to answer my question? ’Cause if not, both of you can get the hell out of my hotel room.”

“Carys,” Eric says in that tone I hate. “It seems obvious to me Valeriya was the person screwing you over. She came here to meet with the PLA, and now she’s dead.”

“Doesn’t explain where our products have gone from the warehouse.” Valeriya’s involvement doesn’t explain the paper trail the CIA claims they have or the two-year timeframe. Outright theft is a first, but if the PLA are using goods linked to me, then someone’s been stirring the pot, maybe for years.

I spot my purse on the bed and stalk over to it, yanking it open and grabbing my phone. Did Finn put it here? Jay? Ignoring the panicked texts on my home screen, I type a message to Jay.

Finn. Where is Finn? A surge of panic hovers below the surface.

When I glance up, Eric and my father are exchanging uneasy looks. I’m missing something; there’s an undercurrent between them.

A message pings. The blood rushes out of my body.

Finn’s in the hotel somewhere. He has to be. He isn’t with Jay.

“Look.” I drop my phone into my purse, willing my heart to calm the fuck down. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day. You’re lying to me about something—both of you. But I’m too exhausted to care. Go to your rooms, wherever they are, and when I see you tomorrow, you need to have answers. Ones that make sense.” I don’t bother asking for the truth because, at this point, I’m convinced they won’t give it to me.

Eric pours himself another drink and nods to my father. “I’ll see you in the morning, Charles.”

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