Page 19 of Resurrection

When I don’t answer, he hurls the clock at the garage door. It bounces off the metal and shatters on the concrete driveway.

“Who is this and what’d you promise them?”

I take a deep breath, willing my heart to return to normal. The box always holds an alarm clock, but each time I wonder if it’ll be a bomb. “The FBI mole.”

Finn squints at me and shakes his head. “An alarm clock? What’s the ticking for? What’s he want?”

“Money. A lot of money.” I shrug. “I paid him already, or I believe I did. The transaction was through a third party. He could be trying to get more, or the cash got held up on the way to him.”

“Either way, an FBI dickhead doesn’t threaten you. Fucking amateur. You don’t send a piece-of-shit alarm clock. You find the thing that matters most, and you dangle it over a ledge.” His quick, angry strides toward the house are the smoothest I’ve seen him so far. Rage looks good on him.

“Finn,” I call, following him. “You can’t get involved. You need to keep a low profile.”

He turns on me. “Do you know where this guy is?”

“He’s in Russia, but—”

“Perfect. We can put this dog down.”

“Finn.”

“Why’d you want to open it instead of Jay?”

“I told you why.”

“Which means every time one of these arrives, you think it could be a bomb.”

I purse my lips and don’t answer him. My hand flutters to my hair.

His hard gaze softens. “We go to Russia. We put the agent in his place. I’ll help you figure out the warehouse theft. When we’re done there, I’ll stay behind, get out of your way, let you live your life free of me and my bullshit.”

At his words, a flood of mixed emotions rushes over me, and I’m not sure which to address first. Sadness. Anger. Uncertainty. “I don’t want to kill anyone. That’s not how I work.”

He breaks eye contact with me, and one side of his mouth quirks up. “You won’t have to kill anyone.” Shifting away from me, he heads into the house. Just before he opens the heavy door, he calls back, “I’ll do it for you. People don’t fuck with you and live. Not while I’m around.”

Chapter Seven

Finn

There’s not much to pack as I shove the few things Carys bought me into a bag. I will need to figure out how to get more money while I’m in Russia. There’s a knock on my bedroom door, but it can’t be Carys. She had to go out to secure my new identity quicker than expected.

“What is it?” I rest a hand on the side of the bed to ease the strain on my stitches. Who knew getting stabbed and then shot would have such a steep recovery?

Lena’s head pops around the doorframe. “You all right?”

I grimace and straighten. “Just old.”

She laughs. “You’re not that old.”

“Last time I was wounded this badly, I was in my twenties. Didn’t take this long to get better.”

“Maybe your memory is faulty.” She grins.

One side of my mouth quirks up in response. “Could be. Either way, it means I’m old. What can I do for you?”

“Carys asked me to deliver the rest of the clothes she bought you.”

I take the bag from her and shove it in the small suitcase I’ve been packing.

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