Page 40 of Resurrection

“I will too when it comes in.”

Carys smooths her brow. “None of this is your problem, Finn. I don’t—you don’t have to take this on.”

“You think I’ll leave you wading through this on your own? I don’t give a rat’s ass when I resettle somewhere. I have no plans. I gotta figure out which banks accounts the FBI didn’t freeze or find ways to recover cash from the house in Boston so I can start over, anyway.”

“I can go to Boston, get you the money if you give me the codes.”

“Nah.” I flex my hands. “They’ll be watching the house.” What I don’t say is that if Lorcan told the FBI anything, they’ll understand the easiest way to get to me is through Carys. Hauling her in will get my attention.

A buzzing sound emanates from her purse. She digs around for a minute before her hand emerges with her phone in triumph. When she sees the caller, she frowns.

As soon as she answers, and I realize she’s talking to my IT guys, I keep a close ear on the conversation while staring out the window. Valeriya doesn’t have any suspicious email activity, but she made a five-minute call to someone in Chicago after we left the other day. Carys takes a pen and a pad of paper out of her purse and starts writing the digits. She doesn’t finish, though. Instead she brings the pen to her lips, and she chews on the tip as the person on the other end keeps explaining something.

“Is that the only time the number was called?” she asks.

I can’t hear the reply, but her frown deepens.

“Right. Okay. Thanks. This is helpful.”

When the call ends, I give her a minute to tell us the details, but she’s focused out the window, not bothering to speak.

“And?” I prompt.

Her sigh is heavy. “She contacted someone in my Chicago office before she went to the bank.”

“In Chicago?” Jay’s grimace is visible in the rearview mirror. “We got a fucking mole?”

“The timing is suspicious,” Carys admits, twirling the pen. “But she’s called that number several times in the last few months. The general switchboard. Your IT gurus said they couldn’t get an extension off her log.”

I rub my jaw and then cross my arms. “Would it be normal for her to call there? Who would she talk to? You?”

“Possibly.” She stares at the seat, the pen spinning across her fingers. I’m tempted to snatch it. The motion is fucking distracting. “There are a few people. Eric. Hailey. Eliza. Daniel.”

“They each have something to do with the Russia division?”

“Sort of. They’re employees she could call, and there would be a plausible reason to speak to them. Accounting. Product movement. Storage. Ordering.” She peers at me. “Ekaterina might be able to account for some calls. The IT company is faxing a list of the days and times to the hotel.”

“When can we meet with her?”

“She sent me an email. She’s back in the area tomorrow.” She drops the pen into her purse. “I have two hundred people working in the Chicago office.”

I nod. She doesn’t need to tell me what that means. If those calls weren’t placed to the four individuals she mentioned, we’ll be chasing our tail. “The front reception,” I say. “Who answers when a person doesn’t have the extension?”

“Lilly. Most of the time, it’s Lilly.”

“We start with Ekaterina. If that doesn’t work, we see if Lilly remembers Valeriya calling for anyone in particular.”

“You can access employees through their last name in the system without ever speaking to Lilly.”

“People get lazy. Get in a hurry. Multitask. We follow the leads until there’s a dead end, and then we bulldoze a new path.”

She laughs. Her face, alight with amusement, makes my stomach clench.

“I like your thinking, man.” Jay points to me in the mirror. “I’ll drive the dozer.”

“First,” I say. “We go to dinner. I saw a gourmet burger on the hotel bar’s menu.”

“You want to eat a burger in the hotel bar?”

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