Page 49 of Resurrection

I’ve been lying awake since Finn fell asleep beside me with one arm thrown over me, his head inches from the crook of my neck. Every time I turn my head to examine his injury-riddled body, I gain courage. Letting him go to Ireland with me in the morning is the easy thing to do—easy for me, anyway. I want him with me. I enjoy having him around. He makes me feel safe, protected.

But I’ll spend the whole trip worried about him. Will he end up in jail? Will the McCaffery family find out he’s back and order a hit on him?

Carefully, I extract myself from under his hand. His breathing hitches, and I freeze. Then he resumes his regular pattern. My heart pounds with betrayal, but this is for the best. I can’t allow him to throw his life away to chase my rogue employee.

With an eye on the clock, I dress and gather my things together. It’s four in the morning, but I need to get out of here before Finn catches me.

Once I have my bag packed, I take some money out of my purse and leave it on the dresser. Not enough for him to follow me, but enough to eat and stay here for a week if he’s careful.

When I get to Jay’s door, I knock. A few minutes pass before he appears, bleary-eyed. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and squints, checking behind me. “You don’t want him coming?”

“No.”

“You sure? He will be fucking pissed.”

I swallow and stare at the room I just left. “I’m sure. He’s safer here than there.”

Jay gives a curt nod and steps back for me to enter. He flies around his room and is ready in less than five minutes.

When he reopens his door, I half expect to see Finn standing there, naked and pissed off. But the hall is clear.

As we pass my hotel room, I give it one last glance. He might not forgive me for this. But if he died or ended up in jail, I’d never forgive myself.

Chapter Nineteen

Finn

Before I’m fully awake, I sense something is wrong. The room is too still, the spot beside me too cold. Her flowery scent lingers, but not in the way it does when she’s present.

I sit up and rub my eyes. A hint of light peeks between the curtains. I don’t remember the last time I slept so soundly. Rare for me to tune out noises in the background, even in sleep. Alert is alive.

Her stuff, strewn across the floor last night, is gone. I slept through her packing. Throwing off the covers, I check the bathroom to be sure, but I realize what’s happened. She went to Ireland without me. On the dresser is a mound of bills.

Jesus.She paid me like I’m a fucking prostitute.

Snatching my jeans off the floor, I tamp down the spurt of rage threatening to escape—at myself, at her. My room key is in my back pocket. Will my passport and other forged documents still be there?

I dress in hurried movements. The money sits on the dresser. Not taking what she’d left is stupid, even if having the neat stack pisses me off. Grabbing the bills off the wooden surface,I stuff them into my pocket. I check the room to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.Gun. I stride over to the minibar and shove it into the waistband of my jeans. My brain ticks through my options, but they’re limited, almost nonexistent, with little money.

No vehicle to get around the city, no contacts, no fucking phone. I don’t even have a goddamned internet connection.

I slip out of her room and into mine. With no problems, I locate my passport and the other forged documents. At least she didn’t go that far to keep me away.

While I pack, I take stock. I have three phone numbers memorized. My other contacts live in a phone I no longer have or on the internet I can’t access. The first is Carys, and I’m not giving her a heads-up I’m building a plan. The second is Lorcan. I can’t fucking call him. Even if his number still exists, he’ll likely have Kimi or the FBI screening his calls. Fucking pussy.

The third is Hagen Volkov. A call to him makes my blood boil, but I need cash. Even if he doesn’t realize it, he sold me out to the FBI. He owes me.

First, a phone.

Then a plan. Or rather the plan can formulate after I have funds.

I head to the front desk and get directions to the closest place to purchase a phone. Thankfully the store is within walking distance of the hotel. I’m banking on Hagen giving me an IOU, but he’s an unpredictable asshole. He may not come through for me. Without cash, I’ll be twiddling my thumbs until Carys graces me with her presence.

The process for the phone is ridiculous—partially because we barely communicate between the sales guy’s mangled English and my nonexistent Russian. How the fuck am I supposed to live here when this is over?

When I get back to the hotel, I wait until I’m in my room to dial Hagen’s number. It rings so many times I wonder if the fucker knows how to set up his voicemail. I hang up and call again. Finally someone answers.

“Who the fuck is this?” His impatient voice snaps me into focus.

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