Page 54 of Resurrection

“I’ll get us drinks,” I say.

I’m clutching my purse when the door opens again. A group of people enter, talking and laughing. I weave my way to the bartender and dig out money from my bag. I sidle up to the edge of the worn wood. When the server gets to me, I order us each a beverage and use the codename for a specific drink Jay heard will signal our interest in a nonalcoholic transaction. The group that came in is loud, and they keep drawing my attention while I wait for the drinks or for a contact—whatever comes first.

Once I get our brimming glasses, I return to Jay, hoping some action happens soon. Jay points to a few people by the bar as subtly as possible. “One of them kept checking you out.”

He’s paranoid. Men don’t hit on me everywhere I go. “Men don’t fall at my feet constantly.”

He gives me a half smile and sips his drink. “Woman this time. Brown skin. Short hair. Petite.”

“Admiring my purse or my shoes or my three-hundred-euro skirt. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Used to be true—no real worries, a single stalker—then people died, other people shot at us, you harbored a wanted man.” He raises his eyebrows and takes a drink of his Diet Coke. “Lately trouble is everywhere.”

Wanted man. The words get stuck on a loop in my head as I stir my fruity cocktail. One man, and he’ll be in a rage when we go to Russia. A part of me I’m trying to keep under control desperately wishes he was here. Strange to miss him, to long for something—someone—I put to rest years ago.

“Why didn’t you let him come? We had the documents.”

I’m startled he’s read my thoughts. We’ve spent a lot of time together over the years. He’s been my constant for security, and he’s become my jack-of-all-trades. I travel light, and he’ll do anything I ask.

“A very long time ago, he murdered a few men here in Ireland. There’s a kill-on-sight order out from the McCaffery family. He can’t be here. And even if that wasn’t true, there’s the other thing.”

He laughs. “Yeah, thoseotherpeople.” He takes another sip of his drink. “What’s the story with the dead Irishmen?”

I focus on my glass and open my mouth to tell him what I’ve believed for years. Before the first word can leave my lips, I glance up at Jay. “I used to think he killed them because of his pride. They were rude to him.” I grimace at the memory, still fresh despite the years. “But I’m not sure anymore.”

“The time you almost died?”

With the straw between my fingers, I take a sip. “Yeah.”

Jay lets out a low whistle. “You know better, right?”

What does he mean? Do I know to stay away from Finn? Do I realize he killed them because they hurt me? Do I understand having a relationship with him will never end well? I laugh anddrain my drink. “This is a bust. Doesn’t anyone in this place work for the PLA? Wasn’t the codeword supposed to spur people into action?” After sliding out of the booth, I gesture to my purse. “Watch that. I’ll be a minute. Ladies’ room.”

He tries to come with me, and I wave him off as I head to the bathroom around the corner and at the end of a narrow, poorly lit hallway. A frisson of unease shoots from the base of my neck, an arrow down my spine. I glance over my shoulder, and the woman who was watching me at the bar is behind me. When I face forward, another man is coming out of the men’s room. There’s not enough space for all of us, and they’re closing fast. Turning on my heel, I try to sneak past the woman to safety, my heart hammering, but she won’t budge. Finn had a point about my personal safety.

“Carys Van de Berg?” Her gaze is assessing. “Do you have a minute?”

I frown and touch a hand to my braid. “No, I don’t. I need to get back to my companion.” Whether they’re PLA or another organization, having this conversation without protection makes my stomach churn.

“Jay Fernandez is fine where he is. We have people monitoring him. Not to worry.”

When I glance behind me, the other man is still there. Stupid to leave the table without my purse and Jay. No gun. No muscle. “Who are you, exactly?”

“CIA,” the man behind me answers.

The woman steers me toward the emergency exit past the bathrooms.

“I can’t go with you right now. I have appointments, and I need to see ID.” My heels aren’t the best shoes to gain purchase on the old wooden floor, but I dig them in. I’m torn between screaming and using fighting maneuvers Kim taught me one night whenwe’d had a drink too many. Clues to her identity everywhere, and me, so clueless.

The woman flashes a badge in front of my face while guiding me closer to the door. “We’re going to speak to you in the van. We have a few questions.”

“Questions?”

“About Finn Donaghey and his whereabouts.”

A few questions in the van turns into a trip to a set of office buildings on the outskirts of the city when I seal my lips tight. Another thing Kim taught me. When you’re cornered, say nothing, not a single word. A crack in the dam will lead to a flood.

From their line of questioning, I’ve gleaned I took Finn to either Russia, Cuba, or Switzerland. They haven’t nailed a definite country. These are the people in charge of international security?

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