Page 57 of Resurrection

“I care about you. You don’t need to go to jail for contacts you didn’t make.”

A smile touches my lips. “But if I did these deals...”

An answering smile hints at the corners of Kim’s mouth as she stands. “Maybe not then either. It’s not you—I’m confident. I’ll do what I can from my end as long as you’re keeping the lines of communication open on yours.” She slides a card across the table.

I pick it up, fingering the edges.

“And if you’ve got Finn, keep him off the fucking radar. He’s a loose cannon—you don’t need that.”

I raise my shoulders. “Don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” The card has a letter “K” and a phone number. Interesting strategy.

“I’ll get someone to drive you to your hotel.”

“Did anyone tell Jay what happened to me?”

Kim opens the door. “I doubt it. He’ll be freaking out, glued to his phone, trying to pinpoint where the hell you’ve gone. Probably already called his wife, Sofia, to proclaim how much he loves her.”

She’s right. Exactly right. Strange to realize how well she knows me and my organization, and yet this incredible, insurmountable distance exists between us.

On the way to the hotel, my mind drifts to Finn again. All day, I’ve alternated between wishing I’d let him come and beinggrateful he’s not here. I’m glad he’s in Russia and hasn’t spent the last however many hours chasing his tail like Jay.

Despite what Kim imagines, Finn isn’t the loose cannon he was in his youth. But he’s still quick to anger, quick to act. At least if he’s doing any of that, he’s far away from here.

Chapter Twenty-One

Finn

I’m fucking broke. Again. But I’m in Ireland, and I’m in Carys’s hotel room sitting in the dark, waiting for the FBI or the CIA or whatever government organization cornered her in the PLA bar to bring her back.

At what point do I stop waiting? I don’t know. I’ve been chasing my tail since I got here.

Demid’s guard got me Jay’s phone number, helped me organize a private plane to Belfast, and drove me to the airport. Turns out, he wasn’t as inept as I thought. Once I was here, getting to Jay was easy.

Figuring out what happened to Carys? Hard and expensive. The temptation to put a bullet in Jay’s head for losing her was overwhelming. My anger has been on a rapid boil just under the surface since I arrived. He’s more suited to the role of a personal assistant than a bodyguard. Fucking useless. He’s been running around Northern Ireland like a chicken with his head cut off.

After every decent option hit a dead end, I called Thomas Byrne in Dublin to have pressure applied to his Belfast contacts. Given I have almost no money or influence anymore, I didn’twant to owe him. The Byrne family is a tie to my old life in Boston, to Lorcan, to my lost empire. Calling him was like shooting a flare into the night sky.I’m still alive. Here I am.

I run my hands over my face and let out a sigh of frustration before sinking deeper into the overstuffed chair in Carys’s suite. If she arrives—whenshe arrives—we’ll have a chat about what it means to take personal safety seriously. Today has been a shitshow from start to finish.

None of the Byrne contacts were certain, but the most reliable source thought Carys was nabbed by the FBI or the CIA. The CIA has been sniffing around the PLA. Google tells me they’re low-rent IRA wannabes—dangerous—gaining power. According to Jay, Valeriya, the Russian snake, was supposed to be meeting with them. Can’t say I’m upset she met a watery grave.

There are three reasons I figure the FBI, or the CIA, would nab Carys from a public bar. They’re fishing for information on me, in which case, being in Ireland just became even more dangerous. Or Kimi gathered and submitted sufficient evidence on Carys or the Van de Berg empire to bring its legitimacy into question. Or Valeriya was poised to fuck Carys over by doing a deal with the PLA with the missing merch from the warehouse.

Jay is still running around Belfast trying to get a lead, but I had to come in. If they return her, it’ll be to here. Being out there made me want to murder, beat, burn the world to the ground until I got an answer, until I had the truth, until I got her back. The realization she’s in trouble is enough to send me into a free fall.

My elbows rest on the top of my thighs, and my hands clench and release as though I’m warming up for a boxing match. The next person who walks through this hotel room door better be Carys, or I may end up with another reason I can’t be in Ireland.

At the sound of the clumsy clatter of a key in the lock, I jerk my head toward the door. I rise from my seat in the far corner of thesuite, the darkness thicker here unless she turns on a light right away. When the door swings open, the person in the doorframe is too tall and broad to be Carys. From height alone, the figure could be Jay, but this guy has the rangy leanness I recognize. I contemplated flying to Chicago to murder him. The good news? I’m still in a murderous mood.

I draw my gun from the waistband of my jeans but keep it loose at my side. Eric probably hasn’t come here for a fight, but he’ll get one. He enters the room and then says over his shoulder, “She must not be here.”

Another figure emerges in the light from the hallway, causing a sigh of annoyance to escape me. Charles. Her father. Well, fuck me. I can’t kill him, which means I can’t kill Eric either.

They haven’t turned on a light yet. Instead they’re standing in the dim doorway chatting at a decibel I can’t quite catch. I’m not one to hide—ever. But the things that’ve happened to Carys since I woke up point to a level of interference from one or both men. When opportunity knocks, who am I to deny it entrance?

To the right of the chair is an armoire with enough space between it and the window for a person my size to slip between. I sneak over, hoping the two men are deep in conversation and ignore any movement. My chest strains against the heavy, old-fashioned furniture as I slide down as far as I can. My hand with the gun faces out in case I need to take care of a snitch or two.

The light flicks on, and Eric and Charles saunter in, their footsteps muffled by the carpet. They head in the direction of the minibar.

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