Page 60 of Resurrection

“Oh, no.” I cross my arms. “You’re not staying here. I’m done with lies and half-truths and so much bullshit your eyes are evenbrowner than normal. No. Leave. Go. Get out.” I point to the door.

“Carys,” Eric cajoles.

“No.” I grab his duffel bag off the floor by the bed. When I get to the door, I open it and toss it into the hallway. “I hope my father got a room with two double beds. Otherwise, you’ll be both literally and figurately in bed with each other. Won’t that be nice?”

Finn might be somewhere in this hotel room. If he is, if he’s heard them, it’s a goddamned miracle my father and Eric are still alive. I can only imagine the things they said before I arrived. About him. About me. About who knows what else.

My father steps out the door, into the hallway. “Room 561,” he says to Eric over his shoulder.

He stoops to pick up his bag and stares at me. “This is really what you want? I could help you relax after such a stressful day.”

“Could you?” I meet his gaze. “I doubt it.”

He flushes with annoyance. “Someday you’ll understand.”

I laugh. “Oh, I think I understand enough already. Goodnight, Eric.”

With a last frustrated huff, he heads down the hall toward the elevators. I shut the door and flip the lock into place. For a moment I focus on the fake wooden surface, gathering my strength for the next round.

Turning, I’m about to call Finn’s name when I see him by the window, leaning his shoulder into the armoire, the gun loose at his side.

All I want to do is go to him, wrap my arms around him, lean into his chest, and let myself be safe for the first time today.

And then I remember what Kim told me.

And then I remember how much danger he’s putting himself in by being here, the danger I might be in.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t leave his place near the window. The panic and anger I’ve kept at bay surges in me. Everything is collapsing around me, and he couldn’t care less.

“Did you hear me?” I stride over to the minibar and pour myself a second drink. “You shouldn’t be here.”

The silence from him is oppressive as I take the shot of whiskey.

“Doesn’t matter if you’re angry at me for leaving you like that,” I say.

Except anger isn’t what is emanating from him, reaching out toward me. The emotion is one I can’t pinpoint. When I’ve gathered my outrage, I spin around. “You’re giving me the silent treatment?”

“Just waiting for you to get drunk enough to tell me the truth.”

“Fuck you.”

Finn’s empty hand ruffles his close-cropped hair and then clings to his neck. He slides the gun into the waistband of his pants near his spine. “It was the CIA?”

“Yes.”

“Were they after me?”

“Of course.”

“Did they say anything about Lorcan?”

I hesitate and stall by sliding my tumbler onto the table. In the car I wondered whether I should mention Kim to Jay or Finn. But I’m so tired of being lied to, lying to other people.

“Kim was there.”

He straightens, springing off the armoire in a burst of alertness. “What? Why?”

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