Page 67 of Resurrection

My father strides toward us, agitated. He and Eric are far too similar sometimes. Why did I ever believe Eric could make me happy? “Did you decide, Carys? You were the holdout for staying in the hotel.”

My sweet smile strains my facial muscles. “We’ll go across the street. Not nearly as busy.”

“Probably shitty food,” my father grumbles.

“Remind me again why you and Eric are here?” I lead the way toward the hotel exit. Jay picks up his pace to leave ahead of me. I may not have seen Finn raging yesterday, but the evidence is written across Jay like a billboard.

“You’re my daughter. You were missing. Where else would I be?”

Several places spring to mind without me trying hard, and none of them is a second-rate hotel in Ireland. There are few times I can remember my father putting his wants, his needs,aftermine.

“And you?” I glance at Eric.

He scoffs and shakes his head. “We were engaged once. Those feelings don’t just turn off.”

“Well, I suppose that was the problem with our engagement. You couldn’t turn off those feelings for anyone.”

Beside me, Jay snorts and then covers it up with his fist and a cough. When we get to the pub across the street advertising an Irish breakfast, Jay enters first, and the three of us stand outside the door for a minute.

“This is the new protocol?” My father puts his hands on his hips. “He sweeps the place before you ever enter? Seems to be an overreaction to a CIA meeting.”

I sigh and purse my lips. Impossible to win. “How about me almost being shot? How about Valeriya being murdered? How about the PLA doing business with my company behind my back? Any of that seem worth extra precautions?”

Eric’s hand settles on my hip, and I step away from him. Jay pops his head out the door and nods to me. We file in and find a booth in the rear.

Jay orders our food from the bar and then slides in beside me. “The PLA.” He stares at my father and Eric. “My intel says one of you is behind at least a few of those deals.”

My father shrugs. “I never had a problem working with people who could pay. The politics is none of my concern.”

My temper simmers below the surface. “The last time you interfered, I told you to say out of the business or to be all in.You’ve completely fucked me. The CIA has a file which makes me appear solely responsible for those deals.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” My father holds up his hand. “I stopped dealing with them when you told me to step away. However irrational and ill-informed your wishes might have been, I respected them.”

I turn to Jay. Was my father being truthful?

“The last deal happened a week ago. And the products they bought came from our warehouse theft.” He picks up his phone and finds the email before handing it to me.

I sigh and scan the information. “He’s right. The product numbers match.”

Eric sips his coffee and remains silent. Finn said Eric had something to do with Valeriya’s death, and Valeriya was coming to meet with the PLA.

“You met Valeriya a few times, didn’t you, Eric?” I cock my head at him as the waitress delivers our food.

He clears his throat and takes another sip of his drink. “Possibly.” He sets cup onto the table before picking up his knife and fork. “Not everyone is memorable.”

He’s a fucking liar. Not that I’m surprised. The smoothness of the lies as they tumble out—that’s what astounds me. Was he always like this?

My father’s phone rings, and he takes it out of his pocket before silencing it. When our gazes connect, he sighs. “Your mother. She’s having a late-in-life crisis. I’m giving her space to deal with it.”

I shovel a mouthful of egg into my mouth to keep my rant from spilling out. My father has never been supportive of emotional outbursts. Any time I wanted his attention, I had to make damn sure I was stoic, controlled, no hint of emotion. Dealing with my brother’s illness and death were a million times worse because of my father’s unspoken rule.

“Why’s she upset?” I ask.

“The past. Always the past. The thing she doesn’t understand is you can’t go back. Once a choice is made, you might as well forget you had a choice. It’s that simple.”

I frown and take another forkful of food, chewing while I think. “Is this something you did or something she did causing the regret?”

“Something she did—but she’s upset because she says I asked her to do it—no, demanded it. Which is ridiculous. I’d never do that. Her memory is faulty.”

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