Resurrection

by Wendy Million

  “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, those other people.” 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. “So 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 and drain my drink. “So far, 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. So 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 when we’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. So they haven’t nailed a definite country. These are the people in charge of international security?

  We’re headed into the fourth hour of this stalemate. Does the CIA work the same as the police? “Lawyer.”

  The petite, brown woman across from me, who the other two guys have been calling Anu, sits straighter in her chair. “You want a lawyer.”

  “Yeah. My lawyer.”

  “Might take a while.”

  “Or you can get me FBI Kim. I’ll accept one of those two people. But if you’re going to ask me questions regarding Finn Donaghey, then I have nothing to say. I haven’t seen him in months. We aren’t exactly friends.” The fucking dam is breaking. Seal it up, Carys.

  Anu exchanges a glance over my head with the other agent who has been pacing and lounging for the last few hours. He can’t decide if he’s super tense or super relaxed.

  “FBI Kim?” he clarifies as though confused.

  I don’t answer him. There’s nowhere else I need to be. Valeriya is dead. Finn is stuck in Russia. Jay is...well...freaking out because he’s lost me. If they want me to talk, they’ll have to bring me one of those two people. My lawyer is in Chicago. Kim should be recovering from a gunshot wound somewhere in the US, likely removed from the FBI. I may be here a while longer.

  An hour later, there’s a knock on the door before it cracks open and a tall, slim, but muscular woman slips in. She’s dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt from an Irish bar, with her leather jacket obscuring the full name. Her dark hair is in its usual ponytail, and when her brown, almost black eyes meet mine, they’re both familiar and foreign. She’s the kind of pretty that’s jarring. Her skin causes a shot of envy to slice through me—tanned but without the sun damage and smooth, not a wrinkle in sight. Of course, she is fifteen years younger.

  “That was quick.” I let the words sit between us.

  She was already in Ireland. Had to be. Otherwise the CIA has invented time travel.

  Kim scans the room. “I asked for the recording devices to be switched off. You never know, though.”

  She searches everywhere, checking the corners, and then sweeps under the table, first with her eyes, then with her hands. Her movements are stilted. Is she still injured under her layers of clothing? Finally she slides into the seat on the other side of me and links her dusty brown hands together before meeting my gaze.

  “You wanted to see me?” she says.

  An amused smile threatens. “Wanted to see you? Only if you’re rotting in hell.”

  “Do you have Finn?”

  “Of course not. You realize how I feel.”

  Kim nods. “I do.” She unlaces her hands, and her index finger traces a gouge in wooden surface. “I understand what it’s like to connect that way with someone. The things you’d do to protect them, the lengths you’d go to.” With a brief glance up, she gives a tiny shrug. “You’re worth so much more than someone like him could ever give you.”

  “Don’t pretend to know things.” I lean across the table, rage welling up in me.

  “The friendship we had was real, Carys. It killed me to report on you.”

  “But you did it, didn’t you?” I grit my teeth. “And you’re not dead.”

  “Look, I have two things I want to say to you before they come in here and decide this conversation was a waste of time and resources. You’re not going to give up Finn, whether or not you have him. I get that.” She stares at me for a beat. “The PLA has a contact somewhere in your organization, and they have been purchasing guns from you. I don’t think you’re in on the transactions, probably didn’t realize they were happening. I didn’t hear so much as a whisper in the months I worked for you, and the CIA seems to believe these exchanges have been happening for almost two years.”

  Two years. Was that when they approached me, and I turned them down? Valeriya? Wouldn’t that be nice? She’s dead—problem solved. My father? Would he go behind my back again? He never had a moral objection to reckless, idiotic extremist groups if they could pay.

  I give her a mild look, feigning disinterest while my brain kicks into overdrive. I sit in my chair, crossing my arms. “And the second?”

  “Finn—” she hesitates before continuing, “and Lorcan were trafficking women and children while I worked for them. Women, like you and me. And kids...of every age.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “And this should bother me because?”

  “You can pretend you’re hard-hearted, that’s fine. You do that. But I’m familiar with the Carys under your cold front. Women and kids is the line you said you could never stand for anyone to cross.”

  She’s righ
t. I’m surprised she remembers. But I guess that was her job. Gain my confidence, use it against me.

  “You want me to track these women and children and help them? Is that your point?”

  Kim shakes her head. “No, that’s not the point. We’re cleaning up those messes. My point is—you’re harboring a man who does those kinds of things with no remorse. He let his father be killed with no remorse. He shot me and felt no remorse. He aided in the trafficking of hundreds of women and children and felt no remorse. There’s no goodness in him, Carys. Whatever decency you think you see, that man is an illusion. Smoke and mirrors. You can’t save him; there’s nothing in him worth saving.”

  Although I’m reeling from her trafficking revelations, having her lay into Finn in such a callous, judgmental way makes my blood boil.

  A few short weeks ago, I’d have agreed with most of her assertions. Years ago, he hurt me. But I’m not sure I read him or the situation right. Is Kim seeing things clearly? There was always this intriguing mixture of darkness and light in her. She’d hate to realize the darkness won out when she fell in love with Lorcan. No, he can’t be bad, so it must be all Finn.

  “He loves his brother,” I hedge.

  Kim laughs. “Does he? Enough to put him first? Lorcan loves me, and Finn shot me, intended to execute me in front of him. When has Finn ever put anyone but himself first?” Her expression is expectant. “I can wait while you search your memory.” She taps the tabletop. “It hasn’t happened. It’ll never happen.”

  I stab my nail into the wood. “You’re a fucking FBI agent. Did you think he wouldn’t protect himself and protect Lorcan from you?” I narrow my eyes. “It should have taken another eight or so hours for them to get you here. What, have you changed over to the CIA? You going to fuck people on an international level?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “Cameras are off. You claim our friendship was real. You broke the rules for Lorcan.”

  Kim leans back in her chair, her mouth set in a firm line. Her dark eyes flicker. She’s considering something, but what? “Yes.”

  My laugh is bitter. “That’s all I get?”

  “I’m here getting the lay of the land.” Her stare is laced with meaning. “I still have stitches that need to finish closing and a psych eval to pass.”

  “You’re good at pretending, so I’m sure you’ll have no problem.”

  She sighs and places her elbows on the table again. “I shouldn’t say this, but if you want proof I care, here it is. Someone in your organization is fucking you over—”

  “No shit,” I mumble.

  “The PLA and whoever they’re dealing with are making the trail seem like you’re in on the weapons sales. That means, if the CIA takes down the PLA or goes after their suppliers, your head will be on the chopping block. Not your company, but you, personally. That’s how the paperwork reads. You’ll end up in federal prison.”

  I stare in silence for a moment and hope I don’t look shocked while my insides swirl. For whatever reason, I didn’t take her earlier warning to heart. Someone was dealing to the PLA. An annoyance, an avenue to be checked into, not a path to jail. Now, I’m not so sure I want the culprit to be Valeriya. Dead people don’t make good witnesses.

  “You’re sure?” I keep my voice neutral.

  “I’m being brought up to speed. I didn’t—I never got very much on you when I was there. For lots of reasons. You were careful. I was reluctant. Doesn’t matter. But this—what I’m seeing—like fucking Christmas. Wrapped up neat and tidy. Nice little bow on the top of your impending sentence.”

  I swallow and splay my hand on the table, my mind churning. “Do you have a timeline?”

  “To move ahead? No. Nothing yet. But the threat is real. You need to get to the bottom of it before me or someone like me comes knocking.”

  I sigh and cross my arms. “What do you want from me?”

  “I’d like to say nothing.”

  “But you can’t—so what do you want? The cameras are off. People in your position don’t switch them off unless they’re trying to hide their actions. Approval doesn’t happen unless someone else believes what you’re getting is worth the risk.”

  “You won’t give up Finn?”

  “Finn? What would I know? Maybe he’s dead.” Those words, spoken out loud, make my stomach clench.

  She laughs and settles deeper into her chair. “Sure.” For a minute she eyes me. “When you figure out who is fucking you over, you give them over to us. We’ll prosecute, or we’ll turn them into an asset to help with our larger investigation.”

  “And if I don’t agree?”

  “It seems like you’re the one doing the illegal supplies, Carys. If that’s true, and you are the one dealing with the PLA, you are welcome to come on board, and we can work together to take them down.”

  “It’s not me. You know that.” I uncross my arms and stretch my hands out along my skirt. “I’ll need product numbers so I can determine the originating point for the weapons. Narrow my search.”

  “I can get you that.” Kim gives me a calculating appraisal. “So you’re agreeing to help us?”

  “What choice do I have? I don’t want to go to jail.” There’s still a leftover instinct in me to divulge too much to her, to trust her more than I should. Considering what else has been happening to me lately, her story rings true.

  “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 being grateful 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 de
ad 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’t want 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—when she 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 the suite, 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.