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Chapter Fifteen

Finn

C arys goes into the office at the bank by herself. The building is shiny windows, gleaming metal, and polished floors. I’m not sure what I expected of a Russian bank, but not this modern. Jay and I are outside the door in case there’s any trouble. He’s glued to his phone, trying to chase up leads on Valeriya or the warehouse or any of the other fucking things going wrong. I miss having a device. Standing here with nothing to do gives me too much time to think.

Part of me is annoyed Carys didn’t see Valeriya for the lying bitch she’s turned out to be. Carys has always been that way—loves hard, finds the best in people, even when she shouldn’t.

The office door swings open, and she hitches her purse onto her shoulder. Jay and I flank her.

“And?” I ask.

She takes a deep breath. “She didn’t move the money.”

“That’s a good sign.” Jay stops fiddling with his phone and tucks it into his pocket.

“She cleaned out her accounts. There’s no way to trace her.”

“At least you were right about one thing.” If she’s gone, we have even less time before the scent fades. We’re wasting our energy here, so I head for the exit.

“And what was that?” Carys trails behind me.

“Nobody in Russia wants to be poor.” At the exit, I scan outside and check my gun in my waistband. “Also means we’re at a dead end to find her unless Jay can pull a rabbit out of a hat.”

“Lots of hats,” he says. “No rabbits yet.”

The car is parked close to the curb. We’re careful to keep Carys between us, searching for any signs of danger. I hate not knowing who shot at us earlier. If they were after Ricardo, we might be in the clear. Until we know for sure, I’m not taking any chances.

“I bet you really want a drink,” I tease her as I open the door to the back seat. My head stays raised, my focus on sweeping the buildings and other cars.

“My life for a glass of wine.” She climbs in and scoots over so I can follow behind her.

“Shame you won’t get one tonight.”

“She could have taken the money out through coercion.”

Look at her trying to wiggle out of our deal. “Did the manager mention someone else?” I settle into my seat and give her a mild look.

Her lips twist, and she takes in the view out the window. “No.”

Jay slams his door and starts the engine. We leave the curb and ease onto the busy streets.

“I get it. No one wants to admit they misread a situation. Happened to me recently. It was a killer.” I offer her a sly smile, and she shakes her head. I muffle my amusement with a splayed hand before continuing, “She’s fucked you over. We don’t understand why, but it’s safe to say it’s happened.”

“She must be involved in the warehouse theft.” The scenery whizzes past us as we head back to the hotel. “Why else would she run?”

“Maybe,” I concede.

“You’re not convinced? You believe she’s screwed me over, but the most logical answer doesn’t make sense to you.”

“You’ve got all this shit swirling. Your business is a toilet bowl right now. The warehouse. The threats. Valeriya missing. FBI dickhead dead. Charles interfering with the cash transfer. Could everything be connected? Possibly. Coincidences this great don’t exist.”

“Even still, Valeriya’s piece of the puzzle has to be the warehouse.”

I stare at her for a moment. “You ask the bank manager for the video footage of Valeriya taking out her money?”

“I did. Jay always likes to check.”

“I will too when it comes in.”

Carys smooths her brow. “None of this is your problem, Finn. I don’t—you don’t have to take this on.”

“You think I’ll leave you wading through this on your own? I don’t give a rat’s ass when I resettle somewhere. I have no plans. I gotta figure out which banks accounts the FBI didn’t freeze or find ways to recover cash from the house in Boston so I can start over, anyway.”

“I can go to Boston, get you the money if you give me the codes.”

“Nah.” I flex my hands. “They’ll be watching the house.” What I don’t say is that if Lorcan told the FBI anything, they’ll understand the easiest way to get to me is through Carys. Hauling her in will get my attention.

A buzzing sound emanates from her purse. She digs around for a minute before her hand emerges with her phone in triumph. When she sees the caller, she frowns.

As soon as she answers, and I realize she’s talking to my IT guys, I keep a close ear on the conversation while staring out the window. Valeriya doesn’t have any suspicious email activity, but she made a five-minute call to someone in Chicago after we left the other day. Carys takes a pen and a pad of paper out of her purse and starts writing the digits. She doesn’t finish, though. Instead she brings the pen to her lips, and she chews on the tip as the person on the other end keeps explaining something.

“Is that the only time the number was called?” she asks.

I can’t hear the reply, but her frown deepens.

“Right. Okay. Thanks. This is helpful.”

When the call ends, I give her a minute to tell us the details, but she’s focused out the window, not bothering to speak.

“And?” I prompt.

Her sigh is heavy. “She contacted someone in my Chicago office before she went to the bank.”

“In Chicago?” Jay’s grimace is visible in the rearview mirror. “We got a fucking mole?”

“The timing is suspicious,” Carys admits, twirling the pen. “But she’s called that number several times in the last few months. The general switchboard. Your IT gurus said they couldn’t get an extension off her log.”

I rub my jaw and then cross my arms. “Would it be normal for her to call there? Who would she talk to? You?”

“Possibly.” She stares at the seat, the pen spinning across her fingers. I’m tempted to snatch it. The motion is fucking distracting. “There are a few people. Eric. Hailey. Eliza. Daniel.”

“They each have something to do with the Russia division?”

“Sort of. They’re employees she could call, and there would be a plausible reason to speak to them. Accounting. Product movement. Storage. Ordering.” She peers at me. “Ekaterina might be able to account for some calls. The IT company is faxing a list of the days and times to the hotel.”

“When can we meet with her?”

“She sent me an email. She’s back in the area tomorrow.” She drops the pen into her purse. “I have two hundred people working in the Chicago office.”

I nod. She doesn’t need to tell me what that means. If those calls weren’t placed to the four individuals she mentioned, we’ll be chasing our tail. “The front reception,” I say. “Who answers when a person doesn’t have the extension?”

“Lilly. Most of the time, it’s Lilly.”

“We start with Ekaterina. If that doesn’t work, we see if Lilly remembers Valeriya calling for anyone in particular.”

“You can access employees through their last name in the system without ever speaking to Lilly.”

“People get lazy. Get in a hurry. Multitask. We follow the leads until there’s a dead end, and then we bulldoze a new path.”

She laughs. Her face, alight with amusement, makes my stomach clench.

“I like your thinking, man.” Jay points to me in the mirror. “I’ll drive the dozer.”

“First,” I say. “We go to dinner. I saw a gourmet burger on the hotel bar’s menu.”

“You want to eat a burger in the hotel bar?”

“I’m in the mood for a burger and a beer. What are you going to get?” I tip my lips up. “Oh, yes. You can’t drink tonight. Just the burger, then?”

Carys twists a ring on her right hand and gives me a sideways glance. “You weren’t serious about that bet, were you?”

“All bets are serious. Always. I don’t make them unless I can win. And when I win, I collect.”

Our gazes connect before mine wanders over her body, the ever-present desire humming between us once more.

“I would’ve been happy to have you collect if you’d won,” I say.

A dull pink rises to her cheeks. “You don’t even know what I would have asked for.”

I chuckle. “Don’t I?”

Her blush darkens, and I laugh again.

“On your right,” Jay says as we sidle up to the hotel. “What’s the plan, boss?”

“Dinner at the hotel, I guess.” She closes her purse. “You can go to your room. We’ll be fine.”

“No.” I shake my head. “You can eat at another table or in the lobby. We don’t understand what’s going on. You’re not minimizing the little security you have. If anything, we should call in more people.”

Her jaw tightens, and she purses her lips. “I’ve never been under a direct threat before.”

“There was that stalker,” Jay chimes in from the front before taking a valet spot.

“Years ago,” Carys says. “And in Chicago, which was both better and worse. I had lots of guards.”

“You had a stalker?” I frown, wondering where this person might be now.

She gives me a wry look. “He saw me in a magazine. Had a vision we were married. With kids, no less. He had a very elaborate life cooked up.”

“What happened to him?”

“Got too close for comfort.” Jay slides out the driver’s side. When he opens the passenger door for Carys, he continues, “Ended up being committed to a psychiatric ward by his family.”

She climbs out, and I round the car, my gaze zipping the perimeter for any threats. If she stays in the same hotel, it would be very easy for someone to track her. “How long ago?”

“Ten years.” She glances at Jay for confirmation. “It was the catalyst for my relationship with Eric.”

“Eric didn’t seem like such an asshole back then,” he clarifies.

She grimaces. “Oh, he was always an ass. He just hid it under fancy clothes for a while.” When she gazes at me, her expression changes, but I can’t read it. “Most men don’t turn out to be who you think they are.”

I’m not sure which of my missteps she’s talking about, but the comment is aimed at me as much as Eric. Being lumped in with that arrogant prick makes me clench my fists. I deserve her wrath for things I did in the past. Knowing she’s been messing with Eric off and on for the last ten years causes an ache in my chest. A relationship with him is nothing like what she talked about having—the opposite, actually.

With a final check around the area, I lead the way into the hotel. Jay slips the keys to the valet who comes out to greet us. I enter the building first, followed by Carys, and then Jay.

“You’re eating at the bar?” He nods at the big open space in front of us. Stools line the bar, and a few tables spot the perimeter. Off to the right is a dimly lit restaurant. Bright bar. Dim restaurant. The wise choice is lit up, a neon sign. Lights. Less atmosphere. Business versus pleasure.

“We’ll eat in there.” I gesture to the restaurant. Who doesn’t enjoy living on the edge? With Jay in mind, I scan the bar, I say, “You eat—”

“Table right there.” He points to one straddling the main hotel entrance and the door to the restaurant.

“Table right there,” I confirm.

Carys rocks on her heels, her purse clutched in front of her, tapping her knees.

“Hungry?” I take in her hot-pink skirt and her fluttering black shirt again. My fingers itch to remove the tight bun at the base of her neck, flick my tongue across the spot below her ear that always makes her moan.

“Starving.” She doesn’t head toward the restaurant, and she doesn’t make eye contact.

Is she cataloging the ways we used to find satisfaction in each other? The longer I spend with her, the more my willpower slips. The more I convince myself I could take the next few days, weeks, or months fucking her and still walk away.

I did it once. Seventeen years ago, my world began and ended with her. Leaving her a second time can’t be any harder. “Let’s eat.” I rest my palm on the small of her back, guiding her toward the restaurant.

Her deep breath is audible before she moves forward. Through her thin shirt, my hand is seared by the contact. I fight the urge to sweep her into my arms, carry her to my room, and have an entirely different meal.

Sleeping with her would ease the aching in my pants and in my chest. Sex would make my worry for her justified, more immediate instead of a residual thing from days past. We don’t know each other anymore. These emotions are a reflex, instinct, a lack of closure. My thirst for her is endless. That’s all. A relationship would never work. We’re not meant to be more than this naked desire.

We’re shown to a secluded table, and I slide in across from Carys. I’m aware of our reality. I’m the guy she fucks in an alley when she thinks nobody is watching. The guy she gets drunk enough to screw and regret. I’m not her final destination. I’m her pit stop.

The waiter flips open the menus and passes one to us both. Over the top, I watch Carys tuck a tendril of her hair behind her ear. She peeks up and our gazes connect, the moment pulses with recognition.

Everything I’ve thought is true, and the energy between us, is unmistakable. Tonight I’ll be the one who slips inside her in a Russian hotel room, who brings her to climax over and over, knowing I might be who she wants, but I’ll never be who she needs.