Page 21

Chapter Twenty

Carys

T he morgue is in the basement. I haven’t been in many, but the environment is perfect for dead bodies. Linoleum floors, white walls, bright lights. The distinct smell of disinfectant and decay latches onto my clothes, seeps into my pores. Later, when I take a shower, I’ll be expelling death.

The attendant sitting across from me and Jay has a picture on the table turned face down. Jay was in the middle of calling Irish contacts when he got a text alerting him of a body being dragged out of the Belfast Harbor. We didn’t think it could be Valeriya. What were the chances?

My phone pings in my purse, and I tense. Jay’s sideways glance is accompanied by the tiniest smirk. If we weren’t here doing this, I’d tell him to shut up. He knows I’m anxious because half of my brain expects Finn to call, to show up, to do something reckless even though he doesn’t have the means.

The younger man offers a kind smile. His baby-faced good looks only reinforce my advancing years. “You’re Valeriya Kuznetsof’s employer?”

“I am.” With my hand, I draw my purse closer to my body while the other rises to touch the side of my crown braid.

“I’ll show you a photo of a person we believe to be Valeriya Kuznetsof.” He continues to drone on, detailing her facial injuries, the bruising, the bloating from being in the water, and finally the gunshot wound to her temple. “Do you understand?”

Briefly, I close my eyes before opening them again. “Yes. I—this isn’t the first time I’ve seen a dead body.”

The attendant turns the photo over, and I wish I’d kept my eyes closed. It’s Valeriya, but I’m grateful I’m making this identification and not her father. Demid would be devastated to see her so beat up. While she might have turned out to be a traitor, I’m not sure she deserved this send-off.

“That’s her,” I confirm as he slides papers across the table for me to sign. “Am I able to notify her father?”

“Check with the police. I’m only the morgue attendant.”

“Right, okay.” I won’t be checking with the police. Demid deserves to be told as soon as possible, not when the authorities get around to it. Rising, I stare at Jay who is tuned into his phone. His wife must want to throw the damn thing across the room sometimes.

When he glances up at me, there’s concern in the brown depths of his eyes. A new complication must have arisen. We’d better get out of there. Frowning, I turn to the attendant and offer my hand.

“Thanks for your time.”

“Just doing my job.” The attendant’s smile is brief, and he peruses my fitted white skirt and my dark-purple top. “You in Ireland for long?”

My smile matches his. Then my thoughts drift to Finn. He’d lose his mind if he saw the hunger in this guy’s eyes. “Flying visit. Taking care of business.”

“Ah, shame.”

“We gotta go.” Jay takes my elbow. As soon as we’re out the door, he shakes his head. “We can’t be anywhere without a guy thinking he can get a look in.”

I laugh. “It’s not that bad.”

Truth is, I enjoy having men want me, especially if they aren’t tied to the company. Someday men won’t gaze at me with the glint of interest in their eye. I’ll miss their attention which is why I fight the signs of aging with everything money buys.

“I know what you were doing last night,” Jay says. “Don’t try to tell me he’d be okay with your little exchange.”

My cheeks light on fire, but I am not discussing what happened between me and Finn with Jay. “Why were you in such a hurry to get out of there?”

“You won’t like my news.”

“I love when you start that way.” I point at him as I loop my purse higher onto my shoulder. “And by love, I mean the opposite.”

We trample up the stairs to the exit door.

“What was the frantic texting in there? I thought maybe your wife was telling you to get your ass home.”

“Nah, sometimes she’s happier when I’m gone.”

“I doubt that.” But I’ve never been married, so perhaps that’s their truth. “Anyway—hit me with it.” I make a winding motion with my hand.

“When I started making inquiries into Valeriya, a couple people went squirrely on me. Evasive. Giving me bullshit I realized wasn’t accurate. I’ve been digging.”

I frown as he opens the heavy exit door and glances outside. “Okay.”

“You heard of the PLA?”

I follow him out. We’re in an alley on our way to the car. I search my mind for the acronym. “Irish?”

“Yeah.”

My head bobs in acknowledgement as I remember. “They contacted me… months ago… years ago? I can’t recall an exact date. They’re the IRA wannabes, right? Approached our European connection here to do something under the table. I didn’t think the risk was worth the reward.”

He scans the alley as we walk. I slide my hand into my purse in case I need to draw my gun. Confined spaces aren’t ideal if we end up under attack.

“Valeriya was here to take a meeting with them.” He stops where the alley widens into the street beside our rental and opens the passenger door.

I hold onto the doorframe and stare at the narrow passage, lost in thought. “Selling off things from the warehouse?”

“Could be. Don’t know. Could she have been hoping for protection from you and Finn? It’s strange though. Why Ireland? Why them?”

Finn’s name and Ireland in the same breath takes me to the night before. I swallow as my senses are flooded with memories. He’ll be furious with me. When I return to Russia, I’ll make him understand why he couldn’t come.

“Can you get me a meeting?” I say.

“I’ve been trying. They’re closed up tighter than a frog’s asshole.”

“That watertight, huh?”

Jay grins at me as I get into the car. “So far. But frogs have to shit sometime.”

When he slides in beside me, I glance out the window. There’s something comforting in Ireland—like coming home, though I’ve never lived here, even though I almost died here.

“Let’s go for a drive. I assume you’ve researched the areas they frequent?” I ask.

“You’re going to try a bump?”

“Why not? It’s low-risk. I feel like a drink.” God knows I need one. “We’ll find a bar.”

“You got it, boss.” He starts the car, and we navigate toward the best area of Belfast to hunt the PLA.

We drive for a while before Jay receives a strong enough lead to pick a spot. Similar to other Irish bars within a two-block radius, except there’s an odd flag posted on the doorway as we enter. Not a combination I’ve seen before—vertical lines of orange and brown with a huge yellow star laid over top. Jay enters first and leads us to a booth in the middle of the dimly lit bar. The place probably hasn’t had a remodel since the 1800s. There’s wood everywhere, and the floor is sticky with stale beer. Our table number is etched into the wooden surface.

“I’ll get us drinks,” I say.

I’m clutching my purse when the door opens again. A group of people enter, talking and laughing. I weave my way to the bartender and dig out money from my bag. I sidle up to the edge of the worn wood. When the server gets to me, I order us each a beverage and use the codename for a specific drink Jay heard will signal our interest in a nonalcoholic transaction. The group that came in is loud, and they keep drawing my attention while I wait for the drinks or for a contact—whatever comes first.

Once I get our brimming glasses, I return to Jay, hoping some action happens soon. Jay points to a few people by the bar as subtly as possible. “One of them kept checking you out.”

He’s paranoid. Men don’t hit on me everywhere I go. “Men don’t fall at my feet constantly.”

He gives me a half smile and sips his drink. “Woman this time. Brown skin. Short hair. Petite.”

“Admiring my purse or my shoes or my three-hundred-euro skirt. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Used to be true—no real worries, a single stalker—then people died, other people shot at us, you harbored a wanted man.” He raises his eyebrows and takes a drink of his Diet Coke. “Lately trouble is everywhere.”

Wanted man . The words get stuck on a loop in my head as I stir my fruity cocktail. One man, and he’ll be in a rage when we go to Russia. A part of me I’m trying to keep under control desperately wishes he was here. Strange to miss him, to long for something—someone—I put to rest years ago.

“Why didn’t you let him come? We had the documents.”

I’m startled he’s read my thoughts. We’ve spent a lot of time together over the years. He’s been my constant for security, and he’s become my jack-of-all-trades. I travel light, and he’ll do anything I ask.

“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. “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. “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. 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. 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 on her name tag. 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 the 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 right. 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. “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.