Page 3

Chapter Two

Carys

A s soon as I’m out of Finn’s room and down the hall, I hang up on the telemarketer and lean against the wall. Seeing him so haggard, so injured makes my chest constrict. Flirting with him, getting close to him, half expecting him to toss me onto the bed to have his way with me, causes the lower half of my body to pulse with desire. Never before Finn, and not once after, has the mere sight of a man made me weak with longing.

“You okay?” Eve pokes her head out of her office door.

“Sure, yeah.” I straighten and tug on my jacket. “It’s just—yeah, I’m fine.”

“He looks rough, but he’s okay. Or he’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t get shot or stabbed again anytime soon.”

Dropping my phone into my bag, I purse my lips together. “He’s been no trouble?”

Eve laughs. “I’ve avoided him when he’s awake, until today. Some mild flirting. Thanks for loaning me the rock.” She flashes her ring finger at me.

The lights catch the diamond.

“I don’t need it anymore.” I frown. “Finn told me once that he always checked a woman’s ring finger before sleeping with her. Not that a piece of jewelry stopped him, just that he noticed.”

Perhaps I should have worn the ring when I visited Kim at the Donaghey house. Of course if I’d done that, I might not have been able to save Finn. He’d be dead or in jail. I swallow. Each time my mind drifts in that direction, I want to burst into tears.

“Have you talked to Eric lately?” Eve asks.

Dragging myself away from my dark thoughts, I sigh. “More than I’d like. He’s pissed about the missing content from the warehouse.” He doesn’t even know Kim might have accumulated dirt on us to turn over to the FBI.

“Must be hard.”

“He likes to forget we broke up for a reason. Our relationship feels like a long time ago.” The same can’t be said for the man in the other room. Finn and I never came to an official end, and our whole affair is buried in me, like our relationship collapsed yesterday. The sting of what might have been is fresh. Breathtakingly raw. Impossible, but true.

Eve reads my mind. “Finn’s intense.” She leans her shoulder against the door and puts one hand on her hip. “What are you going to do about him? He can’t go back, right?”

“No, he can’t return to Boston.”

“Will the FBI know you have him?”

“Maybe.” I flutter my fingers to my hair before resting them on my purse. “They’ll never be able to prove I have him. There’s not much the FBI can do while we’re here.”

My phone buzzes, and I dig it out of my bag. This time it’s a business call.

“I’ll be back later.”

Eve springs off the door and into the office. She’s worked for the family long enough to understand how I operate. She’s earned my trust several times over. Learning Kim was a traitor was a blow to my ego. I’ve never been fooled before.

When I understood how extensive Finn’s injuries were, Eve had to be the one watching over him. No one new, no one untested, would get near him. I didn’t call in favors to get him extracted, only to have someone rat us out.

Normally this building is a hospice my family sponsors, and Eve is the head nurse. We opened this place when my brother died of cancer. Since Finn has arrived, we’ve been turning away requests to stay in this section. Now that he’s better, I need to move him into a more secure location.

I breeze out the main doors, grasping my phone. The Alps loom ahead, and I let the call go to voicemail. It’s Eric, and I can’t be bothered to answer his questions about why I’m back in Switzerland so soon. The company has business here, and of course my family has a house and this hospice, but it’s not normal for me to be here when our warehouse in Russia is missing weapons, ammunition, and who knows what else.

The waiting car sits in the circular drive with Jay, my bodyguard and right-hand man, behind the wheel. Once I’m in the back seat, our gazes connect.

“Eric just called me, asking for you.”

“What’d you tell him?” I drop my phone into my purse and wish it would get lost in there.

“I was at home with my family. Didn’t have a clue where you might be.”

I laugh. “I bet that went over well.”

“He said the company trace on my phone told him I was a lying motherfucker and we were in Switzerland again. You don’t want him to know about Finn, but he’s going to wonder if you had something to do with the warehouse theft.”

My back stiffens at the implication. “Why would he think I stole from my company?”

“Because he’s Eric.”

When we began dating, my father took a shine to him. A corporate man. Smart. Athletic. He ticked my father’s boxes, and with my brother long gone, he gave my father the son he almost had. Eric can be an asshole, so he ticked the only box I seem to require in a boyfriend. When it turned out I had a cap on the jerk quotient, we broke up. He campaigned my father for control of the company when he retired. Another reason we would never have worked out. His confidence overrode his common sense. My father may love him like a son, but Eric is not family.

“I’ll call Eric when we arrive at the house,” I say.

“He said he’s flying here to figure out what you’re up to.”

“Wonderful.”

Jay chuckles. “You think Eric and Finn will get along?”

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell.”

Eric will be livid when he realizes the laws I broke and the favors I called in to lift Finn from the warehouse without a trace. Given how little notice I had to save him, I made sketchy deals and poor compromises. Eric will rake me over the coals for exposing the company. As the head of the Van de Berg Ammunitions, I should be more careful. His criticism is valid, but I don’t want to hear it.

We drive in silence through the streets of Zurich, headed to the countryside and our luxury chalet, which cost my father a fortune years ago. Now we use the house as a hideout, or a base, or just a retreat from the real world. As soon as the large wooden structure looms ahead, my spirits rise. The gorgeous green hills, the snowcapped mountains, and the lake have a calming effect. It’s been hell the last few weeks, between keeping Finn a secret, discovering Kim is a traitor, and then the theft of the goods in our Russian warehouse. I’ve been spinning, and it’s about time I stopped.

When the car glides to a halt outside the chalet, I hurry into the house. Lena, my housekeeper, is in the kitchen getting dinner ready. The high-vaulted ceilings, huge windows, and wide-open living room, dining room, and kitchen make this area of the house one of my favorites.

“Smells delicious.” I kick off my heels and collapse into a plush leather couch.

“Long day?”

“Long life at this point.” I shrug off my blazer. “We’ll be having a guest join us.”

“Eric is on his way?”

I grimace. “Yes, but not him. Well, perhaps him. I’m going to try to convince him a hotel makes more sense.”

Eric won’t agree, but the discussion was worth making him understand he’s not wanted.

“I need the room furthest from mine, the one with an attached bathroom, for my guest.”

Lena raises her eyebrows as she stirs something in a pot on the stove. She’s eleven years older than me and still as beautiful as the day I met her. Snow White comes to mind. Lena’s worked for my family for so long she sometimes treats me more like her child than her employer. She started just after my brother died. My dad consoled himself with this chalet… and Lena.

“Is this guest a man?”

“He is.”

“Would that person be the fugitive the FBI is searching for? A certain Finn Donaghey?”

I pucker my lips and turn away.

“He can’t return to America.” Lena comes around the island and perches on one of the couches across from me.

“I know.” I stare at the beams running across the ceiling. “I’m getting him on his feet.”

“In your house.”

“Yes.”

The heat of Lena’s gaze is palpable, but I won’t meet it. She’s wondering what else I’ll do to get him on his feet. But I’ve been down that route with Finn before, and I don’t intend to go there again. My father taught me men can’t be faithful. That kind of loyalty isn’t in their DNA. My engagement experiment with Eric proved I can’t turn a blind eye. At least not anymore.

“I’m not a twenty-eight-year-old girl addicted to bad boys and danger. I’ve grown up. I’m a forty-five-year-old woman who knows better.”

A smile is in Lena’s voice when she says, “Let’s hope so.” She rises and goes back to the kitchen to stir her pot. “He’s a fugitive from the FBI. That’s not a life for anyone. Certainly not the head of an international arms company who likes to pretend she’s squeaky clean.”

I sink deeper into the couch and put my feet on the coffee table. Pretending might not be an option about a lot of things.