Chapter 11 Fink
Fink
Fink shouldn’t have played the game. Actually, he shouldn’t have been honest during it. What was it about this woman? Being in her presence disarmed him. He had no defense against her. There was no reason in the world for him to tell the truth, but here he was, spilling all sorts of secrets.
He wasn’t a complete idiot. He kept specifics out of it when he could. Vague responses to stuff that would truly identify him, but with his favorite color, food, and movie, he let those details fly.
The more he thought about their back and forth, he decided it was nice.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed the company of another human being. He’d been around plenty, but usually in a transactional or business capacity. When was his most recent social interaction that was more than surface level?
Loneliness wasn’t the reason he engaged with Sydney. He was content by himself. This was so much better. She was funny and innocent in a weird way.
The irony wasn’t lost on him, considering he had witnessed her stab a guy in the jugular.
That was part of her charm. This bubbly woman was completely unfazed by the fact she’d contributed to the death of another person. Either she was psychotic, like him, or in denial.
At this point, he’d roll with it.
He had no other option.
Through no choice of their own, they were in this together. Or, well, at least until he was sure she wouldn’t rat on him.
She wouldn’t.
He couldn’t explain why he knew this, but Fink was convinced Sydney would take their secret to the grave. She could be trusted. AJ wouldn’t get it. He hadn’t met her, but when he did, if he did, he would understand.
Though, because it was better to be safe than sorry, Fink would stick around until she got cleared from the suspect list. He expected the police would show up sooner rather than later.
It wasn’t like they hid Grant or anything.
They’d left him right out in the open during a party.
Someone had to have stumbled upon him by now.
“I’m getting tired.” Sydney yawned.
“Then you should go to bed,” he suggested.
“Will you come with me?” she asked in a tone far too innocent for what he learned about her.
Dipping his chin, he shook his head. “No.”
“Oh.” Her disappointment was palpable in that lone syllable.
It pierced his heart so hard he nearly covered his chest to check for blood. What was wrong with him?
“Okay,” she said as she pushed off the couch.
“I like to keep watch,” he lied.
Practically, he shouldn’t leave himself vulnerable with someone with whom he was unfamiliar. No matter how comfortable Sydney made him, he couldn’t lower all his guards. He had to keep some of them up. Self-preservation had to remain intact—no matter how wrong it felt in that moment.
She furrowed her brow. “For what?”
He tilted his head.
Her confusion perplexed him. If she were a trained killer, she would understand why the first forty-eight hours afterward were the most crucial and imperative. If they could lie low and stay off the radar for two days, the odds they’d get caught dwindled.
This should be second nature. Unless…
Sydney could be a weird anomaly. Someone who enjoyed spilling blood as much as he did. The only difference was that she hadn’t monetized that interest yet.
“Oh.” Her eyes widened slightly with recognition. “You think the cops will come tonight?”
He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “If they do, I’ll be here.”
Not that he’d talk to them or anything, but he’d be around to supervise—get a feel for the investigation.
She nodded. Though he couldn’t tell if she truly understood. Maybe she really wasn’t part of his world. There was a possibility he had witnessed, and partaken in, her first murder. What an honor.
“Alright then.” She lifted onto her toes as she raised her arms over her head in a stretch.
In doing so, the tank top, which hugged her body, rose slightly and exposed her midriff.
Sydney wasn’t thin, but he wouldn’t call her plump either. She had some softness about her, especially in her middle. Seeing it made his mouth water. He wanted to taste her skin again. The brief sample he had earlier wasn’t nearly enough.
Shaking his head, he cleared his thoughts. His dick chubbed in his pants. Fuck. Of all things he didn’t need, it was this. He shifted his focus to her face as she rubbed one of her eyes.
“Good night,” he offered, hoping it would give her permission to go into her room—alone.
The arrangement had to be that way. He had no business going in there. Nothing good could come of it. Complications. He had had enough of those.
“Sleep well,” she said before she disappeared.
He let out a heavy breath, but he couldn’t relax.
Sleeping after a kill was never an option. There was too much going on. Between putting distance between him and his victim and erasing any and all ties to the person, slumber was the last item on his agenda.
Those first forty-eight were busy.
Unfortunately, hanging out with Sydney meant some tasks were left undone. Thankfully, this was one of the cleaner contracts he had. He’d only arrived in town the day before and paid for his seedy motel in cash. There wasn’t much to clean up.
Well, except Sydney. Which he dealt with.
Sort of.
Whatever. The situation was a work in progress.
Pushing off the ottoman, he crept toward the high-top table. Glancing to his left, he noted she had mostly closed the bedroom door, leaving it slightly ajar.
The temptation to go in taunted him. He had to ignore it. There were more important responsibilities to attend to. Other than not sleeping, he had to snoop. AJ required information about her to run a background check. Hopefully, he’d confirm everything she had told him.
Though he doubted AJ would discover that Jonathan Bailey, from the Bridgerton series, was her favorite actor. Whoever the hell that was. Fink had learned more than he wanted to but got what he needed from her.
Reaching for the chain of the floor lamp, he tugged, and the room went dark. The glow from the streetlamp outside her apartment came through the window, so he wasn’t in total blackness. The light was enough for him to maneuver around the unfamiliar space and avoid tripping.
After giving her bedroom door one more longing glance, he turned toward the table where she kept a stack of mail.
Some of the envelopes were opened. Others were still sealed.
She certainly hadn’t intended to have company.
There was far too much personal information readily available and ripe for the picking.
Opening up the flip phone, he dialed AJ.
They’d done their check-in which meant his handler wouldn’t answer.
So, he wasn’t surprised when he got the voicemail.
In a hushed voice, he gave AJ her name, address, driver’s license number, and a few of the facts she’d shared with him.
When he ended the call, he surveyed the wealth of material she had carelessly left out. What would AJ do with it?
Any questions about whether this woman was a professional went out the window. Sydney was a regular person who happened to stumble upon something dark and dangerous. To her credit, she handled it amazingly well.
He paused as he sifted through her bills. Was that a good thing?
For him?
Absolutely.