Chapter 24 Fink
Fink
Aday-and-a-half drive wasn’t horrible. Fink had done worse. However, he’d never done it with company. A mixture of anticipation, worry, and excitement tangled in his gut. Oscillating between them had him confused. The emotions gnarled and knotted, but he pressed on.
He had things to do. Places to be. People to kill. They had a schedule to keep if they were going to get this done in a timely manner.
Thankfully, he’d already taken care of his stuff. All he had to do was get Sydney settled, and they could be off.
“Should I bring this?” she asked, holding up a clawed hammer.
He furrowed his brow. “No. Why?”
Examining it, she shrugged. “Haven’t a clue.”
He chuckled, unable to stop himself as he shook his head. “Light. Pack only what you require to get by. We have to be in and out.”
She hummed and nodded. Without a word, she exited the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” he asked, leaning over the bed. “Everything you need is here.”
“Should we bring tools?” she called from some other area.
“I have all that,” he explained with a sigh.
The back of his F-150 had a massive toolbox filled with a ton of goodies. Anyone walking by it wouldn’t even notice the locked container. People assumed him a contractor of some sort. Which wasn’t entirely wrong.
Holding a small, clear plastic zipper bag filled to the brim, Sydney returned to the room.
“What is that?” He gestured to the item she tucked into her backpack.
“My makeup.”
“You’re not going to use it.” Did not she understand what they were doing? It wasn’t a lover’s weekend getaway. They were hired to kill someone. This was business, not pleasure.
Wait.
Maybe it was a pleasure for them.
Either way, she had too much crap packed. She wouldn’t use half of it. They weren’t going dancing or to see shows or anything.
Frowning, she gave him the side-eye. “So, only you get to paint yourself up like a psycho clown?”
Well, he wasn’t expecting that comment.
“Psycho?” He placed a hand over his chest in exaggerated faux offense.
She stared at him blankly.
She wasn’t buying his over-the-top theatrical display.
“I saw what was in that box.” She planted her hands on her hips. “If you get to gussy up, I should too.”
She had a point, but that didn’t matter. This stage of the game was too early for her to be worried about any of this stuff. She just started. There would be plenty of opportunities for her to develop her style and flair. Now wasn’t the time.
Though he agreed she should keep her identity hidden, her makeup wouldn’t do it. The stuff she had would enhance her looks—make her more noticeable. Nothing in her collection would hide her face.
“I have a signature. It’s expected of me,” he explained.
There. That should put that to bed.
She clucked her tongue and pulled out the cheap red wig with the long ponytails she’d worn the night they met. “Maybe I do too.”
“Fine.” Low on his agenda was to keep arguing with her. Rolling over on the bed, he lay on his back and pulled the burner phone from his pocket to check the time. “We have to leave in five minutes.”
“I’m almost done,” she said as she stuffed the wig haphazardly into the bag.
“No.”
“What?”
“That’s going to leave a bunch of little fake hairs everywhere.” Not to mention, that thing was covered in Grant’s blood. Nothing would tie her to his murder and Burke’s like leaving little pieces of Grant’s DNA at the scene of Burke’s demise.
If she insisted, instead of fighting with her, he’d throw it in the ocean before they did anything.
Reluctantly, she pulled it from the satchel.
“It didn’t matter back at your office because you were already there and it was Halloween. That is expected and can be explained away. Cheap plastic wigs will raise more questions than we’d like.”
She snorted. “You don’t think stringing him up on a crane is going to leave people wondering?”
“That’s different,” he said as he rested his interlaced hands over his stomach. “That’s a purposeful message. Hairs everywhere isn’t.”
She let out a frustrated growl. “Then what do you suggest? A balaclava?” She wrinkled her nose. “How tacky.”
He hadn’t really thought too much about concealing her identity. In all his planning, he hadn’t considered what they’d do. They would be states away, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be traced.
“How do you make your hair blue?” she asked as she sat on the bed beside him.
He closed his eyes as she stroked her fingers through the short dark strands atop his head. He loved the feeling of little pets.
“Washable dye,” he said. Apparently, she hadn’t seen everything in the box. “It acts like a sealing gel when I slap it on super thick. That way, none of my hair moves or sheds.”
Glancing to her left, she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. “Your hair is much shorter than mine.”
His chest shook with a bit of a snigger. “Astute observation.”
She glared at him.
“What? It’s a skill you’re going to need if we move forward,” he reminded.
Rolling her eyes, she sighed. “I don’t see why I can’t do the same.”
“There isn’t enough in the tin.” He used a hell of a lot to make sure not a single strand on his head moved.
“Then we can get a new one,” she suggested, wearing a bright smile. “Blue isn’t my color, anyway.”
“Oh?” He quirked a brow.
“Yeah, I think I’m more of a red kind of woman.”
Wrapping his arms around her, he tugged her down against him. “You’re some kind of woman, alright.”
His type of woman. There wasn’t a damn detail he would change about her. He hadn’t laughed this much in his entire life. She brought sunshine into his gloomy existence. Not that he’d been aware of how muted his reality had become until she strolled onto his murder scene.
Ever since meeting her and navigating what to do next, he felt alive again. Kills weren’t the method to invigorate his soul. Fucking her within an inch of her life definitely took the edge off.
He had gotten far too accustomed to being around her. When the time came for them to part ways—nope. He wasn’t going to think about that right now. Years ago, when he started on this career path, he learned survival meant living in the moment and taking nothing for granted.
Looking back or forward robbed him of what was in front of him. Right now, that was Sydney, and there was nothing he wanted to focus on more than her.
A series of chimes interrupted their impromptu cuddle session.
“Time to go,” she sang as she leaped off the bed full of glee and excitement.
There was most certainly something wrong with this woman—whatever that was, it was beautiful and delicious. He loved everything about her.