Chapter 26 Fink
Fink
Sydney’s reluctance to share had surprised Fink. She came off so unbothered and open. He hadn’t anticipated she’d keep much so close to her vest.
Perhaps he should’ve been offended. Would any other man be? He snorted at himself. That didn’t matter. Since when did he care about others? With this, he understood the need to have a guard up.
He’d shared something trivial with her. Personal, but ultimately inconsequential. What he’d asked of her was far more meaningful. While she’d been vague in her answer, she’d been truthful. For that, he was grateful.
There was potential between them. For what? He didn’t want to think about that. For now, they were murder buddies. As she snored softly beside him, he grinned. The foolish label had grown on him. He’d heard nothing more nauseatingly adorable in his life.
This woman was complicated. Bubbly and bright on the outside, but at her core, she was as dark as him. Though he’d admit, the little he’d learned about her past was far more disastrous than his own.
Both of them had lost their parents young. They’d endured the calamity of errors and misfortunes that was the foster care system and come out on the other side, but not unscathed. If he were a sappier guy, a romantic even, he’d probably tackle the concepts of how perfect they were for each other.
Shaking off the sentiment, he cleared his throat. Thoughts like those were the gateway to disappointment. Happiness wasn’t in the cards for either of them. They were to lead lives meant to be endured.
Resting his hand on her shoulder, he gave her a gentle shake. “Hey, we’re about to stop for the day.”
As the hours passed and the sky brightened, the number of cars around them increased. The moon had long since tucked away for the day, and the sun shone brightly in his eyes. Rush-hour traffic had begun, which meant it was time for them to pull over and nap.
She groaned and stirred. Raising her arms, she stretched as she fluttered her eyes open. “How long have we been driving?”
“About ten hours,” he said as the length of the trip settled in his muscles.
It’d been too long. They should’ve taken more than one break. He’d be stiff as hell when he finally got out of the cab of his pickup.
“I’m hungry,” she mumbled. “And I have to pee.”
He nodded. “Right there.” He pointed to a road sign. “We’ll get some quick drive-through breakfast and check into the motel. Can you hold it?”
She nodded.
His bladder was about to burst as well, but he wanted to make good time.
Fink often pushed himself and the limits of his bodily functions when he took assignments.
However, this contract was different. For the first time, intentionally, he wouldn’t be the sole killer.
He had to consider Sydney’s abilities and needs as well.
To his surprise, she did well. Not a single complaint from her despite her showing visible signs of boredom. She was one hell of a trooper. Her company was a pleasant change from being alone with his thoughts.
Motels that accepted cash were scarce. Typically, they were no-name places run by families. The facilities were often long neglected. Bedbugs and roaches were common.
Thankfully, he’d traveled around the country enough to be familiar with a few places that didn’t make his skin crawl. Today, they’d stay at the Juniper Motel, with the outdated décor, cheap sheets, and flat pillows.
It wasn’t the Ritz-Carlton, but the bedsprings didn’t poke his back too badly, and they didn’t have critters in them.
Standing in the doorway, Sydney wrinkled her nose.
“It’s only for a few hours.”
She glanced around the room.
“The door locks, the bed is…” He paused, considering his words. Comfortable would be a lie. “It exists.”
Shaking her head, she snorted as she cautiously entered the room.
“This life warrants a lot of precautions,” he explained. “We can’t leave a trail.”
“You keep saying that.”
“In the digital age, you’d be surprised how easily you can be traced,” he reminded as he tested the dead bolt and secured the chain.
Flopping onto the lone bed in the small room, she groaned. “I’ve slept on cement floors. This is fine.”
When he was sure everything was secure, Fink rotated and found her lying on her stomach in the middle of the bed.
He smirked. “Don’t fall asleep yet.”
“If you’re thinking sexy times,” she said with her face in the mattress. “You can forget it. I’m exhausted.”
Throwing his head back, he laughed wholeheartedly. “I wasn’t, but thanks for telling me.”
She wriggled around in the bed, peeling off her leggings before she scooted under the comforter.
“No, you don’t.” He waggled a finger at her.
She peered at him in confusion.
“I thought you wanted me to teach you,” he said pointedly.
Rolling her eyes, she groaned. “Not now.”
“Why not? It’s the perfect opportunity. We’re in the moment.”
She pulled the covers over her head. “Too tired.”
Unfortunately, exhaustion wasn’t a valid excuse to avoid due diligence.
“You need to inspect the room to make sure there are no bugs.”
With a screech, she hopped out of the bed. She curled one of her legs up and wrapped her arms around herself in a tight hug. “Like roaches?”
He chuckled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. I’ve stayed here before. This place is actually clean. What I meant was, you want to make sure no one is listening.”
She furrowed her brow as she relaxed her stance. “Who would do that?”
He gave her an incredulous look.
“What?”
“It’s safer to behave as though you’re being watched so that on the off chance someone has figured out that you’re a murderer, you’re one step ahead of them.”
Her features morphed into an inquisitive expression. “Have you ever been caught?”
Shaking his head, he fluffed the curtains. “No.”
“Never?”
“Not once.” He’d been doing this sort of work for close to a decade, yet he’d never been handcuffed or put behind bars. “Questioned occasionally.”
He moved through the room, opening drawers, flipping through the ironic Bible, and opening the backs of the remotes. He could feel her eyes on him as he inspected everything.
“Nothing came of it. Called a lawyer a few times.”
“Did you tell him?” she asked.
She didn’t have to explain what she meant. He understood what she was asking. Was his lawyer aware that Fink was a killer? “She,” he corrected, “never asked.”
“How did you find her?”
Logical question. One he wasn’t sure he wanted to answer.
Some details weren’t entirely his to share.
AJ, his handler, did a lot to ensure Fink could remain in business.
Granted, that enterprise was completely advantageous for AJ.
Lucrative, too, but his involvement wasn’t something she needed to know.
He settled for vague but honest. “I am connected.”
“To the mob?” she asked, grinning as she returned to the bed.
Lying on her stomach, she rested her chin in her hands and kicked her feet up behind her. The sparkle in her eye made him snicker.
“I’m not Italian,” he hedged.
“There are others.”
He nodded as he used the flashlight of his burner phone and ran it along the mirror, the television, and the lamps, checking for tiny cameras. The probability of anyone knowing he’d be there was minimal at best, but he was better safe than sorry.
“What are you?” she asked.
“Your murder buddy,” he responded playfully.
A pillow bounced off his shoulder blades. “That’s not what I meant. If you’re not Italian, what are you?”
“Mostly Irish,” he hummed, continuing through the room. “A little Scottish, too.”
These details wouldn’t tell her too much about him, so they were safe to share. Not that his lineage was all that remarkable.
She clucked her tongue.
“And you?” he asked to politely continue the conversation and keep her awake.
“Irish, German, and Norwegian.”
He peered over his shoulder. “I don’t meet many Nordic people these days.”
She shrugged through a yawn. “Are we done yet?”
He smirked at the word “we.” This was a solo task.
Which was why she hadn’t assisted much in inspecting the room.
Though, to be fair, she hadn’t a clue what to do.
He’d excuse her lack of participation today.
This was her first time, but on the way back, she’d be an active participant in sweeping the room.
“I have to check the bathroom.”
She scrambled off the bed. “I should probably brush my teeth.”
“Do you have any idea what I’m looking for?”
“Cameras,” she said as she dug through the bag. “Listening devices. Spy shit. Maybe a peephole.” She glanced around. “This looks like the sort of place where the owners stare at you through the eyes of a painting on the wall like perverted creepers.”
He snorted.
“Maybe a glory hole or two.”
“What?” This woman was out of her damn mind.
“I don’t know. I’m not well-versed in seedy motels.”