Chapter 39 Fink
Fink
Over the past three days, Fink and Sydney settled easily into the familiar domestication they’d developed while in her apartment. From cooking to chores about the cabin, they each found their niche. Their co-existence was a dream Fink never knew he could achieve.
Life was simple and enjoyable.
Which should’ve lulled him into a sense of security. Instead, each night he spent roughly an hour listening to Sydney’s sleepy breathing while his nerves knotted tighter and tighter. In a world that was supposed to be just and fair, killers shouldn’t get happiness.
When would it explode in his face?
He’d yet to come up with an answer. Smooth sailing on calm seas. It shouldn’t unnerve him, but he was on the brink of madness worrying about it. At any moment he feared he’d snap and irrationally respond to protect them from whatever threatened their peace—real or imaginary.
Hugging Sydney close to him, he squeezed her softly before slipping his arm from beneath her and rolling her to the other side. Their life together had been too good for too long. Something was about to give. He could feel it deep in his bones.
Vrr. Vrr.
Right on cue.
Fink reached for the burner phone, brought it to his ear, and swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Yeah?”
“They’re going to prosecute Grant’s wife,” AJ said.
Running his fingers along his forehead, Fink nodded. “So, the pressure’s off? They’ve cleared Sydney?”
That’d be a delightful twist. Here he was, waiting for SWAT to burst into his sanctuary, and AJ said the cops were eyeballing someone else. Maybe that would be the thing that would offer him peace, settle his nerves, and finally he could revel in the calm life they’d created for themselves.
“Not exactly,” AJ groaned.
There it was. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.
“Pretty sure they want her as a witness.”
Of course they would. She was, literally, the last person to see Grant alive, both on their timeline and on the actual one. It’d be ridiculous not to put her on the stand. Did they know that, though? Had Nancy told them?
“What are we going to do?” AJ asked.
Fink’s muscles tensed, giving him a much more rigid posture. He glanced at the oblivious woman in his bed.
“She could crack under pressure,” AJ warned. “Life’s been easy street so far, but this is different. The prosecutor and the defense are going to press her.”
“She won’t,” Fink assured. Sydney could handle it.
The sigh at the other end of the line was heavy and filled with frustration. “We should sever ties.”
Except he didn’t mean it how it came out. AJ didn’t want Fink to part ways with Sydney. AJ wanted her drowned in the lake. She was a loose end that had to be cut. He didn’t understand. Fink doubted he ever would, even if he tried to explain it.
“She’ll need a lawyer,” Fink said.
Silence.
AJ had made it clear as day how he felt about Fink being involved with someone else. Not that it had ever come up before. The opportunity had never presented itself. Fink wasn’t a virgin or anything. He’d gotten his desires met when they arose, but this was different.
Sydney was different.
There was a connection between them that AJ could never fathom. The fact he’d been married a time or two didn’t matter. AJ wasn’t in Fink’s shoes. He didn’t live the same secluded life born out of circumstances and necessity.
Fink needed Sydney around for however long this happiness bubble would last. AJ had to respect that.
“Who do you have in the area?” Fink pushed. “I don’t care about the price.”
After another groan, his handler seemed to relent. “Marco is in that state. He’s good with these situations.”
Fink nodded. The name was familiar to him, but he’d never had the opportunity to work with him. “Thank you.”
“This is a big ask,” AJ said.
Fink didn’t quite flinch, but the comment caught him off guard.
“She’s not connected. There will be questions.”
Ah. Right.
AJ was part of a syndicate. Fink not so much. Though most considered him an associate, he wasn’t actually tied to any particular crime family or group. He was an independent contractor.
Sydney was a wild card. If there was one thing organized crime despised, it was the unfamiliar. Strangers were never to be trusted.
They’d demand to know why.
“Answer them,” Fink said of the questions people in power would inevitably ask.
“They’re gonna want us to tell them who she is to us,” AJ pressed.
“She’s mine,” Fink said before ending the call.
He tossed the cell onto the nightstand before twisting and eyeing the woman beside him again. They hadn’t known each other that long. In a few weeks, she’d wormed her way into his soul, the depths of his being.
Fink couldn’t let Sydney go. No matter what AJ or his buddies said. He decided, no matter how ill-advised, he was keeping her.
His murder buddy. His apprentice. His trainee. Whatever anyone wanted to call her didn’t matter. As long as everyone understood she was his.