Chapter 40 Sydney
Sydney
Tuesday began as any other day had. Fink got up first and made a hearty breakfast that was sure to clog Sydney’s arteries and add several inches to her waist. Luckily, she had a second heart, preserved nicely in resin on the shelf in Fink’s library.
They were playing house, and she couldn’t have been more content and happy about it. After thirty-one years of walking this Earth, she’d found her place. Her peace. Her comfort. Her home. It was Fink. No matter where they were, as long as they were together, she was at peace.
Corny as hell for sure, but she didn’t care.
Studying to be a contract killer was tedious, time-consuming, and hard as hell, but it broke up their day. They could only fuck so much before they’d get bored with it.
Standing at the bib sink in the modern, cozy country kitchen, Sydney scrubbed at the pan Fink had used for their bacon and omelets. She hummed to herself as the birds chirped outside and Fink tended to something about cameras he had on the property.
While it looked like a rustic hunter’s cabin and even had that feel, Fink had a thousand and nine cameras set up watching the expansive property.
Some would call him paranoid. Those people were obviously oblivious to what Fink did for a living.
He needed to find out who was on his land before they knew they had ventured past the property lines.
Yesterday, a random hunter and his son strolled through his forest. Today, he went to check wires, solar panels, and whatever kept them going. Which left her alone in his house, and she’d never felt more comfortable in any space in her life.
Shimmying her hips, she wiped the towel over the skillet before she made her way over to the cabinet to store it.
Vrr. Vrr.
Putting it down, she furrowed her brows at the cell phone Fink had given her.
Through the magic of technology she would never understand, he arranged it so that all the calls from her cell back at home would be routed to this one, but it’d be untraceable.
He explained it. She hadn’t caught on to how it was possible but was delighted to have a lifeline to the outside world.
Vrr. Vrr.
Who the hell would want to get in touch with her, though?
Cautiously, as though it were a snake ready to strike at her, she glanced at the screen. No names. Only a number, and she’d never seen it before.
Vrr. Vrr.
Against her better judgment, she tapped the screen and brought it to her ear. “Hello?”
“Good morning, my name is Sandra Wexler, and I’m calling from the Hennepin County Attorney’s office,” a woman said on the other line.
Sydney stepped back, her ass bumping against the counter. The towel in her hand dropped to the floor as her heart leaped into her throat.
Where was Fink?
Scanning the kitchen, she desperately sought him, knowing full well he wasn’t there.
“We’re looking to speak with a Miss Sydney Cassidy. Is she available?”
“Uh.” What was she supposed to say? Do? “Sp-sp-speaking.”
Fink hadn’t said what to do if a lawyer called. He only told her how to handle the detectives. That was forever ago. They’d been living in bliss. Hell, she’d all but forgotten about Mitchell.
Not entirely. It was how she’d met Fink and all.
“Wonderful. We’re hoping we can schedule a day for you to come in and speak with one of our prosecutors. His name is Samuel Milford.”
Holy shit!
Sydney gripped the counter, hoping her legs wouldn’t give out beneath her. She thought this was behind her.
“Um.” What was she supposed to do?
“How does next week work for you? Do you have Wednesday free?”
Stall. “I’m not sure.” She had to bide her time so she could find Fink and ask him what she was supposed to do. Summoning all her courage, she darted from the kitchen and out the front door.
“Would Thursday be better?”
“What is this regarding?” she asked, trotting down the steps. She scanned the trees and crunched over the leaves barefoot, desperate to find her murder buddy.
“The murder of Mitchell Grant.”
She fought the urge to claim she hadn’t done it. Fink had told her to stick to the truth when speaking to the police. She was pretty sure that would hold true for talking to prosecutors. And their secretaries too.
Where the hell was Fink?
“I—uh.” What was she supposed to say?
“Are you alright?” the woman asked, obviously picking up on Sydney’s heavy breathing as she trudged through the woods.
“Yes,” she lied. “Just walking the dog. You caught me off guard.”
“Is this a bad time?”
Wait! There was something he’d told her. Immediately, she halted her steps, held her head high, and rolled her shoulders back. “I should discuss this with my lawyer.”
Not that she had one, but she’d figure that out later. For now, she needed to stall to find and talk to Fink.
“Absolutely,” the woman agreed surprisingly. “Do you have someone representing you? I can call them instead.”
“Um.” Goddammit. This woman was good. “Let me get back to you,” she suggested. “Is this number good?” Sydney read the number on the screen to the woman.
She agreed it was correct and then cordially ended the conversation.
This wasn’t over. Mitchell wasn’t behind her. Her new life could come crashing down around her. The happiness she’d foolishly been enjoying could be stolen from her in the blink of an eye.
Her eyes welled with tears, and she dropped to her bare knees on a bed of crunchy leaves.
She’d been chasing these feelings her whole existence.
There was a time she’d never thought happiness with another human was possible for her.
Sydney thought she’d go through the rest of her years as a nameless cog in the wheel of the world.
Then Fink happened.
She had a grip on joy.
It was about to slip through her fingers.
“Sydney?” Fink’s voice came from behind her.
She whirled around as a sob ripped through her and the phone dropped from her hand.
Fink trotted toward her with urgency in his eyes. “Are you okay? What happened? Why don’t you have shoes on? Or pants?”
Tears stained her cheeks as she glanced to see she was only wearing his old T-shirt and her panties out in the middle of the chilly woods. A breeze blew through her hair, wrapping it around her snot-filled face.
On his knees, Fink took hold of her and brought her against his warm chest.
“They want to talk to me.” Wrapping her arms around him, she clung to him. Her peace. Her happiness. Her life.
“Who?” he asked, pulling back and swiping her hair away.
His rough hands settled on her cheeks as he held her gaze, searching her features for answers.
She gulped, swallowing a sob as she trembled. “A pro-prosecutor.”
He blew out a breath, and his features relaxed. Fink pulled Sydney against him and stroked the back of her hair. “I thought they’d take a few days.”
What was he saying? He was aware of the situation? How the fuck did he know? Why hadn’t he said anything? He could’ve prepared her.
“I should’ve told you.” He kissed the top of her head. “AJ called last night. I just thought they’d be slow about it. Then the shit hit the fan with the cameras. I should’ve. I got distracted.”
That wasn’t like him. Fink was the epitome of focus and planning. Sydney was the one who couldn’t keep her attention where it belonged. Not him.
“I’m so sorry.” He continued to run his fingers through her hair.
For once, the gesture didn’t soothe her. Instead, suspicion took root in her gut. Had she read him wrong? Was Fink not someone she could trust after all? Was this all some sort of ruse? To what end, though? None of this made any sense.
“You have a lawyer,” Fink explained. “Marco Garcia. He’s going to take care of everything. I’ll get you his information.”
She had so many questions ping-ponging in her brain, but all that came from her were sniffles and sobs. Instead of asking questions, she nodded. What choice did she have?
“You’ll be alright,” he reassured.
She felt anything but.
Fink had brought her out into the middle of nowhere, Maine. She didn’t have a way to leave if she wanted to. Summoning an Uber to get a ride out of there in the middle of the night wasn’t an option.
He’d find out.
For now, all she could do was take his word and maybe figure out an escape plan.