Page 149 of Player
Two Weeks Later
To say my story concludes with a happy ending is like saying everything that happened is now behind me. The period at the end of a complete sentence. The last page of a mind-blowing, heart-pounding book. Except I can’t seem to put the book down or stop with the run-on sentences.
And am I happy? I can’t focus. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. All I can do is think about Finn. It’s what I imagine withdrawal must feel like. Falling victim to a gut-wrenchingly addictive mindset, where I’m fixated on what could have been.
It’s foolish. He sabotaged my story, didn’t he? Manipulated and deceived me.
But did he lie about everything?
Did he lie about loving me?
I’ll never know, I bitterly think. Finn is gone, vanishing with a snap of a finger almost like he never existed. Even if I broke my promise to keep their secrets, how would I label them? Clandestine agents? Spies? Hitmen?
CIA—as promised, I vaguely credit that organization in my soon-to-be-publishedNew York Timesarticle.
The article is the best I can manage with what limited visual support remains. When I left Ireland, it was clear my story was destined for print.
All that’s left to do is hit send.
I close my laptop instead and wander out onto the deck. Autumn in Maine is beautiful, with leaves changing to yellow and orange and a fresh chill in the air. The house I’ve rented overlooks a small lake. I find myself outside on this deck a lot, searching for peace of mind and a long overdue quest for tranquility.
But Finn’s larger-than-life personality ruins the moment. “Ever knock a man out with a single punch?” I remember asking him while we sat beside a pond much like this one.
“A time or two.”
I didn’t believe him, not after witnessing him fight. I frown, trying to remember what he said next. What was it? Something about learning from the man who recruited him? Right. His boss at the CIA—or so I assumed.
I touch my chin, feeling his light caress as he described where to hit a man. “They recruited you?” I’d asked. “You didn’t seek them out?”
“It’s the truth,” was his reply.
“Good,” I clearly remember answering. “There’s nothing worse than a liar.”
I shake my head in a half-hearted attempt to drive away the memories. Because there is something worse than a liar.
Being in love with one.
It’s best to move on. Send the article and hope it will generate enough interest to get me noticed. I have another story to tell, after all. And after what I’ve been through, no way in hell am I giving up on it.
Heading inside, I pull up my finished article then access my online file to save a duplicate. I use a different account than the one Finn hacked. Knowing, given his skill set, he could likely do the same here. His boss doesn’t seem the trusting sort and might need confirmation I’m honoring my word.
Or they might not care at all. They might be off to Africa to fry bigger fish, to lie, spy, and ruin someone else’s life. Hopefully, Mrs. Ogdenhayer’s life, after they locate that mine.
I finish uploading my story and decide to let it sit for a spell. Imagining Finn accessing it. Wondering if he thinks about me even the slightest bit.
Silly, right? How I cling to the idea that he loves me?
Maybe I simply need a reminder about what he’s done? With that thought in mind, I log into the other drive. Feeling my disappointment, my anger returning.
Good. More of this, and I’ll get over him.
I open the drive, prepared to find nothing except the sting of his betrayal.
Except ...
“What?” I gasp. Quickly, in case my eyes are deceiving me, I open the first video of my harrowing footage of the hacienda exploding. It’s all there.
I open the video of me on the ship, the wind blowing my hair as I introduce the contents of the cargo behind me.
