Page 45 of Protecting His Finch

I’ve always been suspicious of a good thing.

I rinse off, pull on my clothes, and head downstairs.

I can smell the coffee that never made it upstairs. I hear women’s voices, but they’re muffled. I track the sound, stepping through the kitchen, until I see Finley and Tasha through the window. They’re chatting amicably as they dig through the chicken coop, the chickens clucking and fussing around them.

Finley says something I can’t hear, and the two women laugh.

I can’t remember ever seeing Finley look this relaxed. This happy. During her time at the Rossi house, her smiles were always stiff. Small. Here, she lets her grin break across her face. Her eyes light up.

Finally, Finley can stretch her wings.

The scene is the perfect picture of peace.

But even as I watch them, I can feel a cold stone roll in my chest.

I know it’s just an illusion. The truth is, we couldn’t be further from peace.

Jacobi’s words haven’t stopped playing through my mind, over and over, in a loop.

Catherine Rossi won’t stop looking for us. Until she gets her revenge, she’ll turn over every stone and mow down every tree to find us.

We’re safe for now, but not for long. We have to keep moving. Every night we spend here is another night we put Tasha and Sid at risk.

And then there’s the other matter. The matter of Finley and me.

In the motel, she was mine. Last night, I was hers.

But for all our sneaky kisses in the shadows, I know what we have together has an expiration date.

Finley is young. Finely is bright. Finley has only just started to understand what it is to live without shackles.

How can I chain her to a life with me? Me, a murderer. A thug. I have tortured. I have killed. The blood I have on my hands can never be washed clean.

I’m not her knight in shining armor. I’m the monster under her bed with claws so long, they keep the other monsters away. A well-intentioned devil is still a devil, and I don’t pretend to be anything else.

I’ll keep her safe. I’ll make sure she’s free from ever looking over her shoulder. And then I’ll let her go.

Our story can’t have a happy ending. She deserves more than that.

I’m fixing a cup of coffee when the kitchen screen door flies open.

“Archer!” Finley says. “Look!”

She opens up the carton to show me the eggs she’s collected. She’s as proud as a child showing off her finished art project.

She’s so cute, her cheeks bright pink from the morning cold. The thought of giving up Finley has made my longing for her like chicken wire pulled tight around my throat. I want badly to take her face in my hands, press her against the wall, and steal every kiss I can while her lips still belong to me.

But I restrain. Even I’m not that cruel.

I pick up an egg and feel it in my hand. The shell is cold and smooth, like a river stone. “Did you lay them yourself?” I ask.

She squints at me. “You’re a strange man.”

I pretend to crack the egg over the top of her head, and she squeals.

Tasha and Finley shoo me out of the kitchen so they can whip up breakfast. I find Sid on the porch and settle into the chair next to him.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asks.

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