Page 55 of Protecting His Finch

I wake up and the bed is empty.

But Archer is still here. Traces of him, anyway.

He’s in the wrinkled sheets beside me. In the ache between my legs.

I stretch and all of my muscles wake up. I’m sore in places I didn’t know existed before.

I’m naked still, and I reach under the comforter and slip my hand between my thighs. I feel wet here, tender but satisfied.

The sheets are damp, too. I pull the covers aside and see it—a small spot of blood on the bed.

I touch the spot. It gives me a small thrill. I’ve ruined Tasha’s sheets—I’ll try to wash it out later, but for now…I love the evidence of last night.

I don’t feel like I’ve become a woman. I feel like I’ve become a lioness.

I’ve been reborn yet again. Christened by my own blood this time.

And Archer…where is Archer to share this moment with me?

He said something about coffee, didn’t he?

I pick my underwear off the floor. It’s chilly outside the bed’s warmth, and I pull on a sweater and a pair of pants. I go to the bathroom and rinse my mouth. By the time I start down the steps, I’m giddy, practically skipping.

“Archer?” I ask.

I turn the corner into the kitchen, but again, no one.

And then I see the note.

26

ARCHER

It’s strange to be back at the docks.

I’ve come here plenty of times before. I’ve made men scream in that warehouse. I know the bodies at the bottom of the river here. I’ve dragged bad men here to meet worse ends.

And now it’s my turn.

I park my car in front of the warehouse and wait. The morning sun is milky white across the shipping boats and rust-colored storage containers. Mast lines clang like church bells as the boats rock side to side with the ebb and flow of the tide.

I crack my window open. I can hear a gull somewhere. It smells like ocean salt and petroleum—a strong scent, but not entirely unpleasant.

I want to enjoy these little things.

My dash tells me it’s 7:27 when the town car rolls up. The nice wheels crunch oyster shells and gravel and then come to a halt. The engine cuts.

That’s my cue.

I exit my car, but I leave the keys in the ignition. I’m not coming back for it, but it’ll make it easier for Jacobi to dispose of the car once we’re done here.

Jacobi steps out of his car as well. His mouth is a grim, thin line. He does me the service of meeting my gaze one last time, at least, and nods solemnly.

I nod back. No hard feelings.

He opens the passenger-side door for me. “Madam is waiting.”

I slide inside. He closes the door behind me and then takes his place in the back seat between us.

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