Chapter 5

“I’m sorry, sir, but the acquisitions meeting scheduled for three-thirty is starting soon. We need to leave now if we want to make it.”

Declan kept his gaze fixed on the murderer. Only part of her face was visible, and he wanted—no, needed—to see what twelve years of punishment had done to those once delicate features.

It almost disappointed him.

Aside from still being built like a fragile swan, her face had softened. As if prison had gentled her instead of breaking her.

Declan Patridge had waited twelve years for news of her death. And three days since learning of her release to finally have her within reach. He was not about to let this moment slip.

“Reschedule it,” he said calmly. “I need to make sure Lennon Jr. doesn’t screw this up.”

His eyes never left the sliver of her face he could see. He felt Lennon’s gaze flick toward him more than once, but Declan didn’t look away.

“We’ve already postponed twice,” Andrew replied quietly. “The shareholders won’t take kindly to another delay.”

Only then did Declan tear his gaze from the pair seated a few tables away, speaking in hushed tones. He had just about opened his mouth to tell Andrew to fuck off when he heard her voice.

Soft.

Deceptively so. Fury lay barely bridled beneath it, yet her tone remained gentle—like everything else about her.

The voice of a killer.

There was no way he was going to leave now.

“Reschedule it.”

Andrew exhaled slowly. “I understand this is of utmost importance to you. And I assure you, Lennon Patterson Jr. knows he can’t afford to fail you again, sir.”

Declan fell silent, his gaze drifting back to the table. The murderer had sat down again, head bowed, eyes fixed on her water glass.

His eyes met Lennon’s.

A message passed between them.

“He won’t be able to afford letting me down again.”

Declan slid off the barstool. Eyes followed him all the way out.

Including hers.

_____

Leilani hadn’t touched a single bite of the food Lennon Patterson ordered. He had the waiter box it up, and now they sat in his car in thick, suffocating silence.

The engine remained off.

Leilani stared ahead, replaying the terms and conditions of her release over and over in her mind. Lennon sat rigid beside her, lost somewhere far away.

“You don’t have to decide today,” he said finally. “But you do have to decide.”

She shook her head, refusing to accept what had been laid out for her. Everything clashed at once. None of it felt right.

“I can get another job,” she said, the desperation slipping into her voice despite her effort to contain it. “Something other than what you’re offering.”

Damn it. She was desperate.

“I have my high school diploma. An associate's degree in business. I have soft skills—plenty of them. I can stand on my own two feet. I promise.”

Lennon didn’t respond. His hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles bleaching white.

When he finally spoke, his words crushed the fragile spark of hope forming in her chest.

“You have three days,” he said evenly. “Three days to accept or you go back to prison. Your choice, Miss Vaughn.”

Choice.

Was this what a choice looked like?

Her life had always been a canvas for strangers to paint over as they pleased. And now—when it was supposed to finally belong to her—it still didn’t.

“I'll drive you to a hotel and pay for those three nights while I await your response.” He started the engine then but still didn't pull out of the parking lot.

“If it's any consolation to you, I'd rather your freedom wasn't tied to me as well, but in the long run, I think you'll come to appreciate that fact.”