Chapter 8
The sight of that Lincoln, black and sleek as a predatory insect, felt like a physical punch. “Stay inside,” I told Elodie. “Lock the doors. Do not get out.”
I stepped out into the night air. The woods were quiet. I walked toward the porch. Adelaide was sitting in an Adirondack chair, sipping a glass of wine. She didn’t look up. “You’re late,” she said.
“How?” I asked. “How did you find us?”
She turned to look at me, infuriatingly calm. “Declan, darling. You really must stop thinking you can vanish. You’re a Mercer. You have a trail.”
“I’m not a Mercer,” I said. “Get off this property.”
“This property is owned by a shell company managed by one of my firm’s subsidiaries,” she said. “I don’t need permission to visit my own assets.”
My stomach dropped. She hadn't just followed us; she had anticipated the path of least resistance and moved to own it.
“You’re obsessed,” I said. “What do you want?”
She stood up. “I came to offer you a reality check. You are drifting into a storm, and you have no idea how high the waves are.”
“I know exactly how high they are,” I said, moving up the steps. “You’re the storm, Adelaide.”
“I am the foundation,” she corrected. “And you are throwing it all away for a woman who is not built for the world you were born into.”
“Then why do you still have the key, Declan?” she asked.
The question hung in the air. My hand went to my collar.
“I’ve known you had it since the day of the funeral,” she said. “He wanted you to be prepared. He wanted you to be ready to step into the role you were born for. And now, with a child on the way… the game has changed.”
“The baby isn’t a Mercer,” I said. “He’s mine. He’s going to be free of everything you represent.”
She stepped closer. The scent of her perfume—jasmine and cold steel—filled my nostrils. “Give me the key, Declan. Give it to me, and I will leave. I will let you have your quiet life.”
I looked at her, and I saw the desperation beneath the cold exterior. She needed that box.
“No,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. A flash of raw, unadulterated rage. “Don’t be a martyr, Declan. It’s a tedious look on you.”
“I’m not a martyr,” I said, turning away. “I’m a man who’s finally done being afraid of you.”
“You should be afraid,” she called after me. “You should be very afraid.”
I returned to the truck. Elodie was pale. “What did she want?”
“She wants the key,” I said, starting the engine. “And she’s not leaving until she gets it.”
May you like
“Then give it to her!” Elodie pleaded.
“It’s not just a piece of paper, Elodie,” I said, putting the truck into reverse. “This is our insurance.”
