Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO FOUND HERI wanted Declan’s explanation to make everything better.
It didn't.
That was important.
People imagine misunderstandings disappear once the truth arrives.
They don't.
Truth can explain a wound.
It cannot unmake it.
“You knew someone wanted me dead?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“When you were safe.”
I laughed bitterly.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You deciding what I get to know.”
Declan’s jaw tightened.
June remained behind the register holding a baseball bat.
I loved that woman.
Declan noticed her.
“Who is she?”
“My landlord.”
June lifted the bat.
“And potential problem.”
Declan almost smiled.
Wrong moment.
He stopped.
I crossed my arms over my stomach.
“Explain Savannah.”
Declan did.
Victor Calloway had approached him six months earlier proposing a merger between several legitimate companies.
Declan refused.
Then Gavin uncovered evidence that Victor had financed the assassination of Patrick Voss six years earlier.
Declan wanted proof strong enough to dismantle Calloway without starting a street war.
So he pretended ignorance.
Savannah became part of the arrangement.
The engagement was designed to convince Victor that Declan wanted peace.
“Savannah knew?”
“Yes.”
“She agreed?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Her father controls her life.”
That surprised me.
“She's afraid of him?”
Declan nodded.
“She wanted out.”
I remembered her hand on Declan’s arm.
Possessive.
Maybe I had misread it.
Maybe not.
“What about me?”
“Victor discovered you.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
“And?”
“He asked Savannah whether I had weaknesses.”
Declan looked at me.
“She lied.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she say?”
“That you were temporary.”
That hurt despite everything.
“She convinced him I didn't care about you.”
“And your solution was to announce an engagement?”
“My solution was to make Victor believe you had been discarded.”
I stared.
“You could have told me.”
“Yes.”
No excuse.
That stopped me.
Declan continued.
“I thought secrecy protected you.”
“It made me run while pregnant.”
“I know.”
“You searched for me.”
“Every day.”
“Why?”
His face changed.
“Because I love you.”
I hated how badly I wanted to believe him.
He looked at my stomach.
“And because apparently I have a child who has spent four months listening to you tell them I'm a monster.”
“I never called you a monster.”
“What did you call me?”
“Complicated.”
His mouth moved.
“Fair.”
The baby kicked.
My hand instinctively moved.
Declan noticed.
His entire expression softened.
“Did…”
He stopped.
“What?”
“Did the baby move?”
I said nothing.
Another kick.
He looked almost frightened.
“Can I?”
His hand lifted slightly.
Then stopped.
He asked.
That mattered.
But I wasn't ready.
“No.”
He lowered it immediately.
“Okay.”
That mattered more.
I expected him to demand I return to Chicago.
He didn't.
Instead, he rented a house fifteen minutes away.
I learned this from June.
“He bought the Henderson place.”
“He what?”
“Technically rented. Paid a year.”
“Of course.”
“He also bought oatmeal.”
I stared.
“What?”
“He came in this morning. Man looked like he'd never seen groceries.”
I refused to laugh.
For six days, Declan stayed away unless I agreed to see him.
Security remained nearby.
I hated that.
But Gavin showed me photographs of two men arrested in Tennessee.
Calloway associates.
They had been searching for me.
That changed things.
Not my feelings.
The danger.
Declan attended my next prenatal appointment only because I invited him.
He sat beside me.
Silent.
Nervous.
The technician moved the wand.
Heartbeat filled the room.
Declan stopped breathing.
“There,” she said.
He stared at the monitor.
I watched him instead.
Tears appeared.
He didn't wipe them away.
“That's…”
“Your baby,” I whispered.
He nodded.
Later, in the parking lot, he sat inside his SUV without starting it.
“You okay?”
“No.”
I almost smiled.
“What?”
“I missed everything.”
“You didn't know.”
“I should have.”
“How?”
“I should have made you trust me enough to call.”
That was closer to the truth.
I looked outside.
“Declan, even if everything you said is true, we still have a problem.”
“I know.”
“I don't want our child raised around violence.”
“Neither do I.”
“You are violence.”
He flinched.
Good.
He needed to hear it.
“I inherited something ugly.”
“You continued it.”
“Yes.”
Again.
No excuses.
“What are you going to do?”
He stared through the windshield.
“End it.”
I laughed softly.
“You can't resign from organized crime.”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I can dismantle what my father built.”
That sounded impossible.
Maybe suicidal.
“Victor will kill you.”
“He's already trying.”
“That's supposed to reassure me?”
“No.”
Declan turned toward me.
“I am not asking you to come home.”
Home.
The word hurt.
“I’m asking for time to make sure our child has a father who isn't followed by armed men.”
That night, I couldn't sleep.
At 1:17 a.m., someone knocked downstairs.
June called.
“Claire?”
“What?”
“Your boyfriend's here.”
“He isn't my boyfriend.”
“Your extremely expensive problem, then.”
I went downstairs.
Declan stood outside.
Blood on his collar.
My heart stopped.
“What happened?”
“I'm fine.”
“You're bleeding.”
“Not mine.”
That was somehow worse.
Behind him, Gavin looked grim.
“Victor moved.”
“How?”
Declan held up a phone.
On it was a photograph.
Savannah.
Bound to a chair.
Bruised.
Alive.
A message beneath:
BRING ME AMELIA HART OR SAVANNAH DIES.
I stared at Declan.
“He knows where I am?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then how—”
“He knows I found you.”
Declan's face hardened.
“Victor doesn't want Savannah back.”
“Then why take her?”
“To force me to choose.”
“Between?”
He looked directly at me.
“The woman I'm supposed to marry…”
Then my stomach.
“…and the woman carrying my child.”
I whispered:
“What are you going to do?”
Declan’s answer came immediately.
“Save both of you.”
And for the first time, I understood why men feared him.
May you like
Not because he never felt fear.
Because when he did, he became terrifyingly calm.
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