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As I ring the bell, adrenaline surges in my system, ratcheting higher and higher as I wait for a response.
It doesn’t take long. Maybe he saw me coming from an upstairs window or something.
Hollowell opens the door, and I can tell right away that he did see me coming. There’s no surprise on his face, only light curiosity and a smug sort of triumph.
“Harlow. Hello.”
He dips his head. His hair is wet, making the salt and pepper strands appear just a bit more viv
id than usual, and he’s wearing a suit with the tie untied but draped over the back of his neck. I probably interrupted him as he was getting ready to head to work.
“Does the offer still stand?” I ask bluntly, refusing to waste a second making polite chit-chat with this man. There’s no fucking point anyway; the charade would be for no one, since each of us are well aware of how the other person feels about us. He can save his non-threatening nice guy act for people who still believe it.
Which, unfortunately, is way too long a list.
“Yes. It does.” The glow of triumph in his eyes flares brighter as he smiles slightly, and he tilts his head, the gesture almost sympathetic. “I’m assuming you’ve decided to accept?”
“Not yet,” I bite out. His calm control makes me furious. He always looks so unruffled, as if an invisible shield protects him and nothing in the world could ever hurt him.
I want to see him hurt. I want to see him desperate.
I want him to feel a fucking fraction of what I feel.
Hollowell raises an eyebrow. “No?”
“I want to talk to you first. To make sure I understand the… terms of your offer.”
The words stick in my throat, and I don’t even bother trying to hide it.
His smile grows, and he steps back, opening the door wider. “Of course. Come in.”
My body physically resists stepping over his threshold, as if I’m a dog afraid of a shock collar. But force myself to follow him inside as he shuts the door behind me and gestures to his left.
“You remember where the living room is.”
I glare at him but step toward the large, open space, finding a seat on the angular couch I sat on last time. The elk head presides over the room from its spot on the wall, and the little gray fox on the pedestal stands in exactly the same pose as before, its beady eyes bright and its nose lifted as if to sniff the air.
The sight of it opens a hole in my heart for some reason. And it makes me think of Iris.
Judge Hollowell killed her just like he killed that fox. He froze her in time. She won’t ever graduate or go to senior prom. She won’t go to college or get married or have kids. She’ll exist only in memories and photographs, forever seventeen.
“So.” Hollowell steps into my view, settling on the seat across from me and sitting up straight as he knots his tie. “What is it you want to know?”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes as I look over at him. “What happens when my mom gets out? After five years? What happens then?”
“Well, that would be up to her to decide, Harlow.” He shrugs as if that should be obvious, sliding the knot on his tie up to his neck. “She’ll have a criminal record, of course, and that may make it somewhat more difficult to find work, but it won’t be impossible.”
God, he makes it sound so fucking straightforward. So simple and easy.
“No, I mean, what happens with you?” I demand. “Do you promise not to hurt her?”
I’m crying openly now. Just being in this house is ratcheting up my emotions so tight it feels like I’ve got a fucking car on my chest. I suck in two deep breaths, wiping the back of my hand angrily against my eyes. I hate doing this. I hate letting him see me like this. Weak and vulnerable.
But more than that, I hate the sympathy that comes into his expression.
He sits forward on the chair a little, smoothing his lapels down as he gazes at me seriously.
“Yes, I do. I don’t want to hurt Penelope. Or you. I’m not a killer, Harlow.” He spreads his arms, as if presenting himself as an open book. “That’s not who I am.”
