Page 53 of Broken Boss

“Thanks. I keep telling her she needs to get a car.”

“I was surprised she didn’t have one when she started working at the firm.”

There it is. The look on Stephen’s face as if I slapped him. His skin goes pale, sickly, as he looks from Chris to me.

“I don’t have much longer,” he lies. We’ve barely spent fifteen minutes together. “Do you mind if we…”

Chris’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. I’ll be out front, Autumn, whenever you’re ready.”

The men share a look. I have no idea what’s behind it, but it doesn’t seem to be hate. Stephen obviously recognizes Chris—how could he forget the face of the man who prosecuted him?

But does that mean Chris remembers Stephen? How could he, after almost a decade? And a career change to defense?

What are the chances?

Chris walks calmly out of the visitation area, chatting with the guards, and I turn back to my brother. Heart pounding.

“So you’re working for Sharpe now.”

“It’s…”

“What?” He laughs. “Not what it looks like? So this is why you didn’t want to tell me anything about the new job.” Stephen sighs and leans forward, looking too tall, too thin, and tired. “Were you worried I’d be mad, sis? I could never be.”

His eyes are full of regret. He looks much older than he is—forty, but the years hang heavy on him.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. My stomach is squirming with nausea, horror washing over me in waves. I wish I hadn’t pissed Orla off this morning. I wish I had someone to call and talk to about this, to pour out how scared I am, how guilty I feel.

“I hope you aren’t doing this to try and get me out.”

His voice is hard, serious, and I haven’t heard that tone before. It’s the voice of someone who spends every day in a correctional facility.

“I’m not,” I scoff, lifting my chin. “Nothing is going to get you out of here, Stephen.”

Because we can’t prove that he didn’t kill that girl. It was his knife, after all, in her ribs all those years ago.

“Good. That would be stupid, Autumn, and I’ve accepted this. You understand that, right?”

He leans even farther forward, trying to catch my eyes, but I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to acknowledge what he’s saying.

It’s so unfair that he’s here.

That someone else is out there, free, a murderer.

“You shouldn’t accept it.” I spit the words out. “You didn’t do this. You shouldn’t be in here?—”

“That’s not going to change anything.”

I sit back hard, as if the words physically hurt. Stephen suddenly doesn’t look so good anymore. Dark circles are forming under his eyes, and his breathing is ragged and slow.

“You should go. I’ll call you Saturday.”

I don’t answer, standing instead and gathering my near-empty purse, eyes watering with anger and fear.

I can’t lose him, I tell myself over and over as I check out with the guards. I can’t, not after everything. He’s all I have left.

Outside, the cloudy sky has finally turned to rain. I rush across the lot, drizzle flattening my hair, hiding the tears that slip out.

Chris is leaning against the hood of his car. Head ducked.

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