The driver uncle was pretty cooperative. Whenever Leslie said left, he turned left; she said right, he turned right. After weaving through several detours, they finally managed to shake the tail.
The man who had been following them now stood staring at the empty street, frustration written all over his face.
“Mr. Grey, I’m sorry. I lost her.”
Declan Grey’s voice came through the phone, cold as ice. “Useless. You can’t even handle something that simple?”
The man on the other end broke out in a cold sweat.
“You don’t need to show up tomorrow.”
Declan hung up, face stormy.
He was in a room covered from wall to wall in photos—all of one woman: Leslie Green.
His fingers lightly brushed over her face in one of the pictures, slowly gliding upwards, his touch unusually ge
