Chapter 24
Denver
There’s a man running ten feet behind me, and when I pass this next gate, another will be pretending to be on the phone. The farther I run, the more men I’ll see, some casting casual glances my way, others watching the pedestrians I dodge and the cyclists that whizz past Lewis and me.
These men belong to the McEwans and the Harlands. These men are protecting me.
It’s been three weeks since I woke up in the McEwans’ house and was told I was welcome to stay. Three weeks of worrying about what Ranger will do, and he’s done plenty, but even that is overshadowed by the feeling of being in a home filled with conversation, people, home cooking and laughter.
Every day, I wake to the smell of coffee and Helena laughing at Finn’s jokes she must have heard a thousand times.
Weekends are filled with the sound of Holly’s tiny feet as she flies through the house to see me, showing me bracelets she’s made and things she’s drawn.
The evenings are Ronan, Finn and I discussing work.
They’ve agreed to sell the land to Samuel and me to open the casino.
Because I’m not going back.
I don’t know what my plan is. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m going to do, but I know that my marriage is over. This dark, twisted thing that’s been curling around my heart since meeting Ranger Luxe is dying.
No … it’s dead.
I’ve forgiven him for so much in the past. I’ve allowed my heart to be broken and rebroken in the name of what I thought was love.
I believed that despite the awful things he did, I could let them go, because he did them out of his need to protect me.
Now, I realize he wasn’t keeping me safe. He was just keeping me.
I’m not sure I’ll recover from this kind of betrayal, but being around so much love has helped me get up, get dressed, and not fall apart.
Finn gently suggested I help him with work, and I have.
On the harder days, Helena and I will spend time on the couch watching movies, or she’ll tell me stories.
Sometimes we’ll go for long walks and not say anything at all.
And on those days when the darkness seems to suffocate and grow in my heart, I lie in bed and I cry, and then there’s only one person who I allow to watch me shatter.
He’ll lie with me, saying nothing, his arms around me as I grieve for someone it turns out I didn’t lose. He’ll be quiet strength when I’m breaking. He’s my light on the harbor when the seas threaten to wash me away and I’m close to letting them.
Colt has been everything, and the days I used to curse his existence have become quiet thank yous that I’ve been allowed to have a man like him in my life.
I’ve leaned on him more than anyone these last few weeks, and I know he’s waiting for me to give him permission to do what he wants to do.
To kill my husband.
Because Ranger won’t let me go.
He calls me so regularly I changed my number. When I did that, he sent letters. Flowers. Gifts. I didn’t open any of them, threw them away or sent them back.
And then he lost his temper.
For the second time in its existence, Pulse burned to the ground.
I read about it online, and that night, I locked myself in my room and cried.
History repeated itself and I sobbed into a pillow as I replayed that awful night when Hayes died, when Axel’s life changed forever, when Ethan’s final act to help me ended with him taking two bullets in the back.
When Ranger didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he smashed up my coffee shops. Four are closed, my staff split among the other businesses to try and keep them in work. I’ve resisted every urge to call him to calm him down, even to check on Wesson.
Colt has sent men to San Francisco for my dog, but they’re turned away at the door by staff or threatened by Ranger. The only conversations Finn has had with Ranger since this mess were about Wesson. I miss him. I want him here with me.
But Ranger won’t let him go.
It makes me wonder how I’ll ever get a divorce.
It makes me wonder if I should even try.
Lately, the temptation to up and leave has consumed me. I want to be with Axel. Ranger still doesn’t know where he is, so I could leave tomorrow if I wanted to, and I wouldn’t need to put up with any of this bullshit.
But I can’t leave without my dog. I won’t. And why should I be run out of my home? Why does Ranger have the right to do that? He’s the one who did wrong, not me. He’s the one who broke us.
“You look like you’re angry at every tree we pass,” Lewis pants from beside me, and I pause my jog, pulling in the air that has dropped drastically in temperature the closer we get to winter. I’m definitely not used to falls this cold.
“Busy brain,” I say, my hands on my hips as my air billows around me. “Let’s keep going.”
The house is empty when we get back. Helena is out having breakfast with Finn, Ronan is working, and Colt has been gone for a few days. He told me he had to work, so I shouldn’t be surprised that I haven’t heard from him since last night, but it feels different without him here.
I shower and dress, ready to visit four of the seventeen bars that Finn owns. Helena insisted he take a rare day off, so I offered to help. I can’t do much about my own businesses while I’m here, and working keeps me busy.
I thought adjusting to firearms from drugs would be strange, but it turns out most deliveries are the same.
Scary men bring boxes, money is exchanged, goods are counted, scary men drive away.
The advantage of it being a McEwan delivery is that the scary guys are more relieved to be walking away, so they’re nicer. One of them even brought me chocolates.
Lewis drives us to the first bar, and the delivery goes as expected. So does the next one, and the next. Finn checks in; I tell him it’s going fine.
“I feel like this is more fun than home,” Lewis says as we wait by the open delivery door of the fourth and final bar.
“You know what it is? It’s colder,” I say, rubbing my gloved hands together. New York winters are no joke.
My phone vibrates, and I hold my breath when I see who it is. The company I hired to once hunt Colt is now currently in Florida, keeping an eye on Theo. My hand shakes as I open the email, more confirmation that he’s safe.
I shouldn’t get these updates, I know that. I know he can’t be mine. I can’t take him from the only life he’s ever known, especially not into mine, but I want these pieces of him. The knowledge that he’s safe and happy.
“They’re here,” Lewis says, and I take a breath, locking my phone and pocketing it.
A truck backs into the delivery area and shuts off before the passenger side door opens.
A tall, gangly blond man gets out, his coat far too thin for the weather.
He’s good looking in an overly caffeinated kinda way, and might be a few years older than me, or ten.
When he closes the truck door behind him, he takes out a cigarette, cupping the flame as he lights it.
He faces me and pauses, the cigarette at his lips. “You’re not a McEwan.”
“Not by blood,” I say sweetly, a line I’ve said four times today.
Except this guy doesn’t laugh. He takes a long drag of the cigarette, blowing the smoke in the direction of the door as he approaches.
My expression is one of total disinterest, complete boredom, because any whiff of fear, he’ll take advantage.
I don’t need to be afraid when four men—five, if you count Charlie as two—are ready to kill for me at any moment.
But a sliver of fear is always sensible.
“Garrison.” He extends a long-fingered hand, and I shake it—and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Something is wrong.
This is the biggest delivery, and he’s travelled the farthest. It’s why it’s the last stop on my list, to allow time for traffic, border control, or any other delays.
But his hand is ice cold.
I suppose he could have stopped for gas or a break, but not long enough to have hands this cold.
The condensation in the car tells me the heaters are on, but he probably didn’t have time to warm his hands against them.
He likely hijacked this truck close to the city.
He’ll take the guns, and the money, and he’ll probably kill me.
I’m not in the right mood or the right outfit to die.
“I’m Denver.”
His brows raise. “Not Denver Luxe.”
“The one and only.”
“Well, fuck me,” he says, flicking his cigarette. “Word on the street is your husband is looking for you. What are you doing all the way out here?”
“Pick that up.”
The men who were about to open the truck freeze, and I finally smile, my expression warming. Garrison eyes me with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.
“Excuse me?”
“The cigarette. That floor just got swept. Pick it up,” I say. “You can’t be messy and late. I dislike littering. I dislike tardiness even more.”
He stares at me for a solid twelve seconds, as if he thinks I’ll change my mind. I don’t. This man isn’t who he says he is, and the real Garrison is likely dead, so I already know this won’t end well.
If he bends down for that cigarette, Lewis will shoot him, because I used the word tardiness, a word I fucking hate and chose as my safe word. Charlie, who has been listening in the back will know, and so will the other men. So much for a smooth day.
The door to the building opens, but I keep my attention on the fake Garrison.
“Denver, didn’t we hire you for your manners?” Colt asks, and I fight a bigger smile as he approaches. He’s home. Finally. “You’re being a little rude.”
I glance at him. He’s in his usual smart suit and dark coat, but after the days we’ve been apart, there’s something more comforting in his appearance. I pout. “Sorry, sir.”
Colt stands at my side, and I don’t need to say the words I can simply portray with my raised brows. Why are you here?
He gives me a small shrug. I was in the neighborhood.
I roll my eyes. Liar.
“It’s probably for the best I deal with this guy,” Garrison says, nodding at Colt. “Not really a fan of the female folk.”
Oh. He’s one of those.
I take some comfort in the knowledge that Garrison doesn’t know who Colt is yet, and I love the little goose bumps I get when they realize. It’s fun every single time.
“Garrison,” Garrison says, extending his hand once more.
Colt grips it in a firm shake. “Colt Harland.” Garrison’s smile disappears, and Colt looks at me. “It was the cold hands, wasn’t it?”
“It was.”
Garrison’s gaze barely has time to flick to mine before his blood and brains coat the back of the truck. I take a step back from the mess as the rest of his men are taken down in careful, coordinated shots.
A mess, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. “We nearly had a perfect day.”
Lewis holsters his weapon. “Three out of four ain’t bad.” He points between Colt and me. “Do not fucking sing.”
We both scowl.
“Were you checking on me?” I ask Colt as the bodies are shifted and the boxes are unloaded.
“I was going to ask if you wanted me to take you to a late lunch,” he says, reaching out to adjust my scarf. “Your nose is pink.”
“Because it’s freezing,” I whimper. “When does it warm up again?”
“This is nothing. Wait until New Year. So … lunch?”