Page 34 of Finding Denver

White teeth press into her bottom lip, a moment ofdeliberation from someone who seemed so sure only seconds ago. “I don’t need your phone.” She looks away, the conversation clearly over.

Except it’s not. Not for me. She saved my life for a reason, and I don’t like being left in the dark. I never thought I’d have one-on-one time with Denver again, and since leaving San Francisco last week, I’ve regretted not making the most of having her close. In those few minutes I wasted flirting with her and taunting Ranger, I could have tried a different approach—appealing to her humanity.

“While we’re here, we should talk.”

“Nope.”

I glare at the side of her face. “You can give me five minutes.”

“I don’t have to give you anything, Colt,” she says. I ignore the way my name sounds on her tongue. Like a whipcrack. Like an insult. “You saved me. I saved you. We’re even.”

“Is that why you did it? A life for a life?”

“Something like that, yes.”

She still isn’t looking at me, and it’s fucking infuriating. “Denver, look at me.” She taps her fingers against her jeans in a slow, methodical rhythm, and my patience snaps. I take hold of her jaw and force her to face me. “You’re disrespectful.”

“I respect those who deserve it,” she bites back, but she doesn’t look away this time. “I respect Finn McEwan. I respect my husband. I don’t respect you.”

“Why?” I demand.

“Because you’re hiding your shit of a brother, and he doesn’t deserve your protection. You’re hiding amurderer?—”

“Says the woman who shot a man in front of dozens of witnesses!”

“Your brother killed innocent people!” She almost shouts the words and shoves my hand from her chin. “Kind people.Goodpeople. They died because you couldn’t keep a leash on him. Tell me why I should respect a man who shields a monster.”

“Tell me why I should respect a woman whomarriedone.”

Her lips part, but her words are lost. She flushes, her freckles almost vanishing in the deep hue that climbs up her neck and across her cheeks.

She looks away, and now I know the conversation is over.

I look away, too, closing my eyes as I try to calm my temper that’s likely just fucked any opportunity to appeal to her. I really thought San Francisco was the last time I’d ever see her, but I’ve been granted this chance, and I’m fucking it up.

We pull up outside the Rosalia, and she gets out of the car without another word. Not even a passing insult, or a mic drop moment. She just leaves, slamming the door behind her.

The partition hums as it lowers. “Well, you fucked that up.”

“I’m aware of that,” I snap, running my hand down my face.

Taf sighs. “You were given a chance to speak to her. Now you’ll have to take the next one.”

Something I don’t want to do.

I fire off a text to Alistair, grab my coat and scarf, and get out of the car. Striding through the moodily lit hotel lobby, I spot Denver at the bar. The bartender is handingher a bottle of whiskey, and she signs a check before turning. She doesn’t look at me twice as she storms by.

“Talking is better than shooting,” I say, following her.

“Go away.”

She jabs the button for the elevator, and I stand between her and the doors. “I don’t beg, Denver.”

“Yet here you are.” She gestures at me with the bottle.

“Do you know why I’m successful?” I ask, and she rolls her eyes, cradling the whiskey in her arm like a child. “Because I take time for people. I listen, even when all I want to do is snap their neck. The old ways don’t work anymore, Denver. Wars cost money, and they cost lives. Are you really going to sacrifice both those things for my brother?”

“It isn’t for him,” she snipes. “It’s for the people he killed.”