Page 35 of Finding Denver

“And it’s what Ethan would want?”

She shoves me so hard, so fast, I actually hit the elevator doors. “Say his name again, Colt, and I’ll kill you, daughter or not.”

Daughter.

She knows about Amy?

I search her face. “That’s why you saved me? Because I’m a dad?”

Her jaw looks close to granite. “Move.” The doors open, but I stay still. “Move, Colt, or I swear to fucking God?—”

My phone hums in my pocket, so I know Alistair has responded. I step aside, and when Denver gets into the elevator, I do, too. A man tries to follow, and I shove him out.

“Get the next one.”

He scowls at me as the doors close.

“What exactly is your plan?” Denver asks as theelevator starts climbing. The mirrored walls show a dozen versions of her, and all of them are pissed. “Talk me into saving him?”

“Yes,” I say. “I don’t want to kill you.”

“Because you won’t,” she says. “You may think you’re the big guy here, Colt, but I have connections, too.”

“The Laus?”

She straightens. “Stay out of my fucking?—”

The elevator shudders to a halt. Her gaze darts up and around us, but my surprise is false. Alistair stopped this elevator, and he won’t allow it to move again until I tell him to.

“Nope, not happening!” She slams the emergency call button. It crackles and she leans close. “Get me the fuck out of here.”

Alistair’s voice is deep when he responds. “Sorry about this, miss. Technical fault.” I cover my mouth to hide my smile. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

Denver leans her lips close to the speaker. “I will give you ten thousand dollars to get me out in the next sixty seconds.”

“No can do … sit tight.”

She screams and hits her palm against the buttons before shifting her glare to me.

I lean against the railing. “Better make the most of this, Deluxe.”

“You too,” she says sweetly. “These are your last minutes on earth.”

One thing’s for sure—one of us won’t make it out of this alive.

Chapter 10

Denver

An hour passes and we don’t move. My clothes are stuck to me, my hair is still damp, and the only thing stopping me from shooting Colt between the eyes is how much firing a gun in a metal box would hurt my ears. Colt is sitting on the floor, one knee pulled up, the other stretched out, leisurely playing a game on his phone. He seems less than concerned about our current predicament. In fact, he’s probably enjoying himself, the sadistic fuck.

He sighs. “Just sit down.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s rude.”

“You know what else would be rude? Smashing this bottle and cutting you up with the pieces.”