Page 38 of Finding Denver

“Tell me your story.”

His smile is small. “Ghost’s story or mine?”

“Aren’t they the same man?”

“Not even close.”

I exhale deeply, hating that his words echo my thoughts, hating that I have anything even remotely in common with a Harland. I reach for the bottle.

“Then start from the beginning.”

So, he does.

“My story isn’t dramatic. I wasn’t pulled into this life for vengeance, and I wasn’t raised in it like you. I saw the life the McEwans had, and I wanted it. So, when I was fourteen, I started delivering packages for the Craigs. Then I was collecting money. Then heads.”

“Spooky.”

He smiles. “It wasn’t long until I saw potential outside of the drugs. Guns and money specifically. Craig was too stuck in his ways to see it, but he eventually realized that fighting me wouldn’t end well for him. So,I absorbed everything he owned, handed off the drugs, and focused on weapons and laundering.”

I remember Ranger telling me before we were married that Wilder wouldn’t deal in drugs. It made no sense to want to work with Ranger if that was the case, but he seemed determined, anyway.

“You don’t like the drug side of the business.”

Colt shakes his head. “No, I do not.”

“But you’re close with the McEwans.”

“It’s our one point of contention.”

I tilt my head. “A strange moral compass.”

“As long as it keeps spinning.” He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, as if needing the taste of the whiskey but not wanting to ask for the bottle. “Any other questions for me?”

“Ranger said that you refused to let the Italians or Russians use your routes. That Wilder fucked up your relationships with almost all the families in New York. But I saw you with Finn … none of that’s true, is it?” He shakes his head slowly. “You’re friendly with all of them.”

“… Not all.”

“Most.”

Another nod.

How is that even possible? What kind of negotiation skills does this guy have?

“Why did Wilder want anything to do with Ranger?” I ask quickly, suddenly concerned he might shut down my questions.

Colt is quiet for a moment, a shadow crawling across his expression.

“Because his need to escape the city outweighed how much we hated the drugs. Foolishly. Temporarily.”

Escaping his mistakes. An experience Wilder and I seem to share.

“Why are you so close to the McEwans?” I ask.

Colt’s lips tilt up into a warm smile. “I always knew of them. Ronan McEwan is my age, and we sometimes took the same route home from school. My mom wasn’t eager to have us mix, given who the McEwans are, and kept us apart. But one day, I was walking home and spotted a kid with far newer sneakers than I’d ever seen, let alone owned, and I tried to mug him.”

Ronan McEwan. Ranger’s half-brother. The next in line to take over the McEwan legacy, although he’s a legend in his own right already. I haven’t heard much about him, only that he’s as fair as a man can be in this world. And absolutely nothing like Ranger.

I ask, “And that kid was Ronan McEwan?”