Page 54 of Finding Denver

I zone out, his voice becoming a murmur of annoyance as Finn and Helena exit the restaurant. As they reach their car, Finn pauses, his focus across the street.

Where a man is taking photos of me.

Lewis always deals with these situations for me. A quick threat, a less-than-subtle flash of his firearm, and whoever it is goes away. But before I can even point out the photographer, Finn has signaled to one of his men. A simple gesture, one I’d likely miss if I hadn’t already been looking, and he continues his conversation with Helena, his smile returning.

When I look across the street again, the photographer is gone.

I scan the area, looking for any trace of the young man with the camera or Finn’s man, but both have vanished.

Ranger continues ranting as I return my attention to Finn McEwan. He’s gazing at his wife with adoration as she talks, no trace of the man who’d just instructed for someone to be removed from our presence, likely violently.When he sees me staring, he smiles. A warm smile. No malice, no threat.

A good man with a dark heart. A murderer with clean hands.

“Are you listening to me, Denver?” Ranger says.

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah.”

Ranger says, “The way I see it is like this, little bird. You are my wife. I am your husband. Regardless of our current disagreement, you belong at home, with me, not galivanting around New York with Finn fucking McEwan.” Now, he has my attention. I hold my breath. “How was lunch? Is he well? Did he woo you with childhood memories and regrets over how he fucked things up with your dad?”

“You’re following me?”

“I keep a close eye on what belongs to me. And that includes Colt Harland touching my fucking property.” His voice becomes low, thunderous, and my heart slams against my ribcage. “He lays a hand on you again, Denver, and I’ll remove his fucking heart.”

My confidence flounders, and I place my hand on the car. “It isn’t?—”

“What would Ethan think if he saw you acting that way with the brother of the man who killed him?” Shame floods my body so fast my knees almost dip. “Stop embarrassing us both and get your ass home.”

He hangs up.

Chapter 14

Denver

“It’s cold,” Lewis whispers.

I shush him and stare up at the townhouse. I wonder if I even have any lipstick left on my mouth after chewing my lips so aggressively. The snow is light, but even if it wasn’t snowing, Lewis is right. It’s freezing. And we’ve been standing outside the McEwans’ house for almost ten minutes.

“Am I gonna die out here? Because if so, I need to make some calls,” Lewis says.

I stamp my foot. “Fine, but you’re forcing me to do this.”

That’s what I’ll tell myself, anyway. Tonight, when night falls and I’m alone in my bed and I remember how devastated Ranger was when I even mentioned the McEwans, I’ll tell myself that Lewis forced me to come here and have lunch with Helena.

But really, it’s all I want to do.

Helena has asked me twice in the last few days to come over, so I’ve finally given in. I want to know more about my mom, my dad, and their life here before I existed. I want todive into their world and hear stories Ranger won’t know or wouldn’t tell me if he did. This is my chance to get to know the DeLuca and Gallagher world before I was born, and I’ll always regret it if I don’t.

I ring the doorbell and wait. Heels click against hardwood floors and the door is flung open to a bright-eyed, flushed Helena. Her dark hair is down, the wisps of silver catching the light as she pulls me into a hug. Her blue cashmere sweater brings out her eyes, and it’s soft under my hands as I hug her. It’s a mom hug, the best kind, one I haven’t felt in over a decade.

“Come in, come in. You’re freezing!” She rubs my arms and leads me through a hallway, the walls busy with family photographs. A pair of kid’s shoes—Holly’s, I’m guessing—sit on the floor and a small, pink umbrella leans against a side table, a bowl on top filled with keys and sparkly hair ties.

“Is Holly here a lot?” I ask.

“Oh, all the time. We love having her,” Helena says as she leads me into the kitchen. Delicious smells fill the open space, and a large, silver pot bubbles on a stove. The mint green–decorated room is big and lived in—coloring books and newspapers are stacked next to a vase brimming with wildflowers, a glass half filled with chilled wine is by the wooden chopping board, and a loaf of bread half sliced is on top of it, crumbs scattering the counter.

“You made soup?” I ask.

She nods and pulls out a stool for me to sit at. Lewis hovers by the door. “Come in, there’s enough for all of us.”