Page 120 of Freeing Denver

Kitrick steps across the threshold, and once Denver has turned her back to return to the sunroom, he smirks at me. Fucking prick.

“Everyone stop having fun, the cop is back,” Taf says as we walk by the living room. Kitrick gives him the finger and everyone in the living room cheers. “Calm down, officer!”

“Special Agent Sass!”

“Good cop gone bad!”

And I swear Kitrick is trying his best not to laugh.

Back in the sunroom, Holly is sitting in Denver’s seat, Wesson squeezed in beside her.

Kitrick glances at Holly, and his expression softens before saying to me, “Your daughter?”

I do my best not to tense. “My niece.”

Holly watches us all quietly, tablet singing away on her lap.

“Baby, can you take your tablet in with Uncle Taf?” I say, and she nods silently, hopping off the chair. Wesson follows.

“Wilder’s daughter,” Kitrick says. “How is she doing?”

“She’s quiet,” I say. “Why are you here?”

Denver sits on the footrest and gives me a disapproving look, but I shrug innocently. I don’t want this guy in my house any longer than he has to be.

Kitrick says, “I need to talk to you alone.”

“Anything you need to say to me you can say in front of Colt,” Denver says. “We don’t keep secrets.”

Now it’s my turn to smirk. Kitrick looks on the cusp of arguing but must decide against it, and his voice is strangely rehearsed when he says, “My sister isn’t pursuing your case. I just wanted to come here and tell you that officially.”

Denver frowns and exchanges a look with me. We already knew that. Quinn called Denver days ago.

“She wanted me to come down here to tell you,” he adds, walking to the glass doors that lead onto the decking and down the beach. Holly’s coloring book is on the side table next to him, and he picks up a crayon, scribbling something down. “Can we continue the conversation outside? It’s been a long drive.”

He holds up the coloring book, where he’s written:

Not safe to talk inside.

The hairson the back of my neck stand up. There’s no way the feds are listening to us; I had this house checked three times before my mom came here, and then again before Denver and I arrived.

Denver stands. “Sure, I’ll just grab a jacket.”

And a gun.

She squeezes my hand as she passes, and Kitrick and I stand in thick silence while we wait for her to return.

The wind is relatively tame when we step outside, heading down the sand-strewn patio and to the beach. The stretch of sand belongs to us, and while it could be easy for someone to snap a photo from a distance, there’s no way anyone would be able to listen into our conversation.

Kitrick says, “I’ve taken some time away from the bureau, but something has been bugging me about the night you came to get Denver.”

Denver frowns. “What about it?”

“Things were blurry, but … I thought maybe Eli heard me on the phone to Colt and had figured out what was happening, but I don’t think he did. I think he knew.”

“Knew?” I ask. “Knew we were there?”

He nods. “I think someone warned him.” A wind whips by us and Denver slips her hand into mine. Kitrick’s gaze darts between us. “You already know there’s a rat.”