Page 96 of Freeing Denver

“You’re not coming,” Alistair says.

“Like hell I’m not.” She points at herself. “Twice I’ve gotten caught up in your drama, and I want in again. Move aside.” She shoves her way past me and out the door.

I can’t be fucked arguing with her.

When we’re all in the car, Alistair fires off details to Taf and anyone else to get the information we need. Sandy is practically bouncing up and down in the back seat, talking a mile a minute.

All I can focus on is Denver.

She’s pregnant. We’re having a baby, and she’s all alone in this.

And Spider kept her here. Right under my fucking nose. Has she been in the city the whole time? Or did the person who bought her bring her here?

My hands tighten on the steering wheel, my heart beating too fast. I can feel the size of it in my chest as it throws itself against my ribcage, an angry, violent curl in my stomach tightening when I think what she could have been through. What she’s still going through.

I can only hope that because she’s been to a doctor, whoever has her is at least taking care of her in some fucked-up way.

The building that houses the gynecologist’s office is quiet when we arrive, but the glass doors that lead to the lobby are unlocked. A security officer behind the front desk looks up.

“Is there something?—”

“CCTV—how long is it stored here?” I ask.

He blinks and has clearly made the fast assessment that I’m not the kind of man who would leave if he asked me to. “Seven days.”

“Last Tuesday, at …” I look at Sandy, who has her arms crossed and is glaring at the security guard as if daring him to question me.

“One-ish,” she says.

“Last Tuesday from midday to the afternoon. Pull up the footage,” I say, nodding at his computer. “Now.”

He, smartly, doesn’t hesitate.

“The doctor is local. Taf is almost there,” Alistair says after checking his phone.

The security guard is shaking, but he pulls up the footage fast, scanning through it at two times speed. I watch people come through the parking garage door, women, men, children?—

“Stop.” I almost jolt forward, yanking the screen closer.

There’s my girl.

Her head is down, but it’s her. She’s accompanied by two men, and one has his arm around her waist.

I already know how long I’m going to draw out his death.

He leans down and says something, and Denver lifts her head, nodding shortly.

My girl. My fucking girl.

I thought seeing her might make me want to unravel, but it just pushes me into a state of violence that frightens even me. “You’re taking us to the doctor’s office.”

The security guard doesn’t argue.

Once we’re in the gynecologist’s office, I hunt through paperwork, looking for Denver’s name. Of course, there’s nothing. There can’t be a paper trail. But it doesn’t matter, because the doctor has already arrived.

She’s in her forties and is wearing pajamas, a coat over them, her blonde hair disheveled and pulled into a messy ponytail. She doesn’t look frightened when Taf drags her into her office in the middle of the night—she’s pissed.

“What the fuck is this?”