Page 99 of Freeing Denver

Now I know it’s over.

And the tears feel so fucking pointless.

“—has never been pictured until today. The leader of the Harland family, who goes by the nickname ‘Ghost’ due to his unique tattoos, was seen today out with Ranger Luxe.”

My gaze snaps to the TV.

Colt is on the screen.

It’s just photographs, but he’s right fucking there.

At Rockefeller Center.

He’s leaning against the wooden boards around the ice rink, arms folded, sunglasses on. Ranger is beside him, looking equally frightening, and they appear to be in deep conversation.

“Well, this is a sight to see,” the anchor says. “Both men have been linked allegedly to a number of crimes, particularly over the last few weeks, but I don’t think anyone expected to see anyone of this stature to be standing together.”

The co-anchor speaks, and the photo shifts to one that’s slightly closer. “We were lucky enough to be sent these photos today by an anonymous source?—”

I step closer to the TV. In this photo, Colt has taken his sunglasses off, his dark blue eyes looking right at the camera, his hand gripping his jaw.

A smile spreads across my face. “He’s found me.”

Kitrick says, “How do you know?”

I reach out and touch Colt’s hand—where his wedding ring is on his middle finger. I laugh, tears in my eyes, but this time it isn’t from defeat.

“I might leave it there. It can be our own little message, a way of telling you I love you even if I can’t say it.”

For the first time in weeks, I can breathe easily. “He’s coming for me.”

I pace the room,shaking out my hands, my face aching from how much I’m smiling.

“He sent those photos in today hoping I’d see. He’ll be coming tonight. Or soon.”

Kitrick watches me from the bed. “Tonight would be better. If Spider sells you on, even I won’t know where you are.”

I nod quickly, twisting my fingers together.

Colt will launch a full-scale assault. He won’t hold back, and, neither will Ranger. This entire place could be rubble by morning, and Eli Eddards will be dead.

“You need to be careful,” I say to Kitrick. “Colt won’t know you’ve helped me. He could hurt you.”

“That’s touching, but I’ll be fine,” he says, arching an unamused brow. He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Eli is here.” He stands, and the breath I let out shudders. “Hold it together.”

“I am.”

“You’re smiling.”

I drop my face into a neutral expression. “Better?”

“Better.”

Kitrick temporarily shuts off the cameras as we make quick steps from his room to mine. I slip into the most comfortable dress I have—it’s long, the black material touching mid-calf, but it’s relatively loose. Once I’m in the shoes that are easiest to kick off, I rejoin Kitrick in the hall, and we descend the stairs. But I pause midway down.

Eli is in the foyer, but he isn’t alone.

His uncle is with him.