Page 87 of Taking Denver

“Like he’s fucking Denver.”

Sampson clears his throat. “Maybe.”

“He isn’t,” I rumble out the words. “Send me everything that fucker said in that interview room.”

I hang up and go to my office. Sitting behind my desk, I log into the security camera backlog, searching for the night Ethan was at Pulse. Squeezing my jaw, I watch the scene unfold. Axel arguing with Ethan’s friend. The man pawing at Denver’s arms, talking in her ear. Ethan striding into view and punching the man out cold.

My hands curl into fists when I see Ethan take Denver’s hand. She pulls away, likely for my benefit, and goes to the back room.

And Ethan follows.

“Fucker,” I mumble and switch to the back room’s camera.

But the footage isn’t there.

I return to the VIP view and watch Ethan walk into the back room with Denver, and then there’s nothing.

Someone deleted it. What the fuck happened in that room?

I’m out of my seat before I can stop myself. The unsaid words are choking me, settling like ash in my lungs, and I have to get them out. I have to say them, regardless of the outcome, because of one simple pathetic reason.

I’m jealous. I’m jealous of someone less than me because, for some reason, Ethan is under her skin. For some reason, he’smore than a passing intrigue, a vacation lay, a man who found her at a weak time and helped her.

He’s more of a threat than Wyatt ever was.

Bitterness bursts through my blood as I throw open Denver’s door.

Her room is empty. Her bathroom is, too.

And then the rage becomes panic, and the panic becomes fear, and tragic scenarios tear through my mind like bullets through flesh.

She’s left me.

I stride down the hall and check the main bathroom. Empty. I check Axel’s room. Empty. And with every door I throw open, a little more of my breath is stolen.

I reach my room, almost barreling through the door, and stop.

On my bed, curled up on her side, her arms wrapped around my pillow, Denver sleeps. Her red hair is fanned out on the pillow, her breathing is deep and even, and as I round the bed, I see tears in her lashes.

Not gone. Not out of my life. She’s as close to me as she can be without us actually touching, and I don’t know why that means more than if she’d come downstairs and crawled into my lap. But it does.

The heated words cool. The anger vanishes. The jealousy becomes curled, dead leaves that blow away. Because even if Ethan means more than he should, she isn’t with him. Even if she loves him, she loves me more. I know she does. She always has.

Her eyes open, and she watches me as I remove the pillow and lay beside her. She inches forward and cuddles into my side like she has for years. I settle my arm around her shoulders, and she sniffles.

“I have to tell you something,” she whispers, and I fight to keep the tension from my voice.

“Okay.”

“I was going to leave you.”

I close my eyes, the words cutting deep, but I say nothing.

“I made passports for Axel and me,” she continues, her voice raspy. “I had a place picked out. A fresh start. Somewhere without you.”

My swallow is thick. “With Ethan?”

She angles her head to look at me. “Without either of you.”

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