Page 48 of Taking Denver

My heart falls into my stomach. “What? But?—”

“You’ll be fine.”

I walk with him toward the house, gravel crunching under our feet. Before Ranger opens the door, I reach for him. He looks at the fingers I’ve wrapped around his arm.

“What do I say?” I whisper, my chest tight.

He searches my face. “Not the truth.”

I follow Ranger inside, Wesson close at my feet. The dog happily skids up the stairs. I stand in the round marble foyer, looking up at the double staircases that sweep up either side of the room. They meet in the middle, leading to the upper floor.

“I’ll be in my office,” Ranger says before leaving.

Martha, the housekeeper, stalks into the foyer, mumbling under her breath, and stops when she spots me. The older woman places her hands on her hips, her gray hair pulled back into a bun, her similar colored uniform pristine, as always. She narrows her light blue eyes in challenge.

“Did you get shorter?” I ask, and Martha shouts in German before storming out.

I almost smile until someone says my name.

“Mrs. Ledger.”

I look to my left. Through the large archway, a man stands by the unlit fireplace in the sitting room. He has my wedding photo from the mantle in his hand. It’s only here because we had a photo shoot a month before Wyatt died, and it would have looked strange to have no pictures of us in Ranger’s house.

The man smiles warmly at me. “I’m Detective Holden Hayes.”

He’s supposed to be in the library. Being in the library gives me another few minutes to prepare, but I’ve been ambushed. I imagine that’s probably the point.

Tentatively, I enter the living area. Detective Hayes is definitely not on Ranger’s payroll. When Ranger buys cops, he spends a lot, which means they don’t wear forty-dollar suits like this guy. I admire him for holding out, for not taking bribes that would likely help pay his mortgage. He has morals. It’s a shame that means nothing in this world.

Detective Hayes tucks his hands into his pockets as his gaze drops down my outfit. He’s maybe a little older than me, handsome in an exhausted kind of way. And I instantly know that if he becomes a problem, I can sleep with him.

I hate the thought, I really do. I’m not arrogant, but I know men and how weak they can be when it comes to a pair of boobs attached to a damsel in distress. This guy is a white knight, through and through. I know it just from the way he’s smiling at me.

“How was your vacation?” Hayes asks.

I stand on the threshold of the sitting room. “It was more of an escape.”

He nods as if he understands. As if anyone could understand.

“Well, this won’t take long.” He nods at the couch, but I remain standing because the audacity of telling me to sit in my own house pisses me off.

“Feel free to sit,” I say, unable to keep the sharpness out of my tone.

Should I play the meek, mild, grieving wife? No, he won’t buy that. Men like breaking down a guarded woman to see the softness beneath.

“Have you arrested anyone?” I ask.

He sits. “Not yet.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to double-check some details with you,” he says.

“And you couldn’t do it over the phone?”

“I wanted to see you face to face. No one has since Wyatt’s death,” he says. “We’ve been trying to talk to you for months, Mrs. Ledger.”

“Luxe.”

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