Page 25 of Finding Denver
We get into the car, and when Lewis starts the engine, he casts a glance back at the house. “He isn’t coming with us?”
“No, he’s not.”
I took Ranger’s advice and booked a few days away to New York. To shop, eat, and maybe even see a show.
Ranger’s reaction to the new land was worse than I’d anticipated. I know some of his history with the McEwans, but he never told me how much he and his mom suffered. He seemed better this morning. He’d kissed me goodbye, said he’d miss me, and told me to take as much time as I needed. I’d made all the arrangements for the clubs and coffee shops to be taken care of, and I should be excited. I am.
But I also feel a little like I’m giving up. It’s only a few days away, but work drives me. A year ago, I’d have given anything for a trip to the city to overhaul my wardrobe and go for cocktails, but now …
My phone rings and I frown at the number. “They’re calling me again.”
“The same number?”
These calls have been happening at least once a week for the last few months. I answer, they say nothing, and they hang up. It’s more annoying than worrying, and my curiosity is taking a real battering.
I answer. “Hello?” And just like always, no one speaks. Someone is there, I can hear breathing, and once they started to say something—a woman, I think—but they hung up quickly. Whenever I call back, they just don’t answer. “Listen, if you’re a stalker, you suck at it?—”
The call disconnects.
Lewis says, “Get it traced.”
“What’s the point? She calls once a week, says nothing and hangs up.”
He frowns. “This could escalate. She could be dangerous.”
I stare out at the clear September sky. “Everyone I know is dangerous. What’s one more person?”
My phone vibrates again, and I frown until I see who has messaged me. The number isn’t saved, another burner phone, and we keep our contact minimal.
UNKNOWN: Sending love to Businesswoman of the Year. I miss you, sis.
Axel and I rarely speak to keep him safe, but when I do get these messages, they lift my mood instantly. My chest already feels lighter. He’s happy in Australia, safe, in love and getting married. He’s begged me to come to the wedding and I’ve said I’ll try, but realistically it isn’t safe for either of us.
We arrive at Samuel’s office in the city. The building is sleek lines, glass and metal, and filled with people in designer suits. Samuel works from a few of the floors, and others are rented out to other businesses.
The Laus are incredibly powerful, but Samuel never expected to be part of the family business. His sister was more suited to the role, or at least that’s what he told me, so he became an architect instead, living and working in Maryland. But a shoot-out between families left his sister in hospital, and his father was already ill. So, Samuel returned to San Francisco and told me he has no plans to leave.
Lewis waits by reception as I knock and go into Samuel’s office. He’s standing at the floor-to-ceiling window and turns to face me, his phone against his ear. His security is already reaching for a gun.
I hold my hands up. “Unarmed and wearing Gucci.”
Samuel’s jaw tenses, and he speaks into the phone before hanging up. He shakes his head at his bodyguard,who looks close to snapping my neck despite the jolly grin I’m giving him.
Samuel may be new to his position, but he sure does look the part. His suit is pristine, cut to perfection, hugging the sharp, strong lines of his tall body. He takes a seat behind his desk, elbow rested on the arm of his chair, slender fingers running slowly across his plump bottom lip. Dark eyes watch me, and close-cropped dark, silky hair reflects the sun streaming through the windows.
Buried beneath the suit and good looks, beneath the insistence that this isn’t what he’s good at, I know he’s hiding a darkness. A part of him that takes to violence like wading through still waters. So, despite our comradery, I’m fully aware that Samuel looking at me this way isn’t to be taken lightly.
“If you’re here to apologize on behalf of your husband, don’t bother.”
This isn’t how I expected this meeting to start. I’d come here to apologize if it was my fault the deal had failed and give him the details of the land in New York so he could pursue it through the McEwans if he wanted to. Ranger was never going to come up.
I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”
He watches me, then gestures impatiently at the seat in front of his desk.
“I’ll stand, thanks.”
His jaw twitches at my response. “I was tired of the mayor ignoring my calls, so I sent some of my men to speak to him. After some persuasion, he admitted he blocked our deal because Ranger told him to.”
