Page 29 of Finding Denver
It’s oddly … picturesque. His handsome features are totally relaxed, a monster among mist, a killer pausing to absorb a few moments of peace. It feels like the seconds between a tiger spotting its kill and leaping forth, and I’m strangely honored to be here. It’s a feeling I don’t quite understand.
He turns and walks away.
I follow.
His head is down, and I think he’s texting as he takes confident strides to wherever he’s going. While people seem to part to allow him through, they bump into me, and I mumble several apologies as I weave in and out of the crowds that seem to have doubled since we started moving.
Why am I following him? I can’t kill him in public. Can I even kill him at all, knowing he’s a dad? Does his parental status even matter? My goal has never been to hurt Colt.Use him to get to Wilder? Absolutely. Kill him if he gets in my way? If necessary. But I’ve never wanted to take Colt’s life without reason. He’s not the guilty one; his brother is.
But still, I follow, pausing once I see him go into a restaurant. It’s a nice place, and through the windows I watch him being led to a booth at the back of the room. Alone.
I look down at my jeans, sneakers, gray hoody and dark jacket. There’s no way they’ll let me in looking like this, but I’m not going home to change and risk him leaving.
The waitress at the front of the restaurant smiles brightly when she sees me, but it falters somewhat when she observes what I’m wearing.
“Reservation?” she asks, clearly hoping I’ll say no.
“No, but I’m gonna level with you.” I step close. “My boyfriend just came in here, and I’m pretty sure he’s about to meet another woman. I just want to sit in the back and try to catch the prick before I go home, take the dog, and leave him.”
Her green eyes light up. “I’ve got you.” She spins the computer screen around to show me the list of reservations. This is remarkably easier than in the movies. And a huge security violation, but it works in my favor, so I’ll let it slide. “Point the fucker out.”
I almost laugh but focus on the names instead. Harland, party of four.
“Him,” I say, pointing at the name.
“Party of four? Is this prick double dating with this woman, too? Not on my fucking watch.” Her name badge says Sandy, and I’m going to give her all the cash in my wallet for being so invested so fast. “Come with me.”
I follow her closely as she walks me through the restaurant. Colt is on his phone, still alone in the booth.
Who is he meeting? Wilder? And who else? And if Wilder sits at that table, what exactly is my plan? Kill him right here? Colt would step in and probably die, too.
“Here.” Sandy places a menu down at a small table by the kitchen. I can just about see into Colt’s booth, his long fingers tapping on the table as he reads his phone. When he looks up and nods at the door, I almost sprain my neck to see who he’s looking at.
Holyfuck, it’s Finn McEwan.
The unofficial King of New York just walked into this restaurant.
He’s tall, cut seemingly from stone, a broad, domineering man even from a distance. His dark hair is peppered with gray, and he strides through the restaurant, pointing at the far side of the room to a man. Finn nods at the door, and the man goes to stand at it. His security was already here, and I didn’t even notice.
“Hello, sir,” Sandy purrs, half leaning close to me. “If your boyfriend is cheating with him, I get it.”
I stare, open mouthed, as Colt stands to greet Finn. I expect a handshake, a cursory nod, but they hug. Finn says something that makes Colt laugh, and they sit on opposite sides of the booth.
The heads of the two most powerful families in New York having dinner out in the open. This is not how we do things back home.
And how close is Colt to the McEwans to be having this kind of open friendship? Hugging in public? What the fuck is going on? Didn’t Wilder burn McEwan routes last year? How are they even still on speaking terms, let alone eating together?
“I’m gonna get the gossip,” Sandy whispers.
“Wait, Sandy?—”
She’s already making her way over and gives me a subtle thumbs up as she approaches the booth. She hisses something at another waitress, I assume stealing the table for herself.
Sandy beams prettily and, judging by her body language, talks to Finn and Colt like she’s known them for years. Finn is glancing at the menu, but something Sandy says makes him smile, and he lifts his gaze to her.
Finn fucking McEwan. Cal once called him Big Daddy McEwan and Ranger bit his head off for it. But I get it. He’s big. He’s Ranger’s uncle, so it must run in the family. I wonder if Ranger’s dad was a big guy, too.
Sandy makes her way back over to me and I hide behind the menu. She snatches up a metal jug of water and pours it slowly into my glass.
