Page 65 of Finding Denver
He shrugs. “Another parent, I’m guessing.”
The “other parent” laughs, and Denver beams at him. “He looks suspicious.”
“He’s holdingBlueybackpacks,” Lewis says. “In what way is that suspicious?”
My frown deepens as Denver heads over to stand with Holly. “He just is. Go and move him.”
“No,” he says. “Stop being possessive.”
The laugh that barks out of me is obscenely loud. “I am not being possessive.”
He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t go to move the clearly suspicious man. He probably isn’t even a parent.
Why am I the only one worried about this?
I drag my gaze from Denver to the car that turns the corner. It’s crawling, but most vehicles around here do at this time. There are kids everywhere; it’s safer to go slower, but …
My instincts are like a lightning bolt under my skin. The car slowing almost to a stop. The window lowering. And then I lock eyes with Denver, and the man holding her wrist.
Holly. Where’s Holly?
As if she can read my panic, Denver glances back at the house. Holly will be inside. Denver will have made sure of it.
I reach for my gun, but she shakes her head. There are kids everywhere. Me firing a weaponwill mean that man will too, and whoever is in that fucking car will follow their lead.
Denver keeps her eyes on me as the man tugs her from the steps and onto the sidewalk. The car stops, the back door opening.
Panic blasts through my blood.
They’re going to take her.
The world slows as she steps closer to the car. If she gets in, she’s lost. A name on a list. A memory.
No.
Not a fucking chance.
They can’t take her.
They can’t take her from me.
“Lewis,” I say. “Under no circumstance does that car leave this street.”
I stride toward Denver before he can respond and reach into my coat. It isn’t only a gun I have with me, and if I have a quieter way to deal with this, I will. The man is distracted as Denver tugs him to a stop, and he’s whispering in her ear, his face contorted with rage.
I’m quick. No hesitation. No time to second guess what I’m about to do. By the time he notices me, I have one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other burying my knife in his gut. We’re almost at eye level, and he’s blinking fast, his mouth opening and closing as I sink the knife deeper.
“You don’t take from me.” I say quietly, blood spilling over my hand as I drag the blade across his abdomen. He lets out a strangled sound. “A shame you can’t pass that message on.”
A gunshot splits the sound of children’s laughter. Screams replace family conversation. Careful-moving crowds become panicked dashes for cover. I yank my knife free from the man’s stomach and pull Denver into my chest,stepping away from the car. She reaches into my coat and takes out my gun, one arm secured around my waist as she aims at the car and fires.
Bullets collide with secure glass, spiderwebs of white splitting the darkened windows. Instructions are shouted from my men, Charlie’s, and the men in the car. Parents are on their knees, hugging children to their chests.
“Denver, down!” Lewis booms, and I pull her toward the houses. We stumble, and I turn, taking the brunt of the fall against my shoulder. Denver winces but keeps her arm outstretched, firing again at the car.
“Let them do that,” I say over the commotion. “We need to get to Holly.”
Denver nods and scrambles to her feet, keeping in a low crouch as more shots are fired. She runs toward the house, throwing the door open, and a woman screams. The owner is crouched in a corner with Holly.
