Cole arrived in seven minutes.
I know because I counted. Standing behind my locked counter in my locked shop with the chain on the door and the lights on because turning them off would have been hiding and I was not a woman who hid. Seven minutes from the phone call. Forty-two stories to street level to Union Station to the Wynkoop entrance to the concourse to my door. Seven minutes for the most controlled man in Denver to cross a city he owned and arrive at the one place he'd been asked not to enter.
He didn't knock. He called.
"Unlock the door."
