Page 145 of Stolen Vows

I glance down at the phone in my hand, Francesca’s tracker blinking steadily on the screen. Beau’s right. If she had her phone, she would have responded by now. The fact that she hasn’t means she can’t.

“We follow the tracker.” It’ll lead us to someone. And that person will lead us to my wife.

A muscle in my jaw ticks as I slip the phone back into my pocket and motion for Beau to follow me. We move through the house like shadows, silent and efficient. I lead us through a formal dining, and I see a flash of movement in the hallway ahead.

Golden-colored hair.

“Francesca.” It’s a whispered plea, slipping out of my mouth out of shock.

The figure turns toward us, but it’s not my wife. It’s Florence.

She stands at the edge of the hallway, half in shadow, hands clenching the doorway like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Her face is pale, her eyes red-rimmed, but I don’t give a shit about her tears.

I storm down the hallway, my voice quiet but sharp. A blade in the dark. “Where is she?”

Florence flinches, and I reign myself in a little. For half a second, she hesitates. Then she exhales, shoulders sagging, and whispers, “They have her locked in here.”

My pulse kicks up, but I don’t move yet. She shifts, fingers flexing against the wood. “I tried to stop them,” she says, voice rough. “I swear I did.”

I don’t care. I don’t have time for her guilt. I step forward. She flinches again.

“Show me.” It’s a low command.

Florence hurries down the hall, pulling open the door at the end with trembling fingers. The room beyond is dark, only a sliver of moonlight spilling through the curtains.

I brush past Florence, my eyes scanning the shadows. And there, curled up on a settee beneath the window, is my wife.

“Francesca.” Her name rips from my throat, half prayer, half plea.

She jolts upright, breath catching in her throat. Her eyes flick over me, like she’s trying to convince herself I’m real. Like she wants to believe it but doesn’t dare.

“Graham?” It’s a whisper, breathless and raw against my neck.

I sink to my knees, my hands framing her face, tilting it up so I can see her, can feel that she’s really here. My eyes rove over her features, cataloging every detail, every emotion flickering across her face, searching for any sign of injury.

A choked sound escapes her lips as she clings to me like she’ll never let go.

“Are you hurt?” My voice is raw, barely controlled.

She shakes her head, her fingers curling around my wrists like she needs to anchor herself. “I knew you’d come.” Her breath hitches. “I knew?—”

I cut her off with my mouth, the kiss hard and desperate. Francesca makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, and I swallow it whole.

She clings to me, her fingers tangling in my hair as she returns the kiss with equal fervor. I pour everything into it. My fear, my relief, my love.

I pull away from here, murmuring, “Goddamn, do I love you.”

She chuckles, this watery sound that pinches the tender space around my heart.

“I love you. And you were right. I never should’ve come.” Her eyes well up a little.

I press my forehead to hers, my thumbs stroking over the delicate skin of her cheeks. “I will always come for you. Always.”

Beau clears his throat behind us. “As touching as this is, let’s save it for the car ride home, yeah, bro?”

Francesca nods against my forehead, her fingers gripping my wrists tighter. “He’s right. We need to go, now. Before they realize you’re here.”

I pull back just enough to meet her gaze. “What happened?”

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