Page 75 of Stolen Hearts

“I need intel. I need to find my woman. My baby momma.”

“Tell me what you need.”

“I need you to trace someone who calls himself Justin. A man posing as a veteran on the Black Heart Ranch in the therapy program. He took her, Dante. And he’s got a head start.”

“Send me everything you’ve got. And Denver?”

“Yeah?”

“Say that again.”

“What?”

“Baby momma?”

His throat tightened. “Yeah. She’s the mother of my child. The woman I love.Mywoman.”

“On it.”

“I know you are. I taught you everything you know.”

“Do I need to remind you that your paperwork hasn’t cleared yet? You can’t take this to the authorities. You’re still dead to the world, Denver.”

“For what I intend to do, it’s better if I’m a ghost.”

A loaded silence hovered in the room.

At that minute, Willow and Layne rushed back in, Willow’s face a mask of worry and Layne carrying a warm bottle for Navy.

He hung up and turned to Willow. “Print everything we have on Justin. Stick it in a manila envelope. I’ll hand it off to the cops on behalf of the Black Heart team.”

Willow blinked, already grabbing files from the computer system and hitting print. “Got it.”

The team was running like a well-oiled machine. Knowing that he was responsible for oiling those gears didn’t make Denver feel any better. His gaze lit on Navy, cuddled in Honor’s arms, eyes dipping farther shut with each swallow she took.

He would get her mother back for her. For their precious family.

A few minutes later, Willow passed him the envelope—fat with paperwork and reports, screenshots and security footage.

In big red letters, she’d written URGENT.

He gave her a look. “Nice touch.”

She gave a weak smile. “Figured the cops would open it faster.”

Denver took the envelope and slid it under his arm. They’d get the intel into the hands of the police, but they all knew too well how local authorities played by the rules.

They didn’t have time for rules. Under it all, his heart beat a brutal rhythm.

He should have vetted every fucking man who ever walked into her office.

Part of him—the one that had once led ops in the dead of night and walked away from explosions like they were raindrops—was screaming now.

She’d been taken.

He would get her back. For his daughter and the storm threatening to tear apart her innocence.

And this time? He wasn’t risking a special ops team.

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