Page 78 of Stolen Hearts

If he even knew where she was.

A tremor moved through her body, and she folded her arms tighter.

He moved toward her suddenly, and her breath caught—but he only picked up a blanket from the couch and offered it to her.

“You’re cold.”

She nodded, letting him place it around her shoulders. She had to keep playing along and be the calm, therapeutic voice of reason, not the screaming, terrified mother she was inside.

“Rest a little,” he said. “You’ll feel better with sleep. And when you wake up, maybe we can talk more.”

“Okay.” She said the word like it was a prayer. “I’d like that.”

He nodded approvingly, then moved to the door, slipping out and closing it behind him.

Sure enough, she heard the heavy bolt of a lock slide into place.

She was alone—well, except for whoever was watching her through those camera lenses.

Rhae sank back onto the couch and folded into herself, her arms around her knees. Her teeth chattered, but she didn’t know if it was from fear or the cold house.

She stared at the sweater still draped over the chair. Her father’s glasses. The stillness of the room—the frozen grief of a house no one had touched in years.

Her past had swallowed her whole.

But this wasn’t where she died.

This wasn’t the end.

Her eyes moved to the ceiling, locking on a camera.

Her voice didn’t work—her throat too tight to speak—but inside she whispered:

Find me, Denver. Please. I’ll hold on. Just come.

She glared straight at the camera and forced out another set of words for a different man. “Go to hell, Ravencroft.”

* * * * *

Denver’s boots thudded in a steady rhythm across the porch, each step shaking his already rattled core.

How? How had it happened? The ranch was practically a fortress. But clearly, they had some work to do to secure it better.

They didn’t know yet if Justin was really a troubled veteran with an obsession over Rhae…or if he had infiltrated the therapy program as an imposter.

Denver stood at the edge of the steps, head thrown back to the Wyoming sky. It was streaked with fiery orange and bruised lavender. Any other day, he might consider it beautiful. But he couldn’t see any of its beauty now.

All he saw was Rhae.

The ache inside him couldn’t even be called gnawing. It felt as if he was being ripped apart.

He hadn’t been there to stop that bastard from taking the woman he loved. But he had been steering clear of her during office hours, not wanting to get in her way or step on the toes of any of the veterans she treated.

But his instincts had failed him. This never hit his radar.

He paced the porch again, passing the same set of chairs and the same smooth wood railing, gripping his phone like it was the lifeline to her soul.

Another set of boots ground against the gravel driveway. Denver looked up at Gray. As his brother drew closer, he saw the tendon leaping in his clenched jaw.

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