Page 80 of Stolen Hearts

Just then, Carson pulled up in the SUV. He climbed out, stone-faced and controlled.

“I delivered the information to the cops. They’re searching every clip of footage they can get their hands on.”

“Which won’t be much. Willowbrook’s the size of a postage stamp and the crime’s so low, nobody needs a security camera.”

“There are some at the intersections. If Justin traveled that way, they’ll see his vehicle. Colt’s on lookout, but he’s pretty sure they left town before he posted up on the border of town.” Carson tugged the brim of his Stetson. “Any news from your SEAL buddy?”

“No.” His voice sounded as a croak.

His shoulders heaved. Bowing his head, he struggled to hold up the walls of himself threatening to break.

Suddenly, his brothers were surrounding him, a hand on his shoulder. Another on his arm. A solid presence on his six. The show of support pushed tears into his eyes, and he blinked hard, forcing them back.

Carson squeezed his shoulder hard. “We’re here for you. And for Rhae and Navy.”

Theo’s voice came from behind him. “You’re not alone, man.”

Denver stood straighter. The old SEAL inside him resurfaced.

And god help the man who stood between Denver Malone and the woman he loved.

Chapter Seventeen

Rhae sat on the leather couch where she’d spent hours curled up as a child reading books while her father worked from home. She drew her knees to her chest, just like she did back then, when her world was pure and unstained by terror.

She stared down at the photo album in her lap, her shaky finger moving over a picture of her small family—her mother, looking bright and fresh in hiking gear, her father standing tall and strong next to her. Smoky blue mountains provided the backdrop to the memory of a family vacation to the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Rhae was eleven years old when she took that picture—off-center, slightly tilted in a way she thought was edgy and cool. At the time, she was really into photography and had fancied herself a professional after reading one book on the topic.

She wasn’t part of the photo, but her creative license lived on in that skewed photo of her parents at the top of the mountain.

Each image in the album struck her with the force of memory. Her mother’s elegant smile at the summer garden party. Her father holding her as a toddler, pride and love radiant in his face.

The Christmas holidays, the long afternoons on the terrace, the quiet evenings in this very study. It all felt so close, but the house smelled stale, like time had tried to forget them. And yet everything remained eerily untouched.

It felt like her parents had simply stepped out for a moment to do some shopping or run an errand.

But they hadn’t. They were dead.

Everything about this place was insanely wrong.

She snapped the album shut and pushed to her feet, looking around even though she knew she was alone. Justin had locked her in hours ago.

Despite the cameras, she had gone to the windows first, seeking an escape, but her heart sank to see the thick steel bars covering each window. She avoided looking at them now—the feeling of being trapped in a cage was far too terrifying for her already muddled mind to handle.

When she reached the desk, she paused, breathing in the faint leather and ink scent that she associated with her father. Then, tossing a defiant look at the camera in case Ravencroft was watching, she dropped into his leather chair and began searching through his desk drawers.

One was filled with pens and pencils, notepads that would never be used and one of her father’s cigars still in the plastic wrapper.

She pulled it out and brought it to her nose, but years stuffed in a drawer had stripped away the smell. She put it back and sifted through the other drawers, skimming old files for clients of Rivers and Ravencroft.

With a small dip of her stomach, she realized her habit of taking personal notes and using an old-fashioned file system for her patients was something she learned from her father.

She flipped through the files, scanning the names for any familiar ones. When one caught her eye, she pulled it free and spread it out on the leather desk blotter.

The contents were dull. Only a signed contract and a few invoices.

Rhae moved to close the file, but the cover stuck on a page. Seeing the sticky note tacked to the back of the sheet, she flipped it over.

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