Page 28

T he first thing Rhae noticed was the smell.

Before her eyes blinked open, it surrounded her—musty books, aged wood polish, dust and the faint smoky scent of her father’s bourbon. Beneath it all was a location so familiar it rooted her in place with dread.

Her parents’ home in New Jersey.

She’d know that mixture of bourbon, books and time-worn leather anywhere. The stale air of the house that had been long closed up filtered into her lungs as she drew a shallow breath.

Her stomach turned, and she gulped down the nausea and panic rising inside her.

When she forced her eyes open, the dim light trickling through the familiar heavy draperies on the tall windows sent a piercing pain to the back of her skull. She let her eyes move slowly side to side, taking in the washed-out, gray glow of the space.

She was right. Her father’s study.

The world tilted.

She was lying on the old, tufted leather couch, the one guests always joked looked like it belonged in a 1950s psychiatrist’s office. Her legs were stiff. Her hands tingled. Her throat was dry.

She sat up slowly, every muscle screaming that she wasn’t ready. Her heart hammered behind her ribs as her gaze darted around the room.

Oh, god. Everything was exactly the same.

The framed diplomas on the walls. The Tiffany-style lamp that had flickered her entire childhood. Her father’s worn leather recliner, still angled toward the fireplace.

Her mother’s cardigan lay draped over the arm of the chair, slouched like she had just shrugged out of it. The sleeves sagged, worn and stretched. Her father’s reading glasses were still perched on the table next to it, right where he’d always left them when he got up to pour a bourbon.

But they were dead. Both of them. Gone for years.

No one had been here since the estate was settled, only months after Robert Ravencroft assured Rhae that he would handle everything on her behalf and in the memory of his late business partner and dear friend.

The house had been locked up, preserved like a shrine.

She shivered.

Her fingers reached up to touch the back of her neck, tender and sore from some physical abuse she’d sustained getting here.

Her pulse quickened, fragments of memory filtering in through the fog in her mind. The file cabinet. Her office. Justin.

She jerked upright, stumbling to her feet. Her legs trembled under her weight, but she made it to the center of the room before freezing.

Tiny black circles were dotted near the ceiling— cameras.

New.

Her parents would never have put surveillance in the house. Her father was old-school in his beliefs. He preferred to retain the integrity of the original Victorian-era structure.

And the doorknob glinted too—metal, modern. No lock was visible on this side of the door. It could be bolted shut from outside.

Panic slammed into her chest.

She wasn’t just in a place filled with sad memories of that fateful day when she lost both her parents. She was trapped in it.

“Good. You’re awake.”

Rhae jumped, her heart leaping up her throat.

Justin’s voice snaked behind her like smoke. She spun, heart thudding. He stood by the tall window that overlooked the back yard, where she used to chase fireflies in the summer and build snowmen in winter.

Now the man standing before her turned that memory into something jagged and ugly.

“I thought it might be comforting,” he said, still watching the grounds. “To be back where it all started.”

“Why am I here?” she managed, voice rough.

He turned toward her, smiling like they were just catching up after a long time apart. “You needed a break. You’ve been working so hard. I thought it might be nice for you to reconnect with your roots.”

Her mouth went drier. “Justin, this isn’t okay. You drugged me.”

“No harm done. That was only temporary.” He waved his hand like what he did was nothing. “I only gave you enough to bring you here without a fuss.”

Her breath shuddered in and out. She had to think. Use your training. Use the damn skills. The ones she taught others to calm anxiety, to ground themselves.

“I don’t understand,” she said slowly, modulating her voice like she was in a session with a volatile client. “But maybe…you can help me. Help me understand what’s going on, Justin.”

He tilted his head, smiling like she was a particularly clever student. “That’s what I like about you. You’re so calm. So rational.”

She forced herself to nod, though her insides screamed. “You always seemed insightful too. Self-aware.”

He beamed.

“Can I go into the kitchen? Get a drink of water?”

“You’ll leave when I say you can.”

She stuffed her hands deep in her pockets to hide the fact that her hands were shaking. She’d counseled patients through delusions, through psychosis and paranoia, but this wasn’t a session. This was her life.

Her big life with a big future with her daughter and Denver.

Oh, God. Navy.

She swallowed hard. “Navy,” she said before she could stop herself. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

Justin’s eyes narrowed, his voice flattening. “You don’t need to worry about the baby. I’m sure she’s fine on the ranch.”

“She’s…very attached to me,” Rhae said carefully. “Babies need bonding. Familiar scents. Otherwise, they can—”

“I know how child development works,” he snapped, then caught himself and smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“It’s okay,” she said softly, backing a half step closer to the door. Useless—the drug was still rolling through her veins, making her much slower than he was. But she needed to keep him talking. Keep him stable .

“You’ll have more privileges soon,” he said. “Once I know I can trust you.”

She nodded. “Of course. Trust is earned. It’s built over time. That’s what I tell my clients.”

He smiled again, but this time none of his smiles ever reached his eyes. He had to be planted on the Black Heart Ranch by Robert. Justin never would have known to bring her here without instruction.

Rhae glanced at the cameras, one near each corner. Her stalker could be watching now.

Denver, please find me.

She refused to let herself cry. Couldn’t.

But she let the words fill her chest like a mantra.

Denver will come. He’ll always be there for me. He’ll tear through the very rock of the earth to get to me.

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.

“Find anything in her office?” Gray mounted the steps.

“Her phone was on the desk.”

Gray compressed his lips. As if Denver didn’t already feel the statement to the marrow of his bones. If only Rhae had her phone, they might have a chance at finding her location.

“Any sign of the needle he stabbed her with?”

“No. He must have taken it with him.” Denver balled his hands into fists, gaze tracking across the land as if he could find her out there. Without that syringe, they had no way of knowing what Justin drugged her with.

“He took her alive, Denver. Don’t lose sight of that.”

His brothers kept telling him that, reminding him that if Justin wanted her dead, they would have found her in her office.

“I need Dante to come through with something. Anything! ”

Gray rested a hand on his shoulder. His eyes fogged with empathy. “The waiting game is maddening. Believe me, I know it. When Honor’s ex took her right out from under my nose, I didn’t know how to look at myself in the mirror. I still struggle knowing I let her down.”

Denver let out a noisy breath. His throat was too tight to speak. Every second that ticked by felt like a hammer pounding into his ribs. It had been hours since Honor saw Rhae in the passenger seat of Justin’s vehicle. A lifetime since he saw the camera footage showing him that she’d been taken.

And an eternity since every cell in his body started screaming for action. Every delay in receiving the intel made him feel like he was failing her all over again.

He braced both hands on the porch post, head hanging low. “Fuck,” he muttered, barely audible.

Behind him, the screen door creaked open and closed. Footsteps that could only belong to his sister were light, like she didn’t want to spook him, but her presence centered him a little.

Willow touched his shoulder. “You need food, Denver. Something. Even just water.”

“I need Rhae,” he snapped, then instantly regretted the acid in his voice. He exhaled hard. “Sorry.”

Willow’s voice didn’t waver. “You’re not wrong. But she wouldn’t want you burning out.”

That cut deep. Rhae, with those sweet smiles that made him never want to walk away, but somehow always knowing if he didn’t return to his SEAL team, he would be shattered.

The thought didn’t make him feel better.

He rubbed his hands over his face and turned around, back against the post. His gaze landed on Willow, and she was holding Navy in her arms. The baby reached for him, her tiny fingers wiggling.

Denver’s chest cracked wide open.

He took her, clutching her to his chest, burying his face in the sweet baby scent of her hair.

“I’m gonna bring your mama home,” he whispered into her ear, voice breaking. “I promise.”

Navy gurgled and patted his cheek, innocent and trusting. That trust tore him apart.

Theo came out next, quiet and solid. The two of them locked eyes, an entire conversation passing between them without words. Theo had Denver’s six. Always had. And right now, Denver needed every ounce of backup he could get.

“Oaks is tracking a vehicle matching Justin’s make and model. Just waiting on confirmation,” Theo said quietly.

Denver nodded. Good news. A step forward. But the pressure in his chest didn’t let up. He kissed Navy one more time and handed her back to Willow.

“Make sure she gets something to eat.”

Willow’s eyes shimmered, but she nodded. “I will.” She started to turn for the door but stopped and swung back. “When you bring Rhae home, she’s going to be so proud of the father you are.”

He hoped she was alive to see it.

He turned back toward the gravel driveway, clinging to the clawing sensation in his chest. He needed the pain to focus on getting Rhae back.

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.