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“Yup. All my brothers are in the office, bickering like kids over a baseball bat.” She looked up at another woman moving their way with a tray.

Honor was one of the newer additions to the Malone crew, and she conducted art therapy with the vets, which meant she and Rhae crossed paths a lot.

Honor plunked into the seat across from Rhae and brushed a long wave of hair off her face. “I’m so glad you ladies are out here having lunch too. I need to steer clear of the house for a while.”

Rhae’s stomach performed that little dive once more. She didn’t have to ask why Honor and Willow needed space—she already knew.

The Malone men.

It wasn’t just about their towering frames or the way they moved through the world like they could bend it to their will. Or the way their guarded secrets were stitched into the fiber of their bones.

She swallowed a bite of food. “Sometimes a little distance is good.”

Honor laughed. “You sound like you have experience.”

She would keep her own counsel on the subject but offered her friend an easygoing smile. “You could say that.”

The wind freshened, bringing the scent of hay and the last of the summer wildflowers. Rhae let the silence linger, knowing all too well that some things were better left unspoken…at least for now.

* * * * *

Denver stared at the piles of disorganized files spread across the desk in the Black Heart Security office.

What a freakin’ mess. Stacks of manila folders tilted like tiny skyscrapers, threatening to collapse with one wrong move.

Loose papers were scattered across the surface—incident reports, surveillance logs, equipment checklists—all jumbled together like someone had dumped out a puzzle and walked away.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the tension there familiar and unyielding. Medical discharge was still fresh, biting like a winter wind.

He hadn’t told his family about why he left the military yet. They all noticed that he looked thinner, rougher around the edges, but who the hell wouldn’t after what he’d been through?

Luckily, nobody pushed. That was the beauty of coming back to his family and each sibling bearing their own scars—they knew better than to ask before he was ready.

His oldest brother Carson leaned back in his chair, one boot kicked up on the edge of the desk, inches from one of the file towers about to topple over. “Hell of a sight, huh?” He waved a hand at the clutter.

“Looks like a bomb went off.” Denver sifted through a stack of recon reports that didn’t seem to adhere to any system of organization. “You’ve really been running the security agency solo?”

“Mostly.”

“What do our other brothers do?”

Carson rocked a bit in his chair. “Oaks manages the electronic monitoring for our clients. Surveillance cameras, data analysis to track movements for threats. Colt prefers to stay in the shadows.”

“Always has,” Denver said quietly, understanding his brother a lot better now that they were older.

Carson nodded. “He does a little of this and that. Performs scouting missions, manages schedules. That sort of thing.”

“And Gray?”

“He can fly in a pinch if our pilot isn’t available for some reason. He hasn’t been back long enough to really find a role. And Willow…she keeps me sane. But you know she’s mostly phones and travel details. I handle the rest. It’s…” Carson paused, searching for the right word. “A work in progress.”

Denver’s gaze dropped back to the mess. He could see the bones of an operation here, but it was scattered. No structure. No real chain of command. He picked up a notepad and pen, then listed all of the names of the men on the Black Heart Security team, which was only comprised of the Malone family.

There were enough of them to fill any gaps in the list of operations, but a few more team members would be helpful in the future.

Carson watched him, saying nothing as Denver worked on the list, writing in the roles his brother had just recited for him. But he knew his big brother was assessing him. Looking too deep. Seeing things.

“Who’s your client? What kind of services do they seek from the agency?” Denver asked.

Carson let his boot drop from the desk and hooked it over his opposite knee. “Well, we’ve got corporate clients. Protecting bigwigs, personal security for high-profile figures.”

Denver took notes while Carson continued.

“We’ve provided personal security for a couple celebrities and some political figures. There was also a time we acted as crowd control during a protest at the state capital.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“A little of this and that.”

Denver flicked his stare to his brother. “Do you hear yourself? You were in the military longer than the rest of us. You of all people should have a handle on how a team should be organized. The Black Heart Security Agency isn’t any different.”

Carson scrubbed a hand over his face. “Most of the time, I’m scrambling to organize the chaos and make sure nobody kills each other.”

Denver raised a brow.

“You have better ideas, I’d love to hear them.”

“I might.” His mind was already forming a new system, piecing things together and then reassembling them based off each of his brothers’ strengths and skill sets.

“The agency is your baby. So that would make you team leader. Point man.”

Carson leaned forward, his elbows hitting the desk with a thud. “Sounds right.”

“Recon specialist?” Denver continued .

“I’d say Colt,” Carson replied easily. “He’s sharp. Knows how to get in and out without raising hell.”

Denver nodded. He could see the makings of a team here, but it was loose. Too loose. “Surveillance?”

“Right now, that’s Oaks. But he spends a lot of time on the veterans program. It’s his passion project, and it’s understandable why.”

Denver met his brother’s gaze. “Why?”

“You don’t know…” Carson shook his head. “Why would you? You’ve been gone a while.”

A tightness formed around Denver’s lungs at the thought of what he’d put his family through when he signed those Blackout papers—and essentially his own death certificate. His siblings all believed him dead, killed in action.

Until Colt found him.

There was a lot they didn’t know about the past few years of his life, and a lot he didn’t know about them.

“His best buddy, his six.” Carson’s throat worked on a swallow.

Denver held his breath, waiting for it.

“He couldn’t handle things when he got out. He ended his own life.”

“Goddamn,” he muttered. Now he could see what fueled Oaks to help veterans.

Silence settled between Denver and Carson as they both processed it all.

Denver set the notepad down on the desk and crossed his arms. “You need structure. You need roles. Right now, this is a bunch of guys with guns and good intentions. If you want them to work like a team, they need to know their damn jobs.”

Carson grinned, tipping his chair back. “That’s why I asked you here.”

Denver snorted. “You asked the right guy.” He picked up a scribbled note, eyes catching on the scribbled name of the person who took the message: Willow .

“Where’s our baby sister? Why isn’t she in on this meeting?”

“Lunch with Rhae.”

The pen stilled in Denver’s hand. “Rhae?”

“Yeah, she’s the new therapist.”

His throat clamped at the word she.

Carson was still speaking. “Been with us about six months. Fantastic, really. The guys love her. She was more than qualified since she worked with the military before.”

“Therapist…” It wasn’t a question, but Carson took it as one.

“Yep, we’ve got two. Bella, the other therapist, has been here for almost a year. It’s been good for the program to have two people specializing in different things and offering different services depending on what our vets require.”

Denver fought to keep his expression neutral, but his brain was backpedaling.

Rhae . The name echoed in his mind like a half-buried secret.

It can’t be her. Why would she be here?

“Does this Rhae have a last name?” He trained his voice into something deceptively casual. “Sunshine, maybe?”

Carson chuckled. “Cute. No, it’s Rivers. So still nature.”

Denver felt like he’d just taken another blow to the head. His mind swirled. His ears that never quit ringing rang louder.

Carson kept talking, dipping into stats and logistics concerning the success rate for the vets.

But Denver had already tuned out.

It couldn’t be her. Sure, Rhae wasn’t a common name, but it wasn’t like she’d trademarked it.

Still, the thought lodged itself stubbornly in his mind. He glanced out the window, scanning the open field beyond the ranch house where the security office was situated for any sign of movement. As if he would look out and see her standing there…the beautiful woman who haunted his dreams.

Nothing. Just swaying grass and sunlight stretching long over the horizon.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming restlessly against his thigh. “Rhae Rivers,” he murmured under his breath, tasting the name on his tongue.

It tasted like…happy moments.

And bittersweet loss.

It shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t care.

But the question burned a hole straight through him—was she the same Rhae Rivers he knew?

He wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer or not.