Page 4 of Guarded Hearts

Her blood iced over. A second text came in.

The photo of her bedroom in the ranch house and the empty space above her king-sized bed brought a sharp gasp to her lips. Her mind spun, and the phone fell from her slack grip.

“Miss Layne? What’s the matter?” Faye rushed to her side and bent to scoop up the phone.

“We have to call the police!”

Faye’s eyes rounded. “The police?”

“Yes!” She grabbed the phone and dialed 911. Between asking Faye to check all the doors in the house to ensure they were locked, she told the 911 operator about the text she received.

Her stomach cramped with fear. She never got texts like that, and she didn’t recognize the number either.

But whoever it was…was watching her. They saw her hang the painting in the study.

They were close enough to snap a photo of herbed.

Within minutes, a police cruiser pulled into the driveway. Faye let the two officers in and led them to the study. Relief washed through Layne. She took one look at the capable men in uniform and rushed over, phone in hand.

They took the information from her.

“We’re going to need your phone, ma’am.”

“Take it.” She thrust it at them. Even touching the device that someone had so easily infiltrated made her feel queasy.

“Do you have someplace else to stay tonight, Miss London?” The middle-aged officer had kind eyes, something she was glad for. He put her more at ease than she felt.

She wrapped her arms around her middle, shaking her head. “I’m visiting from New York. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a business card. When he passed it to her, she took it in surprise.

“We’ll do what we can, but you are in need of private security.”

“Private? So…you can’t help me?” Her voice quivered. She glanced at the card. “Black Heart Security?”

He nodded. “They’re local. I recommend you give them a call.”

* * * * *

Carson wrapped his fingers around the glass of bourbon and crossed his ankles on top of his desk. The desk was small and more cluttered than he preferred, but he didn’t claim this space in the family’s Wyoming ranch for its square footage.

He claimed it for the view.

The large window overlooked a vista that had brought him a lot of peace during his years of combat. The sun was rapidly sinking behind the mountains, casting the world in a rusty haze.

In another part of the house, the phone rang, breaking the silence.

That sound was the equivalent of a commanding officer walking into a room—it demanded his attention. Black Heart Security was getting a call, which meant Carson had about two minutes before his peace was broken.

He brought the bourbon to his lips and drew the alcohol into his mouth. It warmed him, all spice and heat, coating his throat on the way down.

Milliseconds passed before he heard footsteps on the wood floor between Oaks’s office and his own. Halfway there, a second set of footsteps joined his brother’s. High heels.

Willow was going out with her friends.

Carson spun his chair toward the door just as his siblings entered. Oaks wore a scowl that Carson soon matched when he saw what their sister was wearing.

“You’re not going out in that. Go change.”

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