Page 81 of Guarded Hearts

Oaks made a low noise in his throat. A sound that might mean he had something to say and was holding back, or he might just be releasing a growl of agreement.

Carson swept a look over the back of the truck. So many weapons and boxes of ammo.

Colt cocked a brow at him in question.

“Looks adequate.”

“Good. Get in.” Jumping to the ground, Colt hurried to climb behind the wheel.

Carson and Oaks jumped in the back. The wind kicked up, whipping at Carson’s hair and sending the sweat-dampened strands off his forehead. The tires buzzed on the road leading to Greenwood Place.

Only douchebags lived in new communities around here—the fake cowboys who were really city slickers with their three-bay garages and million-dollar properties and their lawn companies.

As they passed several paved driveways lined with new trees as cover, he gripped the cold steel of the rifle in his hand.

She might not be here. He could have taken her away.

He issued a ragged exhale through his nostrils. Oaks slanted a look at him but said nothing.

Colt zoomed past a lane. In good weather, it would be dappled with sun. Now it was dark and shadowed.

“Stop! Back up! This is it!” Carson called to his brother.

He slammed the truck in reverse. The engine whined. When Colt jerked it into forward motion again, Carson and Oaks rocked in the bed.

“He made a mistake in taking her.”

He didn’t mean for Oaks to overhear, but his brother had hearing just as excellent as the rest of them.

“He has no damn clue who he’s dealing with. But he’s about to find out.” Oaks checked the chamber of his rifle too.

Carson’s mind raced with various plans of attack. They flew through his mind rapid-fire. They could hit the front door one after another, split up and find Patel. Or kick in every door leading in and attack from three sides.

His heart thudded in a sickening rhythm as adrenaline pumped through him.

He couldn’t lose her. Not again. Not like this.

Through the newly planted trees, he caught sight of the large home, the dark wood and stone that was native to the region cladding the front and climbing to a tall gabled peak.

In other rescue missions, they might park far away and go in on foot. That wasn’t the Malone way. Colt drove right up to the front steps.

Carson braced his hand on the side of the truck bed and launched himself over it. He landed on the ground and took off in a swift crouch, weapon raised.

Colt and Oaks flanked him on his six. At the door, he signaled for his brothers to stop. Then he raised his rifle and shotoff the lock. Oaks raised a boot and kicked the door in a second later.

The heavy wood blasted off the interior wall. Silence permeated the space.

The interior wasn’t lit. Only a lamp burned in the far corner, casting enough light for Carson to see that Layne wasn’t here.

His heart clutched painfully. But she was here. Somewhere.

He jerked his head for his brothers to follow. His footfalls were silent on the pristine hardwood floors. When they reached the end of the open floor plan, a hallway branched east and west.

“Split up. Search the place,” he murmured, low but commanding.

He took the right. His brothers scattered in other directions. Moving swiftly, he sneaked up to a closed door and threw out his hearing. No voices came through that thick wood.

No screams did either.

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