Page 84 of Hunted Hearts
“What do you want in return?” he croaked.
“All the files. Every piece of evidence you’ve compiled on the charity. Everything about the shell corporation. Names. Transfers. If you want her back alive, you’re deleting all the information from your systems. No copies. No turning it in to the authorities. And no coming after us. You give us that, and you get your pretty girl back.”
Theo’s blood ran cold.
“I want proof of life,” he snapped.
“Check the phone.”
An image flashed on the screen of Juliette in a car, hugging her violin case, her eyes wide with fear.
For a moment, he thought he’d lose his shit. Pass out or vomit. Tear down the rafters just to bellow at the sky.
Denver’s hand came down on his shoulder, grounding him.
“Where are you taking her?” Theo managed to ask.
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you delete every bit of intel. No cops. No feds. No trail. I’ll be in touch.”
Why did they think in this digital age that they’d have only one copy?
“Deal.”
“You do what we say, or we’ll leave pieces of her in that lake you all seem to love so much.”
The line went dead.
Theo stared at the screen.
“Start deleting it.Everything,” he whispered.
He’d do anything to get her back, even giving up the evidence they were willing to bleed for and the mission they’d pulled all their strings to expose.
Even if it meant trading justice for her life.
Because Juliette wasn’t just some woman he’d been assigned to protect—she was the one who’d unraveled all his edges, softened the steel he’d forged himself from. And now that she was gone, nothing else mattered.
He’d burn it all to the ground to bring her home.
Then Denver’s phone buzzed. He brought it to his ear. “Willow? Slow down. What—”
Theo saw his brother pale.
“What the hell’s going on?” Theo demanded.
Denver put her on speaker.
“A p-pizza delivery,” his sister stuttered. “We didn’t order it. I thought one of the vets did, and it smelled so good. I didn’t eat lunch—”
“Willow!” he snapped.
“When I opened the box, there was writing inside the lid in red marker.”
“What does it say, Willow?” he practically yelled.
“It said, ‘We know where you live.’”
Oh god.
