Stolen Heart: The Hearts of Sawyers Bend, Book One

by Layne, Ivy

  Making a decision, I stood up, turned on the gas fireplace so the flames flickered warm and cheerful. Grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch, I said, “Come here.”

  Hope crossed the room to me, cupping her tea in both hands. I drew her down on the couch, putting her tea on the coffee table and pulling her close.

  “How bad is your arm?” She couldn’t take any decent painkillers this early in pregnancy. I knew it had to hurt like a bitch.

  Typical of Hope, she said, “It’s fine.”

  I pressed my lips to the top of her head, settling inside now that she was lying against me, her body warm in my arms. “Liar. I know it hurts. I’m going to call down to the kitchen, get you something to eat, but we need to talk to Hawk first. Are you up for that?”

  “As long as I don’t have to move,” she said, resting her cheek against my shoulder. I pulled the blanket up over her, careful not to put any pressure on the bandage on her arm.

  “You’re not going anywhere. You’re right, leaving isn’t the answer. I lost my head there for a minute.”

  “You’re entitled,” Hope murmured.

  “Keep that in mind because we’re not leaving, but I’m about to go a little crazy on security.”

  “Should I be worried about what that means?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “You know I do.”

  “And you acknowledge that we’re in danger until we find out who’s behind all of this?”

  Hope paused, knowing I was leading her down a path with my questions. “Considering you almost got run down, then shot at, then shot at again until your car was totaled and I had a tree stuck in my arm, then yeah, I’ll acknowledge we’re in danger.”

  I flicked her lightly on the nose. “Don’t be a smartass.” Hope didn’t comment. I pulled up my phone and called Hawk, asking him to meet us up in our suite. Then I called Savannah and asked if we could get soup and a sandwich for two.

  Hope struggled to sit up as Hawk came in, wincing as she moved. I handed her the mug of tea and we got down to business. Hawk was already working on the electronic perimeter around the property. We agreed to a second perimeter closer to the house and additional cameras.

  I’d talk to Cooper and Alice in the morning and see about ordering a new car from wherever they got the vehicles Sinclair Security used. No Maserati this time. I wanted one of the armored SUVs we’d used for high profile clients. Short of a rocket launcher, it was impossible to take one of those things down. Along with the armored car, Hope learned she was getting a full-time bodyguard and driver.

  As I’d known she would, she objected. “I don’t need a bodyguard. I have you. We’re together almost all the time and this is what you were trained for. This was your job. Are you saying there’s somebody better than you?”

  Maybe it was relief that she was okay, that she loved me, but I grinned at her peevish objections. “Of course not, Buttercup. No one is better than me. But two is better than one. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I don’t trust the hospital staff to keep their mouths shut. Everyone in this town is going to know you’re pregnant by tomorrow. Even if this isn’t about the will, if this is someone with a grudge, you being pregnant is only going to piss them off more.”

  Hope looked at Hawk. He shrugged a shoulder. “Griffen knows his business. You think he’s overreacting, and I’m telling you he’s not. We have extra people coming in, we’re setting up a perimeter, and I’ll get on ordering a new car and finding the driver/bodyguard. But until all of that is in place, as your head of security, I’m telling you that I want you to stay in the house and away from windows. Curtains are closed and no strolling the property. Understood?”

  Hope just stared at him.

  “My job isn’t to make you happy, Hope, it’s to keep you safe. Listen to your husband and listen to me. Make it easy for us, yeah?”

  “Okay,” Hope whispered. She didn’t like it, but she got it.

  Hawk stood. “I’ll call Cooper now and get the ball rolling. I’d expect your phone to ring as soon as I get off. They’re not going to take this well. You’re one of theirs, and no one comes after one of theirs.”

  He left and Hope sagged against the back of the couch, her face pale. “I wish you could take something for your arm,” I said.

  “Me too. I just need to eat, I think. I get so queasy in the morning and then I’m starving at night.”

  “Are you happy? About the baby?” I almost didn’t ask. I didn’t want to hear a No.

  Hope sipped her tea again and gave me a wan smile. “About the baby? Yeah. I’m happy about the baby. I’m happy about us. I’m not happy about the hole in my arm and someone trying to kill us, but I can’t do anything about that, so I guess I just want some dinner, sleep, and you.”

  “I can give you that. Savannah’s on the way with some food and then we’ll curl up in bed. Maybe watch a movie, go to bed early.”

  “That sounds perfect.” And it was.

  It was perfect right up until dawn—when everything went to hell all over again.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Hope

  It was my arm that woke me. It had ached and stabbed at me through the night, prodding me from sleep far too often. I blinked gritty eyes against the weak dawn light peeking through the curtains.

  Just as I thought about drifting back to sleep, I shifted to take the pressure off my arm. At the movement, my stomach hitched.

  Not again.

  Griffen rolled toward me, propping himself up on his elbow. The smile on his face was nothing I’d ever thought to see in real life. Open, happy, and overflowing with love. For me.

  The pain in my arm faded into the background. A goofy smile spread across my face. I couldn’t help it. I was so in love with Griffen Sawyer, and he loved me back. A miracle like that deserved a goofy smile.

  Blinded by the look on his face, the light in his green eyes, I leaned up to kiss him only to collapse back on the mattress with the yelp of pain.

  Dumbass. How could I have forgotten the hole in my arm?

  The stab of pain stole my breath and tried to turn my stomach inside out. Saliva flooded my mouth. Crap. I wasn’t getting off easy this time.

  The goofy smile long gone, I scrambled from the bed, ignoring the pain and nausea, ignoring everything on my race for the bathroom. I almost didn’t make it. I fell to my knees on the marble floor and wrenched up the lid, just in time.

  I hate vomiting. I don’t know anyone who likes it, but I really, really hate it. I especially hated knowing that Griffen was standing right behind me, watching me heave my guts up. I wanted to wave him off, but I was braced on my good arm and I wasn’t willing to risk moving the bad one. Someone needed to invent a decent pain med for pregnant women.

  After the first heave, I caught my breath and lifted my head up. “Don’t watch.”

  “Tell me how to help,” Griffen said, sounding a little desperate.

  I took a slow breath and managed to get out, “Ginger ale,” before the next heave hit my gut. I wasn’t ready for anything to drink yet, but the ginger ale—actually ginger beer so spicy it burned going down—was the only thing that settled my stomach. Griffen disappeared and was back seconds later.

  “The fridge up here is empty. I’ll run down to the kitchen and grab one out of the pantry.”

  I let him go without a word, too busy puking up everything I’d ever eaten. I don’t know how long I sat there, the cold floor freezing my bare skin, my good arm wrapped around the toilet seat and clammy forehead pressed to my wrist. Eventually, it stopped.

  I waited, just in case, but my stomach had decided it was thoroughly empty, and I was free to go.

  I staggered to my feet, flushed the toilet, and headed straight for my toothbrush, catching sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. Yuck. My face was too pale, dark circles bruised und
er my eyes, my hair a hopeless tangle.

  Once I’d brushed my teeth and ran a brush through my hair, I realized that I was hungry.

  Hungry? How the heck could I be hungry? Maybe because I’d barely eaten anything the day before and had just spent a million years throwing up.

  Whatever, I didn’t care. I wanted that ginger beer and then I wanted some food. Wandering back into the bedroom to check the clock, I realized that it was too early for Savannah to be on duty, and Miss Stiles might not be in the kitchen yet. If I wanted food, I’d have to make it myself. Not that I wasn’t fully capable. I could manage toast.

  I scooped up Griffen’s sweater from the floor, the cashmere settling around me, soft and scented of the woods and Griffen. He wasn’t getting this sweater back. I pulled on a pair of jeans I’d left on the floor of the closet, shoved my feet into a pair of ugly-but-warm slippers and left the room in search of food.

  No one else was up, not that I’d expected them to be. It was barely dawn, the weak light of the spring sunrise peeking through the closed curtains. Remembering that Hawk had told me to stay away from the windows, I went down the back staircase, my stomach growling in demand.

  On the lower level, voices echoed down the hall, bouncing off the stone. Voices? Was Miss Stiles here early? With Savannah? I didn’t hear a woman, though. Griffen. Griffen and a man I didn’t recognize. A strong accent. Someone who’d grown up in the mountains around here.

  We didn’t have anyone on staff with that accent. I would have remembered. The local accents varied from almost none—like me and my uncle Edgar and all the Sawyers—to a little Southern—like Maisie—to varying degrees of the mountain accents and dialects, some of which I could barely understand, and I’d lived here my whole life.

  Whoever was talking to Griffen was somewhere in between town and mountains. Not so strong I couldn’t understand, but strong enough. No one I recognized.

  I slowed down and listened. The hall was dark. Either Griffen hadn’t bothered with the lights, or he’d turned them off. The windows high in the wall of the kitchen filled the room with light, even at this early hour. I stayed in the shadows of the hall, inching toward the open doorway of the kitchen.

  I had to smother a squeak of terror when I heard Griffen say, “Put the gun down and we can talk.” His voice was solid and calm. Almost conversational. But he’d said gun.

  Gun? What now?

  I knew what Griffen would tell me to do. Run and not stop until I found either West or Hawk.

  I wasn’t doing that. Not exactly. Not if it meant leaving Griffen. There wasn’t time to wander all over the estate trying to find Hawk. I didn’t have my phone. I’d left it on my bedside table. It hadn’t occurred to me I’d need it for a trip to the kitchens.

  There was a house phone in the gym. I just had to pray it was still hooked up. I tried to remember where else I’d seen the house phones. Some of the bedrooms had them. Savannah’s for one.

  Savannah. Nicky. They were trapped in their rooms tucked behind the kitchens, unaware of the danger. I had to warn her.

  Flattening myself against the far wall of the corridor, I sent a silent thanks to the heavens that Griffen’s sweater was dark gray and my jeans a blue so deep it was almost black. I blended into the shadows of the dark hall, almost impossible to see from the far brighter kitchen.

  Griffen stood with his back to the door, weapon drawn and pointed at a man, thin and tall, his hair in greasy strings around a gaunt face, a wild look in his eyes. The man held Miss Stiles in front of him like a shield, her ample frame providing his lean one plenty of cover. With a shaking hand, the stranger pressed the barrel of a revolver to her temple.

  I crept past the open doorway, seeing a small plate of toast beside three cans of ginger beer. Despite the armed standoff only feet away, my heart warmed. He’d been making me toast. My husband had been making me toast.

  “How did you get in?” Griffen demanded as I cleared the open doorway and moved further down the hall.

  “You don’t put that gun down, I’m gonna shoot you.”

  “I’ll put it down,” Griffen promised, “I just want to know how you got in.”

  “Climbed in the back of this here’s car. Bitch never knew I was there ’til I made ‘er open the door for me.”

  I didn’t hear Griffen’s answer. The second I was all the way past the door I raced down the hall for the gym.

  The house phone hung on the far wall, a chart of rooms and numbers beside it. Jackpot. Heart racing, I fumbled for the receiver and dialed the number of the housekeeper’s room, praying the sound didn’t carry to the armed men in the kitchen.

  She answered after three rings with a distracted, “Hello?” I could hear Nicky saying something in the background and Savannah’s exasperated, “I don’t know, honey, I just handed it to you.”

  “Savannah?”

  “Hope. Is everything all right?”

  “No. Stay where you are and be quiet. Tell Nicky to be quiet. I’m in the gym. Someone broke in and he’s holding Miss Stiles hostage in the kitchens. Griffen is there, and they both have guns. They don’t know I’m down here. You need to call Hawk and then West.”

  “All right, okay. Hold on.” Silence for an endless minute. Then she was back, her voice breathless. “I locked the door to my rooms and hid Nicky in the bathroom. You go back upstairs and stay there, Hope. Get out of the gym.”

  “I’m okay. I’m safe. Just stay in your room and call Hawk and West.”

  “Hope! Don’t do anything dangerous. Just go up to your room and I’ll send Hawk straight to Griffen, I promise.”

  I hung up. I wasn’t going to do anything stupid, but I wasn’t running away, either.

  I left the receiver hanging from the cord. If Savannah called back I didn’t want the ring to echo down the hall to the kitchen, and I wasn’t going to waste time arguing.

  Savannah was calling Hawk and West. Help was on the way.

  I looked around the gym for anything I could use. Not a weapon. I wasn’t dumb enough to go running into the middle of the standoff between two men holding guns.

  All I needed was a way to give Griffen an edge. Given what he’d spent the last fifteen years doing, he had to be good with that gun. If I could distract the intruder, maybe…

  My eyes landed on the medicine balls stacked in the corner. Ignoring the pain in my injured arm, I grabbed two, one the size of a soccer ball, the other small enough to fit in my hand. Moving in silence, I made my way back down the hall to the kitchens, hugging the shadows.

  A woman’s whimper of fear made its way out of the room. Poor Miss Stiles. The intruder shouted into the quiet, his voice more high-pitched than before. He was starting to panic. “I told you to put that damn gun down. You know you’re not gonna shoot her.”

  “Are you planning to shoot me?” Griffen asked mildly as if they were chatting over a beer and pizza.

  “Damn straight, I’m gonna shoot you. Missed you in your office. Fuckin’ bad luck you leaning down. I almost had you. And the car flipping. Shoulda killed you. This time, I’m gonna blast off your mother-fucking face.”

  “Like you shot my father?” Griffen asked, sounding curious as if he hadn’t even registered the threat.

  “I wish I’d killed that bastard. Give whoever did it a medal. A goddamned medal. No one deserved killing like your daddy.”

  “Not sure I disagree with you on that,” Griffen said in that same maddeningly-relaxed tone. “But why did you want my father dead? What did he do to you?”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Hope

  I peeked into the room, staying out of the light. The intruder’s hand trembled with rage, his eyes burning, his arm a bar across Miss Stiles’ throat.

  “That bastard fired me. Said I was unreliable. One time I was drinking on the job. One goddamn time. I lost my job. I lost my wife. She
moved away with my boy. Couldn’t get another job in town when everybody found out why Sawyer let me go. Whole fucking life ruined because o’ your holier-than-thou daddy. And now you’re gonna be dead, too. You and all the rest of them.”

  His eyes flared with a kind of joyous intent, his arm steadied as he took aim on Griffen.

  Griffen was stuck. He could fire, but Miss Stiles was not slightly built and her body made a great shield.

  I knew Griffen. He wouldn’t risk her life.

  I would.

  I did.

  Crouched in the corner of the doorway, mostly out of sight, I rolled the medicine ball into the kitchen, straight at Miss Stiles’ feet. I ducked into the shadows, betting the intruder would look up. He did, his arm loosening on Miss Stiles’ neck as he turned to see where the ball had come from.

  The gun he had pointed at Griffen slid to the side. The second the barrel wasn’t pointed straight at Griffen, I palmed the smaller ball in my left hand and pitched it straight at the arm around Miss Stiles’ neck. My aim wasn’t great. I caught more of Miss Stiles than I’d meant to, but I figured a bruised jaw was better than dead.

  The man with the gun yelped in surprise, his arm loosening even more, body turning to the side as he looked for whoever had thrown the ball. I let him see me before diving out of the doorway and flattening my back against the stone wall. He could shoot at me, but a bullet wasn’t getting through that stone.

  I heard feet scuffle, a shout. A gunshot. My heart froze, but I didn’t dare look. I should run, take off for safety. I could be up the stairs and on the main level in less than two minutes. There wasn’t anything else I could do to help.

  My feet refused to move. I wasn’t leaving Griffen.

  A woman’s sobs leaked into the hall. Griffen’s voice, swearing. “Stop moving, you fucking asshole.”