Page 20 of Tormented Hearts

“I will.” Her smile faded as soon as she and Hawk turned to go.

As they drove to the property, Hawk’s mood didn’t change. It only seemed to grow darker, and he’d added something new to his routine—checking the side mirrors, the rearview, the road—and her.

They bumped along the road lined thickly with trees. Then she spotted a truck ahead.

She threw out a hand and her fingers collided with Hawk’s steely forearm where it took over the console.

He glanced at her hand, and she jerked it back.

“There’s an SUV.”

“It’s from the training facility. It’s black and has a green logo. See? It’s Colson and the team looking for the vehicle that belonged to the men from this morning.”

They rolled past the SUV, and she turned her head to see the faces of the men in the front. They pulled out and followed them.

This day seemed endless already. So much had happened, and it wasn’t over yet.

When they stopped at the site, the driver walked up to Hawk’s window. He was tall and rugged in all the right ways, with the kind of weathered strength built for Wyoming.

Hawk climbed out, and Colson gave him a nod. “We’ll do the sweep. I’ll check in when we find the vehicle.”

When. Not if.

His confidence should have comforted her, but she was even more on edge as she and Hawk began pulling out supplies. He handed her gloves, and she slipped them on. Then he grabbed a shovel and they set off toward the area she started marking out that morning.

Her father’s instructions were precise, and she paced the area where the ridge bent. Hawk stayed close behind her, barely making a sound.

She loved her father, but they didn’t have an easy father-daughter relationship. She considered this the last thing she could ever do for him…and then she’d be free.

She counted under her breath. “Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight.”

She stopped.

The air felt different here. That sounded ridiculous, but it did.

As if the ground knew it was keeping a secret.

“This is it.”

Hawk didn’t question her. He only took the shovel and began digging.

The first few minutes were made of dirt, roots and the harsh scrape of metal cutting into packed earth. Sinead helped where she could, clearing loose soil with gloved hands, her heartbeat climbing with every inch they uncovered.

Then the shovel struck something solid.

The sound rang through her.

Hawk froze.

Sinead stopped breathing.

He crouched and worked more carefully, clearing the earth away until the shape emerged.

A box.

For one suspended moment, neither of them moved.

Then Hawk lifted it free and set it between them. It wasn’t large or ornate. Just metal darkened by age and sealed tight enough to survive years in the ground.