Chapter One

L ayne sat in a cushioned wicker chair, her legs curled under her. A fresh Wyoming breeze wafted through the open window, bringing the scent of pine that was so different from the smog and exhaust of city life.

She adored the nonstop bustle of New York City where her family's art and antique business was located, but she couldn't deny that peace settled in her soul when she visited their Wyoming ranch.

The relentless pace of the past few weeks, including a whirlwind four days spent in Spain to negotiate an estate filled with turn-of-the-century antiques, was behind her. Now she could sit on the sprawling deck outside and sip coffee while enjoying the chill morning air. She could go down to the pond and stare at the enormous sky reflected in its surface.

She could go through the fifty-six emails in her inbox.

Issuing a sigh, Layne started to reach for her phone. It rested on a small table beside her, the screen dark. How she hated to pick it up and address all the demands on a busy businesswoman like herself. So many interior designers waiting for word about the perfect piece for a client's mantel.

Instead of picking up her phone, she reached for her after-dinner coffee. Typically it was some overpriced brew in a recycled paper cup. But this was freshly ground and brewed by her family's housekeeper. Faye had been with the Londons since Layne was a little girl. Whenever Layne came to Golden Horizon, she looked forward to the creature comforts that Faye provided.

Especially the coffee and her specialty—honey buns.

Layne savored the brew for a moment before setting aside the mug and reaching for her phone. She scrolled through her inbox, deleting a few emails and mentally prioritizing which ones to answer first.

"Miss Layne? I hate to disturb you. You look so peaceful."

She looked up from her phone into the housekeeper's eyes. Every year that passed, new age lines appeared on Faye's face, but they only enhanced her big smile.

She set her phone in her lap. "It's so good to be here. I can't tell you how grueling the last few weeks have been."

"You deserve the time off, that's for sure."

She drew a sip of coffee into her mouth and moaned at the flavor. "I think I need to spend more time here. Nobody makes coffee like you, Faye."

The short older woman bustled to another wicker chair and fluffed a pillow. "I'm glad you enjoy the coffee. Your father says the same every time he's at the ranch. I'll leave you to your peace in a moment. I only came to tell you that a package arrived for you."

She perked up, setting aside her coffee. "A package? I wasn't expecting anything."

"I'll bring it now if you'd like."

"Where did you put it?"

"In your study."

She followed the woman into the house and down the hall to her personal study. Faye pointed at a bulky rectangular package leaning against the desk.

She sucked in a breath. She knew the look of a package containing a painting when she saw it. After all, she was an art dealer.

Faye held out a small box cutter. "I also brought this for you to open it."

With a nod, she took the cutter and sliced through the tape. When she opened the box and caught a whiff of wood and canvas, she was positive she had a painting on her hands.

Excitement filled her. A glance at the label revealed nothing as to who sent it to her, but a card inside said it all.

It was from a collector she worked closely with quite often. They had a good rapport, and she gave him a lot of business. It wasn't surprising to receive a gift. People did that in her world.

But as soon as she unwrapped the precious art from a layer of paper and protective foam, she let out a gasp. Her fingers fluttered to her lips as she stared at the oil landscape she had admired so many times in the art dealer's private collection.

"It's lovely," Faye said, looking over her shoulder.

Too speechless to utter a word, she nodded. The painting was stunning . The orange and gold hues of a sunset over a field of wheat was going to be the perfect addition to their Wyoming ranch they called Golden Horizon.

"I know the perfect spot to hang it." She carried the painting to the wall next to the big window overlooking a similar sunset. Twisting, she arched her brows at her housekeeper. "What do you think, Faye?"

She gave a smile and bobbed her head. "Like you said—perfect, Miss Layne. I'll get the hammer and nails."

Minutes later, Layne stepped back to study the stunning piece. The famous painter was one of her favorites. She was privileged to already own a piece by the same artist back in her New York City loft. But this…

Her phone buzzed. She tore her stare away from the brushstrokes and reached for the device.

A glance at the screen ripped the smile off her face. She froze.

I think the painting would look better above your bed.

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 her bed.

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."

At twenty-four, their sister went out far too often for their liking. She also had far too many boyfriends. No wonder, when the only clothes she owned barely covered her stomach. And their sister was "blessed." Really blessed.

Willow let out an annoyed sigh. "This protective older brother act is getting old. Try having six big brothers telling you what to wear and when you can go out."

Carson leveled a look at her. "We stopped telling you when to go to bed."

She rolled her big gray eyes. Most women needed baby blues or beautiful browns to garner attention from the opposite sex. Willow managed to do it with gray. The same gray all of them had.

"Only because you realized smothering me with a pillow to get me to go to sleep was going to land you in jail."

"Well, you do talk a lot." Oaks's lips twisted in a smile he tried to hide.

Carson focused on Willow again. "Where are you going?"

"Out. With my friends."

"That doesn't tell me where you'll be. You know it's a requirement of living here."

At that, Willow balked. Of all the Malones, she loved the ranch the most. Though they were raised in Texas, Wyoming was her stomping ground, and she owned it—a little too much, in Carson's opinion. It didn't help that the ranch was situated outside of the town of Willowbrook and as a kid she'd believed it was named after her.

Willow's red stilettos clicked on the floor as she walked over to the leather sofa that took up one entire wall of Carson's small office and flopped down on the cushion. "When are you guys going to realize I'm not in high school anymore? You don't need to babysit me."

"No. We need to protect you." Carson advanced on her, one slow step at a time. "People know what we do. That makes us all targets. The sooner you fall in line with us and stop bucking the rules, the happier you'll be."

She tilted her jaw in that defiant way that reminded him of their late mother. It also told him that his sister was going to put up a fight.

He really should have had the rest of his bourbon. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Fine—go out with friends. But put on a sweater."

Her dark brows shot up.

"It gets cool at night." That wasn't the reason he wanted her to wear a sweater, and they all knew it. But it kept Willow from arguing further.

She planted her heels on the floor and shot up to her full height, a towering six feet in those shoes. It didn't help that she already had the looks and body of a model.

Leaning in, she planted a kiss on Carson's cheek. When she pulled back, she wrinkled her nose. "You could use a shave."

He scuffed his knuckles over his stubbled jaw, feeling the smear of lipstick she left behind. "You've got your concealed carry?"

She patted the miniscule handbag hanging on a thin silver chain over her shoulder.

Oaks goggled at it. "Your weapon can't possibly fit into that thing."

"I assure you it does. Along with tampons, lipstick and my ID." She breezed to the door.

Her list had the effect she wanted. At the mention of tampons, every brother went running for the hills. Her ploy worked—they let her walk out wearing the same outfit she walked in wearing.

As soon as Oaks turned to Carson, they were all business.

Carson lifted his jaw. "I heard the call come in. What was it?"

"Potential client."

"They called late. Must be urgent."

Oaks nodded and held out a scrap of paper with an address written in his neat, blocky writing.

Carson took it. He skimmed the address. Looked up at his brother.

Only one person was taking this call.

"Mine."