Page 75 of Defiant Hearts

“We’re getting close. Two miles out,” he gritted out to Carson.

A few minutes later as they crested a rise, they caught sight of taillights a good distance ahead.

Wyatt pushed out a harsh breath. “Looks like the car.”

“It’s definitely them. Binos in the glove compartment.”

Wyatt whipped it open and pressed the binoculars to his eyes. What he saw made his blood run cold with terror. Then hot with rage.

Three heads. Not two.

“There are three people in that car.” His voice went cold with deadly intent. He dialed the office in one swipe of his finger across his phone. “Denver. Three people in the vehicle. What did we miss? What the hell did we miss?”

“Give me a second,” Denver returned. “I’m pulling everything again right now. Corbin’s financials all checked out clean when we ran him. No debt, no overspending, nothing unexplained hitting any account we found.”

“Did we check offshore?” Carson didn’t take his eyes off the road.

“Yes. Came back clean.”

“Check again,” Wyatt snapped. “Under his wife’s name.”

A short pause and the sound of keys clicking fast on the other end. Carson slowed the approach.

“Nothing under her name either.” Then a sharp intake of breath. “Wait. Fuck.”

“Fuck what?” His grip on the phone threatened to splinter it. “Tell us right now, Denver!”

“Not the wife,” he spit the words out in a rush. “He’s got a sister. Substantial money sitting in an account in the Caymans, moved through crypto in small enough increments that it never tripped any of the flags we usually watch for.”

“He’s on the take. And I can guess who’s paying him off.”

Lance was in that vehicle with Wyatt’s woman.

“I should have dug into extended family from the start.” Denver’s voice cracked with frustration. “I’m sorry. I missed it.”

Wyatt groaned. “We all fucking missed it.”

Now Whitley was being kidnapped. Or worse.

They gained on the sedan fast. Carson pushed the SUV harder. Suddenly the car veered off the road and the doors opened. Lance already had Whitley moving fast up a narrow trail toward the trees when Carson and Wyatt poured out of the SUV.

“ID on Lance Dillard!” Wyatt bit off, already sprinting toward the trail.

“I’ll take care of this son of a bitch,” Carson bit off a second before Wyatt heard Carson running and then a solid thud of a body hitting the ground.

“Bring a pack!” Wyatt called and took off.

He sprinted until he couldn’t anymore but steadily gained ground, boots pounding uneven terrain he read on instinct alone. His lungs burned and his muscles were already exhausted from the mountain rescue earlier that day, but he pushed through it without slowing.

A bellow readied in his throat, but he couldn’t risk ordering Lance to stop. He fixed his gaze on the stiff spine of the woman he loved and forced himself to move faster.

The trail switchbacked hard around an outcropping, and for one gut-wrenching stretch Wyatt lost them completely—no flash of movement through the trees, no sound but his own ragged breathing and boots on loose shale.

Then a scream cut through the wind ahead, shrill and unmistakably Whitley’s, and he didn’t need eyes on them anymore. He followed the sound instead, legs burning, until the trees broke open onto the plateau where Lance had cornered her against the rock face.

He closed the gap at a plateau where the trail narrowed, scrambling up steep rock with a mountain goat. Lance shoved Whitley ahead of him, clearly trying to force her up the face before Wyatt could reach her.

“Dillard!” he bellowed.