Page 14 of The Foreman
Macy sat cross-legged on the worn leather couch in the main room of Trace’s home, a legal pad balanced on one knee, and a pencil tucked behind her ear. She hadn't slept well the previous night. The sheets had felt too stiff, the room too quiet, the darkness too heavy. Every time she closed her eyes, her thoughts spun like static—images of Chet’s face, the cold shock of his accusations, and the weight of Trace’s hands during that first correction. Her body was tired, but her nerves wouldn't shut off. Even wrapped in the borrowed warmth of one of Trace’s flannel blankets, she’d felt exposed. Vulnerable.
This morning it wasn’t just Trace’s intensity or the charged glances they kept exchanging that kept her on edge. It was the creeping certainty that something unseen had already found its way in, and was just waiting for the right moment to strike. She could feel it.
The house held its silence like a secret, every creak of the old wood amplified in the stillness. The air pressed in close, not with warmth, but with the suffocating hush of anticipation. It wasn’t just quiet. It was the kind of quiet that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise, as if the space itself were holding its breath, waiting for something to shift.
Trace had given her time to herself, said he had work to do on the southern fence line. She’d taken the time to try and recall every single detail about her job at Nexus Technologies, no matter how small. Dates. Conversations. Passwords. Conflicts. She didn’t know what would matter. But she was done pretending she could ride this out on charm and cleverness.
She was in real trouble, and Trace, for all his gruff detachment and iron control, had stepped into the role of protector before either of them could name it. Maybe he didn’t want to admit it aloud, but his actions spoke louder than any vow. Whether it was instinct, duty, or something deeper, he waswatching over her, and she wasn’t sure if that terrified her more than the men hunting her.
When the front door opened, Macy jolted and sat up straighter. Trace entered first, broad-shouldered and silent as ever. Behind him came Jesse Bryant and Reed Malone. Both were dressed like they could blend into a rodeo or a boardroom, armed with the same cool competence that made Silver Spur Security legendary.
She immediately hated how relieved she felt to see them.
“Afternoon,” Reed said, nodding to her. “Mind if we come in?”
“It’s his house,” Macy replied, standing. “I’m the squatter.”
“Temporary guest,” Trace corrected as he passed her.
His hand brushed the small of her back. Just a touch. Just long enough to assert quiet control, the heat of his palm branding her through the thin fabric of her shirt. It wasn’t possessive, but it didn’t need to be. It grounded her, warned her, comforted her—all in a single breath. Her spine stiffened, a tremor tightening low in her abdomen. He was the reason her pulse kept spiking at the most inconvenient times, the reason her thoughts tangled in knots of heat and hunger she had no business feeling.
The men settled in while Macy gathered her notes. Trace remained standing, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like a silent enforcer. The way his shirt clung to the carved lines of his chest and the tension rippling along his forearms made her mouth go dry. There was something feral behind that stillness, something coiled and waiting, and it thrilled her more than she wanted to admit. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t needed to. His presence alone demanded obedience. Macy’s stomach fluttered, heat curling low in her belly as she dragged her gaze away and tried to remember how to breathe.
Reed started. “We need you to walk us through everything you can remember. From the beginning. Don’t skip details because you think they’re irrelevant.”
Macy nodded. “Okay. I joined Nexus Technologies three years ago as an executive assistant to one of the senior project managers. They do high-level development in AI-assisted defense systems. Mostly prototype work. Some DARPA contracts. Some private sector testing. Everything was fine until about six months ago.”
Jesse leaned forward. “What changed?”
“My supervisor—Chet Wrigley—started locking his office whenever he left. Even to grab coffee. He used to be careless with security protocols. Then suddenly he wasn’t. And people started getting reassigned or... disappearing.”
“Disappearing?” Reed asked.
“Not fired. Just... gone. No one would say where they went. HR clammed up. Emails bounced back. My friend Dana in logistics vanished overnight. I checked her place the next day; it was empty. She didn't leave a forwarding address.”
Trace's jaw ticked. “Why didn’t you report that?”
“I did. To HR, and when they did nothing, to the police. They brushed it off as a personnel shuffle. I brought it up again to the head of HR and got told to mind my own business. A week later, I got approached by a federal agent.”
Jesse and Reed exchanged glances.
“What agency?” Jesse asked.
“Could’ve been FBI, maybe Homeland, I don't think he actually said. Just flashed me a badge. He had that too-slick look, the kind that says he knows exactly how much power he wields and enjoys using it. He never gave a name. Just leaned in and said I could help them expose something internal.”
Reed narrowed his eyes. “Describe him.”
Macy hesitated. “Tall. Thin build. Neat haircut, like military standard. Sharp voice. Cool smile. Wore a charcoal suit like it came with instructions. He clocked my range bag by the door,” she said flatly. “Asked if I liked guns. That is when I knew he was baiting me.”
Jesse frowned. “Standard intimidation package.”
Macy nodded. “He told me there was a leak inside Nexus. Said people were feeding classified tech to overseas buyers. He wanted me to drop a flash drive in Chet’s machine. Said I’d be doing the country a favor.”
Trace stepped forward. “And you refused?”
“Hell yes, I refused.” Macy folded her arms. “I’m impulsive, not stupid. I didn’t want to be the next employee who disappeared.”
“What happened after that?”
