Page 16 of The Foreman
“Not really, but you didn’t give us a lot of options. No one is doubting you now. You’re not a liar. I’ve seen enough liars to know.”
She swallowed. “And what do you see when you look at me?”
His eyes dropped to her mouth, then lower, before dragging back up.“Far too much.”
The tension in the room thickened, electric and close.Before she could speak again, a low chime sounded from Trace’s tablet on the table. He stepped over and tapped the screen.
His whole body went still.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Drone alert,” he said. “Perimeter breach. Something flew over the ridge minutes ago. Just inside our northern buffer zone.”
Macy’s heart dropped. “You think it’s them?”
“Not certain. But I do think someone knows where you are.”
The illusion of safety cracked like thin ice beneath a boot heel. Whatever sanctuary they'd carved out inside that quiet house shattered, the air suddenly too sharp, too aware, as if every shadow now had eyes. The world outside had found its way in.
5
TRACE
Trace stood over the tablet, jaw clenched, continuing to watch the blinking red notification. Northern buffer zone breached. Drone flyover. No signature. No clearance.
Macy hovered at his shoulder. "Tell me that thing’s just glitching, or are we about to star in our own low-budget action thriller? Because if so, I demand better lighting and a stunt double."
"I don’t keep equipment that glitches." He tapped a command, pulling up the thermal overlay. A faint trail of heat signatures moved across the ridgeline, not animal, not random. Controlled. Tactical. "Gear up. We’ve got company."
Macy blinked. "Company, as in..."
"Corporate mercs, if I had to guess." Trace reached for the secure handset mounted near the console and punched in a code. A soft click confirmed the encrypted line. "Jesse, it’s Trace. We’ve got movement. Northern buffer’s been breached. Thermal shows a team sweeping the ridge. Confirmed hostiles."
Jesse’s voice crackled back. "ETA for contact?"
"Minutes. I’m not waiting. Macy’s with me. We’ll hold until you can get eyes or backup on us. Safe House Echo might be the fallback. I’ll keep you posted."
"Copy that. Stay frosty."
Trace hung up, turned, and crossed to the nearby gun cabinet. He opened it fast and silent, pulling out a suppressed carbine, two handguns, and a compact shotgun.
She swallowed. "Oh my god, you have a whole armory in your living room."
"What do you expect, it’s Texas."
She gave him a look, but took the pistol he offered, letting him guide her hands as he double-checked the safety. "Stay behind me. Stay low. No freelancing."
"Bossy."
"Whatever it takes to keep you alive." He locked eyes with her. "Follow my lead and we'll both stay that way."
They moved through the house like shadows. Trace made sure that the perimeter defenses—motion-triggered lights, cameras, buried seismic detectors—were still working. Every inch of the property was under surveillance. He spared one second to glance back. Macy was following, face pale but steady.
Good girl.
They reached the reinforced back porch. Trace dropped into a low crouch, rifle steady against his shoulder as he brought the scope to his eye. The treeline was still at first, a canvas of shadows and branches. Then something shifted—a ripple in the brush, the brief shimmer of movement. One figure, then another, flitted through the trees like predators in lockstep.
Their pace was low, deliberate. Coordinated. They moved with the fluid menace of wolves, every step screaming trained aggression. His pulse spiked, fingers tightening around the grip. This wasn’t a drill. This was a hunt, and the team of trainedkillers sweeping through his land weren’t the ones doing the stalking.
