Page 19 of The Foreman
Trace cut the engine, then guided the truck backward into a thicket of cedar brush, using the dense undergrowth and slope of the terrain to conceal the vehicle from aerial or roadside view.Only once it was thoroughly hidden did he speak. "We stay here until I say otherwise. No signals. No calls. Nothing unsecured."
Macy nodded. "Got it."
He grabbed his go bag from the back and walked Macy to the door, unlocked it, but stepped inside first, then stood back and waved her through. The interior was sparse but efficient—weapons locker, emergency supplies, one bed, one couch.
"One bed?" she asked.
He raised a brow. "I'm not planning on sleeping."
She walked past him with a sway in her hips that made it hard not to follow with his eyes. With an easy flick of her wrist, she placed the handgun Trace had given her on the nightstand. Then she dropped onto the bed, limbs stretching across the comforter in a fluid sprawl, her hair fanning out like a challenge. She propped herself on one elbow and flashed him a smile that dared him to do something about the heat still crackling between them. "I’ll try not to snore."
He grunted, locking down the perimeter. But he watched her as she stretched out, her body lengthening, that wicked curve of her mouth impossible to ignore.
She saved his life today. The realization hit him with more force than the bullet meant for his head. His instincts had always been precise, his decisions cold and clean, but Macy made everything messy.
She wasn’t supposed to matter this much. And yet, in that moment, when her body collided with his and knocked them both out of the line of fire, something shifted. Not just lust. Not just adrenaline. Something deeper. The kind of change that didn’t just graze the surface but rewrote the rules beneath.
That should terrify him, but it didn't.Instead, it made him want her even more.
Tomorrow, they’d hunt the bastards who came for her. But tonight, he had her, and he wasn’t letting go.
Before he could act on the thought, a sudden knock split the quiet. Three sharp, deliberate raps echoed through the safe house, each one colder than the last, sharp as a warning.
No one else knew they were here. Trace’s hand snapped to the sidearm holstered at his hip. In one fluid motion, he unsnapped the clasp, drew the weapon, and racked the slide, the metallic click loud in the stillness. He moved fast and low toward the entry point, every muscle primed, heart hammering with the certainty that whatever came next wouldn’t be friendly.
Macy sat up, eyes wide and she reached for the gun on the nightstand.
"We expecting company?" she whispered.
"Not unless Jesse sent a ghost."
He checked the camera feed.The man on the porch wore a suit and was holding up an ID.
Trace swore under his breath. "Shit, this can’t be good."
6
MACY
The knock on the door came hard enough to rattle the frame. Trace had her pressed behind him before she could blink, gun already drawn, eyes scanning. When he opened it, a wiry man in a tailored charcoal suit stood on the threshold. Trace let out a breath that sounded of relief.
"He's one of the Silver Spur runners."
The man had wind-chapped cheeks and a sharp-eyed glance that swept the room and dismissed Macy in the same breath. He handed Trace a drive and said, “Signal's dirty. Someone might be listening in. We've scrubbed it and changed the codes, but you're not as invisible as you were an hour ago."
"And the evac vehicle?"
The runner nodded. "Camo netting held. Still hidden. But you’re gonna want to use the other one when you move out."
Trace gave a short nod and took the drive without a word. The runner didn't wait for thanks. He didn’t speak until the man was gone, disappearing down the road on foot. He watched the camera waiting until he saw the camo netting covering the vehicle shift slightly in the breeze. It confirmed the vehicle was positioned in a dry wash a few ridgelines out.
Trace had known where the vehicle would be thanks to the hidden surveillance grid Silver Spur maintained across their safehouse network. The relay hadn’t just scrambled their signal, it had delivered a one-time location ping buried deep in the encryption layer. Clean. Untraceable. Silent.
Only once the vehicle had vanished from sight did Trace lock down the compound and holster his weapon. His shoulders dropped a fraction, the tension shifting from external threat to something more personal. He turned to Macy, who hadn’t said a word since the runner arrived.
Trace turned on his heel and headed for the back of the house without another word, his tension evident in the tight set of his shoulders. Macy followed, keeping pace as he moved past the kitchen and toward a narrow alcove that housed the utility systems. He didn’t glance back, but she stayed close, noting the shift in his energy—focused, grim, controlled.
He crouched by a small storage shelf, pushed aside a stack of emergency rations, and snapped open a discreet panel embedded in the wall. Neatly arranged tools gleamed under the overhead light. He grabbed a diagnostic scanner and turned to the side door leading to the covered breezeway.
