Page 30 of The Foreman
Reed gave a dry chuckle. “Keep your head in the game, little girl. We’re here to make sure you don’t trip any alarms you can’t talk your way past.”
Hawke leaned forward, grinning. “I don’t mind the alarms. I just mind running in boots on asphalt. But if Trace says you’re worth it, guess we’ll find out.”
Trace cut them both a glance. “Eyes sharp. This isn’t a joyride.”
Macy arched an eyebrow. “Says the cowboy who thinks I can’t handle myself.”
Reed snorted. “You two sound like Harper and I..."
"Better than Jesse and Keely," Trace retorted.
"Hey, I heard that," said Jesse over the comms.
"The lot of you sound like some weird married couple, and I don't mean with the women," said Hawke. "Try not to kill each other before we get the proof we need.”
"Is he always this much fun?" asked Macy.
"No. You're catching him on a good day," quipped Reed.
Trace caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “You sure about this?” he asked.
“You asking if I can get in,” she said, eyes never leaving the screen, “or if I can help keep us alive once we’re inside?”
“Both.”
Her mouth curved. “Then yes, and yes. You going to keep questioning me, or finally admit you like having me on your team?”
Trace grunted. “We’ll see if you’re still smiling when the alarms start singing.”
“They won’t. Not if you follow my lead.”
That drew his gaze. “Your lead?”
“Don’t get huffy, cowboy. You get to play muscle. I’ll play brains. Classic arrangement. Ask Reed. I've heard Harper say it works for she and Reed.”All three men looked at her. "What? Just because you banned me from the club doesn't mean I haven't kept up with my friends."
The corner of Trace's mouth twitched, the closest thing he’d given her to a smile since they'd left the Iron Spur. “You call me muscle again and I’ll turn this muscle to turning your cute little ass to bright red when this is over.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Promises, promises.”
He strangled the groan that rose in his throat as Hawke and Reed chuckled. She knew exactly how to needle him, and part of him suspected she did it to keep him sharp. It worked.
Reed muttered, “Damn place looks hungrier than I remember.”
“Buildings don’t get hungry,” Hawke replied, adjusting his rifle. “People inside do. Let’s hope we don’t end up on the menu.”
Trace and Macy left the SUV three blocks out, the night pressing heavy around them. Hawke and Reed peeled off to set up overwatch and exfil cover, their voices a low growl in Trace’s earpiece promising backup if things went south.
The alleys swallowed them in damp shadow as they closed on the glass-and-steel bulk of Nexus, the building looming like a predator waiting for the first mistake. Every step echoed too loud, every gust of wind carried the bite of risk. Trace kept his frame low, Glock in his hand and an automatic rifle strapped across his back. His gaze stayed sharp, sweeping every corner with relentless focus. Macy tugged him toward a side entrance hidden near the loading bay, her confidence sharp enough to cut through the tension.
He held up his hand, signaling for her to stop. “Focus. It's up to you to get us inside so we can get the evidence.”
“Good. No pressure." They approached the door. "Keypad’s the same." She grinned. "They never updated the firmware,” she whispered. “Lazy. Watch my back... oh wait, that's wrong. Watch my six.”
She crouched by the keypad, tool roll already unspooled beside her. The dim light caught on the clipped wires as her fingers moved with practiced ease.
“Older relays chatter if you pulse the power at the seam. Locksport 101,” she said, working the leads with quick hands. “Dana would laugh at this.”
He planted himself between her and the open lot, every sense strung tight, the weight of the Glock steady in his palm, pulse drumming as the night pressed against them. The open expanse felt like a rifle scope waiting to line them up. Her fingers worked furiously, the bypass tool glinting in the dim light, tiny sparks reflecting in her eyes. Each second stretched, thick with the threat of discovery. Then the pad blinked green, sharp against the dark.
