Page 35 of The Foreman
After, they lingered with towels in hand, dragging soft cotton slowly over skin that still quivered with the memory of release. Her touch was tender but insistent, sweeping across the planes of his chest and shoulders as though memorizing every inch. He allowed her to fuss at his side, though his jaw tightened when she uncovered the injury he kept trying to downplay. The angry bruise and wrapped bandage drew her closer. She bent and pressed a kiss to the edge, the taste of clean skin and faint antiseptic filling her mouth as her heart clenched with worry and fierce devotion.
“Let me be your anchor,” she whispered.
“You already are.” His voice broke, then steadied. “I’ll never let you go.”
He scooped her up, carrying her to the bed as if she weighed nothing, his arms closing around her with a strength that feltboth protective and claiming. Every step pressed her deeper into the dangerous truth that what bound them now was more than desire—it was love, fierce and undeniable.
She curled against him, her cheek pressed to the solid warmth of his chest, listening to the steady drum of his heart reverberating through her ear. Each beat anchored her more firmly, easing the last of the tremors still rippling through her. For the first time since this nightmare began, it felt like they were no longer running from the world. They were standing still, together, claiming a fragile moment of peace that belonged only to them.
But just as her eyes drifted closed, the secure line crackled to life, Jesse’s grim voice slicing through the quiet. “Haines was never the architect. Every channel Macy dug, every false log, it all threads back to one man—Dorian Kells. He isn’t new. He’s the hand behind everything. Tomorrow we don’t regroup—we go after the real master.”
Trace’s body went rigid beneath her, his hand tightening around her waist. Macy’s heart slammed hard, the warmth of their fragile peace shattered in a single breath.
The fight hadn’t ended. It had only shifted into something far more dangerous, and the real battle was still waiting for them.
11
TRACE
The war room felt colder than it had any right to after the night they’d just survived. The echo of Jesse’s warning still rang in Trace’s head as he walked Macy in, his hand firm on her back, guiding her past the secured doors. Adrenaline lingered, sweat and steam replaced by hard reality, and every step into the operations center felt like crossing from fragile peace back into open war.
Screens hummed with shifting data streams, the glow painting harsh lines across every face. Trace stood with arms folded, the weight of decision pressing heavier than any rifle he had ever carried. Around him, the Silver Spur team readied for what would be their boldest strike yet.
Meridian and Senator Haines had overreached. They thought Macy was the weak link. Tonight, she would be bait, and Trace would have to let her play the role. The thought burned like acid in his chest.
Macy leaned against the table, arms crossed, eyes bright despite the tension strung tight across the room. She looked like hell should have worn her down, yet she radiated fire, her chin lifted in defiance. She had already survived more than mostoperatives he’d served with. She was still here. Still ready to step into the fire again.
“Walk me through it one more time,” she said, tapping the drive Jesse had recovered from her earlier. “We go in, we let them think they’ve got me cornered, and while they’re gloating, you boys pull the net tight.”
Gavin leaned back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully on the end of a pen. “That’s the long and short of it. We’ll seed the meeting location with hidden receivers. Once Haines and Meridian’s fixer start talking, we’ll have it all recorded.”
“Easy as pie,” Macy said, grinning.
“More like a pie with C-4 baked in,” Hawke drawled.
Trace kept his expression hard, eyes locked on Macy. She seemed too calm, too ready, and it tore at him to think of letting her be bait. Every instinct urged him to pull her back, to shield her, even as he knew he had to let her walk straight into danger.
She caught it instantly, the flicker of doubt he tried to bury, and her gaze softened as if she’d reached straight through his armor. She tilted her head slightly, studying him like she could read the storm behind his ribs. “Stop glaring like that. You’re making me nervous.”
“You should be nervous,” he said. His voice came out harder than he meant. “You’re offering yourself up as bait to a pack of wolves.”
“That's okay. I've always liked wolves.” She straightened, her tone sharpening. “But I'm not doing this alone. We’re offering ourselves. I’m just the shiny lure, and when they bite, we'll reel them in.”
Reed cleared his throat. “She’s not wrong, Trace. They’ll come to her. But you’ll be right there. We all will.”
Jesse slid her a headset. “Run the checklist.”
“Comms check, vest seated, backup mag on the left,” she said. “If it turns ugly, I move on your call or Reed’s. If I lose you, I go to Hawke.”
Trace watched her the whole time. She did not glance down once.
Trace didn’t like it, but he nodded once. “Location?”
“Old train depot on the edge of the city,” Jesse said. “It's been abandoned for years, wide open sightlines, multiple entry points. They think it gives them the advantage. They won’t know we’ll already be there, dug in. I've had our techs working all night to wire the place up. We've got camera, audio and people already in place.”
Hawke leaned forward, fingers steepled. “We've seeded the rafters with surveillance. Two sniper nests, one east, one west. Reed will run point inside with you. Jesse and I will cover overwatch. Macy draws them in, gets them talking, then we tighten the noose.”
Macy lifted her chin. “Sounds tidy. Too tidy. What’s the part where it goes sideways?”
