Page 43 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)

It’s not rocket science

R ock. Hard place. Welcome to hell. Trace felt as useless as a sunroof on a submarine. Cole had spent all afternoon on the phone, and he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. Instead, he seemed to think life should go on as normal.

Getting into scrapes as a rebellious teenager was one thing. Running, fighting, whatever his plan was, with truly awful criminals who had tortured him was something else entirely.

So what was she to do? Trace wasn’t a mercenary or a Navy SEAL. She was really nailing her hostage squats lately, so at least her quads would hold out if she got captured.

Ugh. Trace kept one ear trained on Cole’s conversations while getting ready for the wedding.

The skimpy getup didn’t go at all with the dress. It had nothing to do with the fact that she would have felt ridiculous, hanging out with her friends while her vagina was catching the breeze.

When summer came, Trace would mourn the loss of boot season.

In front of the hotel mirror, she turned in a circle.

Old Trace neutral was pastel and khaki. New Trace neutral was chocolate suede knee-high boots with an earthy green slip dress.

A brush of sparkly stuff on the eyes, moody liner, kissable lip gloss, hair actually cooperating—Irish hair thrives in rain—and she liked the woman looking back.

Trace stepped out of the sink-closet area outside the bathroom, into the wee entry and leaned against the wall at the corner.

Last time she’d checked on him, Cole had been pacing in front of the windows.

Before that he’d been sitting on the foot of the bed with his hand scrunched in his hair.

Whatever had happened in town had been a huge shock to his boss, apparently.

No “dickwad tuxes or ties” to Asher’s wedding, per the instructions. Cole had been grateful, and had stepped up his look with a black button-up and leather boots with his jeans. Of course, he knew how to bring it, and had fixed his hair, but it was wild now, after another stressful call.

Standing in front of the window, one hand in his pocket and the other holding the phone, he huffed a sigh and stepped back to adjust his footing.

“Thanks. I’ll let my parents know to expect a few security guards…

I’ll drive home first thing in the morning…

The second you know anything, call me, alright?

I want to know how the hell they found me and why. ”

As he lowered the phone and tossed it on the bed, he turned and halted mid-breath. His shoulders visibly untensed and mouth drifted into one of those slow, necessary smiles.

He crossed straight to her and joined his hands with hers.

Trace rose to her toes and nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the vacation scent of him. Different from home. Sandalwood hotel soap instead of her lavender shampoos. Cool, salty air infused into his pores.

Easing back, she looked up at him and touched another light kiss. “I am so sorry.”

He shook his head and looped his arms around her middle. “No, I’m sorry. This shit isn’t supposed to happen. I had so many layers of protection, so I could come home and never need to look back.”

“Your boss doesn’t know how they found you?”

“Everything looks tidy on his end. When a job’s done, I hand over all my intel, wash my hands of it, and essentially erase any targets from my back.”

“And you can’t think of any reason they might be after you anyway?”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was in deep cover, infiltrated, convinced them that I was one of them. They were… displeased with me.”

“They didn’t already get their revenge? I…

” For his sake, she needed to say it. To make sure he knew he had an ally in her, knowing how afraid he was to let her parents know what all he had done.

To make sure he knew that she would never fully understand what he’d gone through, but that she was here for him.

“I was under the impression that they tortured you?”

He released one of her hands, then the other, and moved to sit at the foot of the bed.

Elbows on his knees, he looked into nowhere.

“They did. Fucking broke me. If revenge is what they’re seeking, they got it.

Believe me.” He rubbed his hands over his face and sat up straight.

“My work was able to track down Guillaume—my friend from this afternoon. He spent a few hours getting patched up at the hospital under an assumed name, no assault charges were filed, then straight to PDX airport. The trail ran cold from there, but unless he’s stupid enough to fly from Portland to Seattle to get to Foothills, he’s probably not going to bother us anymore.

From the conversation part of our encounter, he didn’t sound like he had much loyalty toward his employer, so good chance he’s not heading back to work, either. ”

“I heard you saying they’re sending security to look after my parents?”

He nodded.

“What about you? Don’t you get a security team? What if it had been more than one today?” If she didn’t know him better, she might think he was cracking a smirk.

He wrapped his hands around her hips and fell into a full-on grin. “See, the thing is, they might not be as free in their words if they think someone else is watching. Whenever you’re not with me, you’ll have security. Until this is sorted out.”

She growled, looking up at the ceiling and puffing out her cheeks as she considered the utter, shitty consequences, then looked back at him. “I work at a school. I can’t exactly bring my own security. And if I’m at risk, and bring that risk even close to the students…?”

“I’m sorry Trace. I didn’t even think of that.” He pushed to his feet and paced toward the windows. “They would be discreet. You wouldn’t even know they were there, but… hell, I can’t send armed guards into a high school, no matter how good their cover is. Can you call in sick for the week?”

“Of course. I mean, I’ll have to. What if this isn’t resolved within a week?”

“It will be,” he said, biting the edge of his tongue.

As supportive as she was aiming to be, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he meant by that, spoken with blistering confidence.

He tipped his wrist and checked the time. “Shit, we’ve got to go.”

Cloudy, but at least the rain had taken a break. “Uh-uh,” she said, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his jeans and tugging him close again. “Talk to me.”

With a frustrated sigh, he glared up at the ceiling, then lowered his gaze slowly, meeting hers and holding, and she knew he wouldn’t lie to her.

“If I have to go to the source, I will. These are truly awful people. I can’t deal with what they might do to you, and, fuck, Trace, I lost so much on that job, making sure their operation would be shut down.

But somehow, that hasn’t happened, and it sure as hell should have by now.

” He squinted and gritted down on his molars, subtly shaking his head.

“I did a lot of bad things for a lot of money, but, fuck, at least I knew I was maybe, maybe on the right side. Someone had to do the dirty work to take down the worst of the worst. And after risking everything, they’re still fucking walking. I can’t let this go.”

Trace slid her hands around his waist and tipped her head against the wall, holding his look. That quiet determination had only grown stronger since he’d been an angry kid, and she wouldn’t question it for anything. “Okay. I trust you. I’ve got your back, like I always have.”

The corners of his mouth curved up, relief and wonder rising into the look. As one side lifted higher than the other, he shook his head and breathed a laughing sigh. “You look incredible. By the way.”

“Distracting me with compliments?” she teased.

He nipped a kiss and then bit his bottom lip as he hovered close. “I can never get away with anything around you.”

She grazed her hands under his shirt, his skin flaming with warmth under her hands, smooth and satisfying and she needed more.

He growled low under his breath and took her mouth hungrily, kissing her deeply, pinning her against the wall with his body. “Distracting me with… you?”

She wrapped around him, clutching tight and kissing him hard. “We’re going to be very late,” she whispered against his mouth, but ignored her own words and thrust her tongue over his.

“I can be quick,” he whispered against her mouth, hands searching her body, everywhere.

Thrill surged through her, her imagination running wild and he’d hardly even touched her.

As if urgently needing to feel every inch of her, he kissed her harder, braced himself with one hand on the wall, and the other cupped her breast.

Breath swelled in her chest, heat surging from his touch and she pressed into him.

He lowered and kissed her shoulder, sliding down the spaghetti strap and kissing the upper curve of her breast.

Her dress slipped lower, the smooth satin of her bra holding her breasts up on a platter, one big breath away from her nipples jumping out. A favorite of hers, a little bit daring while supporting the girls.

Cole scooped both breasts from the bra, his mouth instantly on her, kissing, licking the curve of her, taking the tip of her in his teeth before covering her with his mouth and suckling down hard.

Trace pushed her upper back harder against the wall, arching to get closer to him.

As her breath trembled, thrill taking over and her knees weakening, he shifted and cupped her rear, quickly sliding his hands under her dress.

“Shit,” she hissed, laughing out loud as he felt snug fabric of her panties.

He burst out laughing and slid her dress up, leaning back far enough to see her panties without releasing her. “This is not lace.”

Amusement erupted from low in her belly, restrained by the compressive undergarment and she tipped her head back with a riotous laugh. “But they are very flattering.”

He shook his head as he investigated further. “Are they comfortable?”