Page 48 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)

It's always darkest before the dawn

D reams. Imagination. Fantasy. They kept him alive when everything seemed lost. When he was one strike away from breaking.

Reality slammed him hard and his body tensed with whiplash.

Whyever the fuck he’d thought he could simply stop and live in a fantasy, he had no clue.

Those three years of living here so long ago, in this house, in this town, with this family.

He had carried the memories with him, pretending he could come back one day, prepared to live the life he wasn’t ready for then.

Trace in real life was so much better than he’d imagined, vibrant like a mountain sunrise, glowing with a warm light infusing into the shadows.

Hiking in the mountains around Foothills had always been a treasured retreat, where nothing could touch him.

When the winter freezes came, there were patches the sun never reached, where grass refused to grow and ice could outlast the day.

Cole knew his options, and they were pretty fucking slim. Trace was awake in his arms, a scowl etched into her brow, working a problem she should never have had to worry about.

Arm tingling and threatening loss of function—his good arm—he adjusted his shoulder underneath her.

At the subtle change, Trace said in a soft whisper, “How long do you think we have?”

Keeping his voice equally low, he said, “Not long. As soon as I give the signal, things are going to happen fast.” Under his wandering fingertips, her skin prickled at his touch. “I shouldn’t have come back.”

“Of course you should have.”

“Well, not at all, but from Sunset Beach. I should have run from there. Drawn them away from you.”

“If they tracked you to Sunset Beach, they had probably been following you for a while. They would know that we’re your weakness.”

He kissed the top of her head and breathed her in. “Not exactly the word I would have chosen. But, yeah, it was easier when I was alone.”

“I don’t like my parents being in the middle of this.”

He pushed his head back into the pillow. “Neither do I. I need to get all three of you out of the equation.”

Trace hooked her arm tighter around his middle, her hand splayed over his sternum. “I could refuse to leave you, but I don’t want to slow you down, or become bait, and then you’ll dramatically have to choose me versus saving the world, or something like that.”

A low laugh rumbled from his belly to his throat. “Or something,” he repeated.

“Do you trust the guards stationed outside?”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“That’s why you had me turn on music, like in the movies? To drown out our voices?”

“Yup.”

She rose to her elbow, head resting in her hand and fingers fisted in her hair. A scowl weighed her eyebrows down. “Do you know who the client was?”

He shook his head. “I’m rarely given that information, but I suspect government, law enforcement, someone who couldn’t get authorization to go in as deep as I could.

What I can’t figure out, is why haven’t they made the arrests by now?

I gave them more than they needed to lock up every fucking one of them for the next century. ”

Tongue working the back of her teeth, Trace thought quietly for a moment. “What if the client never got the information?”

Fury gnawed at Cole’s gut, her words pinging a part of him that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“That would be a problem.” He stared up at the ceiling, the patterns in the spackle weaving nonsensical images.

“I mean, I got pretty cozy in their echelons. Fuck,” he hissed, his chest constricting tight.

“I’d be a hell of a loose end, if someone destroyed all the evidence I turned over.

It wouldn’t be revenge sending them after me, but cleanup. ”

“But everything you worked for, you must have copies, or—“

“No. I don’t want to be connected back to anything I’ve done. Ever. But they wouldn’t know that I don’t make backups. It was pretty fucking valuable intel. A devious operator would have kept personal copies for leverage, but it’s usually more baggage than leverage.”

“Are you okay with them walking away?”

“It would be nice to know I didn’t go through all that for nothing.

” Cole sat up and buried his hands in his hair, the blanket dropping to his waist, the lights outside bright against the faded curtains.

“I can’t do this again. I’m so fucking done.

But they… they’re too dangerous. I risked my life and my goddamn soul for a good fucking reason. ”

Trace slowly rose and palmed his jaw, nuzzling close, and he breathed her in, her warmth, her calm. “Then we deal with it.” Simple words, but the gravity in her tone lifted him.

He leaned back and sought her gaze, holding, and he knew, she didn’t doubt him for a second.

He fiddled his tongue on his teeth like she did, amusement lifting his lips into a grin as he realized how well and truly fucked they were.

“If it was someone at my old job who destroyed the evidence I sent over, chances are pretty damn good that our security team has been compromised.” He ran through every possibility, planning as much as he could in the moment, for every outcome.

“I can’t get all three of you out,” he said darkly, hating that his options were so slim.

“Then we get my parents out first. Asher and Zane are more than up to it. Even if it’s just me hiding in the closet with my phone, I can help.

” In true Trace form, she waggled her eyebrows and nibbled her bottoms lip deviously at him.

“I regularly kick your ass at bear crawls. Sit-thrus? I got this. I’ll lateral roll my ass out of harm’s way if things get dicey. I can back you up.”

He squinted a laugh, loving her fearlessness and humor. “Trace, no. You… you saw what they did to me.”

“And I won’t let them do it again.”

Cole reached across the bed and grabbed his phone.

He glared at the screen for a moment, then back up at her.

“Whatever happens, don’t try to risk yourself for me.

The second you see a chance to get out, you get the fuck out, even if they’ve got a damn knife to my throat. I’m a survivor, not a rescuer.”

“Duh,” she said, snorting a laugh and flicking her thumb over his bottom lip.

“While I hope I’m not a helpless damsel, I know I’m not a badass hero either.

I’m a French teacher who dabbles in poetry.

If I have a chance to get away, I’m going to do everything I can to get you out of there, which will probably mean me leaving to get help. And you’ll do the same for me.”

He leaned in and kissed her long and hard, drinking in as much as he could. It was going to kill him to keep his mouth shut much longer, he wanted to say the words back so fucking bad. “Tell me you love me again.”

She grinned and leaned down, her hair grazing over his skin and framing around them as she kissed him so damn sweetly. “I love you,” she whispered, and kissed him again.

He grinned and nipped a savoring kiss before she drew away.

He lifted his phone again and scrolled down to a number that was becoming increasingly familiar, and started things in motion.

They were the best of the best, and he suspected Asher and Zane could handle three extractions, but he wasn’t counting on Ellen and Jeremy being easy rescues, so the SEALs would have their work cut out with just those two.

Trace climbed out of bed and changed out of the pink thing, pulling out black leggings and her black hoodie, with black running shoes. Fuck, he hated what he had to do, but she was right. She could do this.

While she got ready, he made the call, scheduled the extraction with the only people he could trust, then tugged on his jeans. After the fight with Guillaume, his injuries had flared up and his ankle nagged every damn step, but he would run until it shattered if he had to.

He stuffed his phone into his back pocket as he walked out of her bedroom.

In the dark of the house, brighter thanks to the many lights brightening the exterior of the house so no one could sneak in without being seen, he padded over the carpet and into his room.

He pulled on a fresh black shirt and swapped the jeans for black cargos, added black socks and dug out the black boots Ellen still got wide-eyed over.

As he left the room, he plucked a black hoodie from the hook and hit the bathroom.

He wished to hell he’d had more time to prep her, but time and again, he’d learned to improvise, and he knew Trace would keep up better than most. No one could flaunt a convincing happy face when shit hit the fan like she could.

“Let’s get started,” he whispered as he strolled into her room, crossing and drawing her in, that bizarre feeling stewing in the pit of his belly, screaming that this was probably the last time he’d get to feel her against him, to have her kiss him back live and in real life, to know that she felt the same.

Before leaving the bedroom, he pulled her close and whispered, “I don’t want you to see this side of me.”

She framed his jaw in her palms, “I know exactly who you are, and I love you.”

He melted, leaning into her touch and indulging in the moment, knowing she’d change her mind when she saw what he was capable of.

Linking hands with her, he led the way down the stairs. She played the game well, hydrating, fueling up with a quick protein bar with him.

“Ready?” he asked, no longer hiding their conversation.

“I trust you. If you really think this is going to work…” she said, a shakiness to her tone that terrified him to the bone.

“Just think about all the training we’ve been doing? If things happen for a reason, this was it. This is the moment.” All drama. Not his style, so he tried not to lay it on too thick.