Page 49 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)

Crossing the kitchen, he drew her in his arms and sent both of their adrenaline surging as he gulped a deep, ravenous kiss, filled with enough to keep him going for however long it took to make sure she was safe.

Just one more. And if he found another moment to kiss her again, he’d tell himself that same promise. Just one more.

Breathless, Trace blinked and smiled as she gasped and cleared her throat. “Okay,” she said, a light laugh on her breath. “I’m ready.”

He flashed a wink, chewing on his tongue as he took her hand, leading her to the front door.

Go time.

He eased open the door, no more than a crack, and waited.

Seconds, maybe three or four, tops, and Janessa radioed a quick command, then dashed over to the door.

He nodded and stepped back, and Janessa slipped inside, confusion contorting her brow as she saw them dressed in black, hoods up, ready to run.

Without pause, he said, “One of the guards is compromised, maybe more. I can’t say how I know, but I do.”

“What? No. I know everyone here,” she said quickly, calculating and denying the possibility. Trust was tough to earn, but remarkably easy to break.

“Who chose the team?” he asked urgently.

“Most are mine, but a few…” Her eyes widened and she flushed with knowledge. “Three of them were sent over by the boss. You don’t think—“

“Please, Janessa. If it was just me, I’d say bring it on, but with Trace here…”

Tears puddled in Trace’s ocean blue eyes, dark and broody as she processed. “But my parents. I can’t leave them.”

He cradled her cheeks and wiped away a tear. Damn, she was incredible. “This was their idea. They’re trusting me to get you to safety. I can’t let them down, and I can’t let anything happen to you. I’ll get them out as soon as I can, but you’re my priority.”

Janessa watched the interaction, her expression tightening as she scanned her actions for mistakes. “I’ll keep them safe. This is what I do,” she said, awkwardly patting Trace on the shoulder, patting again as Trace sniffled.

“Thank you,” Trace said, nodding like a bobblehead and moments away from erupting into complete loss of emotional control.

“Janessa, I need radio silence. You can’t let anyone know the plan until she’s gone.”

Janessa nodded sharply.

“There’s a ravine behind the house. It leads to the creek and then down to the main highway. When I say the word, can you shut off the lights? Keep the back of the house clear. Got it?”

“Yes. Absolutely,” she said, scheming along with him.

He looked down at his watch and over to the back door.

Janessa nodded sharply and dashed out to the breaker.

Trace slipped her hand in his and they crossed the living room, holding tight. At the sliding glass door to the back patio, he paused, taking Trace in one more time. “You sure about this?”

“Safety is highly overrated,” she said, shrugging playfully.

“Fuck, you’re going to be changing your mind real damn fast,” he said, taking a deep breath.

As scheduled, the lights shut off. The house was instantly saturated with inky darkness.

He swung open the door, hand linked firmly with Trace’s.

They ran. Full out.

Straight for the ravine.

The recent rains had loosened the soil, and he knew the creek would be higher than usual.

As they neared the base of the slope, he felt it before he saw it. The trap. The end of the line.

His heart jolted to a stop. Flashlights clicked on. Surrounded.

He held Trace’s hand tighter, and she clung to him, gaze darting as she caught her breath.

“I’m sorry, Trace,” he said, turning and holding her look one last time.

Before it hit, he dropped her hand. Literally this time, electricity jolted into his body as the taser hooked into his chest.

Jaw gritting tight, body tensing as every neuron fired at once, he felt the darkness close in around him as he passed out.

Trace’s cry as she dropped to his side, smart enough to not touch him.

T race was never going to forgive him. He hadn’t mentioned the taser. That trust and safety thing wasn’t looking so hot between them.

As he’d said, she only needed to look distraught, albeit quietly, and they let her stay conscious.

No taser for her, but the punch to her gut had bruised her intestines. The burning ache wouldn’t let up, each breath catching in her lungs.

Eight, maybe ten masked people closed in. Two of them heaved Cole up and started the trek up the hill.

She only hoped that the diversion had worked, that Asher and Zane had successfully extracted her parents, with no one the wiser.

On her knees, not needing to try very hard to sob, she wiped the mucus draining from her nose until her arms were ripped away, each elbow gripped tight and ready to drag her if they had to.

Fucked. That’s what it was. And Cole had done this sort of thing for a living. On both sides.

The wet slope nearly brought them all down so many times, but she dug her feet in and trudged up the hill, refusing to let Cole out of her sight.

The house was still dark, a subtle glow coming from the front of the house as they rounded the corner.

The garage door to her dad’s garage bay was open.

Her dad’s car had been moved out while Cole had been working on the chairs, and they were now set out and ready to be used against them.

Even their own duct tape, tools sloppily left out.

Fucking great, Cole and her father’s unfinished project had been turned into a torture chamber.

Cole’s body thudded unceremoniously onto a pile of lumber. Trace recoiled as he lay slumped on the pile, limp, lifeless. If it would save him, she’d scream like hell and run, fight if she thought it would work.

She bided her time. Played her role.

He hadn’t mentioned that he’d get knocked out in the first thirty seconds of his “interrogation.”

Janessa was waiting right in the middle of it all, standing behind one of the dining chairs expectantly, her expression markedly more satisfied this time.

Cole hadn’t known for sure, but he’d been absolutely right, that there was no escape, that at least one of the security guards had been compromised.

The other three were bound and gagged in the corner.

She still didn’t trust them.

Trace kept a solemn expression, adding a fiery glare at Janessa as she was marched to the waiting chair.

Her captors shoved her to sit, then tied her legs to the freshly glued and dried dining chair, her hands behind her.

She hadn’t needed Cole to tell her to keep quiet if she wanted to avoid a gag.

She stole a glance over at Cole, and he was still out cold, his hands or feet or face twitching occasionally as if he was having an active dream. Scowl deep, mouth moving desperately, he whimpered her name.

“What do you want?” Trace finally asked, calm and quiet.

From the darkness of the driveway, a figure walked toward her, confident and carefree, head held high as the mask came off.

The woman was lovely. Fifty, maybe a little older.

Gray hair with streaks of black, tied back in a loose ponytail, eyes darkened with sleekly smoky makeup.

Leather pants, boots, and cropped blazer, all of which probably cost more than Trace made in a year.

Maybe two. But damn, the woman knew how to walk in heeled boots.

The garage door closed behind her at a simple flick of her fingers. Goons jumping at her every bidding.

Ignoring Trace, the woman walked straight to Cole and crouched down in front of him, pinching his chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Has he said anything yet?”

“Your goons knocked him out,” Trace said, her voice boiling with emotion.

One sculpted eyebrow lifting high, the woman turned and rose to her feet, sliding her hands in her pockets. “I would assume you knew that he talks in his sleep.”

Trace used the sneer to fuel her words. “He’s usually not knocked out when I sleep with him.” All of twice.

The woman dragged the other dining chair over, the rickety wood hopping and squealing against the dusty concrete floor. She spun it backward and sat with her knees around it, elbows on the back. “I suppose he wondered how we found him.”

“You broke him. He doesn’t even know what all he told you,” Trace said, her words falling heavy as she realized she probably wasn’t wrong.

“Do you intend to break him again? Because, trust me, you fucked him up enough, it won’t take much.

Or do you plan to torture me until you discover if he shared his secrets with me? Will you break me, like you did him?”

The woman smiled easily, chewing her cheek as she did, head tilted equally curious and inquisitively as she studied Trace like an ant under a magnifying glass. “Did he tell you what it took?”

“He didn’t need to.”

“Did he tell you why we’re after him?”

Trace shifted her hands in the bindings behind her back, her joints already aching.

Torture, so far, was unpleasant, but she knew they’d barely gotten started.

Flippant in a daring display of bravery to protect Cole, Trace tipped her nose up and said, “He doesn’t give a flying fuck about you, or whatever you’re looking for.

” Trace leaned forward as much as she could, fury boiling in her gaze, toying with the woman who threatened the happily ever after Trace was so close to finding.

“Leave us. And this will all go away. Stay? Hurt either of us? And you’ll find out why he was able to take you down so easily. ”

The woman hooted a laugh, her mahogany red lips curled up in pure delight. “I see why he spoke so much of you. While delirious.”

Trace saw a glimmer of hope, that this could be solved by words, but she wasn’t foolish enough to depend on that. “The authorities will be here any minute. You’d best be moving along, before they arrive.”

The woman leaned forward. Her expression rapidly darkened. Hand extended, fingers tight together. “Nice try. I thought you’d be smarter than this.”

Trace saw it coming.