Page 19 of The Foreman (Cowboys of Silver Spur Security #6)

TRACE

T he 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 most operatives 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?”

“Every part,” Trace muttered.

Reed cracked a grin. “Now you sound like me.”

Trace’s chest tightened as he watched her soak in the details, fearless. She was a natural. Maybe she always had been. But tonight, the price of that fire might be too high.

I can’t lose her.

The meeting broke with orders to prep. Trace caught Macy’s arm and steered her down the hall into a dim corner away from the buzz of voices. He planted one hand flat against the wall beside her head, crowding into her space until she had no choice but to tip her chin up and meet his eyes.

“You don’t get reckless tonight. You don’t improvise. You don’t try to prove yourself.”

Her mouth curved, sass glittering in her eyes. “Yes, Sir.”

Heat shot through him. “Macy...”

She rose on her toes and pressed a finger to his lips. “I know what’s at stake. I know how dangerous this is. But you’ve got to trust me. If you hover, if you smother me, I’ll crack under the pressure. But if you trust me… I’ll deliver. I need to do this.”

He searched her face, hunting for the slightest tremor or hesitation, some flaw in her resolve he could use to pull her back. There was nothing. Only the blaze in her eyes and the unyielding set of her jaw, stubborn determination radiating from every line of her body.

Trace exhaled, long and rough. He cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek. “You scare the hell out of me.”

“Good. That'll keep you sharp.” She leaned closer, whispering against his mouth. “Let me be more than the woman you protect. Let me be your partner.”

Her lips caught his, soft but hungry, and the kiss dragged the breath from his lungs while igniting something far more dangerous.

He pressed her hard against the wall, his mouth taking hers with unrestrained need, tasting the heat she offered.

She arched into him, a low sound escaping her throat as her hands slid beneath his shirt, nails scraping across taut muscle and making his abdomen clench beneath her touch.

“Trace,” she whispered when they broke apart, her breath shaky. “We don’t know if we’ll get another chance.”

His control shattered. With a rough growl, he hauled her up, her legs locking tight around his waist, the heat of her body fusing to his.

He carried her across the hall, each step sharp with urgency, and shouldered into the empty briefing room.

The door thudded closed behind them, sealing the charged darkness around their tangled bodies.

It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t the rough claiming they’d shared in the shower.

This time was deliberate, a slow burn of possession.

He undressed her with careful patience, each piece of clothing peeled away like a secret he meant to relearn with his hands and mouth.

She answered with urgency, tugging at his belt, dragging his zipper down until she freed his cock, heavy and rigid in her grip, her palm wrapping him as her breath quickened.

Their bodies slammed together in a searing rush of sensation, her spine bowing against the cold table as he thrust deep, claiming her with raw force. Her cries broke against his mouth, swallowed by a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, hot with desperation and the taste of unrestrained hunger.

Each thrust drove deeper, relentless and unyielding, the steady rhythm a searing brand across her body. Her nails raked his shoulders as if to anchor herself, every movement of his hips carving a vow into her flesh, raw muscle and ragged breath binding them in a fevered claim.

“I love you,” she whispered, nails digging into his shoulders.

He kissed her hard, hips slamming into her, his voice breaking against her lips. “I love you more than my own damn life.”

They shattered together in a rush of heat and trembling muscle, clutching each other as if the rest of the world had burned away.

Her cries broke against his throat, his breath ragged in her ear, every shiver binding them tighter.

When the storm finally eased, he drew her close against his chest, cradling her like a man who knew he could never let her go.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he murmured against her hair.

“I promise,” she said, though her eyes gleamed with mischief he knew too well.

The depot loomed ahead, a carcass of iron and shadow crouched on the city’s edge.

Corrugated walls buckled inward, glass panes long ago blown out, jagged edges catching what little light bled through the clouds.

The night pressed heavy, damp with the tang of rust and the cloying stench of old oil.

Each groan of the rafters carried through the hollow interior like a warning whispered from the bones of the place.

Trace crouched near the entrance, Glock solid and familiar in his hand, the weight of the rifle snug across his back.

His eyes tracked the rafters where Hawke crouched in the gloom, rifle barrel catching a faint shimmer of light like a predator’s eye.

Reed slipped along the far wall, moving with the quiet precision of a ghost. In Trace’s ear, Jesse’s voice crackled through the comm, low and steady, but carrying an edge that sharpened every nerve.

“Perimeter clear. No heat signatures yet. Macy, you’re up.”

"Be careful, babe," Trace whispered.

Trace’s chest tightened as Macy walked into the center of the depot.

A harsh floodlight speared across the open floor, painting her in blinding contrast against the dark ruin.

She looked small against the yawning emptiness, but the steel in her posture, the proud lift of her chin, made her blaze with defiance.

She called out, her voice echoing. “You wanted me? Here I am.”

Trace’s grip on his Glock tightened, the metal biting cold into his palm. His pulse hammered in his ears, a silent prayer tearing through his chest. God, give me strength to let her stand there, to trust her when every bone in me wants to drag her out.