Page 7 of The Foreman (Cowboys of Silver Spur Security #6)

MACY

M acy had barely made it to the edge of the treeline before nerves got the better of her.

The sun filtered through the branches, dappled light shifting across the dirt path as her boots scuffed over the dry earth.

A breeze stirred the leaves, lifting the ends of her hair and whispering warnings she couldn’t quite hear.

It wasn't the woods that bothered her, it was the stillness. The sense of being watched.

After a few minutes of trying to shake the unease, she turned around and made her way back to the house.

Her boots scraped against the dry path with every step, the weight of her anxiety trailing behind her like a shadow.

The porch came into view, its sun-warmed boards promising a comfort she didn’t feel.

She didn’t pick up her pace. If anything, she slowed, forcing herself to breathe through the churning in her chest.

By the time she reached the door, her hands trembled slightly, not from cold, but from the icy realization that fear wasn’t always loud.

Sometimes, it whispered from the silence.

She shivered as she slipped inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click, and tried to tell herself that whatever waited in here, at least it had a name and a face.

Macy sat cross-legged on the worn leather couch in the main room of Trace’s home, a legal pad balanced on one knee, and a pencil tucked behind her ear.

She hadn't slept well the previous night. The sheets had felt too stiff, the room too quiet, the darkness too heavy. Every time she closed her eyes, her thoughts spun like static—images of Chet’s face, the cold shock of his accusations, and the weight of Trace’s hands during that first correction.

Her body was tired, but her nerves wouldn't shut off. Even wrapped in the borrowed warmth of one of Trace’s flannel blankets, she’d felt exposed. Vulnerable.

This morning it wasn’t just Trace’s intensity or the charged glances they kept exchanging that kept her on edge. It was the creeping certainty that something unseen had already found its way in, and was just waiting for the right moment to strike. She could feel it.

The house held its silence like a secret, every creak of the old wood amplified in the stillness.

The air pressed in close, not with warmth, but with the suffocating hush of anticipation.

It wasn’t just quiet. It was the kind of quiet that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise, as if the space itself were holding its breath, waiting for something to shift.

Trace had given her time to herself, said he had work to do on the southern fence line.

She’d taken the time to try and recall every single detail about her job at Nexus Technologies, no matter how small.

Dates. Conversations. Passwords. Conflicts.

She didn’t know what would matter. But she was done pretending she could ride this out on charm and cleverness.

She was in real trouble, and Trace, for all his gruff detachment and iron control, had stepped into the role of protector before either of them could name it.

Maybe he didn’t want to admit it aloud, but his actions spoke louder than any vow.

Whether it was instinct, duty, or something deeper, he was watching over her, and she wasn’t sure if that terrified her more than the men hunting her.

When the front door opened, Macy jolted and sat up straighter.

Trace entered first, broad-shouldered and silent as ever.

Behind him came Jesse Bryant and Reed Malone.

Both were dressed like they could blend into a rodeo or a boardroom, armed with the same cool competence that made Silver Spur Security legendary.

She immediately hated how relieved she felt to see them.

“Afternoon,” Reed said, nodding to her. “Mind if we come in?”

“It’s his house,” Macy replied, standing. “I’m the squatter.”

“Temporary guest,” Trace corrected as he passed her.

His hand brushed the small of her back. Just a touch.

Just long enough to assert quiet control, the heat of his palm branding her through the thin fabric of her shirt.

It wasn’t possessive, but it didn’t need to be.

It grounded her, warned her, comforted her—all in a single breath.

Her spine stiffened, a tremor tightening low in her abdomen.

He was the reason her pulse kept spiking at the most inconvenient times, the reason her thoughts tangled in knots of heat and hunger she had no business feeling.

The men settled in while Macy gathered her notes.

Trace remained standing, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like a silent enforcer.

The way his shirt clung to the carved lines of his chest and the tension rippling along his forearms made her mouth go dry.

There was something feral behind that stillness, something coiled and waiting, and it thrilled her more than she wanted to admit.

He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t needed to.

His presence alone demanded obedience. Macy’s stomach fluttered, heat curling low in her belly as she dragged her gaze away and tried to remember how to breathe.

Reed started. “We need you to walk us through everything you can remember. From the beginning. Don’t skip details because you think they’re irrelevant.”

Macy nodded. “Okay. I joined Nexus Technologies three years ago as an executive assistant to one of the senior project managers. They do high-level development in AI-assisted defense systems. Mostly prototype work. Some DARPA contracts. Some private sector testing. Everything was fine until about six months ago.”

Jesse leaned forward. “What changed?”

“My supervisor—Chet Wrigley—started locking his office whenever he left. Even to grab coffee. He used to be careless with security protocols. Then suddenly he wasn’t. And people started getting reassigned or... disappearing.”

“Disappearing?” Reed asked.

“Not fired. Just... gone. No one would say where they went. HR clammed up. Emails bounced back. My friend Dana in logistics vanished overnight. I checked her place the next day; it was empty. She didn't leave a forwarding address.”

Trace's jaw ticked. “Why didn’t you report that?”

“I did. To HR, and when they did nothing, to the police. They brushed it off as a personnel shuffle. I brought it up again to the head of HR and got told to mind my own business. A week later, I got approached by a federal agent.”

Jesse and Reed exchanged glances.

“What agency?” Jesse asked.

“Could’ve been FBI, maybe Homeland, I don't think he actually said. Just flashed me a badge. He had that too-slick look, the kind that says he knows exactly how much power he wields and enjoys using it. He never gave a name. Just leaned in and said I could help them expose something internal.”

Reed narrowed his eyes. “Describe him.”

Macy hesitated. “Tall. Thin build. Neat haircut, like military standard. Sharp voice. Cool smile. Wore a charcoal suit like it came with instructions. He clocked my range bag by the door,” she said flatly. “Asked if I liked guns. That is when I knew he was baiting me.”

Jesse frowned. “Standard intimidation package.”

Macy nodded. “He told me there was a leak inside Nexus. Said people were feeding classified tech to overseas buyers. He wanted me to drop a flash drive in Chet’s machine. Said I’d be doing the country a favor.”

Trace stepped forward. “And you refused?”

“Hell yes, I refused.” Macy folded her arms. “I’m impulsive, not stupid. I didn’t want to be the next employee who disappeared.”

“What happened after that?”

“I started looking for another job. Quietly. I figured the safest way out was to walk away. That’s when Chet cornered me in my apartment. He accused me of spying. Said someone had tipped him off. I tried to talk my way out of it, but he wasn’t listening.”

“And then?”

“He lunged. We fought. I got away. I swear he was still breathing when I left. I checked and he had a pulse. But a few hours later, the news reported him dead and listed me as a person of interest.”

“Convenient,” Jesse muttered.

“Too convenient,” Trace said. “She was set up.”

Macy blinked. He’d said it without hesitation. No room for doubt. Something in her chest shifted.

Reed nodded slowly. “We’ve been digging. Nexus does have federal contracts—more than you mentioned. Some of the systems they’re developing are flagged at the Tier One level. If any of that tech got compromised, we’re not looking at just corporate espionage.”

“We’re looking at treason,” Jesse added.

The room went still.

Macy’s stomach twisted. “What happens if they pin that on me?”

Trace didn’t let her look away. “They won’t.”

Reed sat forward. “We’re going to need access to your work files, anything you saved off-network, external logins, backup emails. Think hard. Anything you accessed remotely could be useful.”

“I have a folder on my cloud drive,” Macy said. “It’s encrypted. I kept copies of contracts and project notes—nothing classified, just stuff I thought might help if I ever got questioned. I didn’t want to be caught unprepared.”

One eyebrow arched as she shifted her weight against the chair like someone about to recite a grocery list instead of her own survival training.

“And before anyone asks why I am not panicking with a gun in the room,” she added, “my dad served with Texas DPS and taught me to shoot before I could drive. I keep my license to carry current, and I took a defensive pistol course last year at a Hill Country range. After a break-in at my old apartment, I started Krav Maga and stuck with it. Dana also dragged me to a local locksport meetup. That is where I learned how older keypads fail and how lazy firmware gets exploited. Nexus paid for a weekend forensics workshop, so I know my way around metadata and ghost signatures.”

“Good instinct,” Jesse said. “We’ll get our tech to pull it and start the comparison.”

Macy hesitated, then added quickly, “There was something else. When I poked around Nexus’ internal files, a name kept surfacing.

Not Nexus, not another company, just a name…

Kells. Buried deep in directories that shouldn’t have crossed my desk.

At the time I thought it was noise, but now it feels bigger. ”

Reed’s gaze sharpened. Jesse glanced at Trace, then back at her. “Kells,” Jesse repeated, tasting the word like it left grit on his tongue. “Not someone in the Nexus org chart. We’ll flag it and see where it leads.”

Macy hesitated. “This could make me look worse before it makes me look better.”

Trace’s voice was quiet. “Do it anyway.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

Reed and Jesse stood. “We’ll be back in touch,” Reed said. “Stay close to the house. Don’t use any unsecured lines.”

“We’ve got a secure comm unit set up,” Jesse added. “If you need us, Trace knows how to reach us.”

Trace walked them out, leaving Macy alone in the den.

The door clicked shut behind them, the sound echoing too loudly in the stillness.

Her heart beat like a drum against her ribs, every thud a reminder that she wasn’t just scared.

She was in it now, no turning back. Her palms were damp where they pressed into her thighs, her breath tight in her chest.

Beneath the nerves and the adrenaline was something sharper, something alive. A surge of vindication that pulsed through her chest like the first breath after surfacing from deep water. She’d told the truth, and they’d believed her. And for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t running alone.

Relief quietly flooded her system. Someone believed her. They believed her. Trace believed her.

When Trace came back inside, she turned toward him, searching his expression. “You really believe me, don't you?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just crossed the room and stopped in front of her.

“I never doubted you.”

“You did three years ago.”

“Not really, but you didn’t give us a lot of options. No one is doubting you now. You’re not a liar. I’ve seen enough liars to know.”

She swallowed. “And what do you see when you look at me?”

His eyes dropped to her mouth, then lower, before dragging back up.“Far too much.”

The tension in the room thickened, electric and close.Before she could speak again, a low chime sounded from Trace’s tablet on the table. He stepped over and tapped the screen.

His whole body went still.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Drone alert,” he said. “Perimeter breach. Something flew over the ridge minutes ago. Just inside our northern buffer zone.”

Macy’s heart dropped. “You think it’s them?”

“Not certain. But I do think someone knows where you are.”

The illusion of safety cracked like thin ice beneath a boot heel. Whatever sanctuary they'd carved out inside that quiet house shattered, the air suddenly too sharp, too aware, as if every shadow now had eyes. The world outside had found its way in.