“Yeah,” he said, not wanting to get further into it. Fucking hell, how was he supposed to go to therapy? He’d finally gotten an appointment for two weeks from Monday, and he couldn’t even tell these guys. “Point is, I gained high-level intel undercover and then fuck, it was death or revenge, so I kept on digging while they… had me in their care. I kept feeding them expired information they couldn’t follow up on until I was dead or could find a way out.”
Zane’s voice dropped low, his expression dark, and Cole knew Zane may not have done the worst of the worst, but he had seen the worst of humanity and knew how dark it got. “How long did they torture you?”
“Two weeks.”
“Fuck,” Asher mumbled under his breath. “I don’t even want to ask. Don’t want you to have to say it, but—“
“Me neither.” Cole sucked in a draw of oxygen, flashbacks threatening in his periphery. “Look. I’m not going to pretend I made it through okay. They got the job done. Maybe I said more than I should, I don’t know. I can’t remember a lot of it. When I was broken, bleeding out and starving, I saw an opportunity and I took it. Made it back to civilization and met up with my employer, where I debriefed them on everything that had gone down. It’s all up to the client now. From the sounds of things, they haven’t made their move. But that’s not my problem. My job was done. I quit. Clean break. But now, Guillaume appears out of the fucking blue and wants to bring me back to his employer. He threatened the old ‘dead or alive,’ but it’s obvious that dead wasn’t an option, or he wouldn’t have stopped to chat.”
“And you kindly explained to him that you’re not going, and he is to pass this message along to his employer?” Asher asked, sipping his coffee and smiling over the rim of the cup.
“Yeah,” he said with a shrug, shaking his head. “If she’s serious, she’ll send more.”
“Well shit,” Asher said, backing up a step toward the street. “You have a knack for getting yourself into trouble.”
“Always,” he joked, knowing he was never going to shake that curse. For once, he’d thought he had. Back in Foothills, Jeremy and Ellen spoiling him and making him remember why he’d called it home. Things finally happening with Trace.
And he was back in the thick of the bullshit.
“Would you guys mind keeping an eye on Trace and seeing that she gets a ride back to the hotel? I’ve got some calls to make.”
Zane nodded across the street, question lifting in his glance. “You’re not going to check in with Trace first?”
Yeah, he’d thought to check in with her, but she’d know something was up. She was already freaking out that he was going to leave her. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that’s why she refused to talk about what was happening between them.
He inhaled the salty air deeply as he dashed across the street. He ignored the “No Food or Drink” sign in the door and walked across to Trace.
She jumped as he came up behind her. Surrounded by racks of sweatshirts and rain jackets, he floundered at his attempts to look casual.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as she turned and leaned into him.
And this is why he didn’t want to check in with her first. “It’s nothing,” he said, shaking it off.
Trace pretended he was telling the truth and asked, “Nice walk?”
“Nah, I, uh, got distracted,” he said. “Want me to get you a coffee?” And Antoine would become famous in town for his unusual coffee habits.
“No thanks, I’m good.” She lifted to her toes and brushed a kiss over his neck before whispering in his ear, “You’d let me know if I did something wrong?”
Ache stabbed in his chest as he realized she wouldn’t have any reason to think it was anything but her that had set him off. He cupped her cheek with his free hand and brushed her hair back. Touching his lips to hers, he lingered, slow and filled with everything. “Something from my old job came up, and I’ve got to go deal with it.”
“Everything’s okay though?” she asked, not releasing him. “You’re… safe?” As she studied him, she traced the swelling that was beginning in his cheek, down his arm and saw his hand, the raw knuckles. Her brow drew low, her breath shallow.
Fuck. He had to tell her, for her own safety. “Trace, I… someone from my past is here in town. I strongly suggested that he leave me the hell alone and get out of town, but, I don’t know.”
“Strongly suggested, huh?” she asked, looking up at him.
He shrugged carelessly, flashing a daring grin and leaned in and kissed her. “You know me too well.”
“Ha,” she said, falling into the lighthearted moment, but he couldn’t miss the worry. She held his jaw and brushed her thumb over his bottom lip. “You couldn’t take it easy on the guy?”
He kissed her thumb and nibbled, needing the lightness, knowing what was coming. “He’s the one who gave me the concussion.”
“Shit. Cole. Be safe—“ She shook her head and set her hand on his chest. “You know what? I hate that word. You do what you need to do.”
“I need to get back to the hotel and call my old boss and see if he knows what’s going on, and hopefully, he can fix this before it gets messy.”
“I’ll come with you. Do we need to go home? Whatever you need.”
