by Pam Godwin
I hit 30 on the panel of buttons, assuming he’s working. When I arrive on the office floor, I cross the lobby, turn down the hall, pass the receptionist desk, and reach for the door to his office.
“Miss Angelo, wait.” Marilyn, his assistant, rises from her chair. “You can’t go in there. He’s on a call.”
I swing open the door and shut it behind me.
Trace sits behind his desk, typing on his laptop with a phone at his ear. He looks up, scans my trembling, rigid posture, and meets my eyes.
“I’ll call you back.” He hangs up the phone and continues to stare at me, his scowl creasing with worry.
If I open my mouth, I’m going to burst into tears. So I drag my feet across the room and drop the envelope on his desk.
He glares at it like it’s going to bite him. Then his gaze returns to mine, questioning, sharpening. A muscle twitches in his cheek, his hand hesitant as he reaches for the envelope. After an agonizing moment, he lifts it and slides out the photos.
The pictures of Cole are on top. Trace examines each one, his scowl emotionless. But he lifts his eyes repeatedly, checking my reaction. When he flips to the images of the dead man, he stiffens, and his nostrils go wide.
His gaze snaps to mine, and he presses a finger to his lips, wordlessly telling me not to talk.
His entire demeanor changes in a blink. His breaths come hard and fast as he snatches his phone and types something on the screen.
Who is he texting?
Without speaking, he gathers the photos, stacking them and returning them to the envelope.
Is he worried about someone listening? The FBI? He committed a crime, and now I’m wondering if by coming here, it makes me an accomplice.
Or is a different threat putting him on alert? Whoever delivered those pictures is probably not working on the right side of the law.
My scalp tingles, and my muscles are so stiff I struggle to unlock my joints. He darts around the desk, grips my shaking fingers, and guides me toward the door.
He touches his lips again, reminding me to remain silent. Then he leads me out with a hand on my back.
Where are we going? Maybe I shouldn’t follow him. He’s a killer and a liar and hell knows what else? My trust in him is shattered. Except I know, without a shadow of a doubt, if I’m in danger, he’ll protect me.
He ushers me into the elevator and presses the button for his penthouse. Maybe it’s safe to talk there?
When we arrive on the 31st floor, he clasps my hand and pulls me into the open kitchen. Shoulders stiff and back straight with tension, he scans my body with narrowed hawk eyes.
I wrap my arms around myself. “What are—?”
His hand flies to my mouth, his fingers pressing hard as he shakes his head.
Still no talking? What the unholy fuck? I glance around at the kitchen and living room. Does he think his penthouse is bugged?
He reaches for my coat, and I watch in frozen horror as he slides his fingers along the seams, checking the pockets and freeing the buttons to examine the liner.
He thinks I’m bugged.
The gravity of that realization crushes the air from my lungs, and all that remains is the strangling death of a breath.
Layer by layer, Trace removes the clothes from my quivering body. I hold still, paralyzed, as he inspects every garment, searching for listening devices. I don’t know if he thinks I went to the police and had a wire put on me or if there’s another threat causing his hands to shake. One that endangers both of us.
Neither of us has spoken.
My clothes scatter the floor around my feet, and all that’s left to remove is my panties. After examining every seam and stitch from my bra to my boots, he hasn’t found anything suspicious.
Crouched before me, he rests his hands on my hips and hooks his thumbs beneath the waistband of my bikini briefs. Then he gives me his eyes, the pale blue depths glowing with intention.
I hug my bare chest and widen my stance with a nod.
My skin prickles with goosebumps as he slides the lacy material down my legs. His fingers, warm and familiar, slowly skim my thighs. I shiver.
He cut a man’s throat with those hands, and I’m standing in his domain completely nude and vulnerable.
Closing my eyes, I focus on breathing.
Over the past six weeks, I’ve made assumptions about Cole’s job, including the likelihood that he’s killed people. I justify his actions by telling myself they were bad people, people who tried to hurt him. The same rationalization grips me now.
I have no doubt Trace killed that man to protect me. But that doesn’t excuse the fact that he kept it from me. I don’t give a shit about the restrictions on sharing classified information. There was a fucking murder in my house, and I didn’t know about it.
He softly touches my thigh, and I snap my eyes open. My phone sits in his hand. He must’ve found it in my coat pocket. The cover has been removed, exposing the electronic insides.
“You’re not bugged.” He offers the phone to me.
I leave his hand hovering there in lieu of grabbing my underwear.
“Who’s the dead man in the photo?” I drag on my panties and reach for the bra.
He rises to his full height with his hands behind him, watching me from beneath dark brows. The intensity in his expression makes me nervous, but he seems more relaxed now that he knows I’m not bugged. He also hasn’t taken his eyes off my body.
“Stop staring and answer my question.” I reach behind me and clasp the bra hooks with trembling hands.
His jaw flexes as he glares at me for another irritating moment. Then he lifts the envelope from the floor and empties it on the kitchen island. “Come here.”
I step beside him, gripping the edge of the counter while he straightens the photos, side by side, grouping his and Cole’s separately.
The images of Cole with that woman stirs so much poisonous jealousy in my gut I can’t look at them.
“This man”—Trace points at the dead body—“broke into your house with a gun concealed in his waistband and a knife sheathed beneath the leg of his pants.”
“He meant to kill me?” My face turns cold, bloodless.
“Yes.”
“Because of Cole?”
A muscle twitches beneath his eye. “Correct.”
“Do you know why or who he is?”
He flattens his hands on the counter and gives me a look that says everything and nothing. He has the answers, and they’re not going to pass his lips.
“You checked my clothes for bugs.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Who did you think was listening?”
“Anyone Cole made enemies with. I don’t know who delivered the envelope or what their motivation is. All precautions are necessary.”
My throat swells shut, and I stab a finger at the snapshots of my sitting room. “When did this happen?”
“A week after Cole cut all communication with me.”
“That was nine months after he left.” I run a hand through my hair and stare at the photos. “If you knew this man was connected to Cole, you knew Cole was in trouble.”
“I knew something was wrong the moment Cole stopped returning my encrypted messages. I didn’t know if he was lying low or already dead.”
“Did you kill or harm anyone else on my behalf?” How many attempts have been made on my life?
“No.”
“Does Cole know about this?”
Trace’s phone vibrates, and he lifts it to his ear. “Send him up.”
“Send who up?” I glance down at my body, clad only in a bra and panties. “I’m not dressed.”
“Nothing he hasn’t seen before.” He tosses the phone on the counter and turns back to the photos.
“Cole?” My pulse races. “That’s who you sent a text to in your office?”
He nods stiffly without moving his eyes from the pictures.
“I don’t want to see him!” I shove my hands in my hair, panicking. I’m not re
ady to deal with his betrayal. If I see guilt in his eyes, if he cheated on me, I know what I’ll have to do, and I can’t bear it. “Send him away.”
Trace’s gaze shifts to the photos of Cole. Then he looks me and huffs a scornful laugh. “Trust me. I don’t want to see him, either. But he has answers I need.”
Fuck. I spin toward the pile of clothes on the floor and grab the jeans just as the elevator opens.
Cole storms into the penthouse, clad in his black security uniform with a gun on his hip. His sharp gaze sweeps over my half-naked, hunched-over posture, flicks to Trace, and lands on the counter covered in photos.
I shove on my jeans and sweater, my breath bursting in and out, as I monitor his reaction.
His strides are strong and swift, eating up the floor in his approach to the island. He leans over the disgusting collage and examines every image without a twitch of shock on his face.
“Is it resolved?” Trace stands beside Cole, taller, sterner, more formidable, with judgment and scrutiny tapering his eyes.
There’s no question who used to be the boss. For a curious moment, my turbulent emotions are diluted by fascination as they slip into their former work relationship.
“It’s locked down. Physically.” Cole looks at him. “Sentencing was this week.”
Trace directs his gaze at the sex photos, his voice quiet. “Defector?”
Cole waits several seconds before giving a sharp nod.
“What does that mean?” I glance between them, struggling to follow the conversation. “Are you saying the woman is a defector? Like she turned against…what?”
They don’t break eye contact to spare me a look or any form of acknowledgment.
“Fuck.” Trace releases a breath. “That was the mission?”
“Yes.” Cole grinds his teeth. “It was a goat fuck operation from the start, but it’s wrapped up. I’m officially out. Out of all of it.”
“When did you fuck her?” My eyes burn as waves of pain unfurl inside me.
“I can’t disclose any—”
“Fuck you!” I turn away as a sob rips from my throat.
“Danni,” Cole says firmly and grips my upper arms from behind.
“Don’t touch me!” I lurch away from him, retreating backward and crying noisily against the cover of my hands.
He cheated on me. He left me and cheated on me and my heart hurts so badly I can’t breathe.
Cole holds his fists at his sides, his expression stricken and posture tightly coiled.
“Tell me the status of Danni’s safety.” Trace’s deep rumble echoes through the penthouse.
“She’s safe.” Cole angles toward him, leaving a foot of volatile air between them. “I wouldn’t have returned to the States if she wasn’t.”
“Except I wasn’t safe.” I angrily snatch one of the photos of Trace and hold it up to Cole. “Did you know about this?”
Cole closes his eyes for a tense moment before pinning me with a resolute glare. “There was a breach. Stolen information. But it’s over. The perpetrator is behind bars.”
Lies. I taste them, salty and pungent, on my lips. I can’t swallow anything the cheater tells me. His sour tongueless words lodge in my throat like a poisonous pill.
“You said no one knew your true identity.” I pace through the kitchen. “No one knew where you lived, who you cared about. You said I wasn’t connected to any of this.”
The only response Cole gives me is a fixed stare.
Trace steps toward me, his gaze lingering on the tendons stretching in my tense neck. A foot away, he reaches for me, as if to hug me.
“No.” I hold my hands up, warding him off. “Did you know about Cole and that woman?”
He pulls in a breath and releases it. “When I was his handler, I sent him into dozens of beds.”
“Trace.” Cole growls
“To retrieve information?” I wrap an arm around my cramping stomach. “That’s what you told me. That sometimes information is the only goal in a mission. Is that what this was?” I look at Cole, shuddering with bitterness. “She had information, and you fucked it out of her?”
He rests his hands on his hips and lowers his head, blowing out a sound of exasperation. “I can’t talk about this. Just know I’m done with that job. It’s over and—”
“If that’s true…” I flick a finger at the pictures. “Why was that in my car?”
“It was an event trigger.” Cole collects the photos and stacks them into a pile. “Something happened that sent certain actions into motion. Actions that are supposed to end with you being served this bullshit and me losing the only thing that matters to me.”
“So this is about revenge?”
“Yes.” Cole crams the pictures into the envelope.
“Her revenge? The woman in the photos?” My stomach caves in.
“Danni, look.” His voice cracks. “I’m sorry you had to see those pictures—”
“Sorry I had to see you with another woman? Had to find out you cheated on me? What a horrible inconvenient shame that I couldn’t just carry on dumb and blind and fucking oblivious.”
“It’s not what you think, dammit.”
“Is that not your dick inside that woman?”
He shoots me an unblinking glare.
I return my own. “Did you fuck her before or after I mourned your death?”
“Don’t do this to yourself.” Trace steps between us and brushes a knuckle against my tear-soaked cheek. “It will eat at you and ruin—”
“It’s already ruined,” I snarl. “The three of us? We’re fucked to hell. There’s no coming back from this.”
“Bullshit.” Cole slams a fist on the kitchen island. “I refuse to accept that.”
I give Cole my back, facing Trace. “If this is a revenge scheme against Cole, why are there photos of you?”
His gaze drifts over my shoulder, locking on Cole. “I can’t say.”
More secrets. More shit piled on shit. My heart labors in my chest.
Trace won’t disclose his involvement, but I know, at the very least, he killed that man to protect me. The question is, how did he know the man was in my house?
“Before I met you, how were you able to watch me?”
“I set up cameras before I left.” Cole’s voice is gentle, hesitant, against my back. “They’re on the outside of your house and in your car.”
Startled, I spin around to see his eyes. “You set them up?” I gasp. “Are there cameras in—?”
“None in the house.” Cole studies me intently, like he’s trying to get a pulse on my feelings.
I don’t know what I’m feeling. The security measures he put in place kept me alive, but it’s a horrible invasion of privacy.
“There were listening devices in your house.” Trace wraps a hand around my wrist, as if to keep me from running. “That’s how I knew when to show up for your date the night we met, with the Bissara deal already in motion.”
“You were listening to me?” Heat blooms beneath my skin, and I yank my arm away. “You heard everything in my house after Cole left?” My mind races, and embarrassment squeezes my stomach. “You could hear my vibrator. And my bodily noises. Oh my God. I didn’t even know you!”
Cole bends toward me. “No, that’s not—”
“How did that conversation go exactly?” I can’t decide who I want to castrate more, but I glare at Cole. “Did you call up your best friend and say, Hey man, I bugged my girlfriend’s house, and I need you to spy on her. She’s a bit of a moaner, so just tune that part out?”
Trace reaches for me again, and I jerk away, darting to the other side of the kitchen and putting the island between them and me.
“Is my house still bugged?” Tremors quake through me, trying to bury my voice.
“No.” Trace rests his hands on the counter, leaning into the five feet of space between us. “I removed them when I started sleeping there. I never invaded your privacy more than was needed. I have software that triggers
off certain sounds and words, sending me notifications to investigate.”
I feel violated, deceived, and icky all over. “What you did is illegal. So is killing a man. Are you running from the police, Trace?”
“Men like us,” Cole says, “don’t always work within the boundaries of the law. And we’re very good at staying under the radar.”
They’re manipulators, liars, criminals, and I fell in love with them.
I still love them. I love them more than I will ever love anything or anyone in my life. But I’ve reached my limit.
Maybe it’s hypocritical to resent Cole for cheating or to be angry at Trace for keeping more secrets from me. But they continued their relationships with me knowing I was dating both of them. I wasn’t exclusive with either of them, and I never set out to deceive them.
They put me in this position with their untruths about their jobs and their friendship. They told me they loved me with mouths full of lies. They wrenched me back and forth between them under the pretense that the secrets were behind us. I’m a fucking fool.
Their deceit has warped my love, trailing its toxic, spineless tentacles around the trust I freely gave them. If I don’t untangle myself, their lies will continue to constrict and suffocate until nothing is spared and life is strangled from my body.
Just like that, the decision I’ve been waiting to happen happens.
It surges up my throat in searing tattered sobs.
“Your death destroyed me,” I say to Cole, gulping down a painful cry. “But this? This is my breaking point. I mourned a man while he was cheating on me. I trusted a man who killed someone under my roof. My privacy has been recorded and analyzed and violated by two people who supposedly love me.” I lower to the floor to slide on my socks and boots. “You both know what the other has been up to and all the while I know absolutely nothing. Thanks for making me feel so fucking stupid and oblivious.”
“Danni.” Cole takes a step forward, expression tight. “That’s not—”
“You led me to believe I knew you, but you only showed me a tiny glimpse of the men you are. It’s betrayal in the cruelest form. It feels like you’re taking turns killing me, only I’m still alive and breathing and feeling every goddamn second of it.”
