by Pam Godwin
“You’re not a coward.” He takes a step forward, his timbre soft and low. “You’re an emotion, a passion. You run deep and wild, rise with the storm, and adjust with the wind. No matter what direction life takes you, you endure with remarkable strength.”
An ugly, sobbing laugh tumbles past my lips. “I’m a reckless, unsorted disaster.”
“If I wanted prudence and order, I’d hook up with a nun. I want you, Danni.”
Warmth unfurls inside me. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear that, even if I don’t deserve the assurance.
“I hurt you.” The words tremble on my lips, thick with self-loathing.
He remains several paces away, doesn’t reach out or close the distance. But I feel the mystical cohesion between us, the union of parts of the same soul. The comforting sound of his exhales opens my lungs, and the steady touch of his gaze expands my ribcage. I can finally breathe again.
How terribly foolish I was to walk away from everything I ever wanted, when I had it all standing right in front of me. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not.”
My eyebrows pull in. “What?”
“I’m not sorry for my actions. I disabled your car, drugged your coffee, and drove you three-hundred miles away from your home. I won’t apologize for it. In fact, if you leave before I say what I need to say, I’ll tie your ass up and drag you back by your hair.”
Unbidden, my insides tingle and heat. “You are the reason I’m here? Not Trace?”
“It was his idea. I executed it.”
I try to picture the logistics of transporting an unconscious woman across the state. “Did you drive separately or—?”
“I drove the Range Rover. He rode in the backseat with you.”
My eyebrows rise. That’s unexpected. Too bad I wasn’t awake to experience the awkwardness of that four-hour drive. “Is the car yours, too?”
“Yes.”
“A lakefront estate, a Range Rover, boats, ATVs…? I know you have secrets, but it feels like the life I shared with you was a big fat lie.”
“I brought you here to explain. I’ll tell you everything.”
“How?” I wrap the blanket tighter around me. “I thought you couldn’t tell me anything?”
“I’ll explain that, too.” With his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, he steps closer and stops within arm’s reach, gazing down at me. “We’ll talk inside, where it’s warm.”
It’s a trap. If I go back in that house, I’ll stay. It’s two against one, and they know how to control me. The dynamics of our personalities put me at a disadvantage. I’m passive by nature and don’t stand a chance against their domineering, persuasive modes of operation.
“I don’t know, Cole. I’m outnumbered.” I meet his eyes. “Like a lamb among wolves.”
He huffs an exasperated sound. “You really don’t know, do you?”
I shake my head, not following.
“This is your world.” He spreads his arms wide. “I just live in it. You own my heart, my every thought. You have the power to take whatever you want when you want it. You’re fucking gorgeous, Danni. Compassionate and smart. Independent and cool as hell. A titan of feminine influence.” His eyes glimmer, and he laughs. “It’s impossible to not feel…completely possessed by you. And I’m not the only one.”
He glances at the house, where Trace awaits our return.
“Why are you telling me this?” I shift uncomfortably.
“The ends to which we’ve gone…” He swipes a hand down his face. “We’ve shared you, fought each other for you, broken laws to keep you. We’re both so eaten up in love with you there isn’t anything we won’t do.”
He says we as if they’ve worked out some kind of truce, but I’m not buying it.
“Will you let me go?” I ask. “Right now?”
“No.” He releases a slow breath. “Trace and I will be making the decisions going forward. But there’s only one decision that really matters, and it’s in your hands. Whatever you decide determines the rest of our lives. So let me ask you…” He cocks his head. “Who do you think has the most control here?”
A knot swells in my throat. “I do.”
“You got it.”
“What do you mean you’ll be making the decisions going forward?” I rise from the bench, heart pounding.
Why am I getting worked up? It’s not like I’ll be sticking around long enough to be pulled into their plans.
Cole smirks and thrusts his chin in the direction of the house. “Come on.”
Without waiting, he walks down the dock, headed toward the shore.
“I’m not staying.” I trail after him, holding the blanket around my shoulders.
“Okay.” With a wolfish grin, he opens the gate and holds it for me as I pass.
“I mean it. Cole. I’ll listen to what you have to say. Then I’m leaving.”
“Not without your punishment.”
“You’re not spanking me.” I walk beside him on the bridge that leads to the house, quickening my gait to match his long-legged strides.
“Do you prefer a different punishment?” He regards me out of the corner of his eye. “Hot wax? A ball-gag and blindfold? Orgasm denial?”
“Where the hell did that come from?” I squint at him. “Are you into those things?”
“I’m into anything that involves you naked and willing.”
My legs tremble, and I gulp down a breath. I’m not in the right mindset for this conversation, especially not with Trace’s silhouette looming on the terrace up ahead.
He stands about thirty feet away, beneath a wrought-iron lamppost, wearing a black overcoat and an intense expression. His bearing is so striking and soul-shakingly commanding I lose my footing and trip over the stone steps to the patio.
Cole catches my arm and casts an irritated glare at Trace.
“How long have you owned this place?” I ease away from Cole’s grip and concentrate on walking in the stiletto boots.
“Eight years.”
He owned it the entire time I’ve known him and never mentioned it. My shoulders crumple as a fresh wave of hurt crashes through me.
“It was a safe house, Danni.” He rests a hand on my arm, stopping me a few steps from Trace. “I let people in my profession stay here to recharge and regroup. I couldn’t bring you here or tell you about it and risk you running into someone or something I couldn’t explain.” His gaze sweeps over the sprawling estate. “It has an armory, control room, office, workshop—”
“The locked doors.”
“Yes. They’ll remained locked, unless it becomes a sticking point for you. Just remember I’m retired from that life, and so is this property.”
“I don’t care about the rooms, but I’m curious…” I glance from Cole to Trace. “Did you guys spend time here together?”
“Yes.” Trace opens the back door and motions for me to enter the house. “We used to stay here between missions. Before we knew you.”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in their history together. The friendship they once had is so nebulous and mysterious. They don’t have pictures together. They don’t talk about it. I’ve only ever seen them at war with each other. It’s hard to imagine what they were like as best friends.
We enter the house, and Cole veers toward the kitchen. Trace guides me to an overstuffed leather chair, with a firm hand on my lower back.
Fireplaces dominate both ends of the living room, crackling with the savory aroma of hickory. The driftwood-gray cathedral ceiling and monochromatic decor blurs the distinction between indoors and out, bringing the primary focus to the wall of windows between the hearths.
The view of the lake, illuminated by the moonlight, is so captivating I don’t realize I stopped walking until Trace clears his throat.
“Take a seat.” He removes the blanket from my shoulders and pats the back of the chair. Then he slides off his coat and sits on the couch across from me.
As I low
er onto the seat, Cole returns with an inch-thick folder of papers.
“Look through this.” He sets it on the coffee table before me and opens the flap. “They’re congressional documents that have been made public.”
He sits beside Trace on the couch, leaving a cushion of space between them. They don’t acknowledge each other, but they share the same single focus. Neither appear to be troubled or on edge. I assume that means whatever I’m about to read is safe for consumption.
Rather than jumping in, I take a moment to absorb their reclined postures and soft expressions.
While Trace looks insanely handsome in dark denim and a white t-shirt, his casual attire does nothing to detract from the formidable aura that surrounds him. It’s the way he watches me, those alluring pale eyes sharp with promise and commitment. He hasn’t washed his hands of me. Not even close.
Cole rests an elbow on the arm of the couch and props an ankle on a knee. The leather jacket came off when he stepped inside, leaving a black Henley that drapes across his wide shoulders. The thin material clings to the ridges of muscle he packed on since the last time I saw him.
“It’s unclassified information.” Cole lifts his chin toward the folder. “Go ahead.”
With a deep breath, I pull the stack of papers onto my lap. The document on top has a United States seal stamped in the header with a line scratched through the words TOP SECRET and NOFORN. There’s other text stringed with it, but it’s blocked out by a black box of ink. Unclassified is typed above it.
“What does NOFORN mean?” I meet Cole’s eyes.
“No foreign nationals.”
On the front page, there are references to Senate and Intelligence, as well as a list of declassification dates that are four years old. I flip to the next page and scan what appears to be an executive summary about nuclear, chemical, and biological security.
The language is vague and confusing. Every other word is an acronym, and it redundantly discusses things like exercising the authorities and carrying out the responsibilities of the activity in sections 443 through blah, blah, blah of Reference (a) and (c), etcetera and whatever. I turn the pages and find more of the same.
“Am I supposed to understand this?” I rub my forehead, squinting at the meaningless text.
“Keep reading.” Cole strokes a thumb across his bottom lip, his posture laid back and gaze steady.
As I page through dozens of documents, the verbiage doesn’t become any clearer. More acronyms. More section references. I know the words—negotiations, funding, allocations, resources, initiatives—but I feel like I need a secret decoder to understand the context.
“You’re going to explain this, right?” I hold up a letter with bullet points from A to R, each citing other alphabetized sections. “The only part I understand is the signature at the bottom.”
This one is signed by the Secretary of Defense.
Trace removes an ink pen from the drawer in the coffee table and hands it to Cole.
“Bring the documents here.” Cole shifts, making room for me to slide by.
He wants me to sit between him and Trace. I’m not excited about that, mostly because my body is excited about it. My skin remembers the warm pressure of their hands. My lips crave their unique tastes. My inhales are starved for their addictive musky scents.
I miss the feel of Trace’s fingers stroking my hair and collaring my throat. I long to hear Cole’s dirty talk as he stretches and fills me. I want to kiss Trace’s scowl and rub my face against Cole’s whiskers. I need them with a yearning that can only end in more heartache.
What if this conversation exonerates their secrets and lies? That possibility scares me. I need a reason to be angry with them. I need them to not be perfect, to make irredeemable mistakes that will drive me away.
Because if all is forgiven, I’m back to square one, facing an impossible decision.
Gathering the documents, I slide around Cole and lower onto the couch between them. Cole bends over my lap, using my legs as a table while scribbling marks on the pages.
My gaze falls on the back of his head, the tousled strands of thick brown hair, and the clean-shaved hairline on his nape. I want to press my nose against the base of his neck and breathe in deeply. I want to run my fingers over his scalp, wrap my arms around his bulky biceps, and hug him with the ferocity of my longing.
A flush of heat spreads across my cheeks, and I look away, colliding with crystal blue eyes.
“What’s he doing?” I swallow, knowing full well Trace was watching me fantasize about Cole.
“Your trust is broken, and we’re going to fix that.” Trace’s scowl twitches into a thoughtful expression. “He’ll show you as much as he can without breaking too many laws.”
I pick at a seam on the leather cushion, both excited and nervous.
Trace scans my face and lingers on a lock of hair that partially obstructs my view. He lifts a hand to brush it back, but I beat him to it, tucking it behind my ear. If he touches me, I’m doomed.
This would be so much easier if I didn’t remember the rush of pleasure those hands have given me. Every second I spent with him is a thread sewed through my heart, holding it together. Seeing him, being near him, stretches those seams, swelling, expanding, aching. If I crumble and beg for reconciliation, I’ll only hurt him again. Both of them.
I shouldn’t be here.
Leaving them was agonizing. I don’t know how I’ll walk away again.
“All right.” Cole lifts his head and re-stacks the papers. “Take another look.”
When he leans back, I parse through the documents. Every paper has the same two words circled in blue ink.
The activity.
Page after page, I reread the statements around every circle he made, struggling to make sense of them.
…financing the activity installation
…appointing a distinguished panel to examine the activity during this period
…testimony of members of the activity
…articulate the activity’s strategy to Congress
…requested information from the activity and other federal departments
The activity…the activity…the activity… Those are the only two words he marked.
“I don’t understand.” I reach the bottom of the stack and return to the first page. “What’s the activity?”
“Me.” Cole tilts his head toward Trace. “Him.”
“That’s what you were called?” A sense of relief settles over me. I can finally put a label on the entity that caused me years of pain.
“Trace and I were part of a special unit that goes by many names. OGA, ISA, Optimized Talent, Gray Fox… Every time there’s a classified spill, they change the designator. But in congressional documents, we’re simply referred to as the activity.”
“Will you get in trouble for telling me this?”
Cole shares a look with Trace, and something unspoken passes between them.
“We’re making a judgment call.” Trace bends forward and meets my eyes. “You’re aware of the breach that resulted in stolen information.”
“You mean the revenge mission against Cole?”
“Yes. The photos were delivered to you because someone hacked into Cole’s records and gleaned your contact information.”
“Is that person—?”
“The perpetrator is imprisoned. We’ll come back to that.” Cole lifts the folder from my lap and sets it on the coffee table. “As you know, I can’t share details about my job, but the problem is you’ve seen things.”
“The pictures of the dead body.” In my house. I shiver.
“That’s right.” Cole watches me carefully, his face inches from mine. “Trace and I decided it’s better if you have the facts rather than no information at all, or worse, the wrong assumptions.” He pulls in a breath. “The world we were part of isn’t a place I want you anywhere near, and that’s not going to change. You need to understand that your safety has always been my number one conc
ern.”
“And mine.” Trace stares coldly at Cole.
Cole sets his jaw. “I’m going to share some details of my last mission. I can’t tell you much about the operation itself, but I’ll shed some light on the events that impacted you.”
“Like your fake death?” My chest clenches.
“Yeah.” He drags a hand through his hair and settles back on the couch. “Trace already told you I’m an operative.”
“Ex-operative.” I tug at the hem of my sweater. “I thought you were retired.”
“Let me ask you something.” Cole rubs his chin, studying me. “If you closed your dance company and pursued a new career, would you be an ex-dancer?”
“No.” I jerk back my head. “I’ll always be a dancer. It’s who I am.”
“Same principle applies here. Retirement doesn’t change my DNA or mental make-up.”
Beneath the dimples and soft brown eyes lives the muscle and heart of a soldier. A man who thrives on adrenaline and mystery.
And he gave it up for me.
Then I left him.
My heart thumps heavily, making a slow crawl to my stomach. “You miss it.”
“Not as much as I miss you.”
I close my eyes and press a hand to my mouth, covering the quiver in my chin.
“What about you, Trace?” I whisper, peering at the quiet man beside me. “Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes.” He grips my wrist, tugging my hand away from my face. “I miss the rush of a difficult mission and the invigoration that comes with success. But the past year hasn’t been without its own challenges and thrills.” His eyes glimmer. “You’ve given me the biggest fight of my life, and I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to win.”
“We’ll see about that.” Cole scoffs.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “So you’re an operative and…?”
“I’m a deep undercover operative.” Cole gives me a pointed look. “Retired from a clandestine group that’s deployed all over the world.”
“I suspected the undercover part.” I lean back on the couch, letting his words soak in. “But I don’t really know what it means. What does an undercover operative do?”
