Maybe this is the hand of fate at play, but it’s too early to know if it’s a curse or a blessing. The only thing that’s certain is the inescapable decision looming in the future.
Dread builds in the back of my throat. It feels as though I have two hearts, and I’m waiting for someone to tell me I have to rip one out and hand it over.
And it’s going to hurt like hell.
Every time I hear Cole’s gravelly timbre or find his warm brown eyes watching me, I’m overcome with the instinctual need to wrap my arms around his neck. I ache for the familiar scent of him clinging to my body, for the fever of his passion to delete the distance between us and make me forget the past four years.
Then I look at Trace, the gorgeous man I woke next to this morning, and shame burns through me. I’m not a cheater. Even if Trace weren’t here, staring at me with the kind of devotion that makes my heart twist, I wouldn’t break my promise to be faithful to him.
But didn’t I make the same vow to Cole?
If I’m with one of them, am I cheating on the other one?
Sinking beneath the horror of that thought, I slouch against the headboard and tuck my knees to my chest.
Trace told me Cole would have a good reason for disappearing for so long, and while I know I’ve only heard a snippet of the full story, I can’t begrudge Cole for the godawful choices he had to make. If he returned when he promised or contacted me in any way, it would’ve endangered me. I don’t understand the threat, but I trust that he did what he had to do. He kept me safe and suffered greatly for it.
Trace, on the other hand, stole his best friend’s girl. On the surface, it doesn’t get more douchey than that. But I know him. My gut tells me his motivations are more selfless than they seem.
I regard him for a moment, itching to brush the disheveled blond strands away from his forehead. “Why did you retire from this James Bond job and not Cole?”
“Danni,” Cole groans. “Don’t call it that.”
“What the hell am I supposed to call it? You’re not telling me anything.”
“When my parents died,” Trace says, ignoring Cole. “They left me a sizable inheritance.”
I nod, already aware of this.
“I didn’t have a relationship with them.” Sitting at the foot of the bed, Trace stares at his empty hands. “Part of our falling out had to do with my career choice. They wanted me to run a corporate empire. I wanted to…do something else. When I lost them both abruptly—”
“How?”
“Car accident.” He draws his arms closer to his body, his expression moody. “When they died, I didn’t need to work. But it wasn’t just about the inheritance. My perspective on life changed, including the risks I was taking with my job.”
There’s more to that story, but I don’t interrupt as he continues.
“I wasn’t married to the job, so it was easy for me to not renew the contract. Cole’s position, however, is different.” His gaze flicks to Cole and returns to me. “Men in his line of work don’t retire. They’re born to do it and undergo years of rigorous specialized training in preparation for it. They breathe, live, and die for the job.”
“Unless something extraordinary comes along,” Cole murmurs from across the room. “Someone worth giving it all up for.” He lifts his head and looks me directly in the eyes. “I meant what I said to you before I left. I already started the termination paperwork. I’m not renewing my contract.”
I press a fist against my mouth as a mixture of joy and dread hijacks my breaths. “If you’re retiring, why can’t you tell me what happened to you?”
“You already know I work for a Federal agency.” Cole approaches the bed and kneels beside it, resting his forearms next to my hip. “I can’t tell you more than that. A spill relating to trade secrets, processes, operations, or style of work could cause irreparable damage to the national security of the country. It could result in loss of life.”
The air whooshes from my lungs. Jesus. What’s he involved in? Is he Delta Force? Some kind of SEAL team badass? A CIA operative? My knowledge of secret government shit is limited to movies and TV shows.
“He’s leaving out another reason.” Trace glances from me to Cole before giving me firm eye contact. “Neither of us want to go to prison.”
“What?” My scalp tingles. “You would go to prison for telling me what you do?”
“Yes.” Cole props his elbows on the mattress and steeples his fingers against his lips. “We worked for an entity that doesn’t exist, doing things that never happen and fighting wars no one will ever hear about. If we talked, it would be a criminal—”
“I would never say anything.” I snap my spine straight.
“You would if you were interrogated. There are many ways to glean information. Ways far more sophisticated than lie detector tests.” Cole frowns. “Our nation’s enemies are even more creative, especially in their methods of torture.”
“Torture?” A bud of fear bursts inside me. “You said I’m not connected to you, that I’m not in danger—”
“Something went very wrong with this last job.” His eyes cut to Trace and back to me. “I was forced into hiding for three years, had to change my appearance, assume another alias, and stay far, far away from you. You’re safe because I followed protocol and will continue to do so.”
I expect Trace to rebuke Cole’s unbelievable story, but as his head lowers, his mouth sets in sullen affirmation.
“Someone wanted you dead.” Saying it out loud doesn’t help it sink in.
“Lots of someones. It’s the nature of the job.” Cole’s brown eyes lose focus as he stares at the mattress between us. “I couldn’t risk looking you up, not even to see an updated picture of you online. I couldn’t contact Trace, because my connection to him could’ve led someone back to you. When I…” His nostrils flare. “When I ran into trouble, I severed communication with you and Trace and disappeared. I had all my tattoos removed, wore colored contacts and glasses, shaved my head, and grew a beard. That man, the identity I assumed for three years…” He blinks and meets my eyes. “You wouldn’t have recognized him.”
I wilt against the mattress, reeling at the desolation in his words. “Are you still hiding?”
“I don’t exist. The world I was embedded in is only aware of my fake identities, and I didn’t come home until every threat against my life was eliminated.”
Hiding…fake identities…threats…eliminated…
My eyes feel hot and gummy, and I suspect the tears have only just begun. “Is your real name Cole Hartman?”
“Yes, baby.” He grips my hand and squeezes. “I’ve only ever lied to you about the job, and I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t have a choice.”
There are so many questions pounding in my head I can’t spit them out fast enough. “If you operated under different identities, what was the purpose of the fake explosion? Why couldn’t you have just disappeared and left it at that?”
“I needed you to believe I was dead…for your own protection.”
“But you said I was safe.”
“You were. You are.” His fingers weave around mine. “It was just another layer of security. I wasn’t taking any chances with you.”
My throat works through a tight swallow. “Another layer of security?”
“I was the first layer.” Trace glances at my hand where it tangles with Cole’s. “If something happened to me or if someone targeted you without me knowing, they would’ve seen you grieving, completely in the dark and unaware of Cole’s true whereabouts.”
“I thought you were watching me to keep me from dating?” I pull my hand from Cole’s grip and narrow my eyes at Trace.
“That, too.” Trace bends forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.
Trace succeeded in keeping men out of my bed. He kept everyone away except himself. We’re all thinking it, and it feels gossamer-fragile writhing and tangling around us.