“No.” Cole drags a hand down his face. “Don’t dig, Danni.”
“Do you kill people?”
He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, refusing to answer.
I bristle with frustration and turn to Trace. “Are you retired from this handler job?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not employed by the government or whomever Cole works for?”
“Correct. I’m completely severed from that business. I own the casino and work for myself.”
“But it’s okay for you to know about Cole’s job and not me?” I feel like I’m pulling teeth to collect tiny pieces of a convoluted puzzle.
“Since I was intimately involved in his prior jobs, I knew…things.” Trace’s mouth bounces between a flat line and a frown. “But I know nothing about his last mission.”
“Except you knew there was a chance he survived it.”
“I knew Cole wouldn’t have been stationed at an oil terminal, therefore, I knew he didn’t die in an explosion.” Trace rubs his brow. “What I didn’t know was if the story about the explosion was a cover for his actual death.”
“Bullshit.” Cole clenches his jaw. “You know how hard it is to kill me. I’m fucking trained—”
“No one’s impossible to kill.” Trace lifts his head, glaring at Cole. “You went on that mission knowing your heart wasn’t in it. You were preoccupied, unfocused. Frankly, I’m surprised you survived.”
“What’s he talking about?” I ask Cole, my stomach twisting into knots.
Cole scrapes a hand over the back of his head, frowning at Trace. “My job doesn’t allow for personal distractions. We don’t have relationships or attachments or—”
“Girlfriends? I was a distraction?” My voice is thin, pitted with alarm.
“No,” he says heatedly. “You’re the reason I fought so damn hard to stay alive. When I met you, I knew I’d have to complete this last job and that I’d survive it—for you—then I could quit.” His timbre drops to a tormented whisper. “The job should’ve only taken a year. A year, and I would’ve been back with you, married, and maybe even planning a family.”
His gaze falls to the ring on my finger, and he clenches his hands. The agony lining his expression is gut-wrenching, and my stomach cramps in sympathy.
Had he returned within a year as planned, we’d be together. I would’ve been oblivious about the true nature of his job, and Trace would’ve never made contact with me. Maybe that’s the way it was supposed to be, but the pang in my chest disagrees.
My relationship with Trace undoubtedly made Cole’s homecoming a clusterfuck. I would’ve still been furious and resentful with Cole, but I would’ve eventually forgiven him for being gone and let it go. Because I love him.
But Trace is here, and no part of me regrets meeting him or falling in love with him. How could I? He was here for me when Cole wasn’t. He showed me how to smile, hope, and love again.
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.”