The pair had invited Trace to their Super Bowl party, along with a few other guys from the Department of Homeland Security’s Douglas office.
Thoughts of Aunt Barb had stayed with Trace. If Brody hadn’t been in jail right that very moment, Trace would have traveled home to Texas to pummel the son of a bitch who had beaten Aunt Barb.
Trace worked to control his emotions. He couldn’t do a damned thing about what had happened. Not at this moment. Belle and Dylan had planned the party a few months ago and Trace intended to put his game face on.
The home state team, the Arizona Cardinals, and Trace’s Houston Texans would face off in the big game. “It’s going to be one hell of a match,” he said, glancing at the Shepherd beside him.
Dallas perked his ears as he turned from the window to look at Trace. The dog tilted his head slightly to the side, clearly curious as to what Trace had been talking about.
“Football.” Trace smiled. “Just talking about football.”
Dallas turned back to the passing scenery. The former service dog had never been a big football fan. Baseball was another story—he loved to chase the balls. In his retirement he’d become quite the catcher.
The Explorer rattled and bumped over stones and ruts in the dirt road. They rounded a corner and the sprawling ranch spread out before them.
Only Dylan’s truck and Belle’s SUV were parked in front of the home, telling Trace he had likely arrived first. He pulled up his vehicle beside Belle’s, killed the engine, and climbed out.
Trace made a sign, giving Dallas permission to jump out of the vehicle. The dog did, then remained at Trace’s side while he grabbed his Stetson and put it on his head, and found the six-pack of beer from behind the driver’s seat. They headed along the path, then up the steps that led to the wide porch. He knocked on the screen door and a few moments later, Belle pushed it open.
“Trace,” Belle said with a welcoming smile. “Come on in.” She glanced at Dallas. “Hello, boy.”
Dallas gazed up at her with his intelligent dark eyes and gave a tail wag. He’d been around Belle and Dylan often with Trace.
Trace walked into the house with. “You look like you’re about to pop.”
“Tomorrow.” Belle rubbed her large tummy with her palm. “The doctor is inducing the baby. I am so ready.”
Trace had gotten to know Belle fairly well since her return to the Bisbee area. After all she’d endured throughout her life, combined with the events of last year, he couldn’t help but admire her strength. In the months since the tragedies both Dylan and Belle had faced, Trace had spent time with both of them and Belle had become one of his favorite people.
“How’s Dylan holding up?” Trace closed the screen door behind him. “Is he ready to become a daddy?”
“Hell, no.” Dylan strolled out of his home office, shaking his head. “I think the baby should stay put a while longer.”
Belle put her hands on her hips. “You were saying?”
Dylan winced. “I mean, I can’t wait.”
“That’s better.” Belle smiled at Trace again. “I have a few things to take care of. Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks, Belle.” Trace had called Belle ‘ma’am’ once out of a country-boy habit, and she’d made it clear that by being Dylan’s friend, he had become hers, too, and he shouldn’t call her anything but Belle. He hadn’t made that mistake again.
Dallas sat and watched everything with apparent interest.
Trace hung his western hat onto a hat rack by the front door, and Dylan took the six-pack of beer from him.
“I’ll put this on ice.” Dylan carried it to a cooler, popped the lid open, and shoved each beer bottle into the ice-packed chest.
“Anyone home?” came Landon Walker’s voice from the other side of the screen door.
“I’ll get it.” Trace let Landon and his wife, Tori, into the house, along with Angelina, a shy teenage girl from Mexico.
Tori and Landon had gained custody of Angelina some two years ago and the young girl had been adapting, despite growing up the granddaughter of the former leader of the Jimenez Cartel in Mexico. Trace knew Angelina still missed the man she had thought her grandfather had been, and the whole transition had been difficult for her.
Dylan had just finished with the ice chest when Landon walked up to him with a six-pack of beer, along with a six-pack of alcoholic root beer.
“For the gals,” Landon said in way of explanation for the root beer.
“He likes it the same as I do. He just won’t admit it.” Tori grinned. “Besides, I already told him I’ll be the designated driver.”
“Glad to know we’ll have a DD in addition to me,” Dylan said. “You might help keep these cowboys from getting too wild. Belle will kill me if they start breaking the furniture.”
“Not a problem.” Tori glanced from Dylan to Trace. “I’ll keep an eye on them.”
Trace flashed a grin at Tori. “How’s the world of music treating you?”
She pushed her fingers through her short hair. “Working on another piece I’m just dying to finish.” She was a professional clarinetist, a pianist, and an up-and-coming composer of movie soundtrack scores.
“Nearly had to drag her out of her studio,” Landon said. “Barely see her anymore.”
Tori punched him in the upper arm. “Like hell.”
Landon grinned, clearly enjoying the play with his cute wife.
Like Trace and Dylan, Landon worked as a special agent with ICE, the International Customs Enforcement division of the Department of Homeland Security.
Dallas sat on his haunches, watching the human interaction with intelligent eyes. Trace wondered sometimes what the K-9 might be thinking. If dogs could look amused, Dallas did.
Belle walked in and greeted the guests. “Come on, ladies.” She smiled at Tori and Angelina. “I’ll show you the baby’s room.”
The three headed down a hallway, leaving the men in the living room.
Brooks Allen and Dare showed up within moments of each other, Brooks with a six-pack from a micro-brewery in Colorado and Dare with a local brew.
Dare inspected the beer-filled chest. “Who’s the designated driver?”
“Tori volunteered,” Landon said.
“Glad to hear it.” Brooks, also with the DHS, was one of Trace’s closest friends.
The Super Bowl started and the women joined them. Angelina sat on the floor behind Dallas and stroked his head after asking Trace’s permission.
Tori had told him how Angelina had discovered she enjoyed American football sometime after she’d moved to Bisbee. She had a knack for absorbing anything that interested her and she was a brilliant pianist. A few months ago, Tori had said Angelina’s skills far surpassed her own.
Tori smiled, watching Angelina get into the game. The teenager had adopted the Arizona Cardinals as her home team
Trace had started out relaxed when the game had begun, but by halftime, he had perched on the edge of his seat on the couch. The game had stirred up everyone in the room, including Brooks, who hailed from Big Sky, Montana, and wasn’t a fan of either team in particular.
At halftime, Trace stood up from an easy chair. “Damn, that’s a good game.” A light soreness caused his muscles to ache from the workout he’d given them in his home gym after yesterday’s target practice. “They might be tied now, but Houston is going to kick Cardinal ass.”
Brooks, who stood near the entrance to the kitchen, snorted. “I hate to say it, buddy, but it’s clear this Super Bowl belongs to Arizona.”
“The man’s right.” Dare got to his feet from his place on the couch. “Arizona is taking this one home.”
“You’re both deluded.” Trace glanced around the room of Cardinals’ fans. “You all are.”
Dallas settled back on his haunches next to Trace’s leg, as if in support of his human. The former service dog never let Trace out of his sight if he could help it.
“Now, boys.” Belle Curtis shook her fing
er at them in mock seriousness. She had to stare up at the men, who were all over six feet. “If you’re going to fight, take it outside.”
Trace held back a grin.
A smile curved Belle’s lips as Dylan came up behind her, reached around, and rested his hands on her round stomach.
“Listen to the lady.” Dylan grinned and kissed Belle’s neck. “We wouldn’t want to miss any of the Super Bowl because Belle got upset and the baby decided to come today.”
Belle swatted at Dylan’s hand. “You’re more worried about the football game than your baby?”
Dylan turned her around in his arms and kissed her. “Never.”
They parted and Belle’s smile lit the room, warm enough to thaw out any man. She focused her gaze on Trace, Brooks, Dare, and Landon. The latter still reclined on the couch, amusement on his face.
Trace held his hands up in surrender. “We’ll behave. Wouldn’t want to miss seeing Houston obliterate the Cardinals.”
“Men.” Belle rolled her eyes. “Can’t live with them…”
“No kidding.” Tori got up from her seat beside Landon.
Landon spanked Tori’s butt with his palm. “But you can’t live without us.”
Tori shook her head. “Watch it, mister.”
“I think Dallas would like to play Frisbee outside,” Trace said to Angelina. “You up for it?”
Angelina glanced at Tori. “I would like to if that is okay with you, Tori?”
“Of course.” Tori glanced at Dallas. “Fresh air will be good for you and Dallas.”
Belle drew away from Dylan. “Not sure I could take another second of the barbarians.” She grinned at her husband, a teasing glint in her eyes, before she walked—no, waddled—into the kitchen with Tori.
Trace figured Belle might not like the ‘waddled’ thought, so kept it to himself.
Brooks picked up a well-worn football by the front door, along with a neon-orange Frisbee that had seen better days. He handed the disc to Angelina, who thanked him and went outside with Dallas.
“How about skipping the halftime commercials?” Brooks tossed the football to Trace, who caught it.
Trace headed out of the door with the ball. “Playing a little catch sounds a whole lot better to me than the latest Ford and Doritos commercials.”
“Or listening to—what’s the pop singer’s name?” Dare said as he walked behind the other men.
“Beyoncé or something like that,” Landon said.
Dare nodded. “Right.”
Just when they started to go outside, Belle shouted for Landon and Dylan to help in the kitchen and Dare had to take an urgent call.
Brooks followed Trace onto the porch and they headed down the stairs and into the sunshine. The mild air brushed Trace’s skin, the dry dirt crunching beneath his boots. The sky gleamed a deep, clear blue. He’d fallen in love with this part of the state and had settled in just fine.
He’d bought a nice spread about a year after he’d moved to southeastern Arizona and kept a few head of cattle along with a couple of horses. With his job, he couldn’t be at his place as often as he’d like, so he had a ranch hand who kept an eye on the place. Darryl took care of feeding and making sure the fence line remained intact, the stock tanks full, the stalls mucked, and anything else needing to be done that Trace couldn’t keep up with.
Even though this area had become his new home, Trace would always be a big fan of the Houston Texans when it came to football. He’d adopted the team and had been a follower since the franchise had come to Houston.
They got to a clear spot in the huge driveway, away from Angelina and Dallas, and Trace threw the ball to Brooks. “Hard to believe Dylan is going to be a daddy.”
“No kidding.” Brooks received the ball and passed it back. “I hear Salvatore Reyes is set to go to trial.”
“Yep.” Trace made an over-the-shoulder catch. “Won’t be long ’til that S.O.B. is locked away for good.”
Just thinking about what that bastard had done to Christie caused Trace to clench his jaw and he threw the ball with a bit more velocity this time, a little off course.
The ball spiraled in Brooks’ general direction. “Christie Reyes, his wife, sure disappeared fast.” Brooks had to leap up to catch it. “It did surprise me to see her at the wedding.”
“She changed from Reyes back to Simpson, her maiden name, and goes by her middle name.” Trace shifted his stance. “She’s been in a small town in Indiana with a cousin, keeping her head down.”
“How do you know so much about her?” Brooks stood, ball in his hand.
Trace shrugged. He didn’t plan on admitting he’d been keeping tabs on Christie. Ever since the day everything had gone down with her ex-husband, he’d had the strong desire to protect her. Even though she lived over fifteen hundred miles away, he knew a lot about her.
At the wedding, she had approached him and thanked him in a hesitant voice with sincerity in her gaze. She’d slipped away before he’d been able to say a word.
He had hoped to have a chance to really talk to her, but he’d recognized the haunted expression in her eyes. He had no doubt she wasn’t ready for flirting, or open to any kind of interest from a man. Not yet. Maybe one day he’d have the chance.
Salvatore Reyes had kidnapped and held his own wife hostage, gun to her head. Trace and Dylan had been there when it had all come to the boil. Trace had recognized Christie’s vacant stare and his chest had constricted at the sight of her bruises. Just the thought now nearly made his blood turn to steam.
Seeing what Reyes had done to Christie had brought back a rush of memories of what Trace’s mother had suffered at the hands of his father. Not to mention what Aunt Barb had been through thanks to Brody.
It had been all Trace could do to hold himself from beating Reyes to within an inch of his life. Trace had no time or energy for men who didn’t treat women with complete respect. If a man hurt or attempted to hurt a woman, Trace had a real short fuse.
A vibration at Trace’s hip told him he had a call and he made a motion with his hand, telling Brooks with that movement to hold on to the ball. Trace pulled the phone out of its holster and saw he had a blocked call, which could mean anything.
He brought the phone to his ear. “Agent Davidson here.”
“They know she’s coming to Bisbee.” A familiar voice came over the line—Spin Murray, one of Trace’s informants. “They’re going to kill her.”
Trace’s skin prickled. “Who’s coming?”
Spin’s scratchy voice sounded almost amused. “Salvatore Reyes’ ex-wife.”
Trace jerked his head up, a wintery-cold blast taking residence in his chest. “Christie is on her way here?”
“Salvatore ordered a hit on her from his prison cell.” The informant’s words pinged in Trace’s mind.
A chill rolled over his flesh as Spin continued. “From what his men said, she’s already on a flight from Indiana and her plane’s gonna land in Tucson in three hours. They’re gonna be waiting for her.”
Trace’s heart raced. “Fuck.”
Dallas abandoned his game of Frisbee with Angelina, instantly recognizing Trace needed him.
Trace turned and jogged to the house, Dallas at his heels. “What else can you tell me?”
“That’s it, man.” Spin’s voice was rough from years of smoking cigarettes and he gave a phlegmy cough. “You owe me.”
“You’ll get paid like always.” Trace disconnected the call as he reached the porch steps.
“What’s wrong?” Brooks called out to him.
Trace didn’t stop to answer Brooks. He let the screen door bang shut behind him and when he didn’t see Belle, he strode toward the kitchen.
He spotted her standing beside the kitchen table, about to put a chip in her mouth. “You didn’t tell me Christie is on her way to Bisbee.”
Belle paused, chip halfway to her mouth. “Christie’s what?”
“You don’t know anything about it?” Trace asked, seein
g Brooks came up behind him.
“No.” Belle looked from one man to another. “Christie’s been asking a lot of questions, like what time I’m going in to be induced tomorrow, but didn’t say she’s actually coming here.”
Dylan stepped next to Belle and put his arm around her shoulders. “What’s going on, Trace?”
“I just got a call. An informant told me Salvatore Reyes has a hit out on Christie and she’s on a flight from Indiana right this minute.”
Belle dropped the chip. It fell to the floor as she put her hand over her mouth.
Dylan let out a string of curses.
Belle, Dylan, and Christie had been close since childhood, along with four other friends. They’d called themselves the CoS, Circle of Seven. Thanks to Reyes, that circle was no longer seven strong.
“I’m calling Agent Stillwater, the FBI contact on the case, and I’m going to head to Tucson myself.” Trace raised his phone. “I’ll get to the airport a good hour before her flight lands.”
“I’ll go, too.” Dylan’s expression indicated the depth of his anger. “Just give me a moment.”
“You can’t go.” Trace kept his tone firm. “You need to be here for Belle. We’ve got this.”
“We’ll have them wait to induce the baby.” Belle appeared panicked. “You’ll need backup. You need Dylan.”
“I’ll go.” Brooks stepped beside Trace. “Between us and the FBI, we’ll make sure she’s safe.” He focused on Dylan. “Like Trace said, you need to stay here with Belle.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Dylan looked hard and angry but like he was trying to hold on to his control. “But Christie is family to us.”
Belle gave Trace a hard stare. “You get her and keep her safe.”
“I will.” He met her gaze. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”
“Thank you.” Belle nodded. “We’re counting on you.”
“I’ll see you when you testify,” Trace said. “It’s bad enough you have to leave Belle and the baby to head to Phoenix for your testimony.”
Dylan nodded. As one of the agents who had helped bring down Salvatore Reyes, Dylan would have to testify. He would recount facts on what had been discovered, and he had iron-clad documentation on hard irrefutable evidence. Dylan had not been threatened, nor would he be in personal danger.
Taking Fire Page 3
