Taking Fire

by Cheyenne McCray

  Paco’s gaze remained steady. “What do you want us to do now?”

  “What the fuck do you think?” Salvatore growled the words. “Figure it out—that’s what I pay you for. Make sure she gets what she deserves and she never has the opportunity to testify.”

  Paco gave a nod. “I will make sure it happens.”

  Salvatore nodded in turn. “I know you will.” Paco wouldn’t let him down.

  “Time to go, Reyes.” One of the prison guards caught Salvatore’s attention and gestured to the door.

  “I want to know it’s done the next time you’re in here.” Salvatore threw out the words in a low voice to Paco.

  The guard put his hand on Salvatore’s shoulder. “Now, Reyes.”

  Salvatore wanted to shove the guard’s hand away. Hell, he would fucking love to break the bastard’s neck.

  Instead of shrugging away from the guard, Salvatore controlled himself, hung up the receiver, and got to his feet.

  The chain cuffed to his ankles made a jangling sound, accompanying his shuffle toward the door leading away from visitation. He hated the orange jumpsuit the prison forced him wear and scowled at the thought of the TV show Orange is the New Black. Fuck that shit.

  And fuck Christie.

  As the guard escorted Salvatore down the hallway, back to his cell, he thought about how perfectly everything had been progressing. One of the cartel’s computer experts had hacked Christie’s Gmail account. The dumb bitch hadn’t changed her email address.

  When the hacker had gotten into her account, he had discovered the airline confirmations. Salvatore’s men had everything—the airline, her destination, the flight number, and time of arrival.

  They’d learned she lived in Indiana, but not exactly where, until Christie had sent a message to her grandmother. Combined with the airline confirmation, it had given him the perfect plan.

  He’d even had an ace in the hole with the Angel of Death.

  But his men had royally fucked that up. Now they’d have to find other ways to kill her and it had to be done right away. The U.S. Marshals planned to transport Salvatore to Phoenix soon for the trial. Christie was the last person scheduled to testify. It was her testimony, the most damning of all, that could put him away for the rest of his life.

  She would never make it.

  Salvatore was too smart and the new head of the cartel too powerful. If Christie never lived to testify, Salvatore would be in his cousin, Rodrigo Jimenez’s, good graces. Rodrigo, the new leader of the Jimenez Cartel, was also known as El Verdugo, the Executioner. Rodrigo had turned over some of his resources to Salvatore to find Christie and kill her.

  If Christie did somehow testify, Rodrigo would no doubt have Salvatore killed. El Verdugo would want to ensure Salvatore wouldn’t have the opportunity to double-cross the cartel and turn state’s evidence.

  Salvatore had made it clear he would never do such a thing, but the head of the cartel only trusted so far, even though Salvatore was a relation.

  The guard slammed the cell door closed after shoving Salvatore into the cramped space.

  Ignoring the asshole on the bottom bunk, Salvatore climbed onto the upper bunk and flopped on it. He put one palm behind his head and stared up at the stained ceiling, wishing for a snort of cocaine.

  Fucking Circle of Seven. If it hadn’t been for Christie’s goddamned childhood friends, everything would have been perfect. He’d still have his lovely wife—Christie would have continued to be blissfully ignorant. He’d still have his business, his beautiful home, his assets, his life.

  The fact some of the CoS still lived, while the Feds had incarcerated Salvatore, grated on him in ways he’d never before experienced. Now some big motherfucker had tried to make Salvatore his bitch. If not for his connections, he would have had more to worry about than getting out of this fucking place.

  With everything he had, he wished he’d been able to take care of Christie and all of her remaining friends from the CoS. They should all be dead, not just a few. He’d had two successfully eliminated and a third struggled on life support. But the ones who could hurt him the most were still alive—the DHS officer, his wife, and Christie.

  His faithless wife who had turned on him, joining her friends instead of staying at his side.

  If only he’d snapped Christie’s neck sooner than he’d planned and had gotten rid of her useless body so it would never be found. If only he hadn’t kept her around to fuck and humiliate.

  He put his arm over his face and closed his eyes. Instead of brooding over past mistakes, he could make sure his plans were carried out.

  Soon Christie would die, and not long after he would be a free man.

  Chapter Five

  Christie sat on the edge of the hospital bed as she waited to be discharged. She bit her lower lip and played with a mother of pearl button on the pink shirt she wore, while she focused on the socks and athletic shoes on her feet.

  Everything since arriving at the airport to ending up in the hospital had blurred together in her mind. She could barely remember anything from the moment she’d been shot until she’d come out of surgery. Attempting to remember all that had happened was like trying to grab tendrils of smoke drifting on a breeze.

  Mostly she remembered Trace talking to her in his rich Texan drawl after she’d been injured and how his words pulled her from the darkness, saving her from a deep abyss.

  Two days had passed. She was better and ready to get out of the hospital.

  Brooks, an agent who had helped Dylan and Trace take down Salvatore’s men, had suffered an injury protecting Christie at the airport. From what she understood, Brooks had been shot in the shoulder, but she’d been assured he had not sustained a serious wound. He would head to his home near Bisbee later today.

  One FBI agent remained in critical condition and Christie’s soul ached at the thought. Another FBI agent had been injured but, thank God, would be fine. She prayed the agent still clinging to life would make it.

  The iPad Trace had loaned her nearly slid off her lap and she caught it just in time. She unlocked the screen before pulling up an app and opening the video Dylan and Belle had sent Trace yesterday when the baby had been induced. Christie had watched the video three times already. She couldn’t get enough of seeing her friends so happy.

  First came Belle, smiling and holding their son. “Hi, Christie.” Belle rocked the baby in her arms. “We wish you could have been here for Shane’s birth, but Dylan and I are both grateful you’re all right. After this is all over, you need to come stay with the three of us for a while.”

  Christie smiled and brushed a tear from her face. The tear reflected her happiness for her friends.

  The tear that followed stood for what Salvatore had done to her and what he planned to do. That second tear she scrubbed away, angry with herself for allowing thoughts of that bastard into her head.

  She continued to watch the video, a smile returning to her lips as Dylan took the baby from Belle and cradled him. The camera stayed on Dylan, who wore the biggest proud-papa grin she’d ever seen.

  Both Dylan and Belle had been two of Christie’s best friends since elementary school. The pair had dated in high school and had been deeply in love before Belle had disappeared, having run away from home and a desperate situation.

  All these years later and Dylan and Belle were finally back together…and now they were a family of three.

  The video ended and Christie saw Trace watching her. He had one shoulder hitched up against a wall, his thumbs hooked in his pockets.

  Every other thought in her mind fled as she imagined touching all that muscle his overshirt couldn’t completely hide. He’d rolled his sleeves to his elbows and the snug material showed off his powerful biceps. Where his overshirt fell open, a blue T-shirt hugged his incredible chest. His Wranglers were an oh-my-God perfect fit on him.

  She wanted to run her thumb over the cleft in his chin and touch his lips with her fingertips. His stubble would feel rou
gh beneath her palms as she moved them over his angular jaw. His eyes were a smoky gray, but they seemed to darken, watching her take him in.

  He held her gaze. She should probably be embarrassed for so blatantly looking him over, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t sure why it didn’t bother her.

  She realized he’d just done the same thing to her. Instead of feeling shy, she enjoyed it. She was stronger, a woman appreciated by a good man. If she had read him right, he liked what he saw.

  “How are you doing?” he broke the silence in his easy drawl.

  She’d noticed his slow twang in relaxed times. But in a tough situation, he spoke in a hard vocal manner, shouting out orders to people as needed. When he’d helped Dylan take down Salvatore, Trace had made it clear to Salvatore’s men he intended to shoot to kill.

  Salvatore should be grateful to be alive.

  “I’m much better.” She inspected her bandaged arm in its sling. “I shouldn’t have to wear this for long. Dr. Tenor doesn’t want me to overdo it.”

  “I’ll make sure you behave.” Trace gave an easy smile.

  The lady-killer twist to his lips made her sigh. Oh, she wouldn’t mind at all if he made her behave.

  She imagined herself being naughty, just so he’d make her be a good girl.

  This time, she did feel heat in her face at the direction of her thoughts. It took effort to push away the embarrassment.

  She shouldn’t feel embarrassed. Damnit, she was a different person now.

  Over the past year, she had become a strong and independent woman.

  She hoped it wouldn’t be much longer before she’d be ready to have a sexual relationship with a man who might wipe out her memories of Salvatore. Especially what he’d done to her at the end. She didn’t want to sleep around, but like any red-blooded American woman she deserved to enjoy life to its fullest.

  And dang, but Trace was hot. She wouldn’t mind at all if she ended up in his bed.

  It’s too soon to be having these thoughts. Don’t push anything you can’t and shouldn’t follow through with. She needed to stop holding back. I’m a different person now.

  It might be crazy, but she didn’t feel in the least bit afraid of Trace. Other men had caused her to feel nervous and she’d experienced high anxiety at times.

  But not now. Why? she wondered.

  “Promise you’ll make me behave?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  He grinned. “You’d better believe it.”

  Trace had such an intense way about him when he swooped around in super-agent mode. She imagined his muscled body in tights with a cape and a laugh escaped her.

  With an amused expression, Trace sat next to her on the bed. His body brushed hers and an incredible heat between them made warmth flow through her body.

  On the other hand, times like now showed his softer, easygoing side.

  He gestured to his tablet. “Mind if I see the video again?”

  “Thank you for letting me borrow your iPad.” She handed it to him as she smiled. “I love seeing how happy they are and that precious baby.”

  Trace started the video and she studied his face. He smiled as he watched it. He finished and handed her the device. “Dylan is lucky to have gotten Belle back and now have a growing family. Shane is a beautiful baby.”

  Christie saw the fondness in Trace’s expression for Dylan and Belle and a softness within him for the baby. She also saw something more. Like he desired a family of his own.

  The thought of Trace as a daddy sent more warmth through her. She could just see him holding a son or daughter.

  After a moment of silence, Trace put his hand over hers. Wildfire heat brushed her skin from the contact.

  A light knock came at the door and Trace moved his hand from Christie’s. Dr. Tenor pushed open the door. He came into the room, carrying the thin laptop he used to take notes.

  Trace got up and moved to a chair near the bed so the doctor could talk with Christie.

  Dr. Tenor stopped a couple of feet from her. “How are you feeling, Christie?”

  “Much better.” She glanced at her arm. “I’m ready to get out of here.”

  The doctor asked her a few more questions and examined her arm. She bit back a small cry from the pain, but the doctor noticed her wince.

  “I’ll have the nurse give you more pain meds before you leave.” He made a couple of notes on his small laptop. “I’m also writing a prescription for something to help ease the discomfort for later.”

  Christie thanked him after he’d finished. He told her the nurses would be in shortly to have her sign her discharge papers.

  When the doctor went on to continue his rounds, Christie met Trace’s gaze. “What’s next?”

  “Stillwater has arranged for you to go to a safe house.” He rested a hand on her hospital bed. “I don’t know the exact location, but I think it’s somewhere in Tucson.”

  Her heart beat a little faster. “None of this seems real.”

  “It’s very real, Christie.” Trace grew serious. “If you don’t already, you need to understand how much your life is in danger.”

  She blew out her breath. “I suppose being shot is one way to make me a believer.”

  “It should.” Trace took off his Stetson and pushed his hand through his hair then put his hat back on. “I guess this is where we part ways. For now.”

  Panic rose in her like a flock of birds in her chest. “You’re leaving me?”

  Trace got to his feet and hooked his thumbs in his jeans. “Agent Stillwater is in charge and she made it clear she’s taking over. My boss happens to agree with her.”

  “I don’t care what Stillwater or your boss want.” Christie’s stubborn streak came to life. “I want you to stay with me, Trace.” She paused. Maybe Trace didn’t have a desire to help her. “That is, if you want to.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “I’d like to be on your protection detail, Christie. No doubt about it. I think Agent Stillwater isn’t going to agree.”

  Christie narrowed her gaze. “I refuse to cooperate until she allows it.”

  “Cooperate with what?” Stillwater’s tight words cut through their conversation.

  Christie turned her attention to the FBI agent, who’d just made her way into the room. “Agent Davidson stays on my protection detail or I won’t go to your damned safe house.”

  “Agent Davidson is with another organization.” Stillwater narrowed her gaze at Trace, as though he had instigated Christie’s demands. “The FBI is handling this case from now on.”

  Christie’s stubbornness magnified. “He stays or I go.”

  Stillwater turned to Trace. “May I have a word with you, Agent Davidson?”

  Trace nodded and Stillwater turned toward the door. He followed, shooting a look over his shoulder. He winked before walking out of the room with the FBI agent.

  Time ticked by slowly and Christie busied herself by poring over a travel magazine titled Wanderlust, which had a picture of a beach in Fiji on the cover. It was one of three magazines Trace had brought yesterday, along with a bouquet of flowers and her suitcase. The suitcase had apparently been searched and whoever had gotten their hands on it had left the contents a jumbled mess.

  Trace had also brought her Arizona Highways and National Geographic magazines. How interesting that he’d brought her magazines about different places and travel. She hadn’t been alone much in the hospital room, but during those times, she had read as much as she could to keep her mind off everything that had happened.

  In addition to the magazines, he had purchased an adult coloring book with gorgeous artwork and an ocean theme. She had at least a dozen of the books back in Indiana and she found them incredibly relaxing. Trace had also bought a set of forty-eight brightly hued pencils and not the cheap kind. She had already mostly colored a scene with a treasure chest and an ocean full of sea creatures.

  Christie stared at the photo of a woman in a hammock, on a white sand beach in Fiji, wit
h a tropical drink in her hand. After a moment, she set the Wanderlust magazine aside. She couldn’t focus on the article and the words blurred as her thoughts traveled back to her youth when the Circle of Seven had first gotten together in elementary school. A hodgepodge of friends from different walks of life and different parts of Bisbee, and a friendship that had lasted decades.

  Thanks to Salvatore, too many were dead.

  Her ex-husband. The man who’d fractured the CoS and had ordered others to be murdered. She could barely face the truth.

  Her throat ached and her eyes stung.

  She let her gaze drift over the bright bouquet of flowers Trace had brought with the magazines. Focusing on the here and now would normally be a good alternative to the past, but right now the present left a lot to be desired.

  The nightmares from the past two nights in the hospital jumped to the forefront of her mind. Blood pounded in her ears and panic rose in her chest. She’d dreamt of the forest again, just like she had on the airplane.

  And again, Salvatore had been there.

  “We’re set.” Trace’s voice jolted her back to the here and now as he walked in the door. “If you’d like, I can get your prescriptions filled and be right back.”

  For one moment, she had to orient herself and make sense of what he’d just asked her. Prescriptions. He’d just asked her about them.

  “Sure.” She grasped the scripts the doctor had given her and held them out to Trace. “Thank you.”

  “Not a problem.” His fingers brushed hers on taking the papers and she caught her breath. She thought she saw an answering flash of awareness in his gaze. He cleared his throat. “This won’t take me long.”

  She told herself to breathe and managed to. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

  He hesitated. “Anything else you need?”

  She didn’t want him to know how fear continuously burned in her chest. “I’m fine.”