Trace glanced around the Explorer and checked all his mirrors, then pulled into a driveway. “We’re here.”
She blinked. She’d been so wrapped up in her memories and in her subsequent conversation with Trace that she hadn’t even noticed they’d gotten off the freeway. They were now parked next to a black SUV, probably the vehicle they’d been following when they’d first left the hospital. Since she hadn’t been paying attention, she didn’t know.
“I’m glad we’ve finally arrived.” She let out a long breath. “I could use a nap.” With her injury and her up and down emotions, everything wore on her.
“Let’s get you inside.” He checked his mirrors. “Hold on until we follow protocol.”
Exhaustion threatened to make her fall asleep before she even got into the safe house. She watched with heavy-lidded eyes as the other black SUVs arrived and agents went in the house and cleared it.
The agents completed their preparations for Christie to enter the safe house, then Trace helped her out of the truck. The agents, including Stillwater, swept Christie from the Explorer and into the building. Dallas accompanied them, again staying at Christie’s side, as if Trace had instructed the dog to. Maybe Trace had.
The plain-looking safe house had beige carpeting, white walls, and oak furniture. It reminded her of the 90s when furniture seemed to be bigger and made of oak and smoked glass.
“Your bedroom is down the hall on the left.” Stillwater gestured in the direction of the hallway. “It’s already set up for witness protection.”
Witness protection. God, this just kept getting better and better. She’d never dreamed she could possibly be in a situation like this. Never in a million years had it occurred to her that one day she would be testifying against her ex-husband who had a hit out on her.
A hit out. On me.
“Just tell me where to go,” Christie replied. “All I want is a bed and rest.”
Dallas moved beside her, his ears perked. Maybe he wanted rest, too.
A low rumble rose from Dallas’s chest and his lips curled away from his teeth.
Ice crystalized Christie’s spine as she stared at the dog. He got to his feet, his whole body tense.
Agent Mike Huff, a burly man she’d barely met, walked toward her. “I’ll show you to your room.”
Christie’s heart thudded and she started to step back. Dallas had to be growling at the agent. Was he about to hurt her?
A second later, she realized Dallas’s gaze was riveted on the front door as he snarled. All conversation stopped and agents started to draw their weapons.
Christie glanced back at Agent Huff. She heard a crack at the same time the agent’s head vaporized.
Chapter Six
Blood and brain matter slapped Christie’s face and arms. She screamed as the agent’s body collapsed.
Someone tackled her, driving her down. Still screaming, she hit her chin on the carpeted floor. Agony tore through her from her shoulder wound and stars sparked in front of her eyes.
Her vision cleared and she saw the body lying in front of her. She screamed, uncontrollable screams, like she’d never experienced before. Heavy weight pinned her and she couldn’t move.
More gunfire. Glass shattering. Metal pinging. Wood splintering. Agents shouting. Dallas snarling. Her screaming.
“Stop, Christie.” Someone rolled her over and gripped her by her shoulders. “Be quiet.”
She couldn’t stop and she struggled against his hold. He shook her, hard, jarring her. Whimpers escaped her as she tried to pull herself together.
Christie attempted to tear her gaze from the body, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from it.
Trace grasped her face with his hands, forcing her to look at him, breaking the hold the headless form had on her. “Crawl to that door.” Trace pointed to her right. “Whatever you do, stay down.”
Around her shouts and gunfire grew louder.
Her entire body trembled violently as she crawled in the direction of the door. He shouted for Dallas, who stopped growling and accompanied her and Trace. The pain in her shoulder neared excruciating. She faltered, her muscles wanting to give out on her.
Trace egged her on with his shouts. “Go, Christie. Go.”
She moved faster and reached the door. Trace pushed her in through the entrance and she rolled onto her side.
“Crawl over to the closet.” Trace gestured toward a pair of accordion doors. “Dallas, go with Christie.”
Dallas ambled to Christie’s side. She tried to move, but her muscles didn’t want to cooperate. The dog nosed her good arm, as if telling her to get up and go.
Trace sat with his back against the wall, reloading his gun. She hadn’t realized he’d been firing his weapon. “How the fuck did they find us?”
He clearly hadn’t asked her the question and didn’t expect her to answer.
The chaos continued, the sounds almost too loud for her to stand. Her heart thundered. Her mouth tasted like pennies rested on her tongue. Sweat dripped down the side of her face, her skin hot and dry.
“Go, Christie.” Trace kept his voice low, but she heard the order loud and clear.
An explosion rocked the house and she screamed again. Parts of the ceiling rained on the carpet. A piece hit the back of Christie’s head, cutting off her scream. More pain splintered through her and she cried out, her vision starting to gray. The agony in her bullet wound shot her toward darkness.
Trace grasped her face again. “Right now you have to push away pain and fear, or we’re going to die.”
His words registered in her with strange clarity. She nodded and tried to pull herself together.
“We need to get into the closet.” He helped her to her hands and knees. “We don’t have any time to waste. Now go.”
The noise of the attack abated, but she didn’t have the time to wonder about it.
She started moving. He made it there before her, pushed open the doors, kneeled, and ran his fingers along the floor. He tripped what must have been a lock that made a click, then pulled up a square of carpeted flooring and revealed a door.
More gunfire started. Another explosion. The house rocked.
Christie had to bite her lip to keep quiet.
He indicated the square hole in the floor. “Hurry.”
She nodded and moved to it. Plain, well-worn wooden stairs led down to a concrete floor.
The door opened in the room and Trace whirled, gun drawn. Her thundering heart beat unbelievably faster, even as she saw Stillwater rush into the room. Three of the agents who had arrived at the house with them followed her. At that moment, she couldn’t focus on the agents or even their faces.
Stillwater glanced over her shoulder and whipped her attention back to Trace and Christie. “Move it.”
The agents waited for Christie to go. She held on to a lone rail, reining in more cries from the pain in her head and arm. She slipped and almost pitched down the stairs. Trace had hold of her good shoulder and she regained her balance. She gripped the rail and moved as fast as she could without falling. The chaos above faded the farther she went.
She reached the concrete floor, glanced back, and saw Dallas following Trace. The last agent closed the door behind them, cutting off all exterior noise. The creak of the stairs made by the agents coming down and the sound of footsteps served as the only sounds.
When they all reached the floor, they stood quietly for a moment. Dallas stared at place they’d come through. He had stopped growling and appeared to be on guard as opposed to looking as if he were going to attack someone.
Silence seemed to ring in her ears then she became aware of the sound of blood pounding in her skull. Christie watched the five agents, including Trace and Stillwater. Agents Darlene Garcia, Sami Bahri, and Adolf Farris made up the rest of the group.
Christie’s throat hurting from screaming, her body throbbing and aching. She became aware of something sticky coating her skin and a horrible smell. Brain and blood matter had sp
rayed her.
The contents of her stomach roiled and gurgled, and she held her hand to her abdomen. Bile rose in her throat and her mouth tasted of acid. She whirled and tried to run to a corner. She didn’t make it far before she vomited on the floor.
Agent Mike Huff. That had been his name.
She heaved, unable to stop until every last thing she’d eaten that day puddled at her feet. The sight and smell caused her to gag and she dry heaved several more times.
“Are you all right?” Trace spoke to her quietly and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I need you to be strong now, Christie.”
Her face burned. She’d thought she had become strong, almost invincible. Instead, she’d completely fallen apart and puked.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Trace took her by her shoulders and she stared at his shoes. “Look at me,” he said.
She raised her gaze and met his.
“Most people in your situation wouldn’t have made it this far without falling apart. You’re doing all right. But now we’ve got to move on. Okay?”
“Yes.” She forced herself to concentrate on the others in the room.
The agents breathed hard, some bleeding through clothing. Agent Bahri supported Agent Farris and she saw Farris’s knee had been shot.
“Where is Agent Petrov?” Christie asked. James. The other agent whose head didn’t explode in front of me. She almost dry heaved again at the thought.
Agent Garcia shook her head and Christie’s belly cramped. That’s two. Two agents sent to protect me are now dead.
“Let’s go.” Stillwater gestured to a big vault door. “I don’t think they’ll find us, but we don’t want to take chances.”
Christie stared. How many home basements had a vault door in their basement?
“DEA seized this house.” Agent Garcia answered Christie’s unspoken question as they hurried after Stillwater. “Big-time dealer with a lot of money and a big business.”
Agent Bahri added, “He might have been scum of the earth, but the dealer was still fairly intelligent and managed to keep off the radar.”
“Until one of the DEA’s drones flew over and a suspicious heat signature caught the agency’s attention,” Garcia said. “The dealer had greenhouses that used an incredible amount of heat to grow marijuana.”
Christie shuddered from the thought of being in a place where a drug dealer had presided over his operation.
She, Trace, Dallas, and the FBI agents ducked into the lit tunnel and gathered in a large room with a dark, arched passage leading away from it, big enough to drive a truck through.
“We should be fine here long enough to regroup.” Stillwater shut the heavy door with a solid thump and loud clicks. She spun the lock and joined them. “Had to have been Salvatore’s men.”
“How the hell did they find us?” Trace repeated the question he’d asked earlier.
Garcia glanced at Trace. “They could have been watching the local hospitals, waiting for Christie to leave.”
“There’s the man Christie saw, who called himself Ángel,” Agent Farris said through gritted teeth. “Like you reported earlier, Agent Davidson, he could have been Salvatore’s man.”
“Salvatore has ties to one of the biggest cartels in Mexico,” Bahri added as he attended to Farris’s knee. “Anything is possible.”
“Christie said this Ángel could be Salvatore Reyes’ twin.” Trace studied her. “You met the man on your flight to Arizona?”
She nodded. “He sat next to me.”
“It’s possible this Ángel could have been sent to kill Christie,” Trace said.
Fear churned inside her at the thought her ex’s lookalike might be set on murdering her, or making sure someone else did.
“Can you think of anything else about him?” Trace asked.
She elaborated what she could on his physical description, including the hint of green in his brown eyes and the thick scar along one cheek. “That’s all I know.”
“That could explain the tie to the hospital,” Garcia said. “But how could they have followed us on such a complicated SDR?”
“And how did they get so much firepower when we barely got here?” Bahri added.
“We’re damned sure going to find out.” Trace’s grim expression and the tic on the left side of his face showed his concern. “We need to get a move on.”
Almost every part of Christie’s body cried out in pain as they hurried down the passageway the best they could. She held back any more screams, cries, or whimpers.
She counted herself fortunate. She hadn’t been murdered like the dead agents and hadn’t had her knee blown out like Agent Farris. The fact she could still experience pain was more than the dead agents could say.
Because of course, they could say nothing at all.
With Dallas’s help, Trace kept Christie moving down the tunnel. She was clearly exhausted and he would have liked to carry her and give her a break. But she could still move on her own and he needed to help Bahri with Farris.
Farris had a large frame and weighed a good two hundred and eighty pounds. With his knee blown out, he had zero ability to use that leg. Considering his size, it hadn’t been a cakewalk for the smaller Bahri to help the big man through the house and down the staircase in the basement. Farris grew weaker by the moment and leaned more heavily on Bahri and Trace.
The tunnel let out in South Tucson, in a low-income area. Agency vehicles, EMTs and an ambulance waited for them. Heavy surveillance patrolled the ground and air.
Emergency personnel treated the agents and Christie as paramedics whisked Farris away in the ambulance.
The paramedics even checked Dallas over to make sure he hadn’t suffered any injuries.
Trace sat with Christie in one of the vehicles as an EMT treated her. They’d kept her hidden while other emergency personnel cared for the agents’ injuries. Trace had draped a blanket over her shoulders, but she didn’t appear to be in shock, despite what she’d been through.
After Trace had put in a request, an agent had arrived with fresh clothes for Christie, along with water, cloth, and wipes to help her clean up the best she could. She’d been covered with Mike Huff’s blood and matter, and the experience had clearly traumatized her. She had insisted on cleaning up before the EMTs treated her injuries. Trace couldn’t blame her one damn bit.
Trace had been fortunate and had sustained only scratches, abrasions, bruises, and a lump on his temple. Stillwater and Garcia had similar minor injuries.
The other agents hadn’t come away so lucky. Bahri, it turned out, had a bullet in his shoulder. He’d favored the arm, but he hadn’t said a word about the kind of pain he had to have been in while helping Farris. The blood hadn’t shown on the black suit he wore.
Trace had never had the chance to get to know the murdered agents, but he knew their names—Huff and Petrov. He’d barely met Farris, Bahri, and Garcia while preparing to leave for the safe house.
As for Christie, the Feds wouldn’t keep her still for long. Even though they were a considerable distance from the compromised safe house, they could easily draw the attention of Salvatore’s men with this kind of activity.
“I’m sorry I’m such a baby.” Christie studied Trace as the EMT left. “I freaked and I was a total mess.”
“Hey.” Trace moved closer to her. “Anyone would have freaked if they’d seen what you did and gone through everything you faced. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“I still see that agent’s head—” Her eyes watered as her face paled.
“It’s easier said than done but don’t think about it.” Trace spoke to Christie in a firm tone. “Every time you do, it’s like reliving the whole thing over again. Do whatever you can to get your mind off it.”
She nodded but seemed close to tears. He brought her in his arms and held her.
He embraced her for a long moment then drew back and laid his hands on her forearms.
“Will you be all right in here while I go over everything with Agent Stillwater?”
Christie nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
He slipped out of the Explorer after instructing Dallas to stay with Christie.
Trace rounded the vehicle and saw Stillwater speaking on her phone.
“Yes, sir.” Stillwater nodded even though the ‘sir’ on the other end of the line couldn’t see her. “I’ll take care of it.”
She ended the call and tucked the phone into her blazer. “What can I do for you, Agent Davidson?”
“Trace,” he said. “Call me Trace.”
“If you would prefer.” She gave a nod. “You can call me Laura.”
“Thank you, Laura.” He glanced around them at the part of Tucson that could be considered ‘the other side of the tracks’.
He returned his gaze to Stillwater’s. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re taking her to Phoenix.” Stillwater’s long dark hair whipped in the onset of a brisk wind. “We’re choosing another safe house.”
“When do you plan on leaving?” he asked.
“Soon.” The exhaustion in Stillwater’s eyes and the tightness of her features reflected exhaustion she couldn’t quite hide beneath her tough-agent exterior. “I need to have replacements before we leave.”
He eyed Garcia, the only other agent remaining, as she spoke with an EMT. Trace’s gaze met Stillwater’s again. “I’m sorry about the two agents you lost today. I’ve been through it and it’s gut-wrenching.”
“It is.” She sighed then straightened her posture, as if not wanting to show any sign of weakness. “But we all know the dangers of the job when we sign on.”
“Knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.” Trace tipped his head in the direction of the truck where Christie waited. “I’ll check in with our witness.”
Stillwater gave a short nod then turned away and walked toward Agent Garcia.
Trace reached the open rear door of the SUV. He peeked in and saw Christie staring out of a window. She turned her head as he climbed in and slid onto the bench seat a couple of feet from her. Her eyes looked haunted.
Taking Fire Page 8
