Taking Fire

by Cheyenne McCray

“I know what you mean.” Her smile couldn’t have been more brilliant. “They’ve been among the best days I ever remember having.”

  He squeezed her hand tighter as he turned his attention back to the road long enough to make sure they were on course before meeting her gaze again. Her smile could have melted even the most hardened of soldiers.

  The rest of the way down the winding mountain road, everything they had to say seemed to flow through their connected hands. No words were needed. Energy traveled between them, a sensation that filled him with heat.

  He neared a tight turn, along the steep canyon road. He drew his hand away, his palm warm from hers as they slid their fingers apart.

  She glanced at him.

  The road exploded in front of the truck.

  Christie screamed as their vehicle slammed into the guard rail.

  Dallas yelped.

  The truck tipped to the side, scraping along the metal barrier.

  Trace fought to gain control of the Explorer before it had a chance to flip over the rail and down the sheer side of the canyon.

  The truck slid on two wheels past a gaping hole in the road. A car coming from the opposite side sped by. Trace heard the squeal of brakes and a jarring crash behind them at the same time as he righted the vehicle and they were on four wheels again. The truck rocked back and forth. Wheels bounced on the road and he clamped his teeth shut with the motion.

  From the moment of the explosion, Trace had processed everything in rapid-fire succession. It didn’t take a trained law enforcement officer to realize they were under attack and he had to get them the hell off this mountain and to safety.

  Trace flipped on his lights and sirens to warn motorists and sped up. He had to get to the tree cover, at least two football field lengths away. He had to reach it to get out from the open. Anyone bombing them from an aircraft would have a harder time finding the truck in the more thickly forested part of the road.

  If they had planted bombs well into the forest, well, nothing would protect them from the blasts.

  Were the bombs actually missiles from an aircraft and another helicopter?

  He couldn’t hear anything above the sirens and explosions.

  His heart thundered. Christie’s silence caused his heart to stop. He glanced in her direction, only to see her slumped to the side, her head against the window. She slid forward a bit, leaving a smear of blood across the glass.

  Terror for Christie ripped through him.

  She’d better be alive or he’d rip apart every last man in Salvatore’s organization.

  Dallas’s bark and snarl told him the dog was alive. And pissed.

  A sound somewhere behind the truck. The road erupted again.

  The truck’s side window shattered. Cold air blasted into the cab.

  Trace swerved around a massive hole, wheels squealing, with barely any time to avoid it.

  Rocks, asphalt, and earth vomited up from the road as another strike slammed down. Debris rained on the truck, banging and pinging on the metal.

  He pressed harder on the gas. They were coming up on a corner and he’d need to slow down to keep from flying off the road and into the canyon.

  A car appeared in the opposite lane and came to a complete stop in the road. As Trace raced his truck forward, sirens screaming and lights flashing, the car made a U-turn right in front of them.

  Trace slammed on the brakes.

  The truck skidded. He couldn’t stop the vehicle in time. The momentum rammed the truck into the passenger side of the car.

  The truck’s airbags deployed.

  Metal grinded against metal.

  He smacked the spent bag away.

  Another explosion. Ahead or behind, Trace couldn’t tell.

  He kept jamming his foot on the brake but the truck continued sliding down the angle of the road, pushing the car in front of them. Twisted metal from both vehicles had connected and clung together.

  Car and truck would shoot over the canyon side together in just a thousand feet if Trace didn’t disengage the vehicles.

  He jerked hard to the left, away from the drop-off. The car spun free, smashed into the guard rail, and catapulted over it.

  The momentum whipped Trace’s truck in the opposite direction. It slammed against the mountainside and came to a hard stop.

  Sirens from his truck shrieked. In the moment of quiet in between explosions and screeching metal, he heard something above the sirens that sent a chill through his veins.

  The loud whump of a helicopter’s rotors echoed through the canyon.

  Trace’s heart jackhammered.

  Salvatore’s men had a helicopter. They’d been firing the missiles from a goddamned helicopter.

  Christie screamed, giving Trace a small sense of relief she hadn’t died from everything that had happened to this point. He had to keep her alive.

  He didn’t look in her direction. He turned the wheel, rammed his foot against the gas pedal and sped the truck forward.

  Another explosion behind them.

  A helicopter came up fast on their backside.

  Dallas’s barks and snarls grew louder and more insistent.

  Trace pressed harder on the gas.

  He couldn’t shake the helicopter.

  It wasn’t going to go down like this. He wasn’t going to lose Christie.

  The explosions stopped.

  His heart stopped, too.

  A helicopter now hovered over the tree line in front of them.

  A damn helicopter. They’d sent a second fucking helicopter.

  Trace slammed on his brakes again, his mind searching for options.

  Flames shot out from either side of the chopper as its rockets launched.

  Dear God.

  The flames raced right toward them—

  And passed overhead, slamming into the first chopper. An explosion filled the sky with fire.

  The bastards had just taken down their own helicopter.

  He had no intention of sitting there, waiting for the chopper in front of them to take fire again.

  Just as he started to jam his foot on the accelerator, the helicopter rose and turned sideways.

  Across the tail of the helicopter were the words United States Army.

  They had just been saved by their own.

  Trace sagged against his seatback for one moment.

  Christie groaned and he looked at her. He didn’t have time to be more than grateful. He had to get her to the hospital and he had to get her there now.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Christie’s head throbbed, her mind slightly fuzzy as she reclined in the hospital bed while she waited for the doctor to return. The gunshot wound in her shoulder screamed with pain and the cuts and gashes across her body burned or ached, or both. She didn’t know where one pain ended and another began.

  Trace walked in the door and sat at the edge of the bed across from hers. “Hey.”

  She gave him a tired smile. “I see the nurses finally got a hold of you.”

  He had a white bandage along one cheekbone, a wrist bound with tape, and bandages of varying sizes and shapes on his arms. He shrugged. “Yeah. But no way in hell were they going to put a hospital gown on me or stick me in bed.”

  “What’s good for the goose…” she said.

  “This gander is on duty,” he said with a shake of his head. “And he’s just fine.”

  “So am I.” She shifted in bed and winced. “Just as soon as the meds kick in.”

  A concerned look flashed across his features and she held up her hands. “Honestly, I’m doing great, especially with world war three happening on the side of a mountain.”

  He gave a slow nod, no trace of humor in his gaze.

  Memories of the attack jumbled in her mind. Her chest constricted and she trembled. She held her hands under the blanket so Trace wouldn’t see them shake.

  “I’m sorry.” She managed to talk without choking up. “I don’t know how to deal with this whole thing. The people
who died—” The words stuck in her throat. “It all comes back to this being my fault.”

  He pushed himself up off the bed. “None of this is your fault. It’s mine.”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s not.”

  He dragged his hand down his face. “God, I’m sorry. I was so sure you were safe on the mountain.”

  “You didn’t do this.” She wanted to make him understand. “Nothing happened while we stayed at the cabin. Somehow, they located me on our way back. We don’t have any idea why, but what I am certain about is you are not at fault.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” He’d asked the question so many times since the incident she’d just started to nod.

  “Yes,” she said when he continued to focus on her with his intense gaze. “I’ve told you about twenty times now.”

  He looked ready to speak, but she asked, “Any more news about Dallas?”

  “He’s fine.” Trace let out a sound of relief. “All of that and he didn’t end up with a cut or anything else according to the vet. They did x-rays and just about every scan you can think of.”

  Christie sagged against the headboard. “Thank God.”

  The doctor walked into the room and Christie said, “Hi, Dr. Melrose.”

  Trace echoed her.

  Dr. Melrose greeted them in return. He held a chart and directed his attention at Christie. “You have a moderate concussion and you’re going to feel like hell for a couple of days. You’ll need to be monitored, so I am recommending you stay overnight.”

  Fear rolled through Christie in a wave. Salvatore’s men could find her here. She knew that with everything she had.

  Christie started to shake her head, but pain stabbed her skull. “Agent Davidson can make sure I’m taken care of.”

  The doctor eyed Trace, who asked, “What needs to be done to monitor Christie?”

  “It’s against my better judgment for Christie to leave the hospital,” the doctor said.

  “I understand.” Christie left no room for doubt in her words. “But one way or another I am checking out.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Trace said.

  Dr. Melrose nodded. “All right. But you’ll need to watch her closely, Agent Davidson.”

  Trace met Christie’s gaze before answering the doctor. “I will make sure your instructions are followed.”

  “I’ll send them home with Christie.” The doctor gave Trace some basic information. “Even though you haven’t specified, it appears whatever happened to you is a serious matter that has nothing to do with a run-of-the-mill accident. I’m going to give you my cell number, and I want you to call if you have any questions or concerns.” He pulled a card out from his lab coat pocket and held it out to Trace.

  Trace took the card from the doctor. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Take Christie to the ER immediately if there are any problems or complications,” Dr. Melrose said. “You’ll find those listed in the information I’ll get together for you.”

  Trace looked at Christie, as if to change his mind and have her stay in the hospital after all.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said before he could speak. “I don’t want to stay here. We can’t.”

  Trace gave a single nod and returned his gaze to the doctor. “Thank you. We’ll call if we have any questions.”

  The doctor put his hand on Christie’s shoulder. “Take care and make sure you go over everything I’ll be sending with you.”

  She managed a smile. Even her mouth hurt. “I’ll be good.”

  “You’d better be,” the doctor said. “Or you just might be right back in here.”

  Her smile disappeared. Her head ached too much to nod. “Yes, sir.”

  He slapped the folder lightly against the bed. “Take care of her, Agent Davidson.”

  “Of course,” Trace said.

  Dr. Melrose nodded to Christie and left the room.

  Christie nearly groaned from all the pain but stopped because she didn’t want Trace to worry about her.

  “Are you sure you’re okay to leave the hospital?” Trace’s expression became grim. “We need to protect you, but we can do it here.”

  “I know it’s not good for us to be sitting while we’re being hunted. We should be on the move right away.” Christie tried to lighten the mood. “I’ve seen all the cop shows.”

  His lips twitched into a small smile, which faded as his phone rang. He connected the call, raised the phone to his ear, and answered. “Agent Davidson here.” He massaged his forehead with his fingertips. “I’m with Christie. I’ll meet you in the hall outside Christie’s room.” He ended the call. He sighed as he met Christie’s gaze. “Agent Stillwater is on her way.”

  “Don’t let her kick you off my protection detail.” Panic sent Christie’s heart into overdrive. “I can’t do this without you.”

  “Hey.” He went to her and took her hands in his. “You’re a strong woman, Christie. You can do this, no matter what.”

  “I can’t.” She started to shake her head, but he moved his hands to her cheeks and stilled her.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He spoke in a firm tone. “I just want you to know you are strong enough. Okay?”

  She hesitated then nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  He leaned down and brushed her lips with his. “Be back in fifteen.” He turned away.

  “I won’t do this without you.” She hardened her resolve. He stopped and she continued. “I mean it, Trace.”

  He looked over his shoulder and smiled gently at her. “I’ll be back.”

  With that, he left.

  Trace stood in the hallway, waiting for Stillwater. He would have gladly given just about anything to not have to deal with her right now.

  His cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but it had a southern Arizona area code. “This is Agent Davidson.”

  “Agent Davidson, this is Lieutenant Martin Mays with the U.S. Army at the base in Fort Huachuca.” The man spoke in a direct, authoritative tone.

  “A pleasure, sir.” Trace had never been in the armed forces, but the man had so much authority in his voice that Trace had the instant urge to snap to attention and salute. “I owe a debt of gratitude to the Army and those who saved our lives today.”

  “As you no doubt have surmised, today’s incident is the reason for my call,” Lieutenant Mays said.

  “Yes, sir.” Trace waited for the lieutenant to continue.

  “My men have been in Tucson conducting training exercises. Details are classified.” He cleared his throat. “While on an exercise, my troops came across a drone flying over Mt. Lemmon’s roads. I cannot go into details—however, an unauthorized civilian helicopter entered the air space, following the drone. My troops immediately worked to identify it and did. The aircraft belongs to the Jimenez Cartel, which I believe is out of Mexico.”

  Trace sucked in his breath. “Yes, sir. It is.”

  Lieutenant Mays continued, “Before my troops could act, the civilian helicopter fired on a vehicle on the main road leading from Mt. Lemmon to Tucson. The troops were given permission to intercept and neutralize the threat. They did.”

  “Yes, sir, they did.” Trace turned over everything in his mind the lieutenant had told him. “They saved our lives.”

  “After the threat no longer existed, my troops intercepted and captured the drone. The device is one of the best the Army has seen, with a bigger tracking range than normal.” Mays went on, “We have had some of our best working on it and going through its recordings as well. I thought I’d let you know the tapes show the drone responsible for tracking certain individuals. The drone recorded everything, including the attack and subsequent searches.”

  Trace’s skin prickled. All this time it had been a drone. It didn’t matter how good of an SDR they had performed when leaving the hospital. The drone had already been on them. He could only thank God it hadn’t located them at the cabin.

  “Thank you for your call and the informati
on,” Trace said. “This clears up a lot of questions the FBI and DHS have over the events of the past several days.”

  “You are welcome.” Lieutenant Mays made it clear the conversation was over. “If you have questions, call my staff at Ft. Huachuca.”

  “Yes, sir,” Trace said. “Thank you once again.”

  Three minutes after Lieutenant Mays’ call, Stillwater marched off the elevator and straight for Trace. Her black hair appeared to be pulled even tighter away from her face than ever, stretching her exotic skin over her angular features and giving her an even harsher look than normal. With the severity of her hairstyle, her cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut glass.

  She scowled at Trace. “We’ll take it from here, Agent Davidson.”

  Trace kept as calm as possible as he met Stillwater’s glare. “I’m assisting with Christie’s protection.”

  “If I have to contact your RAC, I will do so.” Stillwater snapped each word. “You risked Christie’s life taking her up that damned mountain and almost got her killed on the way back. I’ve had enough of your interference.”

  “I’ve told you before, it’s not up for discussion.” Christie’s voice came from behind them. “Agent Davidson stays with me or you can screw your protective detail.”

  One thing about this new, stronger Christie—she didn’t back down.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Her determined expression showed she intended to back up her demand.

  “Christie, it’s not safe to be out here in the hallway.” Trace gestured for her to close the door. “You could be seen.”

  “Not until Agent Stillwater accepts my condition.” Christie had a stubborn and determined presence.

  Even with his concern for her, Trace liked this new Christie who had found herself since leaving her ex-husband, refusing to be walked on or ordered around.

  He returned his gaze to Stillwater, whose jaw tightened as she made a movement indicating Christie should go back into the room. “All right. Now close that door.”

  Christie’s expression turned half triumphant and half irritated at being given another order. She didn’t argue, though, and soon disappeared behind the door after shutting it a little too hard.

  Trace studied Stillwater as she clearly regrouped. Her determination to exclude him from the protective detail was mostly a matter of politics. She ran the show and she wanted to do so her way.