Taking Fire

by Cheyenne McCray

  Stillwater looked like she might blow a gasket. She kept her voice low. “You nearly got her killed today.”

  “Didn’t matter a damned bit how great of an SDR we performed,” Trace said. “We were screwed.” Anger burned beneath his skin. “They had a drone.”

  “A drone?” She narrowed her gaze. “Explain.”

  Trace told Stillwater about his conversation with Lieutenant Mays. “They spotted the drone shortly before the Jimenez cartel nearly killed us.” Trace ground his teeth. “We’d be dead if it those fast-thinking U.S. Army troops hadn’t taken care of the cartel’s men.”

  “You are on this detail against my better judgment.” Stillwater lowered her voice. “One misstep and I don’t care what she wants. You’re gone.”

  Trace fought to keep his tone even. “I’m here to help guard Christie.” Trace spoke slowly, his drawl more pronounced. “I won’t step on your toes.”

  “You’d better not, Davidson.” She put her hand on one hip, which pushed back her blazer and exposed her service weapon. It had the appearance of an aggressive movement, but he doubted it. He stared pointedly at her holster. She moved her hand, her blazer falling back over the gun. “You will do as I say. This is my show.”

  “You’ve got it, ma’am.” Trace adjusted his Stetson. “Have there been any more developments?”

  Stillwater pursed her lips, probably not liking that he’d called her ma’am. He hadn’t done it to annoy her but out of habit. He’d been raised to be polite and he wouldn’t change his nature with women he respected.

  However, with female criminals, his usual politeness flew out of the window. He didn’t respect women who caused others pain and suffering. He performed his job, just like he did with any other criminal

  The agent cleared her throat. “The information we have is the head of the Jimenez Cartel has offered a hefty reward for Christie’s murder. One hundred grand.”

  Even though Trace had expected as much, a cold chill rolled over his skin. “We’ll keep her safe.” He heard the hard edge in his own voice as he spoke. “No way in hell is anyone getting near her.”

  Stillwater gave him a long look. “We’ll get her safely to court so she can testify.”

  A burn in Trace’s gut made him clench his jaws. The way the agent spoke gave him the impression she cared about Christie’s testimony, not Christie herself.

  He forced himself to relax and push aside his overprotectiveness of Christie. “Are we ready to check her out of the hospital and hit the road?”

  “As soon as the doctor releases her.” Stillwater turned and added over her shoulder, “I have a few things to take care of before we’re on our way.”

  Trace watched as she walked down the hallway, her back stiff. An intelligent and gorgeous woman, Agent Laura Stillwater was probably not so bad on a personal level. But when it came to being from an agency that didn’t have the initials F B I, she was a bitch to work with.

  He returned to the hospital room and eased open the door. Christie met his gaze and smiled at him. He studied her, trying to hold back his pride for her standing up for herself, because he knew what she’d been through.

  At the same time, his chest tightened—perhaps she had become a little too stubborn.

  Stubborn could get her killed.

  “What’s wrong now?” she said as he sat on the bed across from her.

  Trace rubbed the back of his neck with his palm then got the words out. “Not only does Salvatore have his own men searching for you, but the Jimenez Cartel has reward money put up for anyone in the cartel who…” His throat constricted and he couldn’t get all the words out.

  Christie’s face paled, her freckles standing out against the near whiteness of her skin. I have a price on my head,” she said as if tasting each word. “A Mexican cartel is trying to murder me, too.”

  Trace didn’t know what to say. He just watched Christie work over the situation in her mind.

  “How much?” she asked quietly.

  Trace didn’t want to tell her, but he didn’t see what choice he had. “The head of the cartel has offered one hundred thousand dollars.”

  Christie looked like she might throw up. “The man I once loved, and a cartel I didn’t know he worked with, intend to kill me.” She swallowed. “God. How did it all come to this?”

  * * * *

  Trace swept his gaze over the entrance of the hotel, one of the nicer ones in Phoenix. Not the most expensive but not a cheap spot. It had good strategic placement to make it easier for them to protect Christie.

  Arrangements had been made and someone had already checked in under a cover identity.

  Two of the FBI agents went first, taking the elevator up to the room to clear it. Trace and Christie followed at a distance, hats low. Some of her red hair slipped free of the hat as he glanced at her. He couldn’t stop to tuck it back in without being obvious and he needed to keep them moving.

  Her bandages were mostly out of view, hidden by clothing, so he hoped nothing there would draw more attention.

  Dallas had gone up to the room with the agent who had checked in. Christie and Trace would likely stand out with a German Shepherd as a companion. They had put a therapy dog vest on him to avoid questions as to why the dog had been let into the hotel.

  Trace constantly checked out their surroundings. He saw only hotel employees, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be related to someone in the cartel. Three clerks manned the registration desk, one individual sat at the concierge desk, and a bellhop pushed an empty luggage cart into a corner.

  No guests loitered or reclined on the sofas and armchairs in the lobby. Frosted glass panels separated the lobby from the lounge.

  Through the lounge’s open entrance, Trace saw two men sitting at a rich dark wood bar, their backs to the lobby. The frosted glass to either side of the entrance would have made it impossible to tell if anyone else occupied the lounge. Agents had checked out the lounge before they’d allowed Christie to be escorted inside the hotel, so they knew exactly how many individuals were in all locations.

  To keep with their low profile, Stillwater and the fourth agent hung back just long enough for Trace and Christie to make it to the elevator.

  Trace punched the Up button and the elevator doors opened immediately. He and Christie stepped inside and he selected the tenth floor. The doors slid shut a few moments later. Tension radiated from Christie and she slipped her hand in his. He looked at her as the car started to move up and she smiled at him. Even though she’d been putting up a brave front, he had no doubts she rode the edge of either falling apart or becoming even more obstinate to the point of further endangering her safety.

  It appeared she had taken it well when she’d found out a cartel would pay a hundred grand to anyone who murdered her. Likely, disbelief and maybe even numbness had developed inside her.

  The doors slid open at the tenth floor. He slipped his hand into his front pocket and pulled out the key card. They had selected a room halfway down the hall from the bank of elevators. They reached the room and he held the card in front of the sensor pad. The lock clicked open.

  One of the FBI agents who had preceded them, Agent Tompkins, pulled the door open. Trace waited for Christie to enter and followed her into the suite. Tompkins closed the door behind them.

  Dallas greeted Trace and Christie then obeyed Trace’s finger sign instructions and sat near the couch.

  It neared ten o’clock in the morning. Sunlight spilled into the room between an open space between the blackout curtains. An agent strode across the room to close the curtains the rest of the way.

  Christie moved into the center of the room and took off the floppy hat. “Home sweet home,” she murmured as the rest of her red hair that hadn’t already slipped out from under the headgear swung free.

  Trace nodded and gestured for her to take a seat at the couch before he did. “Hopefully not for long and you’ll get to go back safely to your own home.” He would talk with her about that
after the trial—exactly where ‘home’ would be. He intended to be in her life one way or another.

  “Speaking of safety…” She hesitated as she combed her fingers through her hair. “I want to know what is going on with Salvatore.”

  Trace took a seat next to her. “Salvatore has been interviewed, if you will, several times since we found out about the hit. He has given us nothing we can scrutinize and he maintains his innocence.”

  “Innocence.” Christie said the word like it tasted sour. “As if anything about him is remotely innocent.”

  “I agree.” Trace leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “We have sources that are certain about the danger you are in.”

  Christie looked like she wanted to roll her eyes but restrained herself and spoke dryly. “Being shot, then chased by a missile-shooting helicopter kind of tells me I’m in a little bit of danger.”

  Better a tad sarcastic than falling into a puddle of tears, Trace thought.

  “That’s why you need to do everything you’re asked to do.” Trace held her gaze even as her eyes narrowed. “I know you don’t like to be told, Christie. I get that. But I also want to keep you alive. It’s our job, and you need to let us do it.”

  She studied him and he could almost see the wheels turning in her brain. He expected her to argue, but she surprised him when she said, “You’re right. I need your help.” She closed her eyes then opened them, their depths now haunted. “I don’t want to die.” The words came out in a near whisper. “I don’t want anyone else to die because of me.”

  “Are you going to make me repeat myself over and over?” He tried not to appear or sound exasperated. “This is Salvatore’s doing. He’s the reason people have died and you’re injured. It’s all about him, Christie. Please don’t make me have to say it again.”

  “All right.” She leaned forward. “And don’t you dare blame yourself for those men in the helicopter finding us on the mountain, or anything else. Otherwise, screw it.”

  He thought he did a good job at not showing his surprise at the intensity of her words. “Fair enough.”

  “So we’ll be here for two days?” she asked.

  Trace studied her, noticing the small nuances in her expression that told him the escalating danger of her situation had gotten to her.

  “It depends on how long they keep you on the witness stand,” he responded.

  She clenched the hat in her hands. “What happens first?”

  A knock came at the door and Tompkins peered through the peephole before opening the door and letting Stillwater and the fourth agent into the suite.

  Stillwater strode closer. “We have a few things to go over.”

  Christie waited as Stillwater seated herself in a chair close to the couch. Trace hitched his shoulder up against a wall, his arms folded across his chest as he watched. Two of the agents guarded the door and the other stood on the opposite side of the couch.

  Frowning, Christie swept her gaze over everyone around her. “Having all of you in here makes me feel claustrophobic.”

  Stillwater leaned forward, focusing intently on Christie. “The Assistant United States Attorney is going to come by tomorrow.”

  “Why?” Christie asked.

  “The AUSA is going to go over your testimony with you.” Stillwater crossed her legs at her knees. “Your ex-husband has one of the toughest lawyers in the state. Hell, in the country. His cross-examination is going to be brutal.”

  Christie straightened. Her voice raised a little. “He’s going to try to trip me up.”

  Stillwater’s expression never changed. She didn’t soften. Her expression and mannerisms continued to be hard every time they talked with her. “He’ll do everything he can to discredit you as a witness. Your testimony is crucial to put Salvatore Reyes away for murder, as well as the numerous other charges we’ve got him on.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him in prison for the rest of his life.” Christie clenched her fists in her lap. “I don’t want to see that bastard get off free.”

  Stillwater gave a slow nod. “That’s what we need. When you’re testifying, you’re going to be under a lot of pressure. From what I’ve seen of you over the past few months, I think you’re up to the challenge. But you are going to need to work hard and be prepared.”

  Christie’s eyes widened slightly at Stillwater’s admission. Christie did a great job of schooling her features and said with determination in her voice, “Just tell me what I need to do.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  For some reason, Christie’s arm ached deeply, as if the practice cross-examination taxed her more than anything else she’d done for the past few days. She felt weary, not to mention beyond hungry when Stillwater took a break from preparing her for the AUSA.

  According to Stillwater, the AUSA would grill her even more intensely to make sure they had prepared her for a ruthless cross-examination by the defense attorney.

  Close to noon, Trace handed Christie the hotel’s room service menu opened to the lunch page. She looked gratefully at him as her stomach rumbled loud enough for the whole room to hear.

  Even as tired as the practice had made her, she couldn’t help but appreciate the confident way he moved, the intense way he observed everything and listened. He hadn’t interjected any comments into the conversation, letting Stillwater run the show.

  Christie left the menu lying open on her lap as Stillwater drew her attention once more. “We’ll have agents inside and out twenty-four-seven while you’re under our protection.”

  With a frown, Christie said, “I don’t care if agents are on the outside, but only Trace stays with me in the room. He doesn’t make me feel like a specimen in a glass jar.”

  She mostly wanted to be alone with him again.

  Stillwater’s lips twisted into a sour expression and Christie had no doubt the agent knew Trace and Christie had a sexual relationship. After spending days alone with him in a cabin on a mountain, maybe she could consider it a big ‘duh’.

  Fortunately, the agent didn’t state anything of the sort out loud. Instead, she pressed her argument. “You are safer with two agents inside and someone will be able to relieve Agent Davidson.”

  Trace studied Stillwater, appearing as though he were assessing the situation, but leaving it up to Christie and the FBI agent to work it out.

  “I don’t need anyone else inside with me.” Christie’s gaze met Trace’s. “Do you need someone to relieve you?”

  Trace stared at the agent. “I’ll let one of your agents know if I do.”

  Stillwater remained tightlipped and quiet for a moment. Christie’s tummy growled again. The agent looked at the menu in Christie’s lap. “I think we could all do with ordering lunch.”

  Christie scanned the menu and knew what she wanted the moment she saw it—the bleu cheese and mushroom burger. Trace selected a traditional cheeseburger.

  Stillwater passed around the menu and one of the agents took notes before calling room service and putting in the order for all six of them.

  Christie didn’t think she’d ever been so mentally and physically exhausted. Her arm throbbed more than ever. After being re-injured on the mountain, she wouldn’t mind some Vicodin. However, since she needed to practice for the AUSA, ibuprofen would be a better choice.

  She started to stand but flopped back on the couch. The ordeal had drained her too much to even move off the couch.

  “Christie,” Trace drew her attention. “How are your injuries? Do you need pain meds?”

  Either they were on the same wavelength, or he could read her like a book. Probably both.

  “Yes.” She sighed. “I need to get my butt up and take something.”

  He nodded to the chair where she’d left her purse. “I can grab your purse for you if the meds are in there.”

  She had the instant feeling she shouldn’t put him out, but he stepped in the direction. “Thank you,” she said.

  He retrieved her bag and hande
d it to her, then took a seat himself.

  She bypassed the Vicodin and took the ibuprofen.

  Images from the airport shooting, what had happened at the safe house, and the helicopter attack flashed through her mind. She tried to dispel the mental pictures by distracting herself, but they wouldn’t go away.

  One nightmare after another and it might never stop.

  Soon this all would end and she could go back to Indiana and the quiet life she’d begun there.

  What about those who’d lost their lives in the effort to protect her? They wouldn’t be going home.

  Her throat ached and she tightened her grip on her purse and started digging through it again. She didn’t really want anything more—she just wanted to keep Trace from seeing her cry.

  She found lip balm and, as if she had been searching for it in particular, she brought it out and used it.

  She dropped it back into her purse and thought about returning home. Back to Indiana.

  But Indiana didn’t feel like home. Bisbee did.

  Bisbee is home. I want to go home.

  Three clicks of her ruby red slippers and she’d be on her way.

  She sighed.

  When she thought of returning to Bisbee, she met Trace’s gaze. Heat flooded her as memories warmed her, memories from the past few days she’d spent with him and the many times they’d been in bed together. She didn’t want to leave Arizona now that she’d spent a significant time with Trace, and how much she liked to be with him.

  As their eyes met and held, she could swear she saw the same emotion in his expression. Dallas stirred near her feet, as if sensing her connection with his handler.

  The connection only lasted a moment before it became unreadable. A wave of disappointment went through her, but then she realized if he did feel the same way, it wouldn’t do for Stillwater to see it. Although the agent had no doubt come to her own conclusions. The sharp woman could be such an uptight pain in the ass.