Taking Fire

by Cheyenne McCray

  Christie straightened and faced Stillwater. “How are the agents who were shot at the airport?” Everything had been so hectic since Trace and Christie had met up with Stillwater this morning that Christie hadn’t had the opportunity to ask until now.

  “You already know Agent Allen will be fine and he has gone home,” Stillwater said and Christie nodded. “The hospital released Agent Cox two days after you. Agent Stark is no longer in critical condition. She’s going to pull through.”

  Christie sagged. “Thank God.” She tried not to think about the dead agents at the safe house—an impossible task. “Is Agent Farris all right?”

  Stillwater nodded. “The hospital sent her home the following day.”

  “I’m glad he is okay. I’m so sorry about Agent Huff and Agent Petrov.” Christie tried not to think about the blood and brain tissue that had sprayed her the moment Agent Huff’s head—

  She almost threw up, like she had in the safe house tunnel. She swallowed down the sour taste. “What about the people on the mountain?”

  “Four motorists died,” Stillwater said. “The helicopter used to attack you and Agent Davison went down with two men.”

  Christie’s stomach bottomed out. “I hate Salvatore.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but it came out with vehemence. “That son of a bitch deserves the electric chair, or lethal injection—however they do away with sick murderers like him.”

  She looked at Stillwater and the agent nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Trace perched on the side of the couch and folded his arms across his chest. He observed everyone in the room, always on guard. He found it difficult to relax with the amount of danger surrounding Christie. He had reasonable confidence they were safe here. He didn’t like the ‘reasonable’ part of that thought. He wanted to be absolutely certain, and his gut felt uneasy.

  His gut hadn’t been wrong since Christie had come back into his life. Coincidence? Or knowing the danger, whatever direction they chose?

  Stillwater opened the door just as the room service cart arrived. A man wearing a white jacket with the hotel logo and black slacks wheeled the cart up to the waiting agents.

  The men who were standing just outside the room inspected the cart. They checked beneath the cart and under each dome. Warm smells of hamburgers and fries filled the room.

  Everyone but Stillwater had ordered a burger. She had chosen a Caesar salad, which would clearly have overflowed its large salad bowl if plastic wrap hadn’t been holding it all in. Agents frisked the man who had brought the cart up to the room.

  When the team was satisfied, the man, who appeared to be in his late twenties, pushed the cart into the room. He made a point of not meeting anyone’s eyes.

  “That’s not necessary.” Stillwater gestured to the door as the man reached for the salad bowl. “Leave the cart and one of the men will sign for it.”

  Dallas made a low sound in his throat and Trace shot his gaze at the K-9. Dallas showed his teeth and his hackles rose as he got to his feet.

  The man ignored Stillwater and pulled the plastic wrap off the salad, revealing lettuce drenched with Caesar dressing.

  Stillwater scowled. “I said we’ll take it from here.”

  Dallas’ growled deepened. His muscles bunched.

  The back of Trace’s neck prickled, the sensation creeping over his scalp. He started to stand.

  The man shoved his hand into the salad.

  Dallas lunged toward the man.

  Lettuce exploded from the bowl as the man pulled out a small handgun in a fast motion.

  He pointed the gun at Christie.

  “Gun!” Stillwater shouted.

  Christie froze.

  Trace shoved Christie from the couch and threw himself on top of her, knocking the breath from her. Pain screamed like jagged blades tearing through Christie’s injured shoulder. Her vision grayed and she fought to keep from passing out.

  At the same time, Dallas slammed his big body against the man at the moment a shot rang out.

  From her place on the floor, Christie saw Stillwater had drawn her weapon and held it on the shooter, who struggled to get out of Dallas’s hold. The dog had his jaws clamped around one of the man’s wrists.

  The man swung his weapon around and pointed it at Dallas.

  Another shot pierced the air.

  Blood blossomed on the front of the shooter’s white jacket, at the center of his chest.

  Dallas released the shooter’s wrist but stood over the man as he collapsed to the floor and didn’t move. Christie wanted to scream as his wide-open eyes stared directly at her.

  “Fuck.” Stillwater kicked the dead man’s shoe as an agent picked up the dressing-covered gun. Stillwater’s face twisted with fury. “How the fuck did they find us?”

  Trace rolled off Christie. He took her hand and helped her to her feet. Her heart thundered and her whole body vibrated as she looked at the blood and salad covering the man’s jacket, and his slack expression and dead, dead eyes.

  She turned away, a sick feeling in her belly. She tried to process exactly what had happened, when her gaze dropped to the couch. Right where she had been sitting, a small bullet hole had pierced the fabric.

  If Trace hadn’t shoved her to the floor, she’d be dead or on a gurney on her way to the hospital again, this time, possibly clinging to life.

  “The Jimenez Cartel has an extensive network in Phoenix.” Trace’s angry tone brought her attention back to him. Anger and concern sparked in his gaze. “In the lobby, some of Christie’s hair slipped out from beneath her cap. It’s a distinctive shade of red.”

  “Word is out on the street there’s a price on her head and her description has been given.” Stillwater blew out a long harsh breath. “Seeing her hair and noticing a protective detail around this room could have had a hotel employee calling the information in for the reward.”

  The agents talked over Christie, which made the whole thing seem surreal.

  Trace narrowed his gaze, clearly disgusted. “It is possible one of the employees is in the cartel’s network and put two and two together. We tried to be careful to not look like a protective detail, but there have been plenty of clues.”

  “Whatever the case, we will find out. We will track down the person who did this and we will make the son of a bitch wish he’d never heard Christie’s name.” Stillwater braced her hands on her hips. “Reyes’ people know where she is now. This whole operation is compromised.”

  Trace’s jaw tightened. “We’ve got to find a safe place for Christie.”

  “We’ll make it happen.” Stillwater pulled her cell phone from her jacket pocket. “I’ll have an agent pick up a few things we can use to disguise Christie when we move her, including a wig.”

  Christie glanced from Stillwater to Trace as they spoke. She caught Trace’s eye.

  His expression toward her gentled. “Are you okay, Christie?”

  She rubbed her arms with both hands. “This doesn’t feel like it will ever end.”

  “You will be all right.” He rested his hands gently on her shoulders, clearly remembering her injury, which throbbed and burned. “We’ll take care of you.”

  She couldn’t help but stare at the dead man on the floor. He’d come so close to killing her. The smells of the hamburgers seemed suddenly rancid and the odor of blood and death clogged her nose.

  Without a word, she tore away from Trace and bolted from the suite’s sitting room into the bedroom and straight for the bathroom.

  Acid tore at her throat as she dropped to her knees in front of the toilet. She hadn’t eaten for hours, yet bile surged and she puked in the porcelain basin. The taste of the acid and vomit made her throw up even more, until her whole body ached and shook.

  Tears flushed her cheek at Trace’s presence. She finally rose and took a towel he handed to her and she wiped her eyes and mouth. She didn’t let her eyes meet his.

  For the second time, she’d thrown up and he’d been there fo
r her.

  Christie avoided his gaze as she rinsed out her mouth multiple times and splashed cold water on her face.

  She didn’t look at him until she’d composed herself and her mouth tasted clean again. She straightened and turned to him. “Thank you for saving my life, Trace. Again.” She held up her hand. “Don’t say it’s your job. Just let me thank you.”

  He nodded. “All right.”

  She raised her chin. “What now?”

  He didn’t say another word. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, like he knew she needed him to hold her more than anything. He held her tight, pressing her face against his chest, gripping her as if that might keep her from ever being harmed again.

  When he relaxed his hold, she met his gaze. She had to tip back her head due to the height difference. He brought his face closer to hers and she let out a sigh, waiting for his lips to touch hers.

  They’d never shared a kiss like this before. An almost desperate passion told her how afraid he’d been for her.

  In the kiss, she showed how much fear had solidified inside her. He took her fear and banished it for that moment.

  Instead of weak, he made her feel strong. Instead of dependent, he made her feel independent, yet a part of him at the same time. Without words, he told her she could count on him to be there for her and he wouldn’t let anything happen.

  They kissed until she needed to breathe. She drew back and he drank her in with his eyes. The rise and fall of his chest showed how much she had affected him, too.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you.” His words were fierce, determined. “No one is ever going to harm you.”

  She didn’t know how he could promise that, yet she believed him with all her heart and soul. “I know you won’t.” The words came out in almost a whisper. She put force behind her statement to show how much she trusted him. “When I’m with you, I know I’m safe.” She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. His shirt muffled her. “I want this to end.”

  “I know, sweetheart.” His soothing words made it easy to believe him. “Soon it will all be over and you can move on with your life. Not much longer and you’ll have your life back.”

  She nodded against his shirt and dampness brushed her cheek. Tears she hadn’t realized she’d been crying had wet his shirt and her cheeks. He pressed his lips beneath each of her eyes, kissing away her tears.

  Christie composed herself, sought out Dallas, and hugged the K-9. If it hadn’t been for him and Trace, she would probably be dead.

  * * * *

  A whirlwind of activity surrounded Christie as she tried to process everything happening. She had been scurried away to another suite on a different floor in the hotel, male and female agents posted inside and out. Agents were everywhere. Some of them wore earpieces, the wires coiling down their necks and beneath the collars of jumpsuits they had changed into. The change of clothing surprised her. The jumpsuits were something that blue-collar workers tended to use, not FBI agents.

  Trace and Dallas never left her side and both the man’s and the dog’s presences were a comfort even with the danger waiting for her. Whenever she met Trace’s gaze, he would give her a reassuring look that calmed her nerves, at least a little.

  “This is all so crazy.” Christie spoke to Trace in a rare moment they were alone. “My head is spinning.”

  He appeared to want to take her into his arms, but she knew it wouldn’t be appropriate with all the other agents around. “Everything is going to be fine.” He spoke in a positive tone which made her feel a little better. “Do you want anything to eat? A couple of the agents are going out for Chinese and taking orders now.”

  “I don’t think I can eat after what happened earlier.” She tried not to think of the body and the smells of hamburgers and death. Instead of hunger, a squirming feeling inside Christie made her feel like she would throw up again at any moment.

  He studied her. “You need something you’ll be able to tolerate.”

  She didn’t think she could tolerate anything right now, but she needed something so she wouldn’t get lightheaded. “Maybe 7-Up and saltine crackers.” She thought about what her grandmother had given her when she’d been young and had caught the flu. “A small container of vanilla yogurt and a banana might be okay, too. I’ll try.”

  “It’ll be good to get something down.” He nodded in the direction of an agent carrying a pen and paper. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay.” She tried for a smile but she didn’t have it in her.

  As he walked away, her head swam from the flurry of activity and the knowledge of just how much danger lurked. She had to admit to herself she’d been stupid and naïve to think she didn’t need the FBI. She’d just been so sick of being under Salvatore’s thumb she’d just wanted freedom.

  Instead, he still controlled her. He would crush her in his hold until she testified against him and put the last nails in his coffin.

  Of course she had to be alive and make it to the damned courtroom. Just thinking about seeing him made her feel even worse. She hated the thought of facing him again. What if she fell apart in front of him?

  No, she would not let that happen. She was a different woman now, one who would never be intimidated by a man again. Counseling had helped her with that, and she’d grown a lot on her own, too.

  Eventually, Agent Terri Stein showed up with a jumpsuit in Christie’s size that matched the ones the FBI agents wore. However, the agents allowed her to wear athletic shoes. Agent Stein had also purchased a long brunette wig and heavy make-up. Stillwater had given information over the phone regarding Christie’s clothing and had passed on sizes.

  The agent brought a jumpsuit for Trace to wear so he would also blend well with the FBI agents and could accompany her without sticking out.

  Trace treated her shoulder. The existing bandages had a small bloodstain as the wound had slightly re-opened. He looked grim as he checked the gunshot wound and cleaned it before applying fresh bandages.

  Trace finished with Christie’s shoulder and asked Agent Stein to come into the bedroom to help get Christie changed and prepared.

  She didn’t realize her hands were shaking until she sat and faced a vanity mirror while the agent applied the makeup. It covered Christie’s freckles, the reason they had chosen a heavy foundation. She certainly did appear different with the wig and the thick makeup.

  Early afternoon sunlight squeezed through a slight gap in the blackout curtains that made it difficult to have an idea of the time of day. The agents kept Christie away from the windows and sliding glass doors, as well as the door, as a precaution. She glanced at the digital clock beside the bed—three in the afternoon. After all that had happened, it felt like it should be well into the night by now.

  Somewhere along the way, the agents carried in a lot of Chinese food, and someone brought in the blander food Christie thought she’d try.

  Christie stayed in the bedroom and managed to get down a couple of crackers, the 7-Up, half a banana, and all the vanilla yogurt. She was grateful Trace had insisted on getting her something.

  As she had eaten, Trace had dressed, strapping on a bulletproof vest before pulling his jumpsuit all the way up and covering his vest. He came off as sexy even in a plain navy blue jumpsuit. Nothing could match him in Wranglers, a T-shirt, and an overshirt, but she would take him any way she could get him.

  The jumpsuits were specially made so Trace and the other agents could access their weapons.

  Stillwater walked in, carrying a smaller bulletproof vest. “You’ll wear this beneath the jumpsuit for protection.”

  Christie nodded then pulled down the jumpsuit to her waist. Her arm hurt so badly she had a hard time keeping Trace from seeing the pain on her face.

  Trace helped her put on the vest. The body armor dragged her down, much heavier than she’d expected it to be, and it hurt her shoulder. It had to weigh at least twenty-five pounds. Stillwater watched as Trace finished fasteni
ng Christie’s vest.

  “I’m sorry, Christie.” Trace tried to shift the vest. “I know this hurts, but we can’t take a chance of you being unprotected.”

  Her eyes watered and she blinked back the tears from the pain. “I’ll be fine.” Her voice came out strained. “I’m just glad to be alive.”

  An agent gave Christie a pair of sunglasses. With Trace and Dallas at her side, she walked out of the bedroom, carrying the eyewear, and she blinked in surprise. Two other women with long brown wigs, also petite and who looked very much like Christie, stood in the room.

  “Are those women decoys?” Christie held the sunglasses in one hand. She turned to Stillwater. “I don’t like the idea of other people putting their lives in danger because of me.”

  “What do you think every other agent here is doing?” Stillwater spoke matter-of-factly. “It’s our job to protect you. The decoy agents are armed, wearing body armor like you, and just as capable as any other agents here.”

  “I didn’t say they’re not capable.” Christie frowned as the vest weighed her down. She wondered how law enforcement officers could do their jobs wearing something so heavy. Men’s vests had to weigh even more than women’s. “By pretending to be me, it makes each of them a target.”

  “Don’t worry about the agents.” Stillwater buttoned up her own jumpsuit over a vest. “The concern is your safety.”

  Christie said nothing as she thought again about the situation they were all in. It came down to the fact she had jeopardized everyone’s life by coming to Arizona without arranging it with the FBI first.

  “What have I done?” Christie gripped her hands into fists as Stillwater turned away. “One stupid mistake and—”

  “Remember our deal.” Trace took her by her upper arms. “Don’t play the blame game with yourself. This is all on Salvatore Reyes.”

  “I’m sorry.” She wound strands of hair from the wig around two of her fingers. “It just keeps going through my mind. Over and over. I don’t know if I can stop it. I feel like I shouldn’t, because I need to somehow pay for what I’ve done.”