Slow Burn

by Cheyenne McCray

  Now it was two days later and there had been no more opportunity for moments between them except for this morning when the nightmare woke her up and he’d eased onto the bed with her, trying to calm her. There were no times when they didn’t have other people around.

  Yesterday, after Trace had given Stillwater the information, she and other agents had shown up within twenty minutes.

  The Assistant United States Attorney, Claudia Duplantis, reached the hotel two hours after Stillwater and her team. A couple of plain clothes FBI agents made sure the AUSA arrived safely while keeping Christie’s location secure.

  The AUSA set to grilling Christie almost immediately, trying to get her ready for the cross-examination by the defense attorney who would try to trip Christie up and discredit her. Claudia went through everything so many times and with such intensity that it made Stillwater’s preparations look like a kindergarten teacher instructing her students on how to write their ABCs.

  “We’ll be leaving soon.” Trace moved in front of Christie and gently placed his hands on both her upper arms.

  She winced when she saw the scratches on his cheek. Stillwater had questioned him on the scratches, but he’d just shrugged her off. The bullet from the other night had only scratched his neck superficially and no longer needed a bandage. He still had a big purple and blue bump on his forehead but the cut had scabbed over.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  She liked looking into his gray eyes, but today they were darker, somehow even more concerned. She was tired of the fact that he had to be worried so much for her. She had to put Salvatore away…away for good.

  “Yes. I’m ready.” She did her best to give Trace a smile, something that would reassure him. She knew it didn’t work when his concerned expression deepened.

  “We’ll make sure you’re safe.” He squeezed her upper arms lightly, not enough to hurt her healing wound. “And this will end.”

  “I know.” She pushed up a strand of hair that had escaped the stylish large wide-brimmed black straw hat she wore to cover the red until she was taken into the courtroom. “Is any of my hair sticking out?”

  He examined her. “Not anymore. I’ll keep an eye out.”

  She looked him over in return. The agent who had bought the suit and matching hat for Christie, had also bought clothes for Trace after getting his sizes. The agent had picked out a suit, tie, and shoes for Trace to wear so he would also blend well with the FBI agents and could accompany her without sticking out. Not to mention he needed to look professional for the court proceedings.

  And damn, did Trace look hot in a suit. He looked hot in anything he wore, but there was something about a sharp dressed man in a suit. Especially one with such broad shoulders like Trace had. He carried it off so well.

  Somewhere along the way, with all the craziness, Christie’s laptop had been stashed along with her suitcase. At least she hoped they hadn’t been lost. For some reason that made her think of the stuffed horse for Shane and a lump stuck in her throat. She hoped she’d be able to give it to the baby.

  “Is Dylan here, in Phoenix?” Christie’s heart rate kicked up a little as she thought of her friend from childhood through high school.

  “He’s testifying at this very moment.” Trace rubbed his thumbs over her upper arms, caressing her gently. “Don’t worry about him. He’s not in any danger and he will get back to Belle and the baby.”

  When Trace released her, Christie looked away from him and brushed her palms down the modest black skirt and adjusted the matching blazer. The body armor felt heavy and bulky beneath the silk blouse, over her pounding heart.

  She was tired of living in fear. Yesterday was quiet, thank God, but that had been a short reprieve. If you could call being drilled by Claudia Duplantis as quiet or a reprieve. Christie had to admit it was better than being shot at.

  “We are ready to move out.” Stillwater showed up beside Christie, who cut her gaze to the agent. “It’s time to go.”

  Christie straightened her shoulders and raised her head. “Are we doing this with decoys again?”

  Stillwater shook her head. “Bulletproof SUVs and an army of agents.”

  The first thing that came to Christie’s mind was that an army of agents hadn’t stopped the cartel’s people before, but she said nothing. At least the vehicles were bulletproof, which would protect the occupants.

  Agents made sure everywhere they went was clear of people from the hotel room to the elevator and on down to the lobby.

  Once they stepped out of the lobby into the overcast day, Christie looked up at the gray sky. Perfect for her mood. Sunshine wouldn’t have seemed right for a day like this.

  She was sped over the sidewalk to one of three waiting shiny black SUVs. This was more like what she was used to on TV for federal agent transportation.

  Christie held onto her wide-brimmed hat with one hand, pushing it down on her head as Trace helped boost her into the SUV. He climbed in and she scooted across the bench seat. He sat beside her and the door behind him was shut with a firm thump. Stillwater and another agent climbed into the front seats, slamming their doors, too. The locks shot down. No one was getting in this vehicle.

  In moments the SUVs were pulling away from the curb and they were on their way to the federal courthouse.

  No matter how many deep breaths Christie took, she couldn’t manage to stop feeling so jittery. At one point she thought she might hyperventilate. Trace seemed to read her expression and her nerves. He took her hand in his and interlocked their fingers, his palm warm against hers. She looked at him as she felt his confidence flow through her.

  “You’re going to do well today.” He focused so intently on her and there was no way she could have looked away at that moment. “I watched you with the AUSA. Stick to the plan and never vary from your story, just like you did with her. You’ll be in and out.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Her voice sounded thin in that big SUV. “I wish I didn’t have to look at his face. I’m afraid I’m going to freeze up or something.”

  “You won’t.” Trace smiled and this time she did feel reassured and a little more confident.

  “Okay.” She raised her chin. “Let’s do this.”

  The federal court building wasn’t far from the hotel and it took only a matter of minutes to reach it. Christie was so afraid something might happen during the drive that she practically held her breath the entire way.

  The SUVs were driven to a special location where witnesses could be taken through safely and criminals brought into court.

  After the agents cleared the way, making sure no one was around, they got Christie out of the SUV. Trace walked on her left, Stillwater on the right. Two agents were in front of them, two behind.

  Christie let her breath out in relief when they arrived inside a hallway in the building and the big metal door was closed behind them. They’d made it. No one could hurt her now.

  An ear-piercing siren began to wail and Christie clapped her hands over her ears. Lights flashed and people shouted. The sounds of doors opening echoed through the hall.

  “It’s a bomb threat.” One of the FBI agents who’d gone ahead jogged back to them. Christie’s heart dropped to her toes as he continued. “They’re clearing the building. We have to get Christie back into the SUV.”

  Fuck. Trace could think of a hundred ways to curse the situation, but that wasn’t going to do them any good.

  He shouted to Stillwater over the sound of sirens. “We know it’s Salvatore’s men and the cartel. It’s a threat and not real.”

  “I came to that same conclusion.” Stillwater looked over her shoulder as people started entering the hallway. “Let’s get Christie to safety.”

  Trace and the FBI agents surrounded Christie as they hurried to take her back out of the building. Trace’s muscles tensed and he searched the surroundings for any sign of something being off, but all he saw were vehicles.

  They hurried Christie toward the SUV th
ey’d arrived in, and he was thankful it was bulletproof. Once they got her inside she’d be safe—

  The crack of a rifle.

  Christie pitched forward, slumping, her legs giving out on her. The black hat she’d been wearing fell to the ground, her red hair flaming around her pale face and her closed eyes.

  Trace’s heart jackhammered. He and Stillwater had a hold on Christie and they didn’t let her drop to the ground. They scrambled, pulling her inside the SUV and slamming the door behind them just as they heard another shot.

  Panic like he’d never felt tore through him like blades. Christie lay so damned still as he and Stillwater searched her body for a wound. He found a tear in the back of her blazer. He pushed the blazer up and through a tear in her silk blouse he saw a slug buried in her body armor near her right shoulder blade.

  “Jesus.” Trace dropped to his knees, relief hitting him like a wave. He knelt in front of the bench seat as Christie moaned and started to stir. He drew her into his arms as she blinked her eyes open. He squeezed her tighter to him and she groaned louder. He lessened his hold, realizing that he was probably hurting her bruised back. “I think after these past days, I’m going to go prematurely gray.”

  “What happened?” Christie looked dazed and like she was having a hard time focusing.

  “The body armor just saved your life.” He tightened his grip on her. “You’re going to have a hell of a bruise, but you shouldn’t have any serious wounds.”

  “Oh.” She sagged in his arms. “It hurts like an S.O.B.”

  He let out a sigh of relief. “I’ll bet it does.”

  “You know.” She looked at Trace. “This getting shot at business is getting old.”

  “I’m too fucking old for this shit.” Stillwater looked like she was having trouble holding it together. “Get us to the hospital,” she said to the agent driver who’d been looking over his shoulder, watching them.

  A plan flashed into Trace’s mind. “Don’t let anyone know she’s alive.” He spoke to the driver with authority. “Report in that Christie Simpson is down and you’re not sure she’ll live.” Trace caught Stillwater’s gaze. “We’ll take her to University Medical Center and have her pronounced dead.”

  “Great plan.” Stillwater nodded slowly and looked at Christie. “Sorry, Ms. Simpson. But you were just murdered.”

  Christie managed a weak smile. “Do dead women feel pain?”

  Stillwater’s normal frown threatened to curve in the opposite direction. “In your case, yes.”

  Christie tried to push herself up, but Trace held her tightly in his arms. “Stay down.” He was gripping her as he knelt on the floor in front of the bench seat. “We don’t want anyone catching sight of you.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t seem to have any fight left in her. She was clearly exhausted and not feeling well. “I’d really like a vacation after this. Preferably one where no one is shooting at me.”

  Trace had to hold back a grin. Here she was, shot once again, and her brave sense of humor was shining through again.

  Stillwater pulled out her phone and pressed a number on speed dial before raising the phone to her ear. “Let UMC know we’re on our way.” She paused. “It appears that Christie Simpson is dead.” She disconnected the call and looked at Christie. “Now things get really interesting.”

  As if they weren’t already.

  When they reached UMC, the agent drove the SUV to the door of the ER. Stillwater spoke with the on duty physician, as Christie was loaded onto a gurney, a sheet over her body.

  Trace followed the gurney and Christie was wheeled through the process of being declared dead.

  Stillwater had the news put out on an unsecured line and leaked it to a local television station, which jumped on it immediately. She made sure they knew it was a high profile case. When she was finished with them, she turned around and gave the information to the Associated Press as well. Soon the story would be everywhere, and anyone interested in the case would know that the star witness in a cartel case had been murdered.

  When she finished, Stillwater looked at Trace. “I think this just might work.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Salvatore had to struggle to keep the smirk off his face, as he was re-seated in the courtroom, next to his attorney. The bomb threat had closed the building all of yesterday afternoon, and had given him exactly what he needed. Now the trial was set to continue and it would go straight to closing arguments and then to the jury as all testimony had been given except for one person.

  And that testimony would never happen. The bitch was dead.

  Christie would not be able to testify against him for murder, attempted murder, and solicitation to commit murder. None of those involved would dare to testify against him, so he had nothing to be concerned about when it came to those charges.

  Salvatore straightened the lapels on his expensive suit. Money laundering was the one charge he was most concerned about. If they got him for the laundering, he’d go to prison for sure and the cartel would have him killed.

  The contents on the memory device the members of the CoS had discovered had been disturbing evidence, but it could be explained away—he was framed, of course. That fucking Circle of Seven had done it.

  Salvatore mentally shook his head as he went over everything in his mind. No, he would get off on those charges. He was not going back to Florence to be locked away in prison. His defense attorney, Barth Groening, was the best money could buy when it came to defending clients who had been charged with money laundering and other crimes in high profile cases.

  Barth had shown a convincing argument that Salvatore was an innocent who had been unaware that money he had used in the various transactions was tainted. The defense’s argument was that he understood that the cash used in buying and selling real estate, as well as restoring vintage cars, was clean and not tainted from blood and drugs as a result of murder and trafficking in Mexico.

  Yes, Barth had been doing his job well and was worth every penny Salvatore had spent. He felt relaxed and satisfied that all would go his way.

  Everyone in the courtroom rose as the district court judge walked in. Once Judge Matthew Berry had seated himself, he indicated everyone should sit.

  The white-haired judge was an older “no shit” kind of judge who didn’t fuck around. Salvatore could tell Berry didn’t like him. But the judge would have to go with the jury’s decision.

  Salvatore let his gaze drift over the twelve jurors. A few homely women were on the jury, something that was in Salvatore’s favor. He was good-looking and women loved him. He easily gave the impression of a man innocent of these terrible crimes that had been unfairly leveled on him.

  The fact that one of the men had been bought off was going to make this even easier.

  The jurors’ eyes were riveted on Judge Berry as he studied something that was handed to him. The judge nodded as if to himself before looking at the AUSA. “Call your last witness.”

  Salvatore snapped his attention to his attorney who wore a surprised expression. Barth stood, his knuckles on the table. “Your honor, we are not aware of any other individuals testifying.”

  The judge looked over his half-moon glasses directly at Barth. “Have a seat, Mr. Groening.”

  Barth looked like he was going to say something then snapped his mouth shut and sat.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Salvatore whispered to Barth, who shook his head once.

  The crowd murmured. Everyone knew that the last witness was dead and today would be closing arguments.

  Judge Barry banged his gavel on its block. “Order in the court.”

  The courtroom went silent.

  Salvatore’s throat grew dry. Something was wrong and he didn’t know what the fuck it could be.

  Claudia Duplantis, the AUSA, stood. Normally a serious woman, Salvatore thought he saw the faint play of a smile on her lips. “We call to the stand, Christine Ann Simpson.”

  The room exploded in an uproar
.

  The judge pounded his gavel, calling the court to order again.

  “Holy fuck.” Barth stared straight at the AUSA and didn’t look at Salvatore.

  Salvatore felt like he’d been punched in the gut when he heard Christie’s name. “It can’t be.” He said the words in a hoarse voice. “She’s dead.”

  But there she was, walking into the court between two U.S. Marshals. The sensation in his gut magnified and he clenched his fists beneath the tabletop.

  All Salvatore could do was stare at Christie. She’d cut off her long beautiful hair and what was left barely reached her chin in the front. Even without the hair he had prized so much, his wife was beyond beautiful. His memories had paled in comparison to the woman stepping into the witness stand.

  He had almost forgotten what her presence meant now that he knew she was alive.

  Everything came crashing down on him like the roof was caving in. A fog surrounded his brain and he stared as she put her hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. So help her, God.

  Somehow God had helped her. She was here and she was alive.

  He dragged his attention from Christie and looked at his defense attorney. “What the fuck now?”

  “We’ll get her on cross-examination.” Barth’s voice was hard. “She won’t know what hit her.”

  Christie looked right at Salvatore when she was asked to identify him. Her voice was cold and it was like she looked right through him. She turned her attention back to the AUSA.

  Fury burned away the chill Christie had left behind with her look. Salvatore wanted to rush the stand and break her neck like he had intended to do before the federal agents had saved her.

  The AUSA took her time, question after question. Christie answered everything firmly and confidently. She had changed over the past year. He had preferred her quiet, cowed even. He didn’t like this new version of the Christie he had known since high school. He’d seen hints of it when he’d abducted her, but nothing like this.

  Whenever Salvatore glanced at the jury, he could see their rapt attention on Christie’s testimony. Even with her newfound confidence, Christie came across sweet and likeable. She was strong yet soft, confident, and personable. She was everything Salvatore was not.