Slow Burn (12 page)

Trace watched as the agents who were standing just outside the room inspected the cart. They looked 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 wasn’t holding it all in. The man who had brought the cart up to the room was also frisked.

When the agents were satisfied, the man, who looked to be in his late twenties, pushed the cart into the room. He seemed to make a point of not meeting anyone’s eyes. He looked a little on edge as he started to take the domes off of a large plate.

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

The man acted as if he hadn’t heard. He pulled the plastic wrap off of the salad that was drenched with Caesar dressing and he set the wrap aside.

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

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.

Lettuce seemed to explode from the bowl as the man pulled out a small handgun in a fast motion.

The man pointed the gun at Christie.

“Gun!” Trace and Stillwater shouted at the same time.

Christie didn’t hesitate this time, didn’t freeze. Instinct kicked in and she dove from the couch onto the floor, just before a shot rang out.

Stillwater threw herself on top of Christie, knocking the breath from her.

From her place on the floor, Christie saw Trace draw his weapon at the same time the man got his first shot off.

The man didn’t have a chance to get off a second shot. Blood blossomed on the front of the white jacket. It looked like Trace had hit him dead center in the chest.

More shots rang out as the other agents helped take the man down.

The man collapsed to the floor and didn’t move. Christie wanted to scream as his wide-open eyes looked directly at her.

“Fuck.” Stillwater pushed herself from off of Christie as an agent picked up the dressing-covered gun. Stillwater’s face was twisted with fury. “How the
fuck
did they find us?”

Trace took Christie’s 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 the slack expression and dead, dead eyes.

She turned away, a sick feeling in her gut. She wondered if she should get used to being shot at. This was the second time in just a few days.

She was trying to process exactly what had happened when her gaze dropped to the couch. Right where she had been sitting was a small bullet hole.

Her stomach lurched. If she hadn’t thrown herself 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 voice was calm, bringing her attention back to him. He might have sounded calm, but she could see the anger and concern in his gaze. “When we were 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 that 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 a reward.”

The agents talked over Christie like she wasn’t even there, which made the whole thing seem surreal.

Trace narrowed his gaze and looked disgusted. “Yes, it’s 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 obvious clues.”

Stillwater braced her hands on her hips. “Reyes’s 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’s voice was hard. “I’ll have an agent pick up a few things we can use to disguise Christie when we move her.”

Christie looked 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’s ever going to end.”

“You’re going to be all right.” He rested his hands gently on her shoulders, clearly remembering her injury. “We will take care of you.”

She couldn’t help but look 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 was strong. Her stomach churned.

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 rose up and she vomited into the porcelain basin. The taste of the acid and vomit made her throw up even more, until her whole body ached and she was shaking. Tears flushed her cheeks as she finally rose and took a towel that was handed to her and wiped her eyes and mouth. She didn’t have to look to know it was Trace who had followed her.

Without looking at him, she rinsed out her mouth several times and splashed cold water on her face.

She didn’t look at him until she felt reasonably composed and her mouth tasted clean again.

When she was ready, she straightened and turned to him, her chin raised. “What now?”

He didn’t say a word. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, as if knowing that was what she needed 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. He was significantly taller than her and she had to tip her head back to look at him. He brought his face closer to hers and she let out a sigh, waiting for his kiss.

It was a kiss like none they’d ever shared before. In that kiss was almost a desperate passion that said how afraid he’d been for her and how much fear had solidified inside her. He took that from her.

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 that he was there for her and he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

She was out of breath when the kiss ended and he was drinking her in with his eyes. The rise and fall of his chest showed how much he was affected, 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.”

“Today you saved yourself.” He reached up and brushed his knuckles over her cheek and then slid his fingers into her hair. “If you hadn’t acted so quickly…” He blew out a breath. “Things could have turned out much differently.”

She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. His shirt muffled her. “I just want this to end.”

“I know, sweetheart.” His words were soothing and it was 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 felt dampness against her cheek. Tears she hadn’t realized she’d been crying had wet his shirt and her cheeks. When she looked up at him again, he pressed his lips beneath each of her eyes, kissing away her tears.

~~*~~

A whirlwind of activity surrounded Christie as she tried to process everything that was 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 never left her side, and his presence was a comfort even with the danger waiting for her. Whenever she met his 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 looked like he wanted to take her into his arms, but she knew it wouldn’t be appropriate with all of the other agents around. “Everything is going to be fine.” He spoke in a positive tone that 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.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I can eat after—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 in Christie’s stomach made her feel like she would throw up again at any moment.

He studied her. “I’ll put in an order for something light that your stomach will be able to tolerate.”

She didn’t think she could tolerate anything right now, but she didn’t argue.

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 she was in. She had to admit to herself that she’d been stupid and naïve to think that she didn’t need the FBI. She’d just been so sick of being under Salvatore’s thumb that all she’d wanted was her freedom.

Instead, she was still in his control. And she would be crushed 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 his face made her stomach feel even worse. She hated the thought of facing him again. What if she fell apart in front of him?

No, that was
not
going to 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 a female agent showed up with a jumpsuit in Christie’s size. The jumpsuit was like the ones the FBI agents wore, but Christie was allowed to wear her athletic shoes. The agent had also purchased a long brunette wig and heavy make-up. Stillwater had given information over the phone regarding what Christie was currently wearing and had passed on her clothing 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 and a female agent went with Christie into the bedroom. She didn’t realize her hands were shaking until she applied the make-up while looking into a vanity mirror. The foundation covered the freckles. She wasn’t sure she liked the look, but she did look different with the wig and the thick make-up.

Early afternoon sunlight squeezed through a slight gap in the blackout curtains that made it difficult to have an idea what time of day it was. 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 and saw that it was 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 brought in Chinese food. Christie stayed in the bedroom and managed to get down the egg drop soup and steamed rice that Trace had ordered for her. Both were bland, but that’s what her stomach needed right now, and she was grateful to him for being so thoughtful.

As she ate, Trace dressed, strapping on a bulletproof vest before pulling his jumpsuit all the way up and covering his vest. He looked sexy even in a plain navy blue jumpsuit. In his Wranglers, T-shirt, and overshirt, he was extraordinarily good-looking, but she would take him any way she could get him.

It was interesting, because the jumpsuits were specially made so that Trace and the other agents still had access to their guns.

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

Christie nodded then pulled on the jumpsuit to her waist. Trace helped her put on the vest. It was much heavier than she’d expected. It had to weigh at least twenty-five pounds. Stillwater watched as Trace finished fastening Christie’s vest.

When it was time to leave, Christie was given a pair of sunglasses. With Trace at her side, she walked out of the bedroom, carrying the sunglasses, and she blinked in surprise. Two other women with long brown wigs, who were also petite and looked very much like her, were in the room.

“Are those women decoys?” Christie held the sunglasses in one hand. She looked at 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 wasn’t saying they’re not capable.” Christie frowned as she felt her own vest weigh 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 about the situation she was in. That they were all in. What it came down to was that she had jeopardized everyone’s life by coming to Arizona without arranging it with the FBI first.

“What have I done?” Christie looked up at Trace as Stillwater turned away. “One stupid mistake and—”