Cowboys Last All Night

by Jennifer Ashley

  That fucking bitch and the Circle of Seven. If it wasn’t for them…

  Salvatore’s throat worked as he swallowed, the concrete cool against his cheek. “My wife won’t make it.” Salvatore’s words came out in a squeak, an emasculating sound. His balls had shriveled at John’s words, so maybe it was no surprise he sounded effeminate.

  “I could kill you now.” A smile crept into John’s voice and in his strangely perfect English. He sounded as if he was college educated. “However, I do not care to be put into solitary confinement and face another murder charge.”

  John moved his face closer to Salvatore’s, his hot breath causing Salvatore’s hair to stir on his forehead. “Believe me, Salvatore Reyes, it will be easy to find the opportunity to do away with you without anyone knowing who performed the deed. If not me, it will be someone else. I hope I will be the one to wipe out your sniveling presence from the face of this planet.”

  Salvatore’s stomach went queasy and he was afraid he’d throw up the dinner he’d managed to shove down. If he threw up on John, the educated monster might just kill him now and be done with it.

  The monster jerked Salvatore away from the wall, then shoved him toward the bottom bunk bed. This time, the back of his head struck the steel bottom rail of the upper bunk. Lights sparked in his mind like falling stars.

  Salvatore collapsed onto the bottom bunk. He didn’t think he could move.

  “If you get blood on my blanket, you will give me yours.” John walked away, unzipped his fly, and pissed in the toilet.

  Salvatore lay on the bed for a moment, waiting for his head to stop spinning. He ignored the blood that was now dripping over his ear and likely onto the blanket. He reached up to touch the back of his head where it had struck the metal rail and felt sticky wetness on his hand and in his hair. He pulled his hand away from his head and raised it in front of his face to see blood on his fingers.

  His body went entirely limp. He knew he should get up. He was lying on the monster’s bed, and the beast might come back and finish what he started.

  Salvatore forced his muscles to cooperate and pushed himself to a seated position, hunching his shoulders, bent over, so that his head wouldn’t hit the upper bunk. He staggered to his feet, looked over his shoulder, and saw the spots of blood.

  Without looking at John, Salvatore stripped the blanket off his own bed and traded with the monster. At least the blood hadn’t gone through to the sheets.

  Salvatore almost fell off the ladder as he climbed up to his bunk. He managed to make it up and flop onto his thin mattress. He stared up at the ceiling and all he could think about was Christie with a bullet through her brain.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Salvatore was going to catch up to her. She ran faster. Her heart pounded so hard it was like drums in her ears.

  Branches slapped her face, roots tripped her, thorns scratched her arms and tore holes in her light dress as she ran through the forest.

  What forest? Where was she?

  Trace’s forest. She had to get to the cabin, had to get to Trace.

  Salvatore closed in on her. She could hear his heavy panting, his every breath hot on the back of her neck. It burned as if he was spitting acid on her.

  She pushed herself harder, but it was growing darker and she had a harder time seeing and dodging obstacles. Where was the cabin? Where was Trace?

  “I’m going to kill you, bitch.” Salvatore’s voice echoed through the forest. “You are mine. You will never belong to anyone else. You are my possession.” His voice grew even more hideous. “I will kill you for letting anyone else touch you.”

  She held back a sob. No matter how fast, how hard she ran, she would never get away from him. She would never be free of him.

  A cry tore from her as she tripped over a huge rock. She landed hard on the ground, her head hitting a stump as the rock scraped her bare legs at the same time. Pain shot through her skull and her legs burned from the scratches.

  Dizzy from hitting her head, she scrambled to her hands and knees.

  Salvatore tackled her. He slammed her to the ground, knocking the breath out of her as her arms and legs buckled. His full body weight was so heavy, pressing her into the soft earth. He was bigger than her and easily pinned her down. She struggled but he had her.

  With one hand he shoved up her dress and tore away her panties.

  “No!” she screamed and fought with everything she had. She twisted in his hold. Her hand connected with flesh and she scraped her nails across his skin and she screamed again.

  “Christie, wake up.” Trace’s voice.

  Another scream died in her throat. Wake up. It’s Trace.

  His firm and soothing tone tore her away from the nightmare starring Salvatore. She shook the cobwebby feeling from her head as she raised her eyelids. Her eyes widened when she saw red welts on Trace’s cheek.

  He released her wrists. She hadn’t known he was holding them.

  “I scratched you.” She reached out and cupped his stubbly jaw, avoiding the scratches. Her voice was thick with the tears she wanted to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” He smoothed her hair away from her forehead. “Want to talk about it?”

  She looked down and away and saw that the covers were twisted. She must have been tossing and turning during the nightmare.

  Talking about her bastard ex-husband was the last thing she wanted to do, but this was Trace and she owed it to him. “It was about Salvatore.” She swallowed. “He was chasing me through a forest. I think the one where we were staying. He said he was going to kill me and then he started to—” She swallowed again. “—rape me. Just like the times he really did.”

  “Sweetheart.” Trace brought her close to him, holding her in his arms and squeezing her so tightly she almost couldn’t breathe. “He will never touch you again. I promise you.”

  “I know.” Her words were muffled against his T-shirt. His skin was warm to her face. “It just feels like I will never be free of him.”

  “You will.” Trace kissed the top of her head. “After today, you won’t ever have to see his sorry face again.”

  She nodded, feeling the comfort of Trace’s body against her. “I believe you.”

  As she slowly came to her senses, she remembered there were two FBI agents in the room and that Trace hadn’t slept last night with her thanks to the guards posted inside and out.

  Trace had stayed on watch, too. His eyes looked tired and she wondered if he’d slept or not in the stuffed chair near the bed. She knew the FBI agents had been changed out, so they wouldn’t be tired like Trace was.

  “Thank you.” She drew away and smiled at him. “I feel better now, thanks to you.”

  “It’s inside you.” He fingered strands of her hair. “You’re getting stronger every day.”

  * * *

  Soon it would be time to go to the U.S. District Court on Washington Street and face Salvatore. Christie’s gut twisted. She had to come up with some way to distract herself, but she had no idea what that could be. Read a magazine? Strike up a conversation with a busy agent? Trace was talking with Stillwater. Christie wished he were with her instead.

  She wanted to push her way through the wall of FBI agents and go to the window. She would pull aside the curtains and stare out to see for herself what kind of day it was. Blustery? Rainy? Mild? Sunshiny? Phoenix could be any of those in February. But of course the roomful of agents wouldn’t let her near the glass.

  After all that had happened, she couldn’t blame them. It still made her gut clench every time she thought of how Rich had been killed while driving the van. A couple of agents in the two other vans had been injured, but no one else had died. She had to be grateful for that fact, even as she found it hard to forgive herself for being the cause of so much trouble.

  Trouble was putting it mildly.

  Fortunately the room she and Trace had been given in the boutique hotel the night before last was a decent size, or she wou
ld have been claustrophobic with all of the agents now here. There were so many inside and out. The agents were prepared to take bullets for her to get her safely to the federal courthouse, and she hated the thought of anyone taking a bullet for her again.

  The night of the chase, after they’d made it to the room in the boutique hotel, Trace had called Stillwater to let her know what had happened. She had wanted the address, but he’d said they were at a safe location and he’d give her the information the following day. Apparently she hadn’t been pleased with that response, but he’d disconnected the call.

  After he’d set his phone and weapon on the room’s desk, he had removed his body armor and helped Christie with the vest she was wearing.

  That night he had made love to her with wild intensity and she had answered with a fierceness of her own. It was as if they had to prove they were alive by touching each other and bringing it all to a climax that united them even more. They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, exhausted and spent.

  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 cla
pped 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 they’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.”