Cowboys Last All Night

by Jennifer Ashley

  “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 att
orney. “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.

  She told the story of things she had overheard and seen. She had overheard Salvatore order the murder of the surviving friends from the Circle of Seven. Salvatore had told her that he was responsible for the deaths of the two friends who had died, and the attempted murder of a third who barely survived and had spent a year going through extensive recovery.

  Christie had witnessed Salvatore murder a man.

  Salvatore raped Christie more than once after he had caught her overhearing him giving the order to murder the rest of her friends. After he’d used her, he had been ready to break her neck, but federal agents had ruined that plan.

  Finally, after all of the damning testimony from Christie, the AUSA turned to Barth and said, “Your witness, Mr. Groening.”

  Barth paused a moment before standing and buttoning his suit jacket. Without looking back at Salvatore, Barth strode to the witness stand.

  He shot question after question at Christie, attempting to tear down everything she’d explained to the AUSA. He worked at destroying her character, but there was nothing to destroy.

  Christie never varied from her story. She didn’t fall apart like Salvatore had expected her to, should she live to make it to the stand. She didn’t cry, she didn’t get angry, she didn’t look beaten down. She appeared reserved but personable and Salvatore could see the spark of anger in her eyes, even if her expression didn’t show it. He’d known her for so long, and so well, that he recognized what no one else would have in that room. She was pissed.

  At times, Barth’s cross-examination tripped her up, but she remained cool and calm, and still her story didn’t change.

  When Barth had no more questions for Christie, Judge Berry called a recess for lunch. Closing arguments would be given after the break. Christie was whisked away between U.S. Marshals and all Salvatore saw was her back.

  He watched the jurors as they filed out to lunch. They didn’t look at him.

  “We’re fucked.” Barth pushed himself up from the table and looked at Salvatore, who also stood. “Good and fucked.”

  Salvatore felt almost too stunned to think as they walked out of the courtroom. He paused and grabbed Barth by the upper arm and brought him to a stop. “I want to take the AUSA’s offer and turn state’s evidence against key members in the Jimenez Cartel.” He gripped his attorney’s arm harder. “I want immunity from prosecution. I want to go into the Witness Security Program.”

  Barth looked at Salvatore’s hand. Salvatore released Barth as the attorney gave him a hard look. “That’s probably the smartest thing you’ve ever said or done.”

  “Fuck you.” Salvatore growled. “Now get the fucking AUSA.”

  Barth looked disgusted, but didn’t answer. A moment later, Claudia Duplantis walked out of the courtroom.

  “We need to talk.” Barth stopped in front of the AUSA. “My client wants to accept your deal.”

  “That deal was offered before the testimony.” Duplantis ignored Salvatore and the rage building inside him threatened to explode. He wanted to kill the bitch almost as much as he wanted to kill Christie. The AUSA continued. “However, we can talk and perhaps come up with something. In ten minutes, meet me in the same conference room we used the last time we talked.”

  Salvatore and Barth parted from the AUSA who turned to talk with her assistant. Salvatore walked with his attorney down a hallway and then out into the open in the direction of the conference room.

  Screaming pain tore through Salvatore’s chest as a gunshot echoed through the building. He clutched his hands to his chest.

  With unbelieving horror, he looked down at his pressed white shirt and saw a blood stain spreading rapidly across it. Blood coated his hands.

  How many times had he seen the same thing when he’d shot a man?

  Salvatore was hit with an overwhelming desire to cry. He was going to die. Instead of Christie, he was the one the cartel was finishing off because she had lived and they’d known that he would give up anyone in the cartel if it meant protecting himself.

  Vaguely, as he slumped to the floor, he heard one shout after another. “Salvatore Reyes has been shot,” from one person. From another, “Call an ambulance.” A third said, “We’ve got to stop the bleeding.” Someone added, “He’s wounded too badly.” The last voice he heard said, “There’s no saving this sonofabitch.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  In disbelief, Christie stared at the test stick. It was like a dream, almost as though it couldn’t be real. But there it was.

  A plus sign. A dark pink plus sign.

  She was pregnant.

  A wave of warmth washed over her and she could almost feel life starting to grow inside her.

  “I’m pregnant.” She said the words aloud and found herself almost shouting it in the small bathroom as she said it again. “I’m pregnant! We’re going to have a baby!”

  Her thoughts focused on Trace and her body tingled, giddy with excitement. Today was their wedding day and she had the best present ever to give to her soon-to-be husband.

  She wanted to run out of the church’s back room, find Trace and tell him now. It didn’t matter that she was wearing only her bra and the long slip that she’d have on beneath her wedding dress. Well, it almost didn’t matter. They were in a church, after all.

  A knock came at the door. “Christie, is everything all right?” Natasha’s voice. “You’re yelling.

  “In a church,” Belle added.

  Christie was still holding the stick when she yanked open the door. She flung her arms around her Matron of Honor, Belle, and her bridesmaid, Natasha, in a trio hug.

  “What’s this all about?” Belle laughed and Natasha giggled, as they pulled apart.

  Christie raised the pregnancy test stick.

  “Oh, my God.” Belle wrapped her arms around Christie. “You’re going to be a mommy!”

  Natasha joined in on the group hug again. “I’m going to be an aunt. Well, more like a second cousin once removed, but he—or she—can call me Aunty.”

  “I’m a month late.” Tears formed at the corners of Christie’s eyes, and when she drew back she grabbed a tissue from a box on a side table and carefully dabbed it to avoid smudging her wedding make-up. “I’d hoped, but all those years I was told repeatedly that I couldn’t have children. I can’t believe it.”

  “Trace is such a hunk of a man.” Natasha grinned, mischief in her eyes. “He probably has super sperm.”

  Belle and Christie laughed. “That’s my man.” Christie didn’t think she could possibly ever be happier than she was today—she was marrying the man she loved and she’d just found out they were having a baby. “Don’t say a word until after I tell Trace.”

  Natasha pantomimed zipping her lips and tossing the key.

  Belle grinned. “I can’t wait until he hears the news. He’s going to be floored.”

  Natasha bounced up and down on her toes, her dark hair swinging around t
he bare shoulders of her purple bridesmaid dress. “You see how he plays with Shane. Trace is going to be an awesome dad.”

  “No doubt about it.” Christie nodded, unable to stop smiling. Belle and Dylan’s baby was over a year old now and Trace was adorably smitten with the little guy.

  Belle tilted her head, smiling. “What made you decide to do the test here at the church, before the wedding?”

  Christie shook her head. “I just had this strange feeling. Like it would be good luck to do it before the ceremony.”

  “Perfect timing.” Natasha pointed to the pregnancy test stick. “Keeping that for a scrapbook?”

  “Maybe I should carry it with my bouquet.” Christie grinned. But she found a nearby wastebasket, and tossed the stick in it.

  “I know you’re crazy happy out of your mind, but let’s get you dressed before you forget and head down that aisle in your silky underthings.” Belle’s purple dress, similar to Natasha’s bridesmaid dress, swirled around her calves as she moved. She headed to the corner where the beaded white wedding dress hung. “We don’t want you walking down the aisle in your slip.”

  The door opened and in bustled Christie’s grandmother, Madelyn, whose graying hair was swept up in a poufy style. Madelyn, a stocky woman with a motherly yet busybody air about her, had arrived with Harry, Christie’s grandfather, on a flight from Florida just yesterday.

  Christie was glad she’d thrown away the test stick. Madelyn Simpson was not known for being able to keep her mouth shut about anything. If she had seen the plus sign, she would have told every guest, who then would have known before Christie had a chance to tell Trace herself.

  “You’re not even dressed.” Madelyn swept up the veil as Belle reached Christie with the dress. “The church is standing room only. They’re going to start the wedding march just as soon as you’re ready.”

  “This won’t take long.” Christie smiled at her grandmother, who normally drove her a little crazy. Today nothing could dampen Christie’s mood for so many reasons. “My hair and make-up are done, so all I need are the dress and the veil.”