by Becky McGraw
Trace’s front wheel hit the paved road leading to the big house and ate up ground toward the gate. Please let the gate be open, he prayed, as he rounded the end of the house. His heart sank to his toes when he saw it was closed. He looked behind him and saw the thugs scrambling toward the ranch truck parked by the holding pen. Trace should have taken that damned truck, or at least disabled it, but he hadn’t been thinking. And he hadn’t had time. He didn’t have time to open the gate now, but he was going to have to do that. No matter how difficult that would be with Ronnie on his lap. If it was locked he was ten kinds of screwed.
Trace skidded the bike to a sideways stop at the gate, and tested the latch. When it flipped he breathed a sigh of relief. Pushing the gate hard, he walked the bike through the opening, then stopped long enough to shove it back shut. That would at least slow them down a second, he thought, as he gunned the bike down the driveway toward the road.
What was it with nosy, troublesome women, he wondered, gritting his teeth. And what the hell was wrong with him thinking he had to save them all. He'd barely salvaged things after rescuing Leigh Ann Baker. He should have learned a lesson. No, now he was saving the one strapped to his chest too. A woman who had helped his daddy put him in prison. By doing that he was also letting Leland off the hook. His cover was blown to hell, and the feds investigation probably was too. Trace was in a mess of trouble too because of how it all went down. Susan Whitmore was not going to be happy, and would probably think he reneged on their deal.
But even though Ronnie Winters probably deserved what she would have gotten at that ranch, Trace couldn’t in good conscience let that happen to anyone. Leaving her there would have made him no better than those men. No better than his father. Saving her was a big risk though. He was taking a leap of faith that she wasn’t in his father’s pocket. If she was, she would lead the bad guys right back to him. Then he would be done.
If she was with Leland and the Diamond Bar crew, she had just learned a valuable lesson about lying with dogs. That might make her think twice before she let them know where he was at least.
Trace wondered what had brought her out to the ranch anyway. Surely, she wasn’t still after information about Leigh Ann Baker. Putting herself in that kind of danger to get that information was just stupid. If Leland was looking for the information, he wouldn’t have sent her. He would have just had Ray Brown torture it out of him. Maybe she had just innocently wandered into a hornet’s nest, just like Leigh Ann had done.
Ronnie Winters coming out to that ranch just didn’t make sense to him.
“Fuck,” he mumbled and held Ronnie tighter to him as he sped down the winding country road toward the interstate.
An hour later, her violent trembling was his first clue Ronnie was coming around. Sweat poured off of her, soaking through his work shirt that she wore and plastering his t-shirt to his chest. Her teeth started chattering, and he noticed her hair was soaking wet too. He had to find somewhere for them to hide out until she came down. He felt sure his buddy Seth would help him. Seth was still a cop, but he knew that Trace had gotten a raw deal. He was one of the only ones who kept trying to prove his innocence before the trial. Who stayed in his court even when the evidence was mounting. He trusted Seth.
At the last minute, he swung the bike off an exit ramp in some podunk town, then swerved right at the end. He surveyed the deserted looking road and drove on for about five more miles, but there wasn’t a soul or business in sight. He had picked the wrong exit to find somewhere to stop, unless that was going to be in a hayfield.
Ronnie started squirming in his arms and the bike swerved. “Be still,” he hissed loudly by her ear, as he fought to control the bike and hold her. Trace squeezed his arm tighter around her, and she moaned. Her body shook harder, practically vibrating his body too. “Shh, we’ll stop in a minute and I’ll help you.”
Trace’s lips tasted salty after he kissed her hair. Ronnie was in bad shape, and needed to be in bed somewhere until the drugs wore off. A roadside pull off with picnic tables caught his eye down the road, and relief shot through him. Trace pulled the bike off the road and stopped near one of the tables.
Ronnie wiggled in his arms. “Hold still for a second, Red.”
Trace worked at the knot on the rope and managed to get it untied and she slumped against him. He caught her with his arm, so she didn’t slide off the bike then threw his leg over the seat to stand. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the picnic table where he gently laid her on the bench.
She immediately wrapped her arms around her shivering body, and Trace took that as a good sign. She was at least conscious now. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to call Seth Copeland. He hadn’t spoken to his friend since he went to jail, so he hoped he would help him now.
“Copeland,” Seth answered shortly. Trace could hear wariness in his voice. Probably because his cell phone was a throwaway that didn’t register a name.
“Hey pretty boy, this is Rooks. I need your help.”
“What the hell have you gotten yourself into now?” Seth growled then huffed out a breath. “ I heard you got out, but haven’t heard from you. Figures you’d only call me when you needed something.”
Trace hesitated a minute, then said, “I meant to call you, but I’ve been, um, involved in something.”
“Sounds like it, if you need my help.”
“I was working with the feds at the Diamond Bar Ranch.” Trace knew he shouldn’t be saying that out loud anywhere, and looked over his shoulder like someone was out there in the boonies listening. But he trusted Seth, and his friend was still a detective. Trace knew he could and would keep things to himself.
“Interesting. So, why do you need help if you’re with the feds?” There was wariness in his friend’s voice and it set Trace’s teeth on edge too.
“C’mon man. Don’t be pissy with me. I’m in a fix and need somewhere to hide out for a few days. Just meet me somewhere and I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
“This have something to do with the call we just got from the ranch? Two FBI agents are down and some perp is too?”
Oh, shit. “What did you hear?”
“Something about an FBI undercover op being blown to hell. They’re doing an early takedown. That woman Susan Whatshername from Dallas isn’t a happy camper. She called the Chief and almost ripped his ass off.”
“Carlos got shot that’s why she isn’t happy.” Carlos didn’t just get shot. Trace had shot him, accidentally of course, but Trace was sure that didn’t make a difference to Susan.
“Who the hell is Carlos?” Seth asked.
“An agent on assignment there. And her boyfriend.” Trace was sure that Susan would want to put a bullet in him for that too.
“Who shot him?”
“I did,” Trace admitted with a sigh. “I was taking down a bad guy and he was standing behind him. Bullet went through, and hit him in the chest. I hope he was wearing a vest, but I don’t think so. There was blood, but I couldn’t stop to help.”
“Why the hell not?” Seth asked angrily.
“Because I have Ronnie Winters with me and they drugged her. They were about to rape her, so I got her out of there.”
“Ronnie Winters? The Shark Lady?” Seth said with a snort.
“Yeah, she came out there nosing around, and Ray Brown stripped her naked and chained her up. It was a bad scene.”
“Hell, I’d have liked to be there,” Seth said with a laugh. “That woman has balls of steel under those mini-skirts she wears. I always wanted to see them.”
A growl escaped Trace. “Cut it out, Seth. Just help me.”
Seth sighed. “Meet me at the bullpen. You can stay with my sister for a few days. But you better not cause trouble for her.”
“I won’t. If shit goes south, I’ll leave.” It looked like that was the only direction things were headed. Trace just hoped he could buy himself a couple of days to get Ronnie back on her feet. He’d figure out then if he c
ould leave her on her own and run, or if she would have to go with him.
Trace glanced at Ronnie and saw she was unconscious again. Her arms hung over the sides of the bench and her head lolled to the side. There was no way he could meet Seth at the ballpark where they used to have the department league games. Where he and Seth had coached their team, when Trace was one of them. When he wore blue instead of prison orange. "I can't come to you, Seth. Ronnie can't travel on my bike. Can you bring your pickup and come to get me?"
After another heavy sigh, Seth said, "I guess so man. You're gonna owe me."
"I already do. More than you know," Trace replied then gave him directions to their location. Trace pocketed his phone, hid the bike behind a tree, then sat beside Ronnie who had started shaking again. He pulled her across his lap and held her tightly to his chest. All he could do now was wait. And hope Ray Brown's men didn't find them before Seth did.
CHAPTER FIVE
"You can put her in the bed in the middle room," Seth's sister, Sarah, told Trace. He followed her down the hallway and waited while she opened the door.
Striding to the bed, he reached down and threw back the covers, then gently eased Ronnie down into the bed. About half an hour ago, Ronnie had started talking out of her head about all kinds of things and he was even more worried now. Seth took one look at her and he was worried too. Trace threw the covers over her sweaty body, then stood back and pulled his wet t-shirt away from his chest. She probably needed some water, or she was going to be dehydrated soon. He headed to the kitchen to get her a glass.
Seth was also pissed at Trace for getting involved out at that ranch. He thought Trace should have just done his time, and restarted his life, instead of trying to help the feds take Leland down. He said everything that Trace already knew. He could be charged for interfering in a federal investigation, and attempted murder or negligent homicide if Carlos died. He’d had to listen to it the entire two-hour drive to Sarah’s house on the outskirts of Muleshoe. But then when they hit town, he offered to help Trace sort things out. Trace told him to stay out of it. If Seth got involved, Trace knew his friend would end up on the wrong end of things too. Helping him like this was bad enough.
Pulling down a glass of water, he filled it at the sink and walked back to the bedroom. Seth walked in behind him. Trace sat on the side of the bed and glanced back at him. His friend’s frown and tight jaw told Trace something was up. "What?"
"They just issued an APB for you," Seth informed darkly.
"Who did?" Trace asked.
"The feds. You're in deep shit, man. And by osmosis, so am I if they find you here. You won’t be able to stay long. I don’t want Sarah involved."
Trace swallowed hard. "What're the charges?"
"Kidnapping, felony assault on a federal officer, attempted murder—you name it, they want you for it. It could get ugly too, because they tagged you as armed and dangerous."
Trace sucked in a heavy breath. "Guess that means I'm either going to end up dead or I’m heading back to the pen for something I actually did this time." Nothing less than he expected when he did what he did at the ranch. For the woman who had sent him there the first time. It was kind of ironic.
"Not if I can help it," Seth said firmly. Why don't you just call whoever assigned you out there and explain what happened?"
"She's sleeping with the man I shot," Trace explained. "She won’t be in a forgiving state of mind. No matter the reason, I'm sure she wouldn't have authorized me to beat the shit out of the other agent for his gun either. I'm a fucking felon. I shouldn't have even had a gun. Not to mention I screwed up her op.” Trace shook his head, before finishing, “I’m toast man. There's nothing you can do to help me. Just stay out of it."
"That's what you told me last time, but I'm not buying it this time. I'm going to help your sorry ass even if I bury my own in the process."
"No!" Trace shouted then stood. "I'll just stay here overnight, until Ronnie comes around, then I'm out of here."
Trace knew that Seth felt guilty about not being at that shootout when Sean was killed. He was supposed to be there, and thought if he had been things would have gone down differently. The man couldn't help it if he had the fucking flu. Nothing that happened that night had been Seth's fault. And nothing would have ended differently if he had been there, except he would probably have gotten killed too. Leland didn't want any witnesses other than the drug dealers he was paying off to frame and testify against his son.
There was nothing he could do to help him this time either.
"Let him help," Ronnie croaked weakly from the bed.
Trace spun around to look at her. Her eyes looked like there were bleeding, they were so red-rimmed and bloodshot. He leaned in closer and saw that her pupils were so small he could barely see them in the center of her brown irises. She was still high. He sat down again and lifted her head to put the glass to her lips. “Drink up,” he said holding her steady while she drank greedily.
She sighed and he eased her back on the pillow to ask, "How're you feeling, Red?"
"Like I have weights on my arms and legs," she said trying to sit up. "Why do I feel like that?" Trace was damned relieved that at least she was conscious and could speak. That told him she wasn’t in a coma and most likely she wasn’t going to need a hospital.
"I'll tell you later. Just rest for a little while," Trace said trying to push her shoulder back to the bed. "I need to talk to Seth."
"Copeland?" Ronnie said a little louder as she fought against his hold. "So hot, need to take this shirt off," she groaned and sat up. Her hands shook, but she managed to unbutton the shirt and slide it off her shoulders. With a disgusted look, she threw the wet shirt over the side of the bed then flung the covers off of her. "Is the h-heater on?" Ronnie asked fanning herself.
"No, honey," Trace replied, separating the sheet from the blanket to pull it over her. Ronnie didn't seem to care that she was buck naked and Seth was standing there with his mouth hanging open, but Trace cared.
"Put your goddamn tongue back in your mouth, Seth," Trace growled, then turned to block the man's view of Ronnie, "Get the hell out of here."
"You're no fun man," Seth said with a laugh, but he turned and left.
"Need to c-c-all C-conner Lucas," Ronnie said through her chattering teeth.
"Who the hell is that?" Trace demanded turning to look at her.
"P-partner and f-f-riend. He'll help us. We n-n-eed to n-ail these fuckers."
Ronnie wanted blood now, and Conner would help her get it. Next to her, he was the best damned criminal defense attorney in Amarillo. His family had as many connections as Trace's daddy did. She and Conner had dated a few times in college, then decided they were too much alike and were better off friends. In law school, they were the dynamic duo, and squared off in debates just to put on a show for the class. The man was as close to a best friend as she'd ever had. She trusted him.
Her brain was fuzzy and felt like hardened cement in her skull, but Ronnie had heard enough on their trip to wherever they were to know that Trace was in big trouble with the feds. Because he chose to save her instead of laying low at that ranch. If they didn’t get help and fast, they could both end up dead. She already felt like she was halfway there.
Trace had paid for a crime he didn't commit. Now, he would pay for another one, if she didn't do something. Conner could help them.
"You're not calling anybody, Red. I don't trust anyone not to give us up," he said then snorted. "I don't even trust you."
"Well, you b-b-better," she said then shivered again. It was so fucking hot in the room, Ronnie couldn't figure out how that could be when she was so cold inside. "I'm the only one who can help you."
"I've had more than enough of your help, remember?" Trace said with frustration.
"They f-f-framed you," she said.
"No shit?" Trace replied with a sarcastic laugh. "Just lay down and rest, so we can get the hell out of here."
Trace's back was sti
ff as he turned and walked out of the room closing the door behind him harder than necessary. Ronnie sat there staring at the phone on the night table. She could call Conner herself, but she had no idea where they were. Although she had been listening during their ride in the truck, the drugs didn’t allow her to process a lot of what she was hearing. Even if she called Conner, even if she knew where they were, they would probably be gone by the time Conner could get there. Trace said they were leaving in the morning. Where he was taking her, she didn’t know.
Ronnie was too tired to think about it right now. Her brain felt like there were lead weights inside her skull weighing it down. Her eyelids felt the same way. Ronnie closed her eyes reaching for sleep, but it wouldn't come, then a wave of nausea hit her. It was so strong, she felt like her insides had been stretched to the wall and slingshotted back at her like a bullet. She sucked in a breath and fought the urge to lean over the bed and hurl.
With a moan, she edged her way to the side of the bed and stood then staggered toward the door. "Trace!" she yelled, not sure if any sound came out.
Ronnie was only halfway across the room when Trace burst through the door.
"Sick," she said and gagged. He ran to her and scooped her into his arms then ran down the hall with her in his arms. The jogging motion didn't help and she gagged again. "Help me," she begged weakly, laying her head on his shoulder. His arms tightened around her as he strode into the bathroom and set her down on her feet.
Her legs felt like they were filled with jelly. Ronnie collapsed to the floor and hugged the toilet. Embarrassment flowed through her as Trace held her hair back while she dry-heaved. The nausea finally passed and her shoulders slumped.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely a croak from her dry throat. "So thirsty," she whispered as her eyes drifted shut, and she laid on the floor. Trace gently picked her up again and carried her back to the bedroom.