Taking Fire

by Cheyenne McCray

  “See you in a few.” He gave a short nod and left the room.

  * * * *

  It took forever for the nurses to prepare for her discharge from the hospital.

  To her surprise, Trace returned with a dog wearing a service vest.

  “Christie, meet Dallas. He’s a former K-9 and worked for the Border Patrol.” Trace glanced down at the dog. “Dallas, meet Christie. We’re going to be working with her.” He looked back to Christie. “I’d like him to get used to your scent. Is that all right with you?”

  She nodded. “Sure. I love dogs.”

  Dallas moved closer to Christie and she held out her hand. He sniffed before taking what appeared to be a respectful step back.

  “May I pet you?” she asked Dallas.

  He seemed to understand and moved closer again. He pressed his forehead against her fingers and she stroked the top of his head.

  “Dallas worked with my friend, Steve, before they were both shot in the line of duty.” Trace’s words seemed to thicken. “Steve didn’t make it, but Dallas pulled through. Steve and Dallas were a team from puppyhood on.”

  “I’m sorry you both lost your friend.” Christie moved her hand away from Dallas, who sat on his haunches beside Trace. “It appears you’ve each gained a new one.”

  Trace smiled. “Dallas is my buddy.”

  She returned his smile. “Good buddy to have.”

  “Are you ready to leave and head to the safe house?” Trace asked.

  “I guess.” She didn’t want to go into a safe house, but what choice did she have? She needed to make the best of it. “Do we have to do some of that Super-Agent stuff to get me to your vehicle?” she asked in a teasing tone.

  He laughed at her comment but settled into a more serious demeanor. “The FBI has agents all over the area outside the hospital, making sure it’s clear of anyone who would do you harm. But you never know if something has been missed.”

  “Okay.” She let out a sigh. “I suppose you’ll do all of those procedures like in movies and books where you make sure you’re not tailed and we get to our destination free and clear of bad guys.”

  “You’ve got it.” He smiled. “We’ll take a tour of Tucson and the outside area until we’re certain we don’t have anyone following us. And a little more to make doubly sure. It’s called an SDR or surveillance detection route.”

  Christie turned her attention away from him when someone knocked on the doorframe. Agent Stillwater stood in the doorway.

  “Now that Dr. Tenor is discharging you, we can get you someplace safer.” The agent smiled at Christie, but it seemed forced. “We’ll have you on the road to Phoenix and tucked away with plenty of protection where Salvatore’s men won’t be able to do you any harm.”

  Christie’s temples throbbed. Salvatore’s men. Her ex-husband had men who did what he told them to, including attempting to kill her.

  “All right.” Christie pushed away thoughts of her murderous ex the best she could. “I’m more than ready to get out of this place.”

  “Good.” Stillwater exited the room and a nurse entered.

  The nurse made Christie sit in a wheelchair before she could go with Trace. Christie knew hospital policy didn’t give them a choice. However, it still grated on her nerves to have to stay put and do whatever someone told her to do.

  Stillwater, Trace, and Dallas accompanied Christie as the nurse wheeled her outside the room. They paused for Stillwater to have an exchange with the doctor regarding Christie’s care.

  Christie sagged in the wheelchair, beyond tired and worn out from all that had happened. Her arm throbbed and her head ached. She did her best to relax as they waited for Stillwater and she began to feel a little drowsy.

  Her attention wandered and in an effort to remain awake, she glanced around the ER. None of the nurses manned their station at the moment. Only a tall Hispanic man stood in front of the high desk.

  Her heart slammed and she almost screamed.

  Salvatore?

  The man turned and met her gaze. He smiled.

  Ángel. She sagged, her heart still beating a hundred miles a minute, even as she recognized the man from her flight. The uncanny way he looked like Salvatore unsettled her.

  “Christie.” Trace drew her attention. When she met his gaze, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  How ridiculous, freaking out over a man who could be her ex’s double.

  “It’s dumb. I saw someone who reminds me of Salvatore—I swear he could be Salvatore’s twin. Well, except for a scar on his cheek and his eyes are a little more green.” She found herself speaking faster. “I freaked a little. The man happened to travel from Indiana to Tucson on my flight, and sat next to me. His name is Ángel.”

  Trace shot his gaze in the direction she’d been staring. “Where did you see this Ángel?” His tight voice had an edge to it.

  She glanced to the location where Ángel had been standing but saw no one there. “By the nurses’ station. But he’s gone now.”

  Trace’s expression darkened. He put his hand to his ear and said something in a low voice, as if he was speaking via an earpiece, like she’d seen in the movies.

  Two agents appeared, catching Christie off guard. Where had they come from? No doubt they’d answered some kind of summons from Trace. She watched him as he stepped aside and spoke with the men. They split up and vanished around the corner.

  Her breathing quickened as she realized Trace had been reacting to the fact she’d seen Ángel. Although now it was like he’d been a spirit and she wondered if she’d really seen him at all.

  Of course I saw him.

  “Let’s go,” Trace said as two more agents reached them.

  Then they were on the move through the ER, with four agents surrounding her, including Stillwater and Trace. Dallas stayed beside Christie and the wheelchair.

  Trace pulled a floppy felt hat out of his back pocket as they reached the ER’s entrance. He put the hat on her head and tucked her hair beneath it. His warm fingers running through the silky strands caused her to shiver. She’d been told in the past her red hair made her easy to spot in a crowd, so it made sense to cover it.

  A larger wall of agents surrounded Christie as Trace helped her out of the wheelchair, through the doors, and into his SUV. Dallas hopped into the back when Trace opened the door for him.

  Once he had buckled her in, Trace said, “I did get your prescriptions for pain meds filled in case you need them.” He gestured to a bottle of water sitting in the cup holder. “Water for you and I put your Vicodin and the prescription ibuprofen in the glove compartment. You can throw them in your purse.”

  “If I don’t have to, I don’t like taking anything too strong.” She grimaced. “The ibuprofen I’ll take for now.”

  “Need any help opening the bottle?” he asked as she reached for the compartment in front of her.

  “I’ve got it, no problem.”

  “You’re a little stubborn, aren’t you?” he asked with a grin.

  She shrugged. “I have my moments.”

  He put his hands on the wheel. “If you’re set, we’ll head for the safe house.”

  “I’d rather go to a beach in Fiji, like that fabulous one in Wanderlust.” She sighed. “I don’t suppose it happens to be in the near future.”

  Trace gave her a quick grin. “Depends on how near.”

  She smiled, imagining herself for a moment on Fiji, sometime soon. Very soon.

  * * * *

  Trace pulled his Explorer away from the hospital curb and followed one of the black FBI SUVs. He entered the street, still behind the black vehicle.

  She made the awkward movement and it did make her arm ache, but Christie found the meds in the glove compartment.

  “Isn’t it funny it’s still called a glove compartment?” She gestured to it then opened the ibuprofen bottle and retrieved one of the huge tablets. “I imagine it came from the early days of vehicles when cars weren’t enclosed and people had to wear
gloves. That and status. Some people wore gloves as a symbol of their wealth.”

  Trace seemed amused. “Never thought about it before. I guess you’re probably right.”

  Talk about a useless topic of conversation, Christie, she told herself. The only explanation for her rattling on about inane things had to be that spending time alone with a man she found incredibly attractive made her a little nervous.

  She put the bottles of tablets into her purse. Water helped her swallow the big pill down, but it still felt huge. She looked over her shoulder to see another black SUV following them.

  Trace drove onto the I-10 freeway and headed north then exited onto the Marana Road exit in Marana. She noticed the SUV behind them had fallen back. She squinted ahead and saw they no longer followed the vehicle that had been in front of them.

  He turned the Explorer around and headed south again to Ina Road in Tucson, then traveled River Road’s dips and bends. As a young girl, she had loved the ups and downs, her stomach bottoming out when they had gone down into a dip.

  Now her stomach bottomed out for an entirely different reason. A reason she hated.

  Someone had tried to murder her on the orders of her ex-husband. God, how insane could things get? How could she have married such an evil man, who had committed countless unspeakable acts of evil? A man who had killed her friends?

  No matter how she tried, she couldn’t stop having those thoughts.

  Christie drew inside herself and stared out of the window. So much guilt tightened her chest, because her ex-husband had done it. His reasons had partly been because of his jealousy of the Circle of Seven friendships, and partly due to his anger over having been excluded from their group. But everyone outside their group had been excluded, not just him.

  “Are you all right?” Trace’s voice jerked her out of her trance-like state.

  She dragged her gaze from the window and met his eyes. “Just lost in thought,” she said quietly.

  He turned his gaze back to the road. “If you want to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”

  On first impulse, she almost said, “No thank you.” She hadn’t even talked to Natasha about it. The only person she’d shared the pain with had been her therapist. She hadn’t wanted to dim Natasha’s bright light with the horrible details of the entire mess her life had become.

  “I met Salvatore in high school and thought he was kind, funny, even sweet.” Christie gripped her good hand into a fist on her thigh. “He doted on me and treated me like a fairy-tale princess. Gifts, dinners out, serenades. No girl in Bisbee had the kind of attention he paid to me. I thought it was magic.”

  “I’m sure there were a lot of girls who were envious of you,” Trace said.

  His words surprised her. No condemnation or judgment. Just an observation.

  “Yes.” Christie tipped her head to the side to think about it. “A couple of girls spread nasty rumors about me. Salvatore said he’d take care of it and I’m sure he did, because they stopped. I should have thought more about it. I wonder what he did to end the rumors.” She frowned. “I hope he didn’t hurt them. The girls might have made my life miserable in some ways, but they didn’t deserve to be hurt. They probably had their own issues.”

  Trace nodded, encouraging her to continue.

  “I saw darkness in Salvatore only during high school,” she said. “He got sullen sometimes when it came to my friends in the Circle of Seven. At times, I wondered if he was jealous of me spending time with them. Now I know he was.”

  The scenery passed by them faster and faster. She didn’t pay attention to it or where they were going as she thought back to those days.

  “From a young age, during playtime, my friends in the CoS and I excluded anyone who didn’t belong to our group. Our together time grew precious to us over the years.” She sighed, remembering the changes in their lives. “During high school, we spent less and less time together as a group, but we remained tight. After Belle disappeared, everything changed. Our group fractured, never to be repaired or reunited until Nate’s death.”

  Her throat ached and tears bit at the backs of her eyes. Her voice trembled. “My ex-husband orchestrated Nate’s and our friend’s deaths. He tried to kill all of us. So few of our friends remain.” Her heart ached and cried for those who were now dead.

  Tears broke free and rolled down her cheeks. “If only I had seen it in him. How could a woman live with such a horrible man and not know how entirely evil he is?”

  “Don’t blame yourself.” Trace reached into the glove compartment and handed her a small package of tissues. He appeared to want to comfort her but couldn’t as he drove.

  She took out a tissue and wiped tears from her eyes. “It’s hard not to. It comes down to the fact that he killed them partly because of me. They were my friends and he was jealous because they had a part of my heart he could never touch.”

  “I’ll say it again, it’s not your fault.” He put his hand over hers. “But I understand how you could feel it is. Please don’t be so hard on yourself. You know in your heart your friends would not blame you for something that evil bastard did. It is not your fault.”

  Her whole body ached with the desire to scream. She closed her eyes tightly and remembered her therapy sessions. She went to her safe place, the pain and tension slipping away as she visualized the sun on her face and a soft and gentle breeze sliding over her body in her forest meadow.

  When she grounded herself and could speak again, she opened her eyes and met Trace’s. “Thank you.”

  “I mean it.” He glanced from the road and met her gaze. “You are good and kind and a wonderful woman. You deserve to be happy and your family and friends love you and care for you. Those who are no longer with us would want you to be happy, too.”

  She nodded. He spoke the truth. Her friends would want only the best for her, like she had and would have for them.

  It took some time to do the thing Trace called an SDR, or surveillance detection route. Her arm ached as they traveled, but the prescription ibuprofen helped.

  Trace kept the conversation away from what they faced at this moment. Between everyone involved, including Agent Stillwater—especially Stillwater—Christie found herself exhausted from going over and over all that had happened at the airport. The danger everyone faced in protecting her tied her in knots. Not just for herself, but for those trying to keep her alive.

  God, she shouldn’t have flown back until a prearranged time. She should have waited until the FBI agents had her safely in their hands.

  Her therapist always said, ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, Christie.’

  She sighed. Easier said than done.

  The quiet between Christie and Trace lasted a while, but the silence didn’t make her uncomfortable.

  Still, her skin crawled…somehow itchy, like bugs skittered over her flesh. She had to focus her attention on something else. Something interesting.

  And intriguing. She turned her gaze on Trace. Like he is.

  The thought surprised her, but at the same time it seemed natural.

  She had the sudden image of herself touching his face, his stubble rough against her fingertips. The hair darkening his jaw would be smooth and soft grown out. He had such firm lips that made her feel warm and good inside when they tipped into a smile. He made her feel safe, and like everything would be okay.

  He wore an overshirt and beneath that a blue T-shirt. She had wondered why he wore the two shirts but now, catching a glimpse of his weapon told her the reason.

  Christie’s throat tightened as she thought about the last time she’d been near a gun—and it had been held to her head.

  She wrapped her arms around her midsection, feeling cold and alone, her mind fighting to get rid of the vision of her then husband threatening to kill her. The gun. Belle’s pale face as one of Salvatore’s men had pointed a weapon at her, too.

  A hand wrapped around her wrist and she tried to jerk her arm away. “No.”

 
“Christie.” The grip relaxed, but the hand still held her.

  She whipped her head up and saw Trace looking at her before he had to glance back at the road. He settled his gaze on her again. “Do you need me to pull over?”

  “I’m fine.” She swallowed. “I had a flashback of the time Salvatore had a gun to my head and another man aimed his at Belle. For a moment, it felt so real.”

  Trace’s expression darkened. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to kill the son of a bitch.”

  “Yes, I do.” Christie clenched both hands into fists, then regretted doing it with the hand of her injured arm. It hurt like hell. She swallowed. “I wish you had killed him.”

  He squeezed her forearm. She didn’t realize he still had his hand on her. “Everything is going to be okay, I promise. We’ll keep you safe and the bastard will go to prison for the rest of his life.”

  “Arizona has the death penalty.” Christie thought about it. “I wonder if he’ll get it for all the murders he’s responsible for.”

  Trace slid his fingers to her hand. “I don’t know.”

  Christie thought hard about it. “Considering all Salvatore has done, I feel it’s exactly what he deserves. Yet at the same time, I’m not sure what I think about it overall.” She looked at him. “Does that make sense? Does it make me sound wishy-washy?”

  “Yes, it makes sense.” Trace moved his hand from hers and grasped the wheel with both hands as they entered heavy traffic on the I-10. “And, no, it doesn’t make you sound wishy-washy. I get it.”

  “Thank you.” Christie sank back into the bucket seat, letting her body go limp. She found it exhausting just remembering and reliving all that had happened.

  She stared at the passing Sonoran desert scenery, thinking about the situation Salvatore had thrust her in, and her conversation with Trace. He amazed her with the way he understood her and treated her like an equal. He didn’t push around his weight as a federal agent, at least not with her. His kindness and the way he treated her made her certain he cared.

  Christie sighed. “Will we arrive at the safe house soon?”