Taking Fire

by Cheyenne McCray

  The chill in the bathroom caused Christie to shiver as she took off the sling and changed into a big T-shirt and sweatpants. She had her sexy panties and bras, but thank goodness she had also packed something modest. She didn’t want to send the wrong message.

  Or was it the right message?

  Her arm felt almost normal since she’d taken the pain med, but stiff after having been in a sling for hours. When she left the bathroom, she carried her things out and saw Trace wore a form-fitting T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Damn, she’d never seen anyone so sexy in sweatpants.

  He held up a first-aid kit. “Let’s change that bandage.”

  She sat in a chair as he crouched beside her and flutters tickled her insides. Every time he came near her, she wanted to lean into him and feel his body even closer to hers.

  He carefully removed the bandage, the touch of his fingers on her skin giving her goosebumps. He examined her arm and she saw the bandage had no traces of blood and the wound was closing. “It’s healing very well.”

  His nearness and touch fried her brain. She couldn’t even find the words to form a coherent response.

  He dressed her wound then got up from his crouch. “You take the bed.” He nodded in its direction. “The couch folds out into a bed, so I’ll have that.”

  She bit her lower lip, suddenly feeling vulnerable and needy for his companionship. “Will you sleep with me?”

  He looked stunned for a moment, as if he couldn’t find any words.

  “To sleep.” Her face heated. “I had nightmares in the hospital about Salvatore. After today, I think they’ll be worse.

  “No problem, honey.” He gave her a gentle smile. “I get it.”

  She scooted under the cool sheets and quilts on the bed. She plumped one of the two pillows and rested her head on it to watch him.

  He turned off the one lit LED lantern and the room grew darker, only the fire in the hearth casting enough light to see by. He drew his gun out of its holster then moved to the bed. He set his weapon on a nightstand before walking toward the fireplace.

  Dallas curled up on a rug beside the bed and watched Trace go to the fire and add a big log into the grate. The dog settled his head on his paws and closed his eyes.

  When Trace returned, the sheets were a little warmer from her body heat. He slid into bed and rested his head on the pillow to face her. The firelight flickered, casting shadows over his face. For a long moment they stared at each other, lost someplace in space and time.

  “Will you hold me?” She wanted to be closer to him.

  He hesitated. “Sure, honey.” He adjusted himself on the bed and she scooted closer so her head lay on his shoulder, his body within inches of hers. She had positioned her good arm beneath her to avoid lying on her injured one.

  She gave a contented sigh, feeling safe and looked after for the first time in over fifteen months. She filled her lungs with his masculine scent and his body heat surrounded her, warming her to her core.

  The world slipped away and she fell into a deep sleep, carried away on a river of dreams.

  Chapter Eight

  Cool wind smacked Salvatore in the face as he sat on a bench in the exercise yard. He had heard nothing since Paco informed him Christie had been taken to the hospital for a gunshot wound.

  Had his men eliminated her? Or had she somehow survived them again?

  Fucking idiots. The bitch had better be dead.

  A large shadow blocked the winter sunlight. Salvatore raised his head and his skin chilled. The cold day didn’t cause the chill. The man standing over him did.

  Cowboy John, a six-foot-three bald-headed redneck murderer, had sleeve and neck tattoos. The bastard must have weighed a solid two-fifty, all muscle. Salvatore did not fear many men, but John made the shortlist.

  As usual, the brute said nothing. He didn’t have to. His mere presence intimidated anyone around him.

  Salvatore tried not to show fear in his expression and certainly not the fact his testicles had shriveled in the bastard’s presence.

  John extended his hand. When Salvatore didn’t move, the redneck’s eyes narrowed. Salvatore shot out his own hand, praying the monster wouldn’t pound him into the exercise yard’s gritty surface.

  The man dropped a folded note into Salvatore’s palm. He gave Salvatore a dark look before he turned and walked away.

  Salvatore released his breath in a rush as he closed his fingers around the folded paper. One day he would have Cowboy John killed. Maybe he would slit the bastard’s throat himself.

  Unfortunately, unless the guards manacled the redneck and chained him down, then left him out for the scorpions and birds, that would never happen.

  Salvatore glanced around the exercise yard and, as far as he could tell, no one paid attention to him, including any guards. He stared down at the paper he now gripped in his fist.

  It had to be news about Christie. He unfolded the paper and saw a note written in a sharp scrawl, all points and edges.

  I gave the cockatiel to him in a gilded cage. He lost the bird and has yet to find it.

  Fury rushed through Salvatore so hot and so fast he thought the note might burst into flames. He crushed the paper in his fist and ground his teeth.

  The Angel of Death had found Christie and more or less delivered her to Paco. The incompetent idiot had lost her.

  Again.

  Salvatore had never tolerated incompetence. In the past he would have dealt with Paco in a way that would make him regret his failures. But in his current position, Salvatore couldn’t personally follow through on those kinds of decisions or threats.

  For now, he would have to put the fear of God into Paco. Or at least the fear of El Verdugo, more powerful than the fear of Him. The things the Executioner would do to men…they would rather face the Almighty than the man who could torture them in ways that would make them wish they were dead.

  If Paco did not find Christie, his fate wouldn’t be up to Salvatore. It would be up to a cold and ruthless man.

  Salvatore had a feeling Paco would find Christie—and soon.

  And when Salvatore’s hired man did away with her, it would be time for the rest of her friends to finally die.

  Chapter Nine

  Two of them. Dear God, there are two.

  Christie’s skin flushed, as if it might burn away. She would be nothing but dry bones.

  It would be better than to be caught by Salvatore…and a second Salvatore.

  Dear God. Two.

  Christie backed away as they approached her. Closer, closer.

  She turned and ran.

  Their hot breath fanned across the back of her neck. Their hands reached for her.

  Screams rose inside her, but she couldn’t get them out.

  She would never get away. Salvatore would chase her until he had her, then he would kill her.

  Thump…whump…thump…whump…

  Terror sliced a larger gash through her at the sudden sound. Hair rose on the back of her neck. Her heart rate matched the throbbing beat.

  Thump…whump…thump…whump…

  What was that sound?

  Four hands clawed at her. Salvatore’s hands.

  And his double’s.

  The Angel of Death.

  Thump…whump…thump…whump…

  The sound pushed fear further into her chest.

  She couldn’t catch her breath. Her sides ached. Her legs weakened.

  Ahead. The forest. She would be free there.

  Thump…whump…thump…whump…

  She would find help—

  If Salvatore and the Angel of Death didn’t kill her first.

  Christie sat bolt upright, sucking in air, trying to breathe. She felt like a trapped animal, a metal claw gripping her tight.

  She looked wildly around, trying to orient herself. Big room. Bed. Table. Fireplace. Wood furniture. Log walls. Wood floor.

  German Shepherd.

  Her heart slammed then started to beat slower.
>
  Dallas.

  The dog belonged to Trace. She was in a log cabin he had taken her to. She was safe.

  She didn’t feel so safe anymore, not after her nightmare. Her dreams of Salvatore alone were bad enough. But this nightmare of him and a double nearly drove her over the edge. She knew who Salvatore’s ‘twin’ had been in the nightmare.

  Ángel.

  The man she’d met on the airplane and had seen at the hospital—could he be related to Salvatore? She hadn’t given it any serious thought until now. Salvatore didn’t have family. His parents had left him in the care of his aunt and uncle when they’d returned to Mexico.

  He had never talked about any family and had refused to answer her questions. He would only say, “They are no longer here.”

  She took it to mean they were dead. But were they actually alive?

  So—was Ángel related to Salvatore?

  Somehow, she knew he was. She just didn’t know how.

  Her heart rate slowed and her breathing evened out.

  Where is Trace?

  Dallas rested his head on her leg, surprising her. She stroked his head. “Thank you.” She smiled. “I need a friend right now.”

  The dog edged his head up farther on her thigh, as if to say, “I’m here for you.”

  Steps outside the door on the squeaky porch startled her. The door opened and a rush of cold air shot in like a fist. Trace walked in and took a ball cap off his head and hung it on the hat rack.

  He shrugged out of his jacket, met her gaze, and smiled. “Good morning.”

  Sort of, she thought, the nightmare still fresh in her mind.

  She brought the blanket closer around herself to ward off the chill. “What have you been up to?”

  “Checking the security around the perimeter.” He pushed his fingers through his hair. “Ben takes care of it always working, but I do a check every time I’m here. I want to make doubly sure with you around.”

  Christie’s sense of security started to return.

  Trace went to one wall and pressed on the paneling. A section of the wall opened at eye level, about the size of a window. Six monitors were mounted on the wall. Trace pulled out a keyboard that hung in the air on some kind of mount.

  She slipped out of bed and padded barefoot across the floor. The fire had warmed the cabin and her feet weren’t cold.

  She went up to him and checked out the monitors. They weren’t black and white but color. “All I see are bushes and trees.”

  “That’s all you should see.” He typed on the keyboard and other camera angles popped up on the screens.

  The thought of one or more of Salvatore’s men trying to get to the cabin to kill her caused a chill to run over her skin. “Can anyone get past the cameras without being seen?”

  “The cameras and motion sensors are all over the property and well hidden.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “It would be extremely difficult to get to the cabin without tripping one. As a matter of fact, you’re ninety-nine-point-nine percent safe here.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And the other point-zero-one percent?”

  He laughed. “That’s the chipmunk carrying an acorn. He might bonk you on the forehead with it.”

  She found herself laughing, too. “I’ll watch out for him.”

  Trace pushed in the keyboard and closed the piece of paneling. A click followed, but she couldn’t see anything where the monitors were hidden.

  “What would you like to do today?” He headed to the small kitchen area. “After breakfast?”

  She thought about it as she sat at the dining table. “Do you think it’s safe enough to go for a walk?”

  He nodded. “As long as we stay within the two-acre perimeter, we’re golden.” Trace peeked in one of the bags he’d brought. “We have peanut butter Captain Crunch, Fruity Pebbles, corn flakes, or steel-cut oatmeal. Or we can have eggs and bacon or pancakes.”

  “I can’t wait to get out of the house. The sooner the better.” Christie scooted up to the table. “Captain Crunch, please.”

  He grinned and set the cereal boxes on the table. “At your service, my lady.”

  They both ate cold cereal with whole milk Trace took out of the ice chest. He cleaned up afterward while she dressed.

  He had picked out great sweaters as well as a set of pink long johns and blue long johns to put under her clothing. He’d selected a sturdy pair of hiking boots that would protect her feet from wet and cold weather, as well as thick socks to keep them warm. The boots were a little loose, but with two pairs of socks they fit nicely.

  After she had dressed and he’d finished putting away their breakfast dishes, they put on jackets and headed outside. The cool and brisk air chilled her.

  Dallas bounded in front of them, clear delight on his furry face.

  Trace picked up a neon green Frisbee from off the wood pile. “Ready, Dallas?”

  The dog stopped running with wild abandon and his whole body tensed as he waited for the disc to be thrown.

  Trace flung it up at an angle. It went up then started down. Dallas jumped into the air and caught the Frisbee, higher than Christie would ever have guessed. She laughed and clapped. Dallas went to Trace, set the toy at his feet, then ran back away from the cabin.

  After they had played for a while, and Christie had sent the disc flying a few times for Dallas, too, they wandered into the tree cover. Being in the forest seemed oddly unsettling but calm and peaceful, too.

  Trace didn’t bring up the reason why they were together on Mt. Lemmon and she couldn’t have been more grateful for these peaceful moments.

  He told her some of the lighter times on his job and of his friendship with Dylan. Over the past couple of years, the pair had become good friends and both had interesting stories to tell, according to Trace.

  Even though Christie had gone to the same schools as Dylan since first grade, she hadn’t seen much of him since they’d graduated. He lived on a ranch in the valley, about twenty miles outside of Bisbee, and his work took him all over the area and kept him busy.

  She regretted not keeping up with Dylan and the rest of her friends from the CoS. Since that wouldn’t change, she intended to make up for it once the jury convicted Salvatore of his crimes. Not everyone from the CoS was still alive, because of her ex, but she would do everything she could to remain close to those who were still alive.

  An eerie sensation washed over her as they entered a small clearing surrounded by juniper and pine trees. It appeared somehow familiar. Had she been here before? But then it probably looked like hundreds of other forest meadows.

  She clenched her teeth. Stop it, Christie.

  The unsettling feeling of having been in this meadow sometime in her past set her on edge. Trace was talking about something, but she couldn’t hear him.

  She jerked her head around as a sound sent ice straight to her heart.

  Thump…whump…thump…whump…

  The sound echoed through the canyon.

  Terror shot through her. Where had she heard it before?

  Thump…whump…thump…whump…

  Her mouth grew dry, her heart slamming against her chest.

  Something approached, coming for her. Or someone.

  Thump…whump…thump…whump…

  She swung her gaze frantically around, searching for a place to hide. Where could she go? They would find her. She had to get out of here.

  Thump…whump…thump…whump…

  A man’s voice. “Christie?” Hands on her.

  “Let me go.” She clawed at the hands on her shoulders.

  Salvatore. All she could see was his face.

  “No!” she screamed and struggled. “No!”

  Thump…whump…thump…whump…

  “Christie.” The voice sounded louder now. “You’re okay. Everything is all right.”

  Tears flowed down her face. She fought harder. She screamed harder.

  No! She wouldn’t let him kill her. He wouldn’t.

/>   Thump…whump…thump…whump…

  The sound came closer. Her heart beat harder and harder yet.

  Salvatore gripped her tighter.

  A hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off another scream.

  She bit down on a finger and a man’s curse followed.

  Thump…whump…thump…whump…

  Louder. Louder. Louder.

  She couldn’t hear anything but the thump and whump now.

  Salvatore dragged her to the grass. Pinned her down.

  He held her wrists in one hand and used his other hand and his body to keep her from moving or thrashing.

  Thump…whump…thump…whump…

  The powerful sound covered her screams.

  It was coming to get her.

  Salvatore. Ángel?

  Other sounds accompanied the noise. The loudness made it so she couldn’t think.

  Loud. So loud!

  A shout close to her ear, but she couldn’t hear.

  The thump-whump started to fade. A little bit and a little bit more.

  Thump…whump…thump…whump…

  She stopped thrashing and opened her eyes. She hadn’t realized she’d shut them.

  Salvatore’s face faded into someone kinder. Someone she cared about.

  Trace.

  Her whole body went limp, but tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Thump…whump…thump…whump…

  Fading. Fading. Fading.

  “I’m going to move my hand now.” Trace spoke in a calming voice. “Don’t scream. You’re going to bring neighbors, even law enforcement. We don’t want questions and we don’t want anyone to know you’re here. Understand?”

  She nodded. Her hair slid with the movement and stuck to wet leaves and pine needles that were cold beneath her head.

  He slid his fingers away from her lips and waited a moment before he brushed tears from her eyes with his knuckles. “What happened, Christie, honey?”

  A sob rose up and stopped in her throat, choking her for a moment. When she’d swallowed it down, she spoke. “That sound.” Her voice shook. “I heard it last night. I think in my dream.”

  “A helicopter flew overhead.” He spoke gently. “Is that what you are talking about?”