His body went entirely limp. He knew he should get up. He lay 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 his head wouldn’t hit the upper bunk. He staggered to his feet, glanced over his shoulder, and saw the spots of blood.
Without looking at Cowboy 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 the thin mattress. He stared up at the ceiling and could only think about putting a bullet into Christie’s brain.
Chapter Nineteen
Soon it would be time to go to the U.S. District Court on Washington Street and face Salvatore.
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?
Christie observed Dallas, who lay at her feet. The K-9 constantly surveyed their surroundings as if taking his job protecting her seriously. She supposed he did.
Trace stood across the room, talking with Stillwater. Christie wished he were with her instead.
Yesterday morning, after Trace had given Stillwater the information for the boutique hotel, she and other agents had shown up within twenty minutes.
The Assistant United States Attorney, Claudia Duplantis, had reached the hotel two hours after Stillwater and her team. A couple of plain clothes FBI agents had made sure the AUSA arrived safely while keeping Christie’s location secure.
The AUSA had 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 had gone through everything so many times and with such intensity it had made Stillwater’s preparations look like a kindergarten teacher instructing her students on how to write their ABCs.
Right now, however, she’d been left alone and she didn’t know what to do with herself. She was stir crazy, wanting to go outside without a contingent of FBI agents. She wanted to be free again. Only, she wanted Trace with her every step of the way, true to his vow.
Christie had the urge to shove through the wall of FBI agents and go to the window. She would pull aside the curtains and stare out to see the weather for herself. 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 insides ache every time she thought of how many people had died since she’d gotten off the plane in Tucson. It seemed like forever since she’d spent time with her cousin at the dog adoption event and their silly girl conversation about finding a hot government agent. Trace’s name had come up, and here she was, in love with the man.
Christie nearly choked on air. She hadn’t let herself think about it, probably because of all that had been going on.
But now the lightbulb had gone off and she knew the truth. No doubt she’d known it all along—she just hadn’t had two minutes to think it through.
How did Trace feel about her?
She clenched her eyes tightly together. She’d chosen one hell of a time and place to be having these thoughts.
Silly schoolgirl thoughts.
Or a wise-woman realization.
She preferred to go with the latter.
Now she had to get her head in the game and set aside anything but what would get all of them out of this alive and Salvatore in prison.
Fortunately, she and Trace had taken a good-sized room in the boutique hotel the night before last, or she would have been claustrophobic with all the agents here now. So many people had been stationed inside and out.
Every agent here would take a bullet for her to get her safely to the federal courthouse. God, but she hated the thought of anyone risking their lives for hers yet again.
Since the first night in the hotel, there had been no more opportunities for moments between them. Multiple people had stayed with her at all times. Agents guarded her so heavily the place might as well have been a bank vault deep within the U.S. Treasury.
Well, it felt like that at times.
“We’ll be leaving soon.” Trace moved in front of Christie, startling her out of her thoughts. He gently placed his hands on both her upper arms. “Are you all right?”
She winced when she saw the bandages on the shallow bullet wound on his neck. He had a big purple and blue bump on his forehead, but the cut had scabbed over. His thigh, on the other hand, had needed stitches, and the bandage bulged beneath his pants.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She liked looking into his gray eyes, but today they were darker, somehow even more concerned. She had grown weary of the fact he had to be worried so much for her. She had to put Salvatore away…away for good, so Trace never had to worry about her ever again.
“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 grasped 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 the U.S. Marshals escorted her into the courtroom. “Is any of my hair sticking out?”
He examined her. “One more strand.” He reached up and she shivered as his fingers brushed the curve of her ear before he tucked it out of sight. “Good. I’ll keep an eye out.”
She swept her gaze over him 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 appropriate clothing and shoes for Trace to wear to trial so he would also blend well with the FBI agents and could accompany her without sticking out. Not to mention, he needed to appear professional for the court proceedings.
And, damn, did Trace look hot. He looked sexy in anything he wore, but 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 baby Shane and a lump crowded her throat. She hoped she’d be alive to give it to the baby herself.
“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 her modest black skirt and adjusted the matching blazer. The body armor felt heavy and bulky beneath the silk blouse, over her pounding heart.
She had grown exhausted from living in fear. Yesterday had been quiet, thank God, but it had been a short reprieve. If one could call being drilled by Claudia Duplantis quiet or a reprieve. Christie had to admit she’d take a grilling like that over being shot.
“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?”
“No,” Stillwater said. “Bulletproof SUVs and an army of agents.”
An army of agents hadn’t stopped the cartel’s people before, but Christie said nothing. At least the vehicles were bulletproof, which would protect the occupants.
Although, when she thought about it, there were at least ten
more agents than the number that had surrounded her previously.
Agents cleared every location they went from the hotel room to the elevator and on down to the lobby. Dallas and Trace stayed at her side so tightly nothing could get to her, at least she could hope.
Once they stepped out of the lobby into the overcast day, Christie checked the gray sky. Perfect for her mood. Sunshine wouldn’t have seemed right for a day like this.
The agents sped her over the sidewalk to one of three waiting shiny black SUVs. TV and reality blurred as she thought about federal agent transportation of witnesses on the screen.
Christie held on to her wide-brimmed hat with one hand, pushing it down on her head as Trace helped boost her into the truck. He climbed in and she scooted across the bench seat. He sat beside her and shut the door behind him with a firm thump. Stillwater and another agent climbed into the front seats, slamming their doors, too. The locks shot down. No one who didn’t belong would get into 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 read her expression and her nerves. He took her hand in his and interlocked their fingers, his palm warm against hers. His confidence flowed through her.
“You’re going to do well today.” He focused so intently on her she couldn’t have torn her gaze away if she tried. “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 the big vehicle. “I wish I didn’t have to see 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.”
It took only a matter of minutes to reach the federal court building from the hotel. Christie practically held her breath the entire way, afraid something might happen during the drive.
FBI agents drove the vehicles to a special location where witnesses could be taken through safely and criminals brought into court.
After the agents cleared the way, they got Christie out of the vehicle. Trace walked on her left, Stillwater on the right, and Dallas in front of them. Two more agents took up position in front of them, as well as two behind.
Christie let out her breath in relief when they arrived inside a hallway in the building and the big metal door closed behind them. They’d made it.
No one could hurt her now.
An ear-piercing siren began to wail and Christie clapped 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 wouldn’t 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 bulletproof vehicle they’d arrived in. 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.
Dallas snarled and went after a man running from the scene. He tackled the bastard, driving him to the asphalt. A gun went skittering across the street.
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. They didn’t know if anyone else out there had a gun.
Panic like he’d never experienced 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 kneeled 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 it probably hurt her bruised back. “I think after these past days, I’m going to go prematurely gray.”
“What happened?” Christie appeared dazed and like she had 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.”
She cut her gaze to Trace. “This getting shot at business is getting old.”
“I’m too fucking old for this shit.” Stillwater appeared to be having trouble holding it together. “Get us to the Banner University Medical Center,” she said to the agent driver who’d been watching them. “It’s the most secure.”
A plan flashed into Trace’s mind. “Don’t let anyone know she’s alive.”
Stillwater nodded and made the snap decision. She spoke to the driver with authority. “Report in that Christie Simpson is down and you’re not sure she’ll live.”
Trace let out his breath. This could work.
“Great idea.” Stillwater caught Trace’s gaze. “At Banner, we’ll have her pronounced dead.” Stillwater looked at Christie. “Sorry, Ms. Simpson. But someone just murdered you.”
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 gripped her as he kneeled on the floor in front of the bench seat. “We don’t want anyone to catch sight of you.”
“Okay.” She didn’t seem to have any fight left in her, likely a combination of exhaustion and pain. “I’d really like a vacation after this. Preferably one where no one shoots at me.”
“Didn’t we talk about Fiji?” he asked as he held back a smile. She’d been shot once again, and her brave sense of humor still shone through.
“Yes.” She nodded, managing to maintain a serious expression. “Crystal blue waters, white sand beaches, and something fruity to drink. Oh, and I want to pick up a new bikini.”
“I’m buying,” Trace said with a grin.
Christie smiled back at him. “The fruity drink or the bikini?”
“Both.”
Stillwater pulled out her phone and pressed a number on speed dial before raising the phone to her ear. “Let Banner UMC know we’re on our way.” She paused. “Christie Simpson is dead.” She disconnected the call and looked at Christie. “Now things get really interesting.”
As if they weren’t already.
They reached UMC and the agent drove the vehicle to the ER’s doors. Stillwater spoke with the on-duty physician while hospital staff loaded Christie onto a gurney and covered her body with a sheet.
Trace followed the gurney and hospital staff wheeled Christie through the process of being declared dead
.
Stillwater had the news put out on an unsecured line by an agent, who ‘leaked’ it to a popular anchor at a local television station. The newscaster jumped on the story immediately. The agent followed Stillwater’s instructions and made sure the reporter knew the high-profile case had meant putting away someone important in the Jimenez Cartel.
When the agent had finished leaking the story to the news station, Stillwater got online with her own contacts and gave the information to the Arizona Republic, and the New York Times. Soon the news would hit the Associated Press as well as the airwaves and the story would be everywhere. Anyone interested would know the star witness in the cartel case had been murdered.
Stillwater looked at Trace as she disconnected her last call. “I think this just might work.”
Chapter Twenty
Salvatore had to struggle to keep the smirk off his face as the Marshals re-seated him 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 would continue and go straight to closing arguments, 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.
Salvatore straightened the lapels on his expensive suit. Money laundering had been the one charge he’d been 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. However, his lawyers had been confident it could be explained away—he had been framed, of course. The fucking Circle of Seven had done it.
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