Slow Burn (2 page)

“I’ve got these.” Natasha inclined her head to the doorway. “Let me grab my purse out of my bedroom and we can head to the truck.”

Christie swung her case off of the bed and it landed on the floor with a heavy thud. Maybe she’d crammed too much into the suitcase, but she wasn’t going to stay in Arizona long and didn’t want to take more than one case.

She glanced out the window at the snowy landscape and the snowflakes drifting from a gray February sky. She had to admit she missed her hometown and her state. She’d grown up in Bisbee, but there were too many bad memories there now. No, when she finished testifying, back to Indiana she’d go.

When Natasha returned with her own purse, Christie shrugged into her jacket and found herself smiling. Despite everything, it was good to be going home—if only for a little while.

~~*~~

“Damn, that’s a good game.” Trace Davidson stretched as he stood up from the couch, feeling a light soreness in his muscles from the good workout he’d given them in his home gym. “They might be tied now, but Houston is going to kick Cardinal ass.”

Brooks Allen snorted. “This Super Bowl belongs to Arizona.”

“Now, boys.” Belle Curtis shook her finger at them in mock seriousness. “If you’re going to fight, take it outside.”

Trace held back a grin. He’d gotten to know Belle fairly well since her return to the Bisbee area and after all she’d gone through with his good friend, Dylan, who was now her husband. In the months since, Trace had spent time with both of them and Belle was one of his favorite people.

A smile curved Belle’s lips as Dylan came up behind her, reached around her, and rested his hands on her round belly—she looked like she could pop, and she was supposed to be induced tomorrow.

“Listen to the lady.” Dylan grinned and kissed Belle’s neck. “We wouldn’t want to miss any of the Super Bowl because Belle got upset and the baby decided to come today.”

Belle swatted at Dylan’s hand. “You’re more worried about the football game than your baby?”

Dylan turned her around in his arms and kissed her. “Never.”

When he drew away, Belle’s smile was enough to thaw out any man. She focused her gaze on Trace and Brooks.

Trace held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, ma’am. We’ll behave. Wouldn’t want to miss seeing Houston obliterate the Cardinals.”

“Men.” Belle rolled her eyes. “Can’t live with them….”

“No kidding.” Tori Cox-Walker got up from her seat beside her husband, Landon.

He spanked her butt with his palm then squeezed her ass cheek. “But you can’t live without us.”

With a mock frown, Tori shook her finger at Landon. “Watch it, Mister.”

Tori was a professional clarinetist and an up and coming composer of movie soundtrack scores. Landon was a special agent with ICE, the International Customs Enforcement division of DHS, as were Trace, Brooks, and Dylan.

“I’m all about more chips with some of that great French onion dip,” Tori said as she held out her hand to Angelina, a teenager from Mexico, who Tori and Landon had custody of. “Care to get away from these heathens, Angelina?”

Angelina laughed, took the offered hand, and let Tori pull her to her feet. The seventeen-year-old nodded and said, “An orange soda along with those chips sounds very good.”

The young girl had been adapting well as an American teenager despite growing up as the granddaughter of the former leader of the Jimenez Cartel in Mexico. Trace knew Angelina still missed the man she had thought her grandfather had been, and the whole transition had been difficult for her.

Belle drew away from Dylan. “Not sure I could take another second of the barbarians, either.” She grinned at her husband, a teasing glint in her eyes, before she walked—no, waddled—into the kitchen with Tori and Angelina.

Trace wasn’t sure how Belle would like the “waddled” thought, so kept it to himself.

Brooks picked up a well-worn football by the front door. “How about skipping the halftime commercials?” He tossed the football to Trace, who caught it.

Trace headed for the front door with the ball. “Playing a little catch sounds a whole lot better to me than the latest Ford and Doritos commercials.”

Brooks followed as Trace stepped out onto the porch of Dylan and Belle’s ranch house, then headed down the stairs and into the Arizona sunshine. The air was mild against Trace’s skin, the dirt dry beneath his boots. The sky was a deep, clear blue. He’d grown up in Houston, but he’d fallen in love with this part of Arizona and had settled in just fine.

He’d bought a nice spread about a year after he’d moved to southeastern Arizona and kept a few head of cattle along with a couple of horses. With his job he couldn’t be at his place as often as he’d like to be, so he had a ranch hand who kept an eye on the place. Darryl took care of feeding and making sure the fence line was intact, the stock tanks full, the stalls mucked, and anything else that needed to be done that Trace couldn’t keep up with.

Even though he’d fallen in love with Arizona, Trace was still a big fan of the Houston Texans when it came to football. He’d adopted the team and had been a fan since the franchise had come to Houston in 2002.

When they got to a clear spot in the huge driveway, Trace threw the ball to Brooks. “Hard to believe Dylan is going to be a daddy.”

“No kidding.” Brooks received the ball and passed it back. “I hear Salvatore Reyes is set to go to trial.”

“Yep.” Trace made an over the shoulder catch. “Won’t be long ’til that S.O.B. is locked away for good.”

Just thinking about what that bastard had done to Christie caused Trace to clench his jaw, and he threw the ball with a bit more velocity this time, a little off course.

The ball spiraled in Brooks’s general direction. “Christie Reyes, his wife, sure disappeared fast.” Brooks had to leap up to catch it. “I was surprised to see her at the wedding though.”

“She changed from Reyes back to Simpson, her maiden name.” Trace shifted his stance. “She’s been in a remote town in Indiana with a cousin, keeping her head down.”

“How do you know so much about her?” Brooks stood, ball in his hand.

Trace shrugged. He wasn’t going to admit he’d been keeping tabs on Christie. Ever since that day, when everything had gone down with her ex-husband, he’d felt the need to protect her. Even though she was over 1,500 miles away, he knew a lot about her.

At the wedding, she had approached him and thanked him in a hesitant voice with sincerity in her gaze. She’d slipped away before he’d had a chance to respond.

He had hoped to have a chance to really talk to her, but he’d recognized the haunted look in her eyes and knew she wasn’t ready for flirting, or open to any kind of interest from a man. Not yet. Maybe one day he’d have the chance.

When Trace had found Christie with Salvatore, the bastard’s arm around her neck, Trace had recognized her vacant stare and his blood had boiled at the sight of her bruises. Seeing what Salvatore had done to Christie had brought back a rush of memories of what Trace’s mother had suffered at the hands of his father. Not to mention what Trace’s aunt had been through thanks to his step uncle.

It had been all Trace could do to hold himself from beating Salvatore within an inch of his life. Men hurting women was a real trigger point with Trace. He had no time or energy for men who didn’t treat women with complete respect. If a man hurt or attempted to hurt a woman, Trace had a real short fuse.

A vibration at Trace’s hip told him he had a call and he made a motion with his hand, telling Brooks with that movement to hold onto the ball. Trace pulled the phone out of its holster and saw that it was a blocked call, which could mean anything.

He brought the phone to his ear. “Agent Davidson here.”

“They know she’s coming to Bisbee.” A familiar voice came over the line, Spin Murray, one of Trace’s informants.

Trace frowned. “Who’s coming?”

“Salvatore’s ex-wife.”

A chill rolled down Trace’s spine. “Christie is on her way here?”

“Salvatore ordered a hit on her from his prison cell.” Spin’s words pinged in Trace’s mind. “From what his men said, she’s already on a flight from Indiana, and her plane’s gonna land in Tucson in three hours. They’re gonna be waiting for her.”

“Fuck.”
Trace’s heart raced. He clenched the phone as he turned and jogged to the house. “What else can you tell me?”

“That’s it, man.” Spin’s voice was rough from years of smoking cigarettes, and he gave a phlegmy cough. “You owe me.”

“You’ll get paid like always.” Trace disconnected the call as he reached the porch steps.

“What’s wrong?” Brooks called out to him.

Trace didn’t stop to answer Brooks. Trace let the screen door bang shut behind him and when he didn’t see Belle, he strode toward the kitchen.

He spotted her standing beside the kitchen table, about to put a chip in her mouth. “You didn’t tell me Christie is on her way to Bisbee.”

Belle paused, chip halfway to her mouth. “Christie’s what?”

“You don’t know anything about it?” Trace asked as Brooks came up behind him.

“No.” Belle shook her head. “Christie’s been asking a lot of questions, like what time I’m going in to be induced tomorrow, but didn’t say she’s actually coming here.”

Dylan stepped next to Belle and put his arm around her shoulders. “What’s going on, Trace?”

“I just got a call that from his prison cell, Salvatore Reyes has a hit out on Christie and she’s on a flight from Indiana right this minute.”

Belle dropped the chip. It fell to the floor as she put her hand over her mouth.

Dylan let out a string of curses.

Belle, Dylan, and Christie had been close friends since childhood, along with four other friends. They’d called themselves the CoS, Circle of Seven. Thanks to Salvatore Reyes, that circle was no longer seven strong.

“I’m calling Agent Stillwater, the FBI contact on the case, and I’m going to head to Tucson myself.” Trace was already raising his phone. “I’ll get to the airport a good hour before her flight lands.”

“I’ll go, too.” Dylan’s expression indicated the depth of his anger. “Just give me a moment.”

“You can’t go.” Trace shook his head. “You need to be here for Belle.”

“We’ll have them wait to induce the baby.” Belle looked panicked. “You’ll need backup. You need Dylan.”

“I’ll go.” Brooks stepped beside Trace. “Between us and the FBI, we’ll make sure she’s safe.” He focused on Dylan. “Like Trace said, you need to stay here with Belle.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Dylan blew out his breath. “But Christie is family to us.”

Belle gave Trace a hard look. “You get her and keep her safe.”

“I will.” He met her gaze. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“Thank you.” Belle nodded. “We’re counting on you.”

“I’ll see you when you testify,” Trace said. “It’s bad enough that you have to leave Belle and the baby to head to Phoenix for your testimony.”

Dylan nodded. As one of the agents who had helped bring down Salvatore, Dylan would have to testify. The difference was that he would be recounting facts on what had been discovered, which would be difficult to refute as it was well documented with hard evidence. He was not in personal danger.

However, Christie’s testimony was as an eyewitness. She had seen and overheard a considerable amount from her ex-husband that was damning evidence to the fact that Salvatore was not only crooked, but a murderer, too. In addition, he had contracted the attempted murders of Belle, Dylan, and the rest of the Circle of Seven, two of whom had been killed.

Trace barely said goodbye to the group before he’d grabbed his Stetson off the hat rack and headed out the front door. Brooks took his own western hat off the rack and followed.

“I’ve got a full tank.” Trace strode toward his SUV.

“I have just enough to get to Benson.” Brooks veered left to his truck. “I’ll make a quick pit stop and meet you at the airport.”

In moments, Trace had climbed into his Ford Explorer and jammed his keys in the ignition and started it. The SUV’s tires spun in the gravel before he shot down the dirt road and headed from the ranch to the highway.

Even though he had plenty of time to get to Tucson International Airport, Trace flipped on his grill lights and drove faster than he should have. On the way, he called FBI Agent Laura Stillwater, Christie’s contact, and the lead agent on her protective detail.

Trace had a hard time keeping from losing his temper when she answered. “This is Agent Trace Davidson from DHS. We’ve met and spoken about the Salvatore Reyes case.”

“Of course, Agent Davidson.” Stillwater’s voice was smooth yet had an ingrained hardness to it like polished wood. “What can I do for you?”

Trace gripped the steering wheel as he pulled onto a two-lane highway. “Why, if you’ll excuse me, the hell would you let Christie Simpson come back to Bisbee?”

“Christie has refused our assistance for the most part,” Stillwater said. “I have done everything in my power to convince her otherwise.”

Trace bit back a curse word. “Why didn’t you inform DHS?”

“Because DHS no longer has jurisdiction on this case.” Her voice was harder. “Is there something you need, Agent Davidson?”

Trace tried to restrain his anger. “An informant called me with information regarding Salvatore Reyes. He’s put out a hit on Christie from his prison cell.”

“Shit.”

“And somehow his men have managed to get a hold of her itinerary. They know she’s flying into Tucson and will be there—” Trace glanced at the time on his dashboard clock, “—in about two and a half hours.”

Stillwater let out another curse word but remained all business. “Do you know her flight number?”

“I don’t have that information.” Trace guided the Ford Explorer down the highway, vehicles pulling out of his way as he came up behind them. “I’m headed to the airport now. I’d appreciate it if you’d find out the details and get back with me.”

Stillwater paused. “Normally I’d tell you we’ll take care of it, but considering it’s thanks to you that we have the heads up, I’ll let you in on this one.”

“I should arrive in less than ninety minutes, along with Brooks Allen, another DHS agent.” Trace flexed his fingers as he drove. “Let me know how you’re going to handle this.