Slow Burn (3 page)

“I’ll be in touch shortly,” Stillwater said before she disconnected the call.

Trace had been in a hell of a lot of life and death situations in his career, but this one was different. Every situation mattered. Every situation was important.

But, even though he’d only been around Christie a couple of times, her safety more than mattered to him. It felt personal somehow.

When he’d seen how beaten down she’d been from Salvatore’s abuse, when he’d learned that her own husband had raped her, he’d wanted to kill the bastard. And then he’d wanted to wrap her in his arms and promise her no one would ever hurt her again.

The best he’d been able to do in his position wasn’t a lot. He’d put a warm blanket around her shoulders, told her she was safe now, helped her as she went into shock, and got her into the ambulance that had taken her to the hospital. She didn’t know it, but he’d checked in on her while she was there.

The only time he’d seen her, at the wedding, had been too brief. But when he’d caught the wedding bouquet by accident, the glimmer of a smile on her lips had made it worth the teasing and razzing he got from the guys he worked with.

Trace knew more about her than he probably should. He knew she worked in a craft and gift shop for a cousin named Natasha, and he knew that Christie lived with her cousin. He also knew she hadn’t been dating.

God, he was like some fucking stalker.

He pushed his fingers through his hair. He was going out of his mind with worry. How had she gotten under his skin like this?

While he drove, he called his Resident Agent in Charge at DHS’s ICE office he worked out of. RAC Sofia Aguilar answered after a couple of rings. He explained the situation to her.

“You’re stepping on the FBI’s toes,” Sofia said. “They’re not going to appreciate it.”

“I need time to help get Christie Simpson to trial.” Trace raced down the fast lane as vehicles pulled out of his way. “I want to make sure she makes it. Alive.”

“That’s the FBI’s job.” Sofia was a hard woman.

“This case is different, Sofia.” He pushed his SUV, wanting to get to the airport as fast as he could. “You know it is.”

She was quiet a moment, clearly thinking about the case that had brought them to this point. The Circle of Seven case had involved one of their own.

“Take what time you need,” she finally said. “I just don’t want to have to deal with any pissed off FBI agents.”

“I’ll handle it.” Trace thanked his RAC and disconnected the call.

Agent Stillwater called twenty minutes after he’d gotten off the phone with her. She gave him what he needed to know. She’d arranged for the local police department to meet him along with herself and other FBI agents. Police officers would escort him and Brooks through the process to get to Christie’s gate.

When he got off the phone with Stillwater, Trace couldn’t help but feel an even greater urgency to get to the airport and Christie’s plane. There was plenty of time before her flight landed, but things might not go as smoothly as planned. His muscles were wound tight when he finally reached the airport.

At the prearranged location, Trace met with a Tucson Police Department lieutenant and four FBI agents, including Stillwater. Two police department vehicles, two FBI vehicles, Brooks’s truck, and Trace’s Explorer, were part of a motorcade being staged to get Christie the hell out of here.

Stillwater’s dark features were hard as she took him aside. “The FBI has point on this one, Davidson. Don’t forget that.”

Trace nodded. “All I care about is Christie’s safety.”

“We can do that without you.” Stillwater’s dark eyes stared at him intently. Her hair was pulled back tightly, emphasizing her high cheekbones and her dark, exotic features. She had a fierce look about her. “I’m allowing you here as a courtesy only.”

He held back a retort. The FBI wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for a DHS informant, his informant.

After Trace and Stillwater shared a few words, the motorcade headed to the terminal.

Once they were at the terminal, police officers escorted Trace, Brooks, and the FBI agents the rest of the way. Their credentials were verified by TSA at the checkpoint and then they headed toward the gate. Trace had a Walther P99 9mm semi-automatic beneath an overshirt he’d put on from his SUV. Brooks also had his service weapon beneath an overshirt. The FBI agents wore suits and were armed.

According to the monitors, Christie’s flight was on time and now due to arrive in approximately thirty minutes. Brooks and Trace split up to make observations on their way to the gate.

While walking to his destination, Trace took in passengers he passed as well as personnel in the area, looking for anything that might be out of the ordinary. Shaking hands, sweating, and other signs of nervousness could be just a passenger who hated to fly, but could also be an indication of something more sinister.

Then there was the opposite. Someone too cool, too casual acting. An individual who did his best to remain unobserved while keeping an eye out for his target.

No one stood out to Trace but he remained completely aware of his surroundings and of the passengers waiting for their flights.

Ultimately, if there was anyone on the inside, it would not be a problem because he or she would not have any opportunity to hurt Christie as she would never make it into the terminal. Trace, Brooks, and the FBI agents would take her on a safely routed detour.

When they all reached the gate, they were immediately taken out the jetway door and to the platform.

To their left was the accordion-like extension of the jetway that would line up with the plane’s door. The crew already had instructions to get Christie to the front of the plane. They were to ask her to move to a front seat, even if someone had to trade seats with her. Christie was to be taken off the plane before anyone else was let through the hatch.

On their right was a door. The door opened to a set of stairs that led down to the tarmac and to a waiting local police department cruiser. After they got her safely in the vehicle, they would head back to where the motorcade was staged.

Trace, Stillwater, and two of the FBI agents waited for Christie’s plane to pull up to the gate. The police officer escort, Brooks, and the other two FBI agents headed down the metal stairs to the tarmac.

While Trace and his small group waited for the flight to arrive, Stillwater looked at him. “Christie is going to be ten shades of pissed.”

Trace raised a brow. “Why’s that?”

Stillwater shook her head. “After living under Reyes’s thumb all these years, Christie has found her independence. She doesn’t want anyone watching her or telling her what to do. She’s refused to allow the FBI anywhere near her. The woman just doesn’t understand how much danger she’s in.”

Trace thought about that for a moment. “Well, I think she’s just going to have to get used to having someone guarding her.”

Stillwater put her hands on her hips, which pushed aside her blazer and revealed her holstered service weapon. “I’ll let you convince her of that. Nothing I’ve done or said has worked.”

Trace adjusted his Stetson. Come hell or high water, he’d convince Christie that she needed protection. It wasn’t just the FBI who’d be providing it, Trace planned on being right there, too. He didn’t give up or give in easily, and this was one of those times he wasn’t going to.

Stillwater put her finger to her ear, clearly listening to someone. When she lowered her hand, she looked at Trace. “Christie’s flight just landed. Another five to ten minutes and we’ll have her off that plane.”

Trace was positioned closest to where Christie would be disembarking from the plane. His gut tightened at the sound of the powerful engines of the Boeing as it pulled up to the terminal. In just moments she’d be off the flight.

He wondered about the way his heart was pounding a little faster. It had to do with the fact that her life was in danger, no doubt. But he had to be honest with himself. It also had a lot to do with seeing the woman who’d been in his dreams countless times.

When the jetway was prepared and the hatch opened, Trace watched as a confused-looking redheaded woman walked out of the plane.

Christie.

She’d changed. Her petite form was slimmer, as if she wasn’t eating quite enough, and her deep natural red hair was smooth and short in the back, longer in the front, framing her delicate features. The white blouse she wore had three-quarter length sleeves and she had on dark blue jeans. She looked a little different, but was just as beautiful as he remembered. He hadn’t forgotten the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose that made her look all the more adorable.

Even though she seemed confused by being pulled off the plane before anyone else, she appeared more confident in her posture and her bearing.

She carried a purse and a laptop bag. When her gaze met Trace’s, her big blue eyes widened. “Agent Davidson?” Her voice was as soft as he recalled, but had a firmness about it now. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Christie.” He wanted to hold onto that moment, before she found out she was in danger, and he and the FBI agents would have to escort her and keep her safe from harm.

Before he could say anything else, Agent Stillwater stepped around him. “We need to go, Christie.”

In a blink of an eye, Christie’s gaze went from wide-eyed surprise to narrowed with anger. “What are you doing here, Agent Stillwater? I told you I don’t need the FBI watching over me.”

“Your ex-husband put a hit out on you.” Trace jerked Christie’s attention back to him. He had to put it as bluntly as possible to get her to cooperate. “They found out you were on this flight and they plan to kill you.”

“He what?” Christie’s face had gone pale. “Someone is out to kill me?”

“Possibly more than one,” Stillwater said.

“How could he put a hit out on me when he’s in prison?” Christie still had a look of disbelief on her face. “How did they find out that I was coming home, and how do they know what my flight number was? I didn’t tell anyone.”

“We don’t know.” Stillwater moved to one side of Christie, and Trace took the other. “However, we will find out.”

“First we’ve got to get you to safety.” Trace and Stillwater guided Christie to the door to their right. “We have vehicles waiting.”

“What about my suitcase?” She looked like she was trying to grasp onto reality while facing something so frightening as having a hit out on her. “I checked in one bag.”

“We’ll have your luggage and your other belongings delivered to you once we get you safe.”

Christie appeared to be too stunned to say another word as her laptop bag and purse were taken from her so that she was no longer holding anything. The agents opened the door, Arizona winter sunshine spilling into the dim jetway. One of the agents went down the stairs first, followed by Stillwater. Christie was behind her, while Trace and another agent took up the rear. Brooks stood at the foot of the staircase with the police officers.

As Trace descended the stairs behind Christie, a feeling that something was desperately wrong crawled over his skin. His sixth sense kicked in and he looked around as they headed down.

“Move it.” Trace barked the words. “Get her to the car.
Now.
”

The urgency in his voice had the head FBI agent and Stillwater moving faster.

Just as Christie was halfway down, a shot rang out.

Christie crumpled in front of Trace.

He caught her as she pitched forward, before she hit the stairs. Blood began to darken the left side of her white blouse and flowed down her arm.

Trace’s heart went into overdrive.

Her eyes were wide with disbelief and shock, and she grabbed onto Trace’s arm with her right hand. “I’ve been shot.”

“You’re going to be all right.” For the second time since he’d met her, he was reassuring her. This time he didn’t know if it was true.

“She’s alive,” Trace said to Stillwater as he swept Christie into his arms and hurried the rest of the way down the stairs.

Trace’s throat threatened to close from fear for Christie. The agents surrounded her and Trace as he reached the tarmac. He carried her, rushing her to a waiting vehicle.

Shots continued to ring out, the sniper still in action.

“Sonofabitch,” Brooks let out as he stumbled.

Trace glanced at his friend as blood began to stain the shoulder of his overshirt. Brooks didn’t stray from Christie and Trace, but an FBI agent fell with the next shot.

Sirens were already shrieking as Trace slid her inside the back of one of the three police vehicles. Trace scooted onto the seat, her legs over his lap. There was blood everywhere. So much goddamn blood.

Someone was handing him bandages and cloths and Christie groaned as he found the wound. It was in her upper arm and hot blood was flowing from it.

He pressed cloths against the wound and immediately the cloths were soaked. “I think the bullet might have caught an artery in her upper arm. Clipped it if we’re lucky rather than severing it.” He looked over his shoulder at Stillwater. “She’s losing a lot of blood. We need to get her to the hospital fast.”

The squeal of brakes and flashing lights told him that airport emergency vehicles had arrived. In the next moment the opposite door of the squad car opened and a paramedic squatted down to check out Christie.

“We’ve got to get her safely in the ambulance.” Trace glanced from the paramedic and looked out the back window. “As far as we know, the shooter’s still out there.”

“We’ll back the ambulance up to the car then take her to TMC.” The paramedic worked on Christie, doing what he could to stop the bleeding. “We’ll be able to give her blood on the way.”

Christie looked pale and confused. “Somebody shot me,” she repeated.

Trace squeezed her hand. “The paramedics are going to fix you right up.”

“What’s your blood type?” one paramedic asked.

The paramedic was already doing a quick test of her blood type even as she managed to say, “A positive.”

“We haven’t located the shooter yet,” Stillwater said from behind Trace. “But he’s stopped.”

With the danger still out there, the paramedics couldn’t load her onto a gurney. They quickly transferred her by hand from the squad car to a gurney inside the ambulance that had been backed up to the car door.