Slow Burn

  Slow Burn

  Lawmen Series

  Cheyenne McCray

  LAWMEN SERIES: Slow Burn

  Copyright © 2015 Cheyenne McCray

  All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced in whole or in part, scanned, photocopied, recorded, distributed in any printed or electronic form, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  e-book ISBN: 978-1-939778-70-3

  Published by Pink Zebra Publishing

  Formatting by Bella Media Management.

  Cover by Scott Carpenter at www.pandngraphics.com

  CHAPTER 1

  “Even the FBI doesn’t want you to go to Bisbee.” Natasha bounced on the bed as Christie folded another shirt and packed it into her medium-sized suitcase.

  Christie Simpson let out a heavy sigh, not wanting to go through this same argument over and over again with her cousin. Even if Natasha was her favorite cousin.

  “You’re going to make my suitcase fall off.” Christie grabbed a stack of panties from her lingerie drawer and stuffed them into a zippered pocket of the case that was perched precariously on the edge of the mattress.

  “Too bad you don’t have some hot FBI hunk watching over you.” Natasha leaned on her elbows on the bed, her dark hair falling away from her heart-shaped face. If she’d had red hair like Christie, they could almost be twins. “A hunk like the one in The Bodyguard, that movie we watched forever ago.” Natasha fell back onto the bed, her hands over her heart. “Swoon.” She was the same age as Christie but sometimes she acted like a teenager.

  Christie tried not to laugh. “You’re a nut.”

  “I’m a romantic.” Natasha pushed herself back up to her elbows. “And there’s nothing hotter or sexier than a lawman.”

  Christie shrugged. “Not interested.”

  Natasha waved off Christie’s response. “That female agent is nice and all, but you need a stud.”

  “Agent Stillwater is just my contact, more or less.” Christie shrugged. “Laura is the senior agent assigned to my protection, but I don’t want or need anyone watching over me.” Laura was also one of the agents that had helped take down her ex, but enough was enough. Christie shoved the suitcase back so it wouldn’t fall off the bed. “I’m tired of people telling me what to do.”

  She’d lived with that for far too long with Salvatore Reyes after she’d married him, for twenty years. She’d been under his thumb from the moment she’d fallen for the bastard. These past fifteen months, after he’d gone to jail and then prison, she’d found a new independence and strength that she hadn’t known she possessed. She’d also discovered a formerly repressed redhead temperament that came out every now and then. The counseling she’d been through had helped her find herself.

  “They’re just concerned.” Natasha pushed herself up so that her palms were braced to either side of her, her voice quieter now. “I’m concerned.”

  “I want to be in Bisbee tomorrow when they induce the birth.” Christie’s voice and heart softened as she paused and met her cousin’s gaze. “I want to be with Dylan and Belle when their baby is born.”

  “I get it.” Natasha’s expression turned serious. “But what if the cartel finds out you’re in town?”

  “How could they?” Christie took several bras out of the lingerie drawer before dropping them into the suitcase. “I haven’t told anyone. I’ll use my middle name and be known as Ann while I’m there. The cartel doesn’t know I dropped that bastard’s last name, and that now it’s Simpson.” Just changing back to her maiden name had been liberating.

  “Still don’t like it.” Natasha frowned. “Dylan and Belle don’t even know you’re coming.”

  Christie shrugged. “I want it to be a surprise.” Not to mention she knew they’d try to talk her out of it.

  Natasha picked a red lacy bra out of the suitcase and held it up, a mischievous look now on her face. “Planning on meeting someone in Arizona for a little recreation?”

  “You never know.” Christie’s cheeks warmed as she snatched the bra from Natasha’s hand and dropped it back into the case.

  Truth was, Salvatore had been her one and only sexual experience, and it was time she changed that. But it had to be the right man…whoever that might be. She didn’t want to sleep with just anyone, but she could find someone to have no strings attached sex with, couldn’t she? A kind of friends with benefits?

  In her mind she groaned. She wasn’t sure she was capable of a relationship like that, but like she’d said to Natasha, one never knew.

  Christie knelt and pulled open a drawer filled with folded pairs of jeans. She took out a few before standing and putting them into the suitcase.

  Natasha sat on the edge of the mattress and swung her legs. She never could sit still for long. “Don’t know what I’ll do without you at the shop. You really should stay and help until you have to be there for the trial.”

  “Ha, ha. Nice try.” Christie rolled her eyes. “You’ll manage.”

  Despite her nervous energy, or maybe because of it, Natasha owned a successful craft and gift shop in the small town.

  Natasha continued to swing her legs. “Are you nervous about the trial?”

  Christie hesitated as she thought about the trial that was just days away. She shook her head. “Nope. Not nervous. Can’t wait to help send that sonofabitch to prison for good.”

  Her testimony would help the prosecution put Salvatore away for the contract murders of two of her friends in the Circle of Seven, and solicitation for murder for the rest of the CoS. Not to mention the murder she witnessed that Salvatore committed himself. She would testify that he’d raped her after he found her listening outside a door when he had been talking about the murders and ordering someone to execute the others.

  The evidence Dylan and Belle had recovered should get Salvatore convicted for money laundering, among other charges.

  In short, Salvatore was screwed—as long as nothing went wrong on the prosecution side.

  “I still think you need a hot federal agent as a bodyguard.” Natasha leaned her head to the side. “Yes, you definitely need one.”

  “Hot federal agent” made her think of the agent who’d saved her life, Trace Davidson, a special agent with the Department of Homeland Security. He’d been the best man in Belle and Dylan’s wedding and Christie had been the maid of honor. She’d been in the process of getting the divorce from Salvatore and she had refused to be called “matron of honor.”

  Agent Davidson had not only saved her life, but had taken care of her when it was all over with and she’d been in shock.

  At the wedding she had managed to thank him for what he’d done for her, but she didn’t think she had done a very good job of it. The FBI had escorted her to the wedding, hung over her like vultures, and swept her back to her hiding place before she had known what was happening.

  She’d thought about Trace over the past months since she’d once again fled Arizona for this small backwoods Indiana town. Usually a near stranger’s image would fade over time, but his never had. His flint-gray eyes, the cleft in his chin, and the hard line of his jaw were clear in her memory.

  She still remembered the night he and the other agents had saved her life and had taken down her ex-husband, as clearly as if it had just happened. She could hear his Texan drawl as he’d asked her if she was all right, and the conce
rn in his eyes when he’d helped her to her feet. He’d been the one to wrap a blanket around her shoulders and stay with her for a while when she started to go into shock.

  Christie shook her head as she dashed away the memories. “Sorry to crush your hopes about a hot federal agent watching over me, but it’s not happening. I’ll be in and out of there and back in Indiana before you know it.”

  “Please don’t go to Bisbee.” Natasha leaned forward, still for that moment. “Just wait and go to Phoenix when they need you.”

  Christie closed her eyes for a moment, her mind whirling through the reasons she needed to see Belle, Dylan, and their newborn when he or she arrived. She’d never been able to have children, and she’d wanted to be a mother so badly. She was grateful now that she hadn’t had children with the bastard, but the ache was still there.

  When Christie opened her eyes again, she met Natasha’s gaze. “Trust me. Okay, Nat?”

  “You are not the one I don’t trust.” Natasha had an earnest look on her features and concern in her tone. “That cartel is dangerous. Even though your ex is in prison awaiting trial, I still don’t trust him.”

  “Yes, the cartel is dangerous.” Christie pushed aside the suitcase and sat next to her cousin. “But they won’t know where I am.” She smiled at Natasha. “Thank you for caring and for being here for me.”

  “Of course.” Natasha put her hand on Christie’s knee and squeezed. “What are best cousins for?”

  “To drive me to the airport.” Christie grinned as she got to her feet and ducked as Natasha swatted at her. “We have just enough time to make it to the terminal and for me to get through security and to my gate.”

  “Okay, okay.” Natasha pushed herself off the bed. “But if something happens to you, I’ll kill you.”

  Christie laughed and stared at her suitcase. “Hope I didn’t forget anything.” She’d packed toiletries, shoes, heels, socks, nylons, panties, bras, and a big T-shirt and sweatpants to sleep in. She’d packed shirts, jeans, a couple of skirts, and a skirt and blazer for court. She wore a white blouse and a pair of dark blue jeans.

  “Curling iron and blow dryer?” Natasha pointed to Christie’s dressing table. “You’ve got that adorable haircut. I’d hate to know you couldn’t style it the way you’d like, Red.”

  “Good catch.” Christie retrieved the items plus her hairbrush, and stuffed them in her case, too.

  When she’d been married to Salvatore, he’d forbidden her to cut her hair, and it had grown to the middle of her back. He’d also used her hair to yank her head back when he’d raped her.

  Getting her hair cut was one of the first things she’d done when the dust had settled. It had been cut short in the back, chin-length in the front, and swung against her cheeks. She loved it. She’d thought about getting some blue extensions, but had decided she should stay on the conservative side when appearing in court to make sure the jury took her seriously. Afterward it was anything goes.

  “Chargers for your iPhone, iPad, iPod, and your MacBook?” Natasha listed them off on her fingers. “I don’t suppose you have any pippin, golden delicious, or granny smith products?”

  “Yes, I packed all of the chargers along with the devices, and I think I might have a pippin or two packed away.” Christie sat on her hot pink suitcase to mush it down enough to zipper it shut. “I think that does it.”

  She jumped off the case and her feet hit the floor. “Wait. I forgot something.”

  From the top of the bureaus, she grabbed two packages wrapped in pale blue paper with white storks carrying babies in yellow blankets. The bows around the packages were yellow, the contents soft and squishy. Inside one was a baby blanket that Christie had embroidered and a nice lady down the street had quilted. In the other package was a small stuffed horse. The baby would grow up on a ranch. This might be his first horse.

  She looked at the packages in each hand. “I should have waited to wrap these. The paper is going to get smooshed.”

  “Probably.” Natasha grinned. “Put them in the outside pocket of your suitcase. The gifts are soft so they won’t get hurt.”

  Christie looked doubtfully at the overstuffed bag, but managed to get the two gifts into the expandable outside zipper pocket. Even though the wrapping paper would no doubt be worse for the wear, it wasn’t like it would make a difference to the baby or Belle and Dylan.

  Natasha picked up the laptop bag holding the MacBook and the other devices, along with Christie’s purse that was heavy with items she’d need.

  “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 leade
r 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.”