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  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.

  CHAPTER TWO

  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 an
ger. “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.

  “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?”