Trace glanced at Ronnie and saw she was unconscious again
. Her arms hung over the sides of the bench and her head lolled to the side. There was no way he could meet Seth at the ballpark where they used to have the department league games. Where he and Seth had coached their team, when Trace was one of them. When he wore blue instead of prison orange. "I can't come to you, Seth. Ronnie can't travel on my bike. Can you bring your pickup and come to get me?"
After another heavy sigh, Seth said, "I guess so man
. You're gonna owe me."
"I already do
. More than you know," Trace replied then gave him directions to their location. Trace pocketed his phone, hid the bike behind a tree, then sat beside Ronnie who had started shaking again. He pulled her across his lap and held her tightly to his chest. All he could do now was wait. And hope Ray Brown's men didn't find them before Seth did.
CHAPTER FIVE
"You can put her in the bed in the middle room," Seth's sister
, Sarah, told Trace. He followed her down the hallway and waited while she opened the door.
Striding
to the bed, he reached down and threw back the covers, then gently eased Ronnie down into the bed. About half an hour ago, Ronnie had started talking out of her head about all kinds of things and he was even more worried now. Seth took one look at her and he was worried too. Trace threw the covers over her sweaty body, then stood back and pulled his wet t-shirt away from his chest. She probably needed some water, or she was going to be dehydrated soon. He headed to the kitchen to get her a glass.
Seth was also pissed at Trace for getting involved out at that ranch. He thought Trace should have just done his time, and restarted his life, instead of trying to help the feds take Leland down. He said everything that Trace already knew. He could be charged for interfering in a federal investigation, and attempted murder or negligent homicide if Carlos died. He’d had to listen to it the entire two-hour drive to Sarah’s house on the outskirts of Muleshoe. But then when they hit town, he offered to help Trace sort things out.
Trace told him to stay out of it. If Seth got involved, Trace knew his friend would end up on the wrong end of things too. Helping him like this was bad enough.
Pulling down a glass of water, he filled it at the sink and walked back to the bedroom.
Seth walked in behind him. Trace sat on the side of the bed and glanced back at him. His friend’s frown and tight jaw told Trace something was up. "What?"
"They just issued an APB for you," Seth informed darkly.
"Who did?" Trace asked.
"The feds. You're in deep shit, man. And by osmosis, so am I
if they find you here. You won’t be able to stay long. I don’t want Sarah involved."
Trace swallowed hard. "What're the charges?"
"Kidnapping, felony assault on a federal officer, attempted murder—you name it, they want you for it. It could get ugly too, because they tagged you as armed and dangerous."
Trace sucked in a heavy breath.
"Guess that means I'm either going to end up dead or I’m heading back to the pen for something I actually did this time." Nothing less than he expected when he did what he did at the ranch. For the woman who had sent him there the first time. It was kind of ironic.
"Not if I can help it
," Seth said firmly. Why don't you just call whoever assigned you out there and explain what happened?"
"She's sleeping with the man I shot," Trace explained. "
She won’t be in a forgiving state of mind. No matter the reason, I'm sure she wouldn't have authorized me to beat the shit out of the other agent for his gun either. I'm a fucking felon. I shouldn't have even had a gun. Not to mention I screwed up her op.” Trace shook his head, before finishing, “I’m toast man. There's nothing you can do to help me. Just stay out of it."
"That's what you told me last time
, but I'm not buying it this time. I'm going to help your sorry ass even if I bury my own in the process."
"No!" Trace shouted then stood. "I'll just stay here overnight, until Ronnie comes
around, then I'm out of here."
Trace knew that Seth felt
guilty about not being at that shootout when Sean was killed. He was supposed to be there, and thought if he had been things would have gone down differently. The man couldn't help it if he had the fucking flu. Nothing that happened that night had been Seth's fault. And nothing would have ended differently if he had been there, except he would probably have gotten killed too. Leland didn't want any witnesses other than the drug dealers he was paying off to frame and testify against his son.
There was nothing he could do to help him this time either.
"Let him help," Ronnie croaked weakly from the bed.
Trace spun around to look at her. Her eyes looked like there were bleeding, they were so red-rimmed and bloodshot. He leaned
in closer and saw that her pupils were so small he could barely see them in the center of her brown irises. She was still high. He sat down again and lifted her head to put the glass to her lips. “Drink up,” he said holding her steady while she drank greedily.
She sighed and he eased her back on the pillow to ask,
"How're you feeling, Red?"
"
Like I have weights on my arms and legs," she said trying to sit up. "Why do I feel like that?" Trace was damned relieved that at least she was conscious and could speak. That told him she wasn’t in a coma and most likely she wasn’t going to need a hospital.
"I'll tell you later. Just rest for a little while
," Trace said trying to push her shoulder back to the bed. "I need to talk to Seth."
"Copeland?"
Ronnie said a little louder as she fought against his hold. "So hot, need to take this shirt off," she groaned and sat up. Her hands shook, but she managed to unbutton the shirt and slide it off her shoulders. With a disgusted look, she threw the wet shirt over the side of the bed then flung the covers off of her. "Is the h-heater on?" Ronnie asked fanning herself.
"No,
honey," Trace replied, separating the sheet from the blanket to pull it over her. Ronnie didn't seem to care that she was buck naked and Seth was standing there with his mouth hanging open, but Trace cared.
"Put your goddamn tongue back in your mouth, Seth,
" Trace growled, then turned to block the man's view of Ronnie, "Get the hell out of here."
"You're no fun man," Seth said with a laugh, but he turned and left.
"Need to c-c-all C-conner Lucas," Ronnie said through her chattering teeth.
"Who the hell is that?" Trace demanded turning to look at her.
"P-partner and f-f-riend. He'll help us. We n-n-eed to n-ail these fuckers."
Ronnie wanted blood
now, and Conner would help her get it. Next to her, he was the best damned criminal defense attorney in Amarillo. His family had as many connections as Trace's daddy did. She and Conner had dated a few times in college, then decided they were too much alike and were better off friends. In law school, they were the dynamic duo, and squared off in debates just to put on a show for the class. The man was as close to a best friend as she'd ever had. She trusted him.
Her brain was fuzzy and felt like hardened cement in her skull, but Ronnie had heard enough on their trip to wherever they were to know that Trace was in big trouble with the feds. Because he chose to save her instead of laying low at that ranch. If they didn’t get help and fast, they could both end up dead. She already felt like she was halfway there.
Trace had paid for a crime he didn't commit. Now, he would pay for another one, if she didn't do something. Conner could help them.
"You're not calling anybody, Red. I don't trust anyone not to give us up," he said then snorted. "I don't even trust you."
"Well, you b-b-better," she said then shivered again. It was so fucking hot in the room, Ronnie couldn't figure out how that could be when she was so cold inside. "I'm the only one who can help you."
"I've had more than enough of your
help
, remember?" Trace said with frustration.
"They f-f-framed you," she said.
"No shit?" Trace replied with a sarcastic laugh. "Just lay down and rest, so we can get the hell out of here."
Trace
's back was stiff as he turned and walked out of the room closing the door behind him harder than necessary. Ronnie sat there staring at the phone on the night table. She could call Conner herself, but she had no idea where they were. Although she had been listening during their ride in the truck, the drugs didn’t allow her to process a lot of what she was hearing. Even if she called Conner, even if she knew where they were, they would probably be gone by the time Conner could get there. Trace said they were leaving in the morning. Where he was taking her, she didn’t know.
Ronnie was too tired to think about it right now.
Her brain felt like there were lead weights inside her skull weighing it down. Her eyelids felt the same way. Ronnie closed her eyes reaching for sleep, but it wouldn't come, then a wave of nausea hit her. It was so strong, she felt like her insides had been stretched to the wall and slingshotted back at her like a bullet. She sucked in a breath and fought the urge to lean over the bed and hurl.
With a moan, she edged her way to the side of the bed
and stood then staggered toward the door. "Trace!" she yelled, not sure if any sound came out.
Ronnie was only halfway across the room when Trace burst through the door.
"Sick," she said and gagged. He ran to her and scooped her into his arms then ran down the hall with her in his arms. The jogging motion didn't help and she gagged again. "Help me," she begged weakly, laying her head on his shoulder. His arms tightened around her as he strode into the bathroom and set her down on her feet.
Her
legs felt like they were filled with jelly. Ronnie collapsed to the floor and hugged the toilet. Embarrassment flowed through her as Trace held her hair back while she dry-heaved. The nausea finally passed and her shoulders slumped.
"I'm sorry," she said
, her voice barely a croak from her dry throat. "So thirsty," she whispered as her eyes drifted shut, and she laid on the floor. Trace gently picked her up again and carried her back to the bedroom.
"It's okay, Red. You'll feel better in the morning."
"So thirsty," she said again. If Ronnie didn't know better, she'd think she hadn't had a thing to drink in months. And she felt like red ants were swimming in her veins. They were biting her under her skin and she itched. Trace laid her on the bed, pulled the sheet over her body, then kissed her forehead. It was an awfully sweet gesture from a man who hated her, she thought. And he smelled so damned good. Ronnie was glad Trace was here with her. She was also damned thankful he had gotten her away from that ranch. She had no idea how he had accomplished that, but she was grateful. Lord knew what would have happened to her if he hadn’t stepped in to save her. "Thank you," Ronnie said weakly.
"I'll get you some
more water," he said, as he turned and left the room.
Trace stopped to grab the remote and turn on the TV on his way to the kitchen. He needed to watch the news
to see if the feds had put the word out to the media about them. If that had happened, there wasn't going to be a lot of places they could hide. Someone would see them, and report the sighting. Ronnie needed to get better fast, so they could get on the move before that happened. If it hadn't already.
Seth
had left an hour ago and was going to do some digging. He said he would call if he heard anything. He was also going to try to find them somewhere safer to stay. Sarah had gone to her mother's for the night, but she would need to come home tomorrow. Trace did not want to put her in danger, and that is exactly what he would be doing if they stayed here, especially after the media got in on the action. It wouldn't be long before Ray Brown or the feds found them.
Trace got a
fresh glass down from the cabinet and filled it with water, then walked back to the bedroom. Ronnie was sitting up in the bed clawing herself. She looked at him with desperate eyes. "Oh, god—help me!" she said with a groan. "I need a bath, or an electric sander!"
Trace walked over and handed her the glass of water. "
Drink this," he ordered, and she took it from him. Like it was another hit of heroin and she was an addict, she drank it down greedily. Thank god she wasn't an addict. Tomorrow, the effects of the drug would be gone, and Ronnie would probably be her old bitchy self. And they'd be right back where they started. He knew how to deal with that woman. This needy woman who was looking to him for help? Not so much.
When she emptied the glass, he took it from her a
nd put it on the night stand. Holding his hand out to her, he asked, "You think you can walk?"
Ronnie nodded, then slid to the edge of the bed.
She tried to stand and her legs wobbled. With a sigh, Trace leaned down and scooped her up again then carried her to the bathroom. There was no way she was going to be able to stand to shower. If he put her in the tub alone, she'd probably fall asleep and drown herself.
Fuck.
He was either going to have to hold her up in the shower, or get into the tub with her. Neither option held much appeal, because that meant he was going to have to hold her while she was naked again. And even though he hadn’t been trying to look, he couldn’t help but notice that those curves her prissy suits hinted at were definitely in all the right places. Ronnie Winters had a smoking hot body. And Trace Rooks hadn’t had sex in three years. A bad combination in the condition she was in right now.
Somehow, he was going to have to do this clinically
, he thought as he carried her into the bathroom. Not notice the fact that her body was so perfect, she could've been a porn star. A tall order, since he was already feeling the effects of carrying her naked twice now. Trace sucked in a sharp breath as her body raked over his as he set her feet on the floor. He was itching as badly as she was, but for a different reason, he thought as his hands went to his belt.