Working quickly, she lathered her entire body, then rinsed herself off, bubbles sliding downhill over stone. Then she tilted her head back and let the water wash her hair, the thought of being clean—if even for a moment—invigorating.
“Let me help.”
Startled, she whirled about to find Zach standing gloriously naked, his clothes piled with an AK beside hers. He took the soap from her and worked some into her hair just at the base of the strands, gently massaging her scalp. Then he lathered her back, his hands moving in slow, titillating circles down to her buttocks. “Rinse.”
She hadn’t intended this shower to lead to sex, but his touch changed that. She faced him, took the soap from his hands. “Your turn.”
She lathered him well, savoring the feel of hard muscle beneath soap-slick skin as she rubbed her hands slowly over his chest, belly, and upper thighs, aroused by touching him—and being touched by him. He palmed her breasts, played with her nipples, while she slowly spread lather over those abdominal muscles she loved, her fingers tracing the veins low on his belly before grasping his erection.
He groaned, dragged her hard against him. “God, Natalie, what the hell have you done to me? I can’t keep my hands off you.”
There was true desperation in his voice, and she felt a feminine thrill to know that she affected him so strongly. She yielded to his kiss, the rasp of his chest hair on her nipples making her ache for him. “Please! Now!”
He stepped away for a second, grabbed something from his pile of clothes. A condom. In a heartbeat, he had it out and quickly rolled it onto himself.
Then he reached for her, lifted her against him, the head of his cock nudging impatiently against her, seeking entrance. She wrapped her legs around his hips, held tight to his shoulders with one arm, then reached down to guide him inside her.
He filled her with a single upward thrust, making them both moan.
And then there was nothing but urgent need. He drove into her fast and hard, his hands clenching her derriere, his muscles tensing beneath her hands, the cords of his neck straining. She’d never done anything like this before, never felt anything like this—being held by a man while he moved inside her. All she had to do was hang on and take him, each thrust lifting her up, carrying her higher and higher.
Then her head fell back, and she heard herself cry out, orgasm washing through her in a surge of liquid gold, flooding her with pleasure.
But he was right behind her. He groaned through gritted teeth, thrusting into her once, twice, three times, his body jerking as climax claimed him.
For a moment he held her, both of them wet and breathing hard, time measured in heartbeats. Sunset spilled its rosy light across the landscape. The now familiar night chorus was just beginning, crickets starting up, a million frogs joining them, coyotes yipping excitedly in the distance.
Natalie’s body seemed to sing with them, wild and free. She closed her eyes, vowing silently to do all she could to keep Zach from being arrested. Whatever mistakes he might have made, he was a good man through and through. How could she ever have mistrusted him? She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, let her fingers trail across his back, breathing in the rain-washed scent of him. “Am I getting too heavy?”
“No. Never.” Slowly he withdrew and lowered her to her feet. “
Damn.”
She looked up to find him frowning. “What?”
“The condom.” He held crumpled bits of wet latex in his hands. “It broke.”
WEARING BORROWED BODY armor and carrying his camera, Joaquin stood next to a flooded wash, his gaze moving over the seemingly endless expanse of the Sonoran Desert. Natalie was out there somewhere, trying to make her way home. And he was going to find her. Or rather the Shadow Wolves were going to find her. He was just along for the ride.
Agent Chiago knelt next to muddy tracks beside the bank of the wash, reached out, and pulled something off a shrub, while the rest of his unit stood watch by the vehicles. “Whoever they were, they got caught napping during the thunderstorm. Looks like they had a hell of a time getting out, but they made it.”
Marc’s gaze followed the tracks. He was wearing his own Kevlar and carrying a rifle. “Two sets of tracks heading west-northwest.”
A gun on his hip, Gabe followed the tracks a short distance. “They probably headed to higher ground to find shelter.”
Chiago held up what looked like dark strands of hair. “This looks like it belongs to the same person as those strands I found before.”
Joaquin reached and took them. “Yeah, this looks like it could be hers.”
How did this guy see this shit? Chiago had been looking for tracks—what he called cutting sign—along the southern corner of the reservation, when he’d found a trail of bent grass, overturned rocks, and windblown indentations that he said were footprints. He’d even found a few strands of dark hair and a bit of blood on an ocotillo. They’d followed sign to what Chiago said had probably been a campsite, then continued on past a group of rotting corpses. Afraid Natalie might be among them, Joaquin had covered his nose and started to search, but Chiago had told them to forget it.
“They’ve been dead for a week or more,” he said, before calling the bodies in to HQ.
The man’s ability to track was like nothing Joaquin had ever seen.
Chiago followed the tracks to the base of a steep incline, then pulled out his infrared binoculars and scanned the darkening hillside ahead of them. “So, we’re most likely looking for one female and one male, right? I think I found them.” Then he lowered the binoculars. “We should, uh . . . give them a minute.”
Marc grabbed the binoculars from him, then looked up in the same general direction. “What the . . . ?” He lowered the binoculars, a strange expression on his face that was something between rage and astonishment. “We should move now. What if he’s forcing her?”
Chiago shrugged. “It looks consensual to me.”
And then Joaquin understood. “You don’t mean they’re . . .”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” Marc lowered his voice.
“If I find out he coerced her in any way, I’ll kill that son of a bitch—whoever he is.”
Gabe’s gaze wandered over the hillside. “Not before I make him eat his balls.”
“I’ll help.” Joaquin took the opportunity to ask Marc something he’d been meaning to ask for days. “When we get her back home, can you do me a favor?”
Marc nodded. “Sure. Name it.”
“Teach me to shoot. I want to learn how to use firearms.”
Both men looked at him, then looked at each other.
Marc’s brow furrowed, but he reached out and clapped Joaquin on the shoulder as if he understood. “You got it.”
CHAPTER 19
ZACH HAD JUST zipped his BDUs when he saw it out of the corner of his eye—the glint of starlight on gunmetal. “Natalie, get down!”
Wearing only her T-shirt and panties, she dropped to the sand.
Still shirtless, he grabbed his rifle and got into position, scanning the hillside below through the weapon’s night scope. And there they were—a unit of Shadow Wolves. Judging from his height, the man leading them was Chiago.
Zach’s first emotion wasn’t relief—it was soul-deep disappointment.
It was over.
The thought hit him like a body blow, leaving a dull emptiness behind. He wasn’t ready to let her go—not yet.
She was never yours to hold on to, McBride.
He got back to his feet, brushed the sand off his chest. “Better get your clothes on, angel. We’re about to have company.”
“Company?” She grabbed her BDUs and scrambled into them. “Drug runners?”
“There’s a unit of Shadow Wolves making their way up the hill, rifles at the ready. It looks like we’ve been found.”
“Really?” For a moment, she gaped at him, smiling. Then her smile faded, a shadow passing over her face. “You should run. Just leave me here and go. I know you can do it. You can get away. I won’t say anything. I promise.”
He drew away, removed his shoulder harness, and set it, with his two Glocks, aside. “Relax. I have no reason to run.”
“But—”
“Natalie, listen to me. They are going to treat this like any other raid, so be ready. No one’s going to hurt you, but they will come in strong. For all they know, I could be a trafficker or
bajador
, and you could be my accomplice. They’ll want to secure the scene.”
“Secure the scene?” She looked confused.
He knelt down and removed the Ka-Bar rig from his ankle. “We want to make this easy on everyone, so put down the AK. I’m just going to disarm and sit here on my knees with my hands behind my head. You might want to do the same, though I doubt they’ll be as aggressive with you as they’ll be with me.”
“Zach, please go! I couldn’t stand it if you—”
“Freeze! Federal agents!”
But Natalie did the opposite of freeze. She ran over and knelt down in front of Chiago, words streaming out of her. “I’m Natalie Benoit. I was kidnapped by the Zetas, and this man helped me escape! He’s not one of them!”
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Zach might have laughed out loud. “Natalie, they’re not going to hurt me.”
“Put your hands on top of your head!” Agents swarmed into the little alcove, moving toward them, weapons drawn.
“He didn’t do anything! He helped me escape!”
Zach leaned forward. “Natalie! Put your hands on your head!”
She finally did as he asked, but that didn’t shut her up. She kept pleading with the officers not to arrest him.
And Zach realized that at least in one respect he’d been looking forward to this, because now he could finally tell her the truth about his identity.
In the next moment, he was being patted down.
But no one touched Natalie.
Then Chiago was there, kneeling down in front of her. “What’s your name?”
“I-I’m Natalie Benoit from Denver, Colorado. I’m a reporter with the
Denver Independent
. I was kidnapped off a bus in Juárez, Mexico, and held captive by the Zetas until this man helped me escape.”
Chiago turned to three men who’d just walked up behind them. Two were tall, and dark haired, one carrying an M4 like he knew how to use it, the other packing a sidearm in a hip holster. The third looked to be just under six foot, Latino, and armed with . . . a camera? The photographer.
Joaquin.
“Can you make a positive identification?”
“Marc? Gabe? Joaquin!” Heedless of the men with guns, she jumped up and ran to the newcomers, throwing her arms around Joaquin. “I was so sure you’d been shot!”
Her throat sounded tight, and Zach knew she was on the brink of tears.
“
Madre María
, it really is you. Thank God! I thought I’d never see my sweet
chula
again. I don’t think I’ve ever been more afraid for anyone in my life.”
Zach felt his teeth grind.
Then Natalie turned and hugged the one with the M4. “Oh, Marc, I knew you’d come. Thank you so much!”
He hugged her back, almost lifting her off the ground. “Hey, we take care of our own. No matter what happened, we’re going to help you get through it. We’re going to take care of you. Darcangelo would have come, too, but he didn’t want to miss his manicure and back waxing.”
For some reason, this made her laugh.
Then she turned to the one with the hip holster and sank into his arms. “Oh, Gabe, thank you! I don’t know how I’ll ever make this up to you all.”
“I’m so happy to see you alive and in one piece.” The guy kissed her on the cheek. “We’re here to bring you home. Kat is in Sells waiting at the hotel with the baby. She’s been worried sick about you.”
“So she deciphered Zach’s message.”
Marc nodded. “She did—with some insight from Joaquin and me.”
And Zach’s jealousy melted away. Natalie was safe now. She was going back to her life, back to a circle of friends who clearly cared for her. He should feel relieved, happy for her, satisfied that he’d kept his promise and gotten her home safely.
Chiago bent down, looked Zach in the eyes. “Zach McBride, old friend, what in the hell have you gotten yourself mixed up in now? Let him up, boys.”
ZACH MCBRIDE?
Natalie turned, looked at the man she’d just made love with not an hour ago. “So that’s your real name?”
“Chief Deputy U.S. Marshal Zachariah McBride at your service, Ms. Benoit.” He smiled, winked.
Behind her, Marc gave a snort, Joaquin whispering something that sounded like, “Yeah, right.”
“Simmer down, boys,” Gabe whispered. “We’ll kill him later.”
But her attention was on Zach.
“Sorry I couldn’t tell you before. The situation was too volatile. I couldn’t put your life or the operation at greater risk.”
A deputy U.S. marshal.
Zach was a chief deputy U.S. marshal.
Instead of being impressed, she felt a surge of anger, and before she could stop herself, she slapped him across the face hard enough to turn his head. “You let me believe you were some kind of criminal—a drug thief, an arms smuggler, a mercenary!”
He shook his head as if to clear it, his gaze piercing hers. “You came up with that on your own. I told you that I wasn’t what you thought I was. You didn’t believe me.”
So what if he was right? “I’ve been worried sick about what would happen to you when they found us. At least you could have told me you were some kind of good guy.”
“I thought my actions proved that.”
You haven’t exactly seen me at my best.
His words came back to her, and piece after piece slid into place. Why he knew so much about the cartels and smuggling routes. How he knew where to cross the border. His dedication to keeping her safe.
Why hadn’t she considered the possibility that he was law enforcement? It seemed so obvious now. “Are you really ex-military, or was that all just a story you made up to make me stop asking questions?”