The tall Indian agent stepped forward. “That’s the truth. McBride used to be a Navy SEAL. He’s one of three living men to have been awarded—”
Zach frowned. “Chiago, stop!”
“—the Medal of Honor for nearly dying while trying to save his team.”
“You two know each other?” She looked back and forth between the two men.
“McBride trained with us for a while after joining the Marshal Service. He wanted to learn to cut sign.”
“I see.”
A former Navy SEAL. And a Medal of Honor winner no less.
The man standing before her—the man who’d protected her, who’d saved her life, who’d made love to her—was a true American hero.
It stunned Natalie, and yet it fit him so well. “I . . . I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. It’s just that the circumstances . . .”
“If I’d been in your shoes, I would’ve thought the same thing.” Then he turned to Chiago—and started giving orders. “Until I say otherwise, there’s a news blackout on Ms. Benoit’s rescue and whereabouts. The Zetas were in full huntand-destroy mode, so I’d like to get her away from the border before we tell the world where she is. Besides, you don’t want to have to deal with the brass at the Justice Department, and they’re going to be very interested in this. Anyone have a dry jacket she can borrow? How far away are your vehicles?”
Natalie felt someone slide a jacket over her shoulders, and looked up to see Marc and Gabe exchange a knowing glance, Marc rolling his eyes for good measure.
“What is it?”
Gabe leaned down, whispered in her ear. “The U.S. Marshal Service is at the top of the law-enforcement pecking order, outranking everyone, even the FBI. They have jurisdiction no matter where they are.”
Marc’s gaze followed Zach. “I wish Darcangelo were here. He’d fucking hate this.”
Natalie watched as Zach took control of the scene. Six days of brutal torture. An arduous five-day escape. And he was completely in command.
NATALIE FELT LIKE the most protected woman in the world as they started downhill for the hour-long trek back to the Shadow Wolves’ vehicles. Marc walked on one side of her, Gabe and Joaquin on the other, and Zach in front, a dozen armed Shadow Wolves fanned out around them. Yes, she was safe now, and she was grateful to be rescued.
But that didn’t stop her from looking back over her shoulder at the little waterfall and feeling like she was leaving something precious behind.
ZACH USED HIS authority to arrange for Natalie to sit beside him on the long, bumpy ride to Sells. He knew her friends saw through it—for some reason the three of them seemed to want to kick his ass—but he didn’t really give a damn. This might be his last chance to be close to her.
He climbed into the seat and fastened his safety belt, her small, cool fingers twining with his—and holding on tight.
He leaned down and spoke for her ears only. “What’s wrong?”
She looked up at him, every emotion he was trying so hard not to feel written plainly on her face. “I’m scared. I’m so afraid I’ll never see you again after tonight. Don’t you dare leave without saying good-bye, Zach McBride.”
“AND THAT’S WHEN you saw McBride in chains?”
Natalie nodded. “He was hanging blindfolded from the ceiling by his wrists, too weak to support his own weight. He was soaking wet and covered with red electrical burns. There was a cart with a big battery and two electrical cables . . . I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the sound of his cries. They almost killed him.”
Agent Chiago wrote something down in his notebook. “Then what happened?”
Natalie had already given a written deposition, detailing everything she could remember from the moment the bus had stopped. Now she was just answering questions. Zach had warned her she’d have to do this more than once. But she’d been through this whole experience once before—when she’d helped investigators piece together their case against the intern who’d tried to kill her. She’d known it wouldn’t be easy.
“Then they . . . They held me, took off my shirt and bra and . . . One of the Zetas, the one with the scar on his face . . .” She pressed her hands into her lap to keep them from shaking, finding it hard to talk about this without breaking into tears.
Agent Chiago looked at her through brown eyes soft with compassion. “I know this must be hard for you. But we need to make sure we understand exactly what happened. Can I get you anything—water, soda, another cup of coffee?”
Natalie shook her head, trying to calm the sick feeling in her stomach. “They took off my shirt and bra, then the one with the scar . . . touched me. He was very rough. He left bruises. I couldn’t understand everything he was saying, but I knew he was trying to make a deal with Zach—the location of the stolen cocaine in exchange for . . . me.”
Chiago nodded. “How did McBride respond to this offer?”
Oh, God, was she going to get Zach into trouble? “He . . . He pretended to go along with it, trying to get them to unchain him so that he could fight them. He later apologized and told me he never would have hurt me. I believed him.”
Chiago wrote something down, glanced through his notes. “You also stated that you watched him give a duffel bag of things he’d taken from the Zeta compound to a Mexican national in exchange for a car. Do you know what was in that duffel bag?”
Natalie shook her head. “Please don’t ask me that. I don’t want to cause trouble for him. He saved my life. I can’t repay him by—”
“I understand your distress, Ms. Benoit, but the folks in Washington, D.C., are going to be mighty interested in this case. You can either answer my questions or wait for the Justice Department to knock on your door. And, hell, they might knock on your door anyway, knowing them. They like their frequent-flyer miles.”
Natalie swallowed—hard. “Guns. Ammunition. He said we’d be caught and killed for sure if we didn’t get into a different car because that one had a Z on the license plate like all Zeta vehicles.”
Chiago wrote more notes, then flipped back a few pages. “When you asked McBride why the Zetas had captured him, what was his answer?”
“He said he’d made a bad decision and to leave it at that. He said they were interrogating him and if they thought I knew anything, they’d torture me, too. He said they were going to kill him.”
“How did you hear about the stolen cocaine?”
“The Zeta with the Santa Muerte tattoo told me about it. I asked why they were torturing Zach, and he said that Zach had stolen a shipment of cocaine. But Zach told me he didn’t do it. He said the woman who
did
steal it had turned him over to the Zetas, making him her scapegoat.”
“Did you believe him?”
Natalie closed her eyes. “I didn’t know what to believe.”
Forgive me, Zach. Please forgive me.
“I BEAT HIM with the steel handcuff, then kicked him a bunch in the stomach, then hit him on the head twice with a brick as hard as I could. I . . . I’d watched him kill Mexican journalists. I thought he’d killed my friend Joaquin.”
Joaquin watched through a one-way mirror as Agent Chiago went through the details of Natalie’s escape from the Zetas for a third time. He was sickened by the terrible things she’d had to endure—and stunned to think that she’d shot one man and beaten the shit out of another.
“She’s is a lot tougher than she looks, isn’t she? She had your back, buddy.” Marc clapped Joaquin on the shoulder. “God, I wish I’d been there.”
“Yeah, me, too. I wish Chiago would give her a break, though. He’s questioning her like he thinks she’s a criminal or something.”
“No, he isn’t. If you want to see what that looks like, go down the hall and listen to the conversation they’re having with McBride.”
Gabe stood, stretched, a cup of coffee in his hands. “What do you two think? You think McBride’s dirty?”
Joaquin shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“I think he’s telling the truth.” Marc leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, a thoughtful frown on his face. He’d once worked as a DEA agent, so he knew more about cartel stuff than anyone Joaquin knew. “If McBride had been part of some kind of drug ring made up of dirty agents, he wouldn’t have busted his ass getting her safely home. She’d already seen and heard too much. He’d have used her to escape—then he’d have put a bullet in her brain and let the Zetas take the blame. Everyone knew they’d kidnapped her. He could have killed her with no risk to himself.”
Gabe walked up to the glass, his gaze on Natalie. “I hope he’s the man he seems to be, because I think Natalie has feelings for him.”
“You think? Shit, Rossiter, you’re a damned psychic.”
“Not just feelings.” Joaquin had seen it in her eyes. “She might not realize it yet, but she’s in love with him.”
IT WAS MIDNIGHT before Agent Zepeda finished debriefing him.
That wasn’t a debriefing, McBride, it was an interrogation.
Hungry and needing a shower, Zach walked down the dark, silent street to the hotel, thinking through what they’d asked him—and what he’d learned.
He’d known he’d be investigated, and he understood why. He’d been working a black bag op that had gone wrong, and they would want to understand
why
it had gone wrong. More than that, they would want to know exactly how he’d been captured, what had happened when he’d been imprisoned, and how he’d managed to escape and make it back alive. They had to know for certain that he wasn’t compromised. Other people’s lives depended on it.
It would help to have Natalie to back up the part of the story that concerned her. She’d witnessed the torture, seen him in chains, seen how badly hurt he’d been. She’d been with him during his escape. Hell, she was the reason he’d escaped. Her deposition would lend credibility to his. Not that he expected trouble. This was standard operating procedure. He was doing everything he was supposed to do under these circumstances, and so were they.
He had reported in to D.C. the moment they’d arrived in Sells. Pearce had been surprised to hear from him and had immediately arranged for a helo to pick him up in Sells and fly him to Tucson in the morning. From there, Zach would fly to D.C., and then the real fun would begin.
Zepeda had already sent his own report, together with both Zach’s and Natalie’s depositions and video files of their debriefings, to the Operations Directorate at the Justice Department. By the time Zach got to Washington tomorrow, Pearce and the brass in the OD would have lots of questions for him.
He walked into the hotel’s lobby, where he saw Natalie’s friends—Marc, Gabe, and Joaquin. Were they waiting for him?
Three sets of eyes turned his way, and the men stood.
Yeah, they were waiting for him.
Zach had heard about Joaquin from Natalie, but she hadn’t mentioned the other two. So he’d taken a few minutes to dig up a little intel. Hunter was an undisputed badass—a decorated Special Forces sniper, former DEA agent, ex-con. He now worked as a SWAT sniper for the Denver PD. Rossiter was a former park ranger and paramedic who’d made a name for himself in the world of extreme sports. Both were married—a fact that had made Zach more willing to tolerate their territorial attitude where Natalie was concerned.
You should be glad they’re so protective of her.
Yes, he supposed he should be. But why did they seem to think they had to protect her from
him
? Hadn’t he just saved her life?
“McBride.” Hunter reached out his hand. “I just wanted to thank you for all you did to help Natalie. When we heard the Zetas had her, we thought we’d never see her again.”
Zach took Hunter’s hand, gave as firm a shake as he got. “She deserves a lot of credit for that. She had to help me escape before I could help her.”
Rossiter stuck out his hand next. “She’s a fighter, but we know she wouldn’t be here without your help. Thank you.”
Then it was Joaquin’s turn. He held out his hand, his emotions plain on his face. “I never would have been able to forgive myself if she’d been hurt. Thank you for doing what I couldn’t do. Thanks for keeping her safe.”
Zach knew it had been hard for Joaquin to say this. It would be hard for any man. “She never blamed you for what the Zetas did, and neither should you.”
Joaquin nodded. “I tell myself that, but . . .”
An awkward silence filled the space between them.
“It was good to meet you all. I’ve got a plane to catch first thing in the morning.” Zach turned to go, then stopped and looked back. “Natalie is a special woman. I’m glad she has such good friends. Take care of her.”
“Oh, we will. Don’t you doubt it.” Hunter crossed his arms over his chest. “And while we’re on the subject, we know your relationship with her crossed a line. We were there for about an hour before we moved up the hill.”
It took a second for Hunter’s meaning to sink in.
Son of a bitch.
That right there explained the territorial attitude.
Zach turned and faced Hunter head-on. “Natalie’s well past the age of consent. She’s smart enough to know what she wants—and whom.”
Rossiter shook his head. “She’d just been through hell and was completely dependent on you for her life. A woman in that situation is bound to be vulnerable and easy to manipulate. You should’ve kept your pants on until you—”
Zach’s temper flashed white-hot. “If you’re suggesting that she was coerced in some way, then you don’t know her very well. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that I know her better than you do at this point. If you all care so much about her, then why do none of you have a clue what happened to her during Hurricane Katrina?”
The three men stared at him, blinked.
Then as abruptly as it had come, Zach’s anger faded. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention what you saw out there to anyone. Be gentlemen and keep it to yourselves.”
Joaquin glared at him. “Like you were a gentleman?”