Breaking Point (17 page)

Joaquin thought back six months and realized that Tessa had dropped out of the picture for several weeks. At the time, he’d thought nothing of it. “
Lo siento
. I’m so sorry.”

“That must have been so hard for both of you.” Kat’s hand rested on her lower belly, a woman’s empathy for another woman’s loss.

“We hadn’t yet told anyone she was pregnant. She didn’t want anyone to know about the miscarriage. She thought she’d be able to deal with it better if no one knew.”

More silence.

“I’ll go.” Kat stood. “I have a friend in Sells whose brother is a Shadow Wolf.”

“You don’t have to go, Kat.” Marc stood, pushing his chair in. “You’ve got a baby girl at home who needs you. If you can help me connect with these Shadow Wolves, I’ll head down and—”

“You’re not going without me.” Joaquin rose to his feet, the words out before he realized he’d spoken.

Marc and Julian looked over at him as if sizing him up. Then Marc nodded. “Sure, Joaquin. You can come along.”

And Joaquin found himself feeling like someone’s kid brother. Marc would allow him to tag along but wasn’t expecting anything from him.

And why would he? What can you do besides get in the way?

Kat picked up her things. “I’ll call my friend first thing in the morning.”

Julian leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest, his brows furrowed, clearly trying to puzzle something out. “A man comes out of nowhere, connects with Natalie, maybe even helps her escape from cartel thugs. He’s familiar with Navajo code talk, knows Mexico, believes he can get her across the desert.” Then Julian looked up at Marc. “Who
is
this guy?”

CHAPTER 12

“IF YOU’D STARTED screaming, those cops would’ve heard. They’d have come over to investigate. That would’ve drawn a crowd, and our lives would suck right now.”

As Zach opened the first-aid kit, Natalie watched, heat rushing into her cheeks, mortified to the core by the way she’d just lost it. He’d been in the process of getting her out of the duffel bag, but some wild, terrified, frantic part of her had taken over, and she hadn’t been able to bear it a second longer.

“But I didn’t scream.” At least she could say that much for herself.

He motioned her to come over to the little table where the light was best. “I know you didn’t, and I know it couldn’t have been easy. But you weren’t far from it, either. Another few minutes and . . .”

He shrugged, his unspoken words left to hang in the air.

“Believe it or not, I was okay at first.” She felt some strange need to defend herself. “Then you were gone so long. I started wondering if something had happened, if you’d gotten arrested or hurt or if you’d forgotten about me—”

“
Forgotten
about you?” He caught her chin, forced her to make eye contact, his gaze flashing anger, then slowly going gentle. “That would never happen.
Never
.”

And Natalie got the sense that she’d hurt him.

He released her, then tore open an antiseptic swab, the scent of rubbing alcohol wafting through the air. “You still don’t trust me.”

“I
want
to trust you, but . . .” There was no point in keeping her thoughts from him. “There’s a preponderance of evidence to suggest that you’re mixed up in drug dealing, Zach Black. Your conflict with the Zetas. Your refusal to answer questions. Your skill with guns and knives. Your ability to draw thousands in cash out of the thin air. I
watched
you hand weapons over to a criminal. And now you tell me you can smuggle me through the desert as well as a human trafficker. Tell me I’m wrong to worry about how those pieces fit together.”

She watched his face, but he gave away nothing.

He held out his hand. “Give me that arm.”

“It’s just a scratch.” She did as he asked anyway.

“The skin is broken. An infection in the desert could be fatal.” His fingers were gentle, awareness skittering up her arm.

Stop it! You shouldn’t think of him that way.

No, she shouldn’t. But she couldn’t seem to help it.

“Isn’t it enough to know that you’re safe with me, that I would never do anything to hurt you?” He dabbed at the scratch on her arm with the alcohol swab.

The sting made her gasp. “People die in the desert, Zach. I still can’t help but believe that we’re risking our lives to sneak across the border, not because that’s the only way, but because you want to avoid the authorities. The last thing in the world I want to do is make trouble for you. Even if you
are
a drug dealer or an arms trader or some kind of cartel mercenary, I don’t think I could bring myself to turn you in. But I don’t want to die out there just because you’re afraid you’ll go to prison.”

Drug dealer? Arms trader? Cartel mercenary?

Zach looked up to find Natalie watching him, a pleading look in her eyes, and a part of him wanted to laugh at the utter absurdity of the situation.

A preponderance of evidence. How do you like that, McBride?

He saw now that it had been a strategic mistake to keep everything from her. How could he expect her to trust him when connecting the dots created such a damning picture of him? She was an intelligent woman, an investigative reporter. Of course she would put it together like that. If Zach had met someone under these circumstances, he’d probably have reached a similar conclusion.

It was time for a new strategy. He would tell her enough of the truth to alleviate some of her fears, but not enough to endanger his mission—or her life.

A freaking preponderance of evidence!

Shit.

“I served in Iraq and Afghanistan.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was the truth and more than Zach ought to tell her.

He could almost
see
the little wheels in her mind spinning.

“So you’re a veteran.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you still active duty or in the reserves?”

He almost smiled at how quickly she’d gone from thinking of him as a criminal to wondering if he were some kind of undercover military operative. That’s exactly why he hadn’t told her before. She was too damned smart.

Next time a chick saves your life, make sure she’s not a reporter.

“Neither. I was honorably discharged six years ago.”

Let’s see what you make of that, angel.

He dropped the swab into the trash and reached for the antibiotic ointment, aware that she was studying him.

“That’s where you learned how to use guns and fight the way you do.”

“Learned how—and got lots of practice.” He rubbed ointment on the scratch, then put the cap back on the tube and picked up a large adhesive bandage.

“Is that how you got shot?” Her voice had lost its inquisitive edge and taken on a softer tone, but she was still testing him, still probing, still looking for loose threads to pull.

“Yeah.” He peeled the paper strips off the bandage and pressed it over the abrasion. “We were ambushed by Taliban fighters in the Hindu Kush mountains in the Nuristan province of Afghanistan. I caught a round in the back.”

“That must have been terrible.” She rubbed her hand over the bandage, her eyes filling with concern. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine—”

“I’m not looking for sympathy.” Memories he didn’t care to relive made his voice colder than he’d intended, the screams of dying friends echoing in his mind. He crumpled the bandage wrapper in his fist, tossed it in the trash, then closed the first-aid kit. “I told you so that you’ll understand why we don’t need a guide.”

Her brows settled into a delicate frown. “I know I’m not a geography whiz, but my recollection is that Iraq and Afghanistan lie somewhat to the east, while the desert we intend to cross is in a more northerly direction.”

Why did her accent have to make every damned thing she said seem charming, even when she was being a smartass?

It was time to get to the point.

He looked her straight in the eyes. “I know how to survive in the wild, Natalie. I can get you safely through the desert. I can protect you from Cárdenas and his men. But I can’t protect you from the consequences of your mistrust or your stubbornness or your curiosity. If you do anything reckless or desperate or stupid, we will
both
pay.”

She opened her mouth as if to object, but he pressed a finger to her lips.

“Listen to me. There are things you can’t know about me, things I can’t tell you for
your
sake. But I promised you I’d do everything I could to get you home safely, and I will. Please quit asking so damned many questions and trust me.”

He held her gaze, hoping she understood.

She studied him, as if she were measuring him against his words. “Okay, Zach Black, I’ll trust you. I’ll quit asking questions—or at least I’ll try.”

He couldn’t help but grin at that last bit. “Thank you.”

She looked down, a troubled expression darkening her face. “After all you saw in the war, you must really think I’m a wimp to freak out like that.”

He reached out and ran a knuckle over the curve of her cheek. “After all I saw in war, Natalie, I understand.” He understood more than she would ever know. “You are
not
a wimp. There are people who have claustrophobia for no reason. After all you’ve been through . . .”

She met his gaze again. “Please don’t let me down, Zach. I do
not
want to die out there in the desert.”

He drew her into his arms and held her close, partly to reassure her and partly because he couldn’t help himself. “If
you
die, angel, it means I’m already dead.”

 

NATALIE CLOSED THE bathroom door behind her, then turned and met her own gaze in the mirror, exhaling in a long, slow sigh of relief.

What Zach had told her was the truth. She’d seen it in his eyes.

He was ex-military, a war veteran who’d been badly wounded in combat and then honorably discharged. Even if he was somehow mixed up in drug trafficking now, he’d once served his country and had almost lost his life. That didn’t absolve him of any wrongdoing in the present, but it helped her understand why he was willing to put his life on the line for hers—and why she could count on him to keep his word.

Deep inside, he had a strong sense of duty.

But what had brought him to the life he led now? How could a man go from serving his country to breaking its laws? And what exactly did he do? She couldn’t imagine him participating in human trafficking. The men who stole, bought, and sold people had no respect for human life. But drugs, guns . . . She could imagine him being involved in either. Or did he work as a hired gun for someone else?

She might have agreed to quit asking him questions, but that couldn’t keep them from popping into her mind.

She set her toiletries down on the counter, hung the white silk nightgown he’d bought for her on the hook on the back of the door, then undressed and stepped into the shower, wanting to rinse the sweat from her skin.

It all made sense now. Zach’s super-fit physique. His knowledge of first aid. His skill with weapons. His talent for strategy and staying one step ahead of the Zetas. His tendency to bark at her as if giving orders. His resilience in resisting torture. His ability to kill—precisely, cleanly, without hesitation.

Yes, I’ve killed, but only when I had no choice. It’s never easy taking another person’s life, but sometimes it’s necessary
.

Now she knew what he’d meant by that.

She’d be lying if she denied that what he’d told her had made her feel safer. A short trek across the desert into the U.S. was surely a cakewalk for a man who’d fought in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan. He’d probably had lots of outdoor survival training. He would know what supplies to bring. He would know how to navigate with GPS so they wouldn’t get lost. And if they ran into armed traffickers in the middle of nowhere, he would know how to deal with them, too.

She finished rinsing her skin, then stepped out and patted herself dry with a fluffy white towel, her gaze fixing on her reflection. The bruises on her cheek and temple were now a dull color of purple. She ran her fingers over them—proof of how close she’d come to dying. If it hadn’t been for Zach . . .

He’d already done so much for her. More than once he’d put himself between her and danger, even shielding her with his own body.

If you die, angel, it means I’m already dead.

He’d spoken those words to reassure her, but they struck her differently now, stirring something uneasy inside her. She clutched the towel to her chest, dread gathering cold behind her breastbone.

Oh, God, she didn’t want that. No, she didn’t want that.

She’d already lost her parents, already lost Beau. They’d been trying to help her, too. She didn’t want anyone else to die.

No, that wouldn’t happen. That couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it happen. She would do exactly what Zach told her to do. She would carry her own weight. She would do her best not to slow them down. And she wouldn’t complain. He’d told her he didn’t think she was a wimp, and she would do her best to prove him right.

They would make it. They would
both
make it.

Trying to draw comfort from her resolve, she draped the towel over the nearest towel bar, then reached for the silk nightgown, the fabric cool against her skin as she slipped it over her head. Then she set about brushing her teeth. It was only when she’d finished rinsing her mouth that she saw her reflection again.

Oh, my stars!

The nightgown made her look beautiful—like a bride on her wedding night. But this wasn’t the sort of nightgown a woman wore in the presence of a man unless she wanted very much to have sex with him. White silk clung to her breasts, her belly, her hips, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. The swells of her breasts were covered only by lace, her nipples dark against the shimmering fabric, the thin stripe of her pubic hair a shadow.