“ ‘—if you went over to the other side.’ ”
“Coming from the CIA agent who trained him, that would’ve felt a lot like getting permission, wouldn’t it?” Rossiter looked around at them.
Zach nodded. “Sure, it would.”
Darcangelo went on. “So they reestablish contact, come to some kind of agreement. Maybe it’s guns, explosives, and tech for drugs and teenage girls. Maybe Wulfe handles U.S. distribution in exchange for a cut of the profits. Who knows? Regardless, they become rich men, the Zetas dominating much of Mexico and Wulfe living the genteel life of a retired millionaire here in the U.S.”
Zach turned to Natalie, found her listening attentively. “You suggested it yesterday. Wulfe uses the school to launder the money. What better way to do it than through an institution that receives grants, bequests, and anonymous donations. When did Whitcomb Academy open?”
“In 1993.”
Darcangelo looked over at Zach, understanding in his eyes. “The school—that’s where Wulfe is most vulnerable. Intercept a shipment at the border, and all you end up with is contraband and low-level smugglers who know their lives depend on keeping their mouths shut. They probably have no clue who Wulfe is. The loss to the Zetas is minimal, and another shipment is on its way in a matter of days. But the school is where Wulfe funnels his share of the money. It’s his Achilles’ heel.”
Zach’s pulse picked up, just like it always did whenever a case came together. He looked over at Natalie again. “When you began to investigate the school, they panicked. They didn’t want you digging through their records or bringing any kind of negative attention their way. That soccer coach—I bet he didn’t run off to start a new life. My money says he’s dead. Then they decided to take you out, too.”
She shook her head. “It was my idea to go to Mexico, not theirs. I signed up for that trip in January, long before I’d even heard of Whitcomb Academy.”
“Exactly. It was the perfect setup.” But Zach could see she wasn’t following him. “They could put a hit on you here, but then they’d have a murder investigation. And although they’re pretty good at covering their tracks, killing you—a journalist—would mean bringing additional scrutiny to whatever stories you were covering. They couldn’t risk that. But if you were killed while in a foreign country, shot by a paramilitary cartel known for its brutality and hatred of journalists—well, that’s just a tragic incident, one that has nothing to do with the school.”
He saw on her face the moment she understood.
Her face drained of its color. “You’re saying they wanted to kill me, but when they saw I was going on the SPJ trip, they decided to wait until I was in Mexico so that no one would be able to connect it with the school. They would stop my investigation, and no one would think twice about it.”
“That’s my best guess. They studied you, saw you were going to Mexico, and decided to let Cárdenas handle you in his own sick way. But they underestimated you, angel. You did something they never could have imagined. You escaped, forcing them to strike at you again here in Colorado.”
Zach was right. He felt it in his bones.
But she wasn’t listening.
She stood, her breathing rapid, her voice almost panicked. “All those people—poor Sr. Marquez, Ana-Letitia, Sergio—they died because of me?Ibrought that down on them? Oh, God!”
Then she turned and fled up the stairs.
“Well, I’d say you handled that with great sensitivity.”
“Go to hell, Hunter!” Zach stood there, staring after her.
“You first.”
NATALIE SAT IN front of her open bedroom window, looking out at the bruised sky, flashes of distant lightning heralding the approach of a late-afternoon thunderstorm, a chilly wind filling the sheer, white drapes like sails. Not that she really noticed any of it, those endless terrible minutes on the bus running through her mind again and again.
“¡No! Por favor, no—”
Pop!
“I am sorry, Miss Benoit.”
“No, don’t—!”
Pop!
“Natalie?”
She gasped, startled out of her thoughts.
Zach stood just inside the doorway to her room. “Are you okay, angel?”
She didn’t know how to answer, so for a time she said nothing. “It seems really obvious now when I think about it. The look on that Zeta’s face when he saw me—he wasn’t smiling because he thought it was funny watching me trying to protect Joaquin. He recognized me. It was there in his eyes. I just didn’t see it.”