Zach stood behind her now. His hand slid gently beneath her hair to cup the nape of her neck. “It’s not your fault, Natalie. You didn’t pull the trigger. You’re a victim of this crime, just like the journalists who were killed.”
“But if I hadn’t gone on that trip—”
“Don’t torture yourself like that. The Zetas probably took advantage of the conference to do a little multitasking, taking out multiple targets at once.”
“I watched them die. Poor, sweet Sr. Marquez. He was terrified, but he still had the courage to look into his killer’s face. And do you know what? He apologized to me. Just before they shot him, he apologized as if it were somehow his fault that he was about to be murdered in front of me.”
“I know. I read your articles.”
“You did?” She turned her head, looked up at him, surprised.
He nodded, his lips curving in a smile. “You’re a talented writer, Natalie. I don’t think anyone could read what you wrote and not be touched by it.”
It felt good to hear him say that. “Did you see my little press conference?”
“How could I not? It was on every news channel. You called me your hero.” Then he knelt down beside her, pressed his forehead to hers, and looked into her eyes, his hand against her cheek. “But, Natalie, you’remyhero. You got me out of that Zeta hell. You saved my life. You were strong when you needed to be strong. Don’t you dare blame yourself for something you didn’t do, something you were powerless to stop.”
His words felt like absolution, and yet . . .
She shared her darkest fear. “I don’t want anyone else to die. If you or any of the guys get hurt or killed . . .”
She’d sat there this afternoon, surrounded by the strongest men she knew, each one of them armed to the teeth and wearing body armor, but instead of feeling safe, she’d felt terrified—for them. After what had happened to those poor DUSMs today . . .
“We’re doing everything we can to prevent that.” He stood and sat across from her. “We made a lot of progress today.”
“You came up with some compelling scenarios, but they’re based entirely on circumstantial evidence.”
He gave her a cocky grin. “Not for long, angel. Rowan is procuring a federal warrant for the school’s financials. I guarantee you we’ll find bogus donors, anonymous donations from offshore accounts—that kind of thing. Darcangelo is in my office trying to crack the encryption on Wulfe’s file. Hunter and Rossiter left to get a helo ready in case we need to leave here quickly. I’m going to go to work finding Wulfe. We’ll get the job done. In the meantime, you need to eat something.”
“I’m not really hungry.”
He frowned. “Do you think . . . When will you know whether . . . ?”
So he couldn’t even say the word. That disappointed her. “When will I know whether I’m pregnant? I should get my period in about a week. Are you worried?”
“I just wondered if that’s why you weren’t hungry.” Then he smiled. “Darcangelo’s wife called. She had a test that showed she’s carrying a boy. Darcangelo couldn’t quit grinning.”
That was the first good news Natalie had heard in what felt like forever. “That’s wonderful! And the baby’s okay?”
“Apparently.”
From down the hallway came Julian’s voice. “Hey, McBride, I made a copy of the file. I’ll try to crack it at home and give you a call later.”
“Sounds good. Thanks.” Then Zach frowned and glanced toward the window.
Fat raindrops were falling now, the wind whipping the drapes about, dark clouds obscuring the city. A flash of lightning. Thunder.
He stood, crossed the room, and closed the window. “Looks like we’re in for one hell of a storm tonight.”
Natalie shivered.
ARTURO SAT IN the back of the first van, a battered AK-47 in his hands, thinking of ways to kill Wulfe. After all they’d done together, the stupidchingaderoought to have welcomed him as a brother. Instead, Wulfe had done nothing but humiliate him since he arrived. And now he’d gone too far.
While Wulfe sat in his new luxury hideout, Arturo was being forced to take part in this pathetic little action as if he were one of Wulfe’s underlings. It was clear that Wulfe wanted to pin the Benoit whore’s death on Arturo and his organization. More than that, he wanted to rub Arturo’s face in his failure.
“You made this mess. You’re going to help clean it up,” Wulfe had said. Then he’d motioned to his men. “You follow their orders, do you understand, Arturo? You still have so much to learn.”
Arturo would avenge this insult. If only he’d had time to speak with José-Luis, but they hadn’t been given a moment alone together, and now his nephew was waiting this out with Wulfe.