Zach’s pulse spiked. If she was still up there . . .
God, let her be gone!
Zach fought to keep his fear off his face. “You’re out of time, Wulfe. You’ve lost. Your only hope is to get the hell out of here while you can. Hey, maybe Quintana will let you stay on his couch. You should ask him.”
Wulfe looked down at Zach, his calm façade impenetrable. “Oh, don’t worry. My men will take out the officers on the roof. The streets of Lower Downtown are flooded, cars stalled everywhere, so it’s going to take the rest of SWAT a while to get here. Then they’ll want to evacuate the building, study the problem, come up with a plan. Do you know what SWAT stands for? Stand, Wait, And Talk. We have some time.”
Flooded streets?
So that’s what was keeping Hunter and Rossiter.
“My lucky day.”
Wulfe smiled. “I don’t want to kill you, McBride. Of course, I must, but I regret that. You’re a true hero. Ah, yes, I see it surprises you that I value such qualities. But I do. You’re a former SEAL, a Medal of Honor recipient. Men with your strength, skill, and dedication are rare. You’re worth a hundred of my men.”
Zach gave a snort. “Forgive me if I don’t see that as a compliment.”
Wulfe’s smile grew thin. “If Arturo hadn’t been so inept, you’d still be out there, doing your job. But he allowed himself to be manipulated by the Interpol operative into believing you’d stolen cocaine. Then he had his men kidnap Ms. Benoit rather than simply terminating her on that bus, as I’d ordered him to do. Naturally, you felt obliged to help her, led by your cock, no doubt. And here we are.”
So Wulfe had ordered Cárdenas to kill Natalie. Cárdenas must have seen her photo online and let his lust for her get the better of him. He’d had his men kidnap Natalie, planning to carry out Wulfe’s orders—but only after he’d used her in his sick way.
“So Los Zetas usually do what you tell them to do?”
Wulfe’s chin went up. “IamLos Zetas. I made them powerful, wealthy. Cárdenas was one of a handful of men who’ve run the organization for me.”
That was an interesting bit of information.
Zach hoped he lived to share it. He stalled for time. “What made you sell out, Ed? Do you mind if I call you Ed? Was it money? Power? Did someone at the Pentagon sleep with your wife?”
But Wulfe ignored the taunts. “Make things easier for yourself. I have no desire to see you suffer, so spare yourself unnecessary pain and answer the questions.”
Zach laughed. “Maybe that rubber bullet scrambled my brains, but I don’t see how answering questions that betray my mission so that I can be killed sooner and die with a guilty conscience makes anything easier for me.”
Wulfe leaned in. “Where did you send Ms. Benoit?”
“Disneyland.”
“Who knows about my connection to the Zetas?”
“The U.S. Marshal Service, SWAT, my dentist, Oprah—”
“How did you know we were coming? Clearly, someone tipped you off.”
“That guy.” Zach pointed with a jerk of his head toward one of Wulfe’s minions. The man looked uncertainly at Wulfe, taking a step backward. “He texted me just before you stepped into the elevator.”
Without a word, Wulfe stepped aside for Quintana, who moved in, holding the severed cord from an electrical lamp in his hand. Cut from the lamp’s base, it was still plugged into the wall, the bare wires capable of delivering raw current that was far more powerful than the truck battery and excruciatingly painful.
Zach met Quintana’s gaze. “Don’t you ever get bored with this?”
Electricity poured through him like liquid agony, setting every nerve on fire. His body arched, his muscles going into spasms, a cry tearing itself from between his clenched teeth.
Then Quintana stepped back, leaving Zach shaking, breathless, wanting to puke. Strangely he found the pain easier to bear now than he had two weeks ago. Perhaps it was just that he’d been through this before. Or perhaps it was the fact that his pain was buying time for the woman he loved.
Why hadn’t he told her? Why hadn’t he told Natalie he loved her when he’d had the chance? It would’ve taken only a few seconds. What the hell had he been afraid of?
And all at once it hit him—regret as deep and wide as the ocean.
Natalie.