If he died today, she would never know what she meant to him. If he died, he would never even get a shot at building a life with her, of knowing what it was like to come home every night and find someone waiting for him. Hell, he wouldn’t even know whether he’d gotten her pregnant.
Then don’t die, McBride.
Right.
He raised his head and looked into Wulfe’s eyes, ready to answer at least one question. “Do you really think you can kill us all? SWAT knows. Denver PD knows. The newspaper knows. The Marshal Service and FBI know. All of my documents and hers have been uploaded to encrypted accounts. If you kill us, someone else will follow. It’s over, Wulfe. Turn yourself in, and I’ll argue for leniency.”
Wulfe’s nostrils flared—an adrenaline response. He stepped aside and motioned Quintana forward again.
Zach gave a weak laugh. “What did I do? I answered your question, offered to help you out, and you fry me for that? You know what, Ed? You suck.”
Just then the two men who’d run onto the patio returned. “There’s no one on the roof, but SWAT is down in the street. They’ve set up a staging area around the block and have all the entry points to the building covered.”
No one on the roof.
Thank God!
Relief washed through Zach, a balm for the lingering pain, both physical and emotional. He might not live through this day, but Natalie was safe.
Quintana moved in on him.
WET AND CHILLED to the bone, Natalie slipped through the bathroom window, having had more than her fill of heights. She reached for the floor with her bare feet while Gabe slowly lowered her down, then she stood there shivering. He followed her, his feet landing silently on the marble floor.
The room had been torn apart, the shower curtain slashed, the shelves emptied, skin cream, shampoo, and conditioner dumped on the floor. Beyond the door, bodies lay in the hallway, blood on the walls and floor. Was it Zach’s blood?
Her stomach churned.
From the living room, she could hear men’s voices. She strained to listen and thought she heard Zach.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
Was he hurt? Was he even still alive? And what about Julian?
“They’ve already searched here, so I think you’ll be safe. Get into the bathtub. The steel will halt most stray rounds.” Gabe unfastened her harness and pressed a pistol into her hands. “Use this for self-defense only. Don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe. Not a sound!”
Natalie nodded and did as he asked, her limbs stiff from the cold. She’d gained a new respect for Gabe today. Realizing that Wulfe and his men had probably heard him hit the roof, he’d quickly put her in a harness, roped her in, then fixed the rope around the base of the lighted metal pole that warned airplanes away and dangled her—yes, dangled her—off the edge, more than two hundred feet of air beneath her.
Then, while she hung there, dizzy, her heart in her throat, he’d crept along a narrow steel ledge with no protection, to keep an eye on the patio, waiting for Wulfe’s men, who had, indeed, come out to check, to go back inside. When they’d gone, he’d made his way back to her, then used the rope to rappel to the bathroom window.
A man’s agonized cry silenced her thoughts.
Zach!
She squeezed her eyes shut, a sick feeling swelling inside her at the sound of his suffering. It had been hard enough to hear when they’d been in Mexico and she’d barely known him. But she loved him now. To know they were hurting him . . .
From beside the tub, she heard Gabe speak quietly into his mouthpiece. “They’re going to kill him! Let me help him!”
Zach’s cry fell into silence.
A man’s raised voice: “For the last time, McBride—where is she?”
This was followed by a moment of silence—and then another agonized cry.
They were torturing him over her.
She opened her eyes, looked up at Gabe. “I have to do something!”
“If you care about Zach, then stay here and stay alive!”