“Well, I feel better.” Tessa frowned. “Or maybe I don’t. It doesn’t feel right to be happy because someone’s dead.”
The room fell silent.
It was then that Joaquin decided to share the gift that he’d brought with him. “I have something for you all.”
He reached into his camera bag and drew out an envelope holding prints he’d made this morning of photos from yesterday’s action. He opened the envelope and drew out the photos one by one, handing them first to Natalie, who passed them on. He said nothing, letting the images speak for themselves.
Natalie clinging to the rooftop, looking pleadingly over her shoulder toward the helicopter. Gabe being lowered down in a rescue attempt. Gabe crawling across the rooftop toward Natalie. Flooded streets, stranded cars. The helicopter sitting idle while Marc yelled at the pilot. An overhead view of the SWAT staging area. Marc aiming his sniper rifle at Quintana, as calm and cool as steel. SWAT volunteers storming the loft.
And then came the photos he wasn’t supposed to have taken.
“Oh, Joaquin!” Natalie whispered.
It was the photo of Marc and Julian. The lighting had been perfect, catching the texture of their skin, the subtlest details of their faces, exposing their emotions. Julian lay, bloodied and shirtless, against Marc’s chest, his eyes closed, pain etched on every feature of his face. Marc looked down at him, pressing gauze to the bullet wound in his shoulder and an ice bag to his hand, his expression fierce, a mix of anger, concern, and—there was no other word for it—love.
Natalie stared at it, then looked up at Joaquin, passing it on. “This is amazing. These are Pulitzer quality, Joaquin.”
“Unbelievable.” Reece looked up at him. “They make me feel like I was there, give me an appreciation for how terrible it truly was.”
Joaquin drew out one more—an image of Natalie smiling through her tears at Zach, who had just opened his eyes, Gabe focused intently on starting an IV.
Natalie stared at it, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Thank you.”
As the photos made the rounds, Joaquin watched, taking in people’s reactions. He saw the glance of acknowledgment that passed between Marc and Julian, the tears in Tessa’s and Sophie’s eyes, the appreciation in Gabe’s and Reece’s, and he knew his images had revealed a deeper truth about their friendships and the ordeal they’d just endured than they could have expressed themselves.
“You have a gift,” Julian said at last, handing back the photos. “Anyone can be trained to shoot a gun. But what you do, Ramirez—it’s art.”
And for the first time since Mexico, Joaquin felt at home in his own shoes.
FOR NATALIE, THE next few days passed in a blur. Zach was released after three days in the hospital and stayed at her place. They hadn’t discussed it. Natalie had simply brought him home, and he’d stayed, moving what he had in, his toothbrush, razor, and shampoo taking up space beside hers in the bathroom, his clothes in her closet, his body in bed beside hers at night.
Officially on medical leave, he was supposed to be taking it easy, but he had a somewhat different idea of what that meant than she did. While she worked long hours at the paper putting together a series of articles about Wulfe, Cárdenas, and Whitcomb Academy, he installed a security alarm, new window locks, outdoor security lights, and a special lock for her sliding glass door.
She was at the paper one afternoon, interviewing Rowan for the fourth time, when Zach appeared in the newsroom.
“Did you hear?” she asked when she got off the phone.
“They found the soccer coach’s body in the county landfill. It was badly decomposed but . . .”
It was then she noticed the expression on his face.
“I’ve been called back to D.C.,” he said. “It seems Pearce and the others at the OD have a few more questions before they can put the investigation against me to rest. I need to clear my name once and for all, Natalie.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
They said good-bye in the conference room, sealing their farewell with a long kiss.
“Please call as often as you can. I’m going to miss you, Zach Black.”
He ran his thumb over the curve of her cheek. “I’ll miss you, too, angel.”
NATALIE’S SERIES, SET off by Joaquin’s stunning photos, caused an uproar from the first installment through the third. But it wasn’t over when the series was completed. She worked late every day, staying with the story, as one development led to another.
Three other members of the school’s Board of Trustees were arrested for knowing about the bogus donations and failing to report them. The sheriff and district attorney resigned after the school’s financials proved they’d gotten payoffs in exchange for dropping the investigation. Congress called for an investigation of AMINTAC, while the Department of Defense remained stoically silent.
While she interviewed congressmen, Pentagon brass, and Mexican government officials, other reporters wanted to interview her. She gave a couple of interviews to local papers, but balked when the TV talk shows showed up. Then an agent called, offering to help her get rich if she decided one day to write a book about her experience.
Though she felt great satisfaction at exposing Wulfe and Cárdenas—and everyone who had worked with them—the excitement of big headlines, interviews, and book offers meant little to her. She lived for the moments late in the evening when Zach called and the two of them shared their day.