“He’s . . . he’s alive?”
“Not for long.” Unwilling to risk the noise of gunfire, Zach tucked the gun into his pants, caught the Zeta’s head between his left hand and right forearm, and gave it a quick twist, breaking the man’s neck with an audiblecrack. He searched the body, finding a fistful of bills in one pocket and a sweet Ka-Bar rig on the man’s ankle. He transferred the knife to his own ankle, stuffed the dinero into his pocket, then picked the scattered grapes up off the floor and, ignoring the dirt, tossed them into his mouth.
Electrolytes. Calories.
He was in dire need of both.
He rose unsteadily to his feet again, only to find Natalie watching him, a look of shock on her pretty face. Still chewing, he explained. “I didn’t want him sneaking up behind us or warning the others, and we’re going to need the money.”
But she said nothing, still staring.
“Is this about the grapes? I should have saved some for you. Sorry.”
She pressed a hand against her stomach as if she thought she might be sick, then shook her head. “N-no, that’s fine.”
“Stay behind me, and don’t make a sound. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
Still shaken by what she’d just witnessed, Natalie followed Zach, her view blocked by his broad shoulders as he slowly nudged the door to their little prison wider and scanned the courtyard, pistol gripped in both hands. She half expected him to collapse, but somehow he stayed upright. Walking on bare feet, he crouched down, motioning for her to do the same. She followed him into the shadow of the car she’d arrived in, then behind the vehicle to the side of the old church, men’s voices audible from inside. He drew her behind him, pressed himself up against the wall—then waited.
Standing so close to him, Natalie was struck by how tall and strong he truly was. Even weak and unsteady on his feet, he seemed dangerous. A few inches over six feet, he was muscular without being bulky, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, slabs of lean muscle bisected by the groove of his spine. And she knew all that muscle wasn’t just for show.
There was a scar that could only have been made by a bullet on his lower back, not far from his spine, proving that violence was nothing new in his life. And the way the pistol seemed to belong in his grasp, the way he moved, the way he’d broken that Zeta’s neck without blinking—he’d obviously been trained to fight. He had even admitted to killing.
If she’d been sitting in a nightclub in Denver, he probably would have scared the hell out of her. But stranded in the Mexican desert with men who intended to hand her over to be raped and murdered, he was the closest thing she had to the cavalry. Maybe he was some kind of underworld criminal, but right now he was onherside.
Heavy hinges squeaked, and boots hit gravel, bringing her thoughts to a halt.
“¡Eh, Diego! ¿Qué demonios estás haciendo?”What the hell are you doing?A man in military fatigues started across the courtyard, clearly trying to figure out what was taking his friend so long.
In front of her, Zach silently retrieved the knife he’d strapped to his ankle, still a bit wobbly on his feet. Then he rose to his full height, steadied himself, and with a speed that amazed her, threw it, hitting the Zeta just below the base of his skull, the knife sinking to the hilt.
The man’s legs turned to water beneath him, and he fell lifeless to the ground.
Zach held up four fingers, his meaning clear.
Four Zetas remained.
Motioning for her to stay where she was, he hurried out into the open and stripped the body of its weapons, including the knife, which he wiped clean on the dead man’s pants and returned to its sheath. When he reached her side, he had two more pistols, one of which he handed to her, the other of which he tucked into the waistband of his pants. He bent down and whispered, “Do you know how to use one of these?”
She looked at the weapon in her hands. It was heavier than she’d imagined—and cold. “You point it and pull the trigger.”
The look on his face told her there was more to it than that. “This is the safety. As long as it’s in this position, the gun won’t fire. Flick it down like this before you pull the trigger. Aim for the chest.”
“Can’t we just hot-wire the car and go?”
But Zach was already moving, walking on silent feet around the corner and toward the church’s front door. Made of thick planks of weathered wood with iron hinges that opened outward, it had no windows to enable them to see if anyone was standing on the other side—which is why it took her by surprise when it began to swing outward toward them.
Natalie found herself thrust back against the wall behind Zach, the door concealing them both as it opened. She saw Zach raise his pistol, then heard him swear beneath his breath as two scantily clad young women—prostitutes, not Zetas—stepped outside. They didn’t see Zach or Natalie, but they did see the dead body.
And they screamed.
CHAPTER 6
ONE MINUTE THINGS had been under control, and the next they’d gone straight to hell. Two women—girls no older than eighteen—stared at the man Zach had just killed, their screams and incoherent babbling blowing to bits any hope Zach had of taking the rest of the Zetas by surprise. That was the bad news.
The good news was that the girls hadn’t yet seen him or Natalie.