Forgetting his broken ribs, Zach had no time to do anything but react. He threw himself onto his left side, sliding out from behind the pillar and aiming toward the Zeta who stood in the doorway pointing his weapon toward Natalie.
Bam!
But it wasn’t Zach who’d pulled the trigger.
Son of a bitch!
His heart ricocheted against his breastbone as he squeezed off three quick shots.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
The Zeta slumped against the door, firearm slipping from his hand and landing with a clatter as he sank lifeless to the stone floor.
Ignoring the pain in his side, Zach scrambled on all fours around the pillar, hoping to God the bastard had missed, only to find Natalie on her knees staring at the dead Zeta, pistol in hand, a shocked expression on her face. It took three hard beats of Zach’s heart to comprehend that shehadn’tbeen shot, that shewasn’twounded. He looked from her to the Zeta and back again, stunned to realize that it had beenhershot he’d heard.
He stared at her, more than a little amazed. That was the second time today she’d saved their asses. “I think I’m in love.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.” She dropped her weapon and pressed her hand against her stomach, a look of shock and distress on her face.
But there wasn’t time for that.
“Save the puking for later.” He rose to his feet, gritting his teeth as the pain in his ribs caught up with him. “This isn’t over yet.”
He collected the dead Zeta’s weapon—a Glock 17 9mm—and led her quietly from pillar to pillar toward the back room, the old church silent apart from their breathing. Then from outside came the roar of an engine. But it wasn’t the car in which the prostitutes were hiding. The sound came frombehindthe church.
“Shit!” Digging for some buried reserve of strength, Zach ran as fast as his legs could carry him toward the front of the church, reaching the front door just as a battered RAV4 cleared the courtyard and hit the highway, spitting gravel.
Aiming for the driver, he fired off his two remaining rounds, shattering the vehicle’s window and leaving a hole in the driver’s door. But it was too late. “Damn it!”
Tires squealed as the SUV swerved, then sped away to the south.
Adrenaline spent, legs shaking, it was all Zach could do to walk back inside.
NATALIE FINISHED WASHING her hands and face in the filthy little bathroom at the back of the church, the need to be clean overwhelming—if a person could truly get clean washing in the water that poured from that tap. She’d found an unopened toothbrush and had claimed it, brushing her teeth with bottled water and Colgate from an almost used-up tube, the idea of sharing toothpaste with the Zetas repulsive—but not quite repulsive enough to stop her.
She dried her hands on a paper towel and walked back out into the sanctuary, to find Zach still hard at work pillaging the place.
“Eat.”
She caught the banana he tossed to her, watching as he peeled his second and consumed it in three bites. “I don’t feel hungry.”
All she wanted in the entire world was to leave this place.
“Your body needs fuel.” He tossed his banana peel aside. “Eat.”
“Yes, sir!” Who did he think he was? She gave a mock salute, then sat on a cot and forced herself to peel the banana, slowly eating it while he systematically searched through the dead Zetas’ belongings, looking for things he thought they might need.
He was no longer the reassuring voice in the darkness, the man with whom she’d shared her darkest memories and deepest fears, the man who had encouraged her and helped her fight back. Now he was a stranger to her, a man who barked out orders, who killed with skill and efficiency—but who had killed to protect her.
He held up a black T-shirt with a green marijuana leaf on the front, then slipped it over his head, breath hissing between his teeth as he drew it down over the dark bruises on his rib cage.It was too small, the fabric stretched tightly across the muscles of his chest and abdomen, the sleeves riding high on his shoulders, but he didn’t seem to care. He went back to his search, moving with a businesslike efficiency through the room, piling anything he thought they might need onto one of the cots.
Keys to the car. Tortillas. Boxes of bullets. Socks. Pesos. Potato chips. Duct tape. Big guns. Little guns. Pocketknife. First-aid kit. Candy bars. Sunglasses.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” He held up a black leather billfold. “My wallet. The cash is gone, but my driver’s license and credit card are still here.”
He tucked it in the back pocket of his jeans and kept moving. It didn’t seem to bother him that he’d just killed four men. And why should it? Those men had beaten him, tortured him, starved him, and they would have killedbothof them if they’d had the chance.
Natalie didn’t feel a bit sorry for the Zetas either. But that didn’t mean she could sit here surrounded by blood and dead bodies and not want to run away screaming.