“Kara’s right, Joaquin.” Tessa took his hand. “We know you did everything you could.”
“Yeah.” Joaquin let out a bitter laugh. “I’m a fucking hero.”
Tessa leaned in closer. “The only ones to blame are the murdering bastards who kidnapped her.”
“You said it, Tess.” Sophie dabbed her eyes with a tissue.
“I still can’t believe they killed all those poor people in cold blood.”
Joaquin ignored his friends’ reassurances and willed himself to look up and meet the gazes of the three men in the room he most respected. How pitiful he must seem to them. “Would they have been able to take her from you, Darcangelo? Or from you, Hunter? And how about you, Rossiter? If you’d been on that bus with Natalie—”
“Knock it the hell off, Joaquin.” Julian stood in the back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “I might know a few more tricks than you do, but that doesn’t mean I’m invincible. I’ve gotten my ass kicked plenty of times.”
Gabe reached over and adjusted the blanket that Kat had draped over herself for modesty’s sake while nursing the baby. “If you’d fought them any harder, they probably would’ve shot you just like they shot the others. Then they’d have taken Natalie anyway.”
Heads nodded.
“If I thought you’d been a coward, I’d tell you to your face.” Marc’s gaze bored into Joaquin’s from across the kitchen table. “But without some kind of weapon, there’s really nothing more you could’ve done.”
Kat looked up from her baby, tears still on her cheeks. “It’s right to feel sick about Natalie. We all do. But you’re going to have to quit feeling guilty for being the one who came home. It’s not your fault, Joaquin.”
Joaquin squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the turmoil inside him. Hehatedfeeling this helpless, this angry, this afraid for someone he cared about.
Then Tom spoke. “I’ve been in touch with the flack at the State Department. They say they’re doing all they can to help Mexican authorities find her.”
Darcangelo gave a snort. “Yeah, trust the State Department diplomats to get the job done. I’ve been in touch with some of my old contacts down there. If what they say is true and Los Zetas is responsible for the attack on the bus, then the State Department isn’t going to be able to do a damned thing for her. The Zetas hate journalists—as you saw, Joaquin—and they’ve got as much firepower as thefederales—probably more.”
And Joaquin felt an unexpected ray of hope. Darcangelo had worked for the FBI in Mexico and knew more about the country and its underworld than most. He met the big man’s gaze. “Is there any chance you can go down there and help them find her?”
Tessa glared at him. “I donotwant to lose my friendandmy husband, thank you very much. Julian isnotgoing to Mexico.”
“I can’t go—not now anyway.” Darcangelo squeezed his wife’s hand. “I’m not going to leave Tessa alone.”
Joaquin had forgotten. Tessa was three months pregnant and having problems. “No, of course not.”
“Why do you think they took her? What will they do with her?” Holly asked the question that Joaquin hadn’t been able to bring himself to ask.
Julian seemed to hesitate. “Natalie represents two things that interest the Zetas. She’s a reporter, and she’s a pretty young female. It makes me sick to say it, but if the Mexican AFI—that’s their FBI—doesn’t get a lead soon, there’s a good chance we’ll never see her again.”
The beer in Joaquin’s stomach turned to acid.
CHAPTER 7
THE CAR’S AC didn’t work well, but it did use up gasoline, so Zach had turned it off. Now open windows offered the only relief from the scorching midday heat. It was like driving through a blast furnace.
It still beats being outside in eighty percent humidity.
Natalie wasn’t so sure she believed herself on that point. But then it had been a long time since she’d spent a summer in New Orleans.
Sweat trickled down the back of her neck and between her breasts, the discomfort making her cross. Or maybe that was lack of sleep. Or fear.
Somewhere out there, killers were hunting for them.
She drew up to a stop sign, the word “ALTO” spelled out in big white letters against a red background that had been bleached by the sun. She stopped, looked both ways, then pressed on the gas again, not another car in sight.
Beside her, Zach loaded bullets one by one into a magazine, his fingers moving with a speed that clearly came from experience, sweat beading on his temples. A gun he’d said was an AK-47 rested between his legs, its business end pointing toward the floor. As she watched him, she knew he’d been in situations like this before—up to his neck in trouble and ready to fight. With his thick stubble, dirty, torn jeans, skintight marijuana T-shirt, and hardened physique, he certainlylookedlike a man who lived his life armed and dangerous.
Yet no matter how dangerous he might be, she couldn’t help but worry about him. Given how tiredshewas, she knew he must be exhausted, not to mention in pain, the lines of strain on his face and the dark circles beneath his eyes more noticeable in naked daylight. She’d half expected him to fall asleep the moment the car started moving, but he hadn’t closed his eyes once. He was alert, his body radiating tension, his mind sharp. Still, no man could hold out forever, no matter how strong or hardened he was.