Zach lowered his voice and switched back to Spanish. “Get your eyes off her if you want to keep them, amigo.”
The car’s engine started with a roar.
Zach lifted his foot off the bag. “Muchísimas gracias.”
Carlos stood, a grin on his face. “Te debo una.”I owe you big-time.
Zach knew that the moment he and Natalie were gone, Carlos and his brother would take the Tsuru apart, salvaging everything they could and selling it at a handy profit. If the Zetas came back tomorrow, all they would find was an empty, unrecognizable shell.
“Gracias.” Zach shouldered the other duffel bag. “Hay te wacho.”See you later.
Carlos hoisted the bag of arms, turned, and hurried toward his brother’s truck, calling farewell over his shoulder. “Sale y vale.”
Zach opened the passenger side door, shoved his gear into the back, and climbed into the car. “Turn the car around and head into town.”
She did as he asked, Carlos and his brother craning to get a look at her as she drove past. “That was illegal. You gave guns to a man who is almost certainly a criminal. How do you know he won’t use them against—”
Zach didn’t have the energy for this. “I traded weapons for this car because driving around inthatone would’ve eventually gotten us both killed. Do you know why the Zetas are called Zetas?”
“No.”
“The license plates on all their vehicles start with the letter Z.” He gave that a moment to sink in. “Yes, we could have ditched the plates, but driving around with stolen plates or no plates at all will get you pulled over in Mexico just like it will in the U.S. You might not like my methods, but now we can drive on the highway without getting shot. Any more questions?”
She shook her head.
“Good. Drive.”
“WHEN WE GET to the junction of 45 and Carretera Federal 10, take the exit and turn west—that’s left.”
“But that will take us away from Juárez.”
“We’re not going to Juárez. We’re going to Nuevos Casas Grandes.”
“Why aren’t we going to Juárez?”
“Do you ever stop with the questions? We’re not going there because your photograph will have been all over the news. Because the Zetas control much of the city. And because Cárdenas expects us to go there. Anything else you’d like to ask?”
“Can we stop at the next Pemex? I need to use the ladies’ room.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!”
ZACH DROPPED THE duffel bag, unlocked the door to their hotel suite, and drew out a handgun, motioning for Natalie to stay put. He’d said the Zetas wouldn’t look for them in an upscale place like this, but clearly he wasn’t taking any chances. He disappeared inside, and she caught a glimpse of him moving quickly through the rooms, gun ready. After a minute or two, he called to her. “It’s okay.”
She shut the door behind her, locked it, then slipped the door guard into place. Then she walked a few steps to an armchair and sank into it, too tired even to think.
Zach tucked the gun into his jeans and walked over to her. “Hey, there’s a shower in the next room with your name on it—hot water, soap, towels.”
A shower.
Hadn’t she been longing for a shower all day?
Natalie willed herself to stand, the appeal of being clean barely enough to break through the exhaustion and numbness that had taken hold of her. For the past twelve hours all she’d done was run. Now she could barely move.
She walked into the bathroom, flicked on the light, then locked the door behind her and began to undress, letting her filthy clothes fall to the tile floor. She never wanted to wear them again; though, of course, she had no choice. Then she turned toward the shower, stopping short when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
She barely recognized herself. Her hair was a tangled mess, her face smudged with dirt. A tender goose egg stood out on her scalp where she’d been struck by the butt of the gun. A big, dark bruise marred her left cheek, and there were fainter bruises on her breasts, an unwelcome reminder of Sr. Scar Face’s rough hands. But her eyes were what she noticed most—they were a stranger’s eyes. Shadowed by dark circles, they stared back at her, haunted by her own panic and the dying screams of others.
Feeling like she was made of wood, she turned away from her reflection and turned on the shower, then stepped beneath the spray, letting it carry away two days’ worth of sweat, dirt, and fear. She shampooed her hair three times, massaged in conditioner, then scrubbed her body with a soapy washcloth till her skin glowed pink. She wanted to be clean again, needed to feel clean again. Then she rinsed her hair and her body, watching the bubbles swirl down the drain.