Joaquin!
Blood rushed from Natalie’s head, the room seeming to spin. She found herself on her knees. But how? “I thought . . . I thought you were dead!”
Zach stood, shaking his head.
Joaquin’s voice came through strong. “Thanks to you, I’m still here.”
Zach whispered in her ear, “Time to go.”
“Good-bye! I miss you all so—”
But Zach had already hung up the phone.
“ARE YOU GOING to explain all that gibberish you had me say over the phone? Obviously it was a code of some kind.”
“Navajo code talk.” Zach left the city’s midday traffic behind and merged onto Carretera Federal 10 northbound, glad to be safely away from the hotel. “Some buddies and I memorized it, used to send messages to each other.”
He and his teammates had studied a code-talker dictionary, memorizing it during their early days as SEALs, figuring that it might come in handy behind enemy lines. Mostly, they’d just used it to irritate other SEALs and play pranks on people.
“Do you think Kat will be able to figure it out?”
“If she does, she’ll know exactly where we’re going. If not, I’ll still get you home.” But this time Zach had a few questions of his own. “So . . . ‘chula,’ huh? Sounds to me like Joaquin thinks the two of you are more than just friends.”
Maybe Natalie felt the same way. The look on her face when she’d heard Joaquin’s voice had been one of overwhelming relief and happiness.
Are you jealous, McBride?
No, of course he wasn’t jealous. Why should he care if Natalie and this photographer had a thing for each other? Good for them.
Natalie shook her head. “That’s just Joaquin. He calls all the women in the newsroom ‘chula.’ He says it means ‘pretty woman.’ ”
And some part of Zach felt relieved. “It’s the Mexican Spanish equivalent of calling a woman ‘baby,’ as in, ‘Hey, baby.’ But if you’re okay with that . . .”
“I’m not going to file a sexual harassment lawsuit or burn my bra over it.”
At the word “bra,” Zach’s gaze jerked reflexively to the amazing sight of her braless breasts. He dragged it back to the highway.
Jesus, McBride! You should’ve beat one out in the shower.
He hadn’t been this horny since he’d first arrived at college and found himself surrounded by equally horny eighteen-year-old women.
It’s your own fault, you big idiot. You light a match, you get burned. If only you’d kept your mouth to yourself . . .
Yeah, but he hadn’t, had he?
She’d been asking him very personal questions, pretending that it was only journalistic curiosity driving her, when he knew damned good and well that she was every bit as attracted to him as he was to her.
So you had to go and prove that, didn’t you? Now what?
Now he needed to keep his mind on the job and his hands—and lips—off the woman. Her life depended on his keeping a cool head. Besides, she was more than a little vulnerable. Whatever attraction she felt toward him was surely colored by the fact that he was in the act of saving her life—and that she was alone and entirely dependent on him. He’d be lower than a snake’s ass if he took advantage of that.
He glanced over to find her smiling, the AK looking out of place on her lap.
“I’m just so glad he’s alive.” Her smile slowly faded. “I thought for sure they’d shot him, but I guess they killed someone else. It feels wrong to be happy about that.”
“The world is a crazy place, Natalie.” He reached over, took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. “Sometimes you have to take happiness where you find it. Your friend is alive, in part because of what you did to save him, and that’s a good thing.”
She looked up at him through big beautiful eyes, her slender fingers lacing through his. “Thanks for understanding.”