Something’s wrong. Something’s gone wrong.
Her breath came in shallow pants, adrenaline making her heart beat harder.
What if something had happened to him? No one would know where she was. She would be stuck here, just like she’d been stuck in that morgue cooler.
Oh, where is he?
She should be home by now, not trying to sneak into her own country across the desert, where hundreds of people died every year. Why had she gone along with this? Why had she let herself be locked in this trunk by a man who wouldn’t tell her his last name, who insisted he wasn’t a criminal but knew smuggling routes well enough to guide her through them? Who else knew smuggling routes besides drug smugglers, men who bought, sold and stole drugs and carried guns and traded guns for cars and killed people without blinking?
She choked back a sob.
Jack Sprat could eat no fat.
Footsteps. A key in the lock. Cool night air spilling in around her.
ZACH KNEW SHE was in trouble the moment he opened the trunk. She was hyperventilating, her eyes wide. He bent down, as if searching for something in the trunk, aware that they were surrounded by windows, alleys, streets where anyone would be lurking, watching. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “It’s almost over. Stay quiet. Stay still. I have to zip it.”
He pushed the zipper up carefully over her panicked face, then lifted the duffel bag with her inside it and slung it over his left shoulder like a sack of potatoes, her weight causing a tug of pain in his ribs. Trying to act casual, he walked with long but unhurried strides toward the unlocked door of their room. He opened the door, walked inside, and locked it behind him, then hurried to lower his trembling human baggage gently to the bed, where it wriggled and whimpered.
He reached for the zipper, tugged. “Sorry that took so long. There were cops on the street out front. I wanted to make sure the place was safe before I—”
Natalie’s pale face emerged from the duffel bag. “Get me out!”
“That’s what I’m trying to do. Hold still for just—”
But she didn’t hold still. She wiggled and twisted, shrugging her shoulders out of the bag, then flipping onto her hands and knees and crawling the rest of the way out, as Zach pulled the bag from beneath her with a few strong tugs. She turned and sat on the bed facing him, out of breath and shaking, her eyes wild, her skirt pushed up around her hips, her hair a dark, tangled mane. There were beads of sweat on her forehead and an angry red scratch on her left arm, probably from the zipper.
He sat beside her, drew her into his arms. “Easy, Natalie. Shhh. It’s over.”
For a moment she let him hold her, her body trembling. Then her spine went stiff, and she drew away from him, sliding off the bed and smoothing her skirt into place. “No. No, it’s not over. It won’t be over till I’m home.”
Well, she was right about that.
But why did he get the feeling he’d done something wrong? “I wouldn’t have left you in there so long, but with three cop cars parked on the street, I had to make certain the place was clear before I brought you in.”
Her gaze bored through him as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said, one hand absentmindedly rubbing the scratch on her arm. “If you’re not a drug thief or trafficker, how do you know the smuggling routes well enough to travel through the desert without a guide?”
So, it had come back to that, had it? Why couldn’t she just trust him?
Would you trust you, McBride?
Hell, no.
“We’ll talk in a minute.” He turned and walked toward the door. “Stay out of sight, and stay quiet. I need to get the rest of our shit out of the car.”
He waited until she’d backed into the bathroom, then grabbed the empty duffel bag and walked out to the vehicle. Scanning the scene for any sign that he was under surveillance, he opened the trunk and quickly loaded the firearms and ammo into the bag. Then he grabbed the rest of their stuff and carried it with the weapons into their room, locking the door behind him.
What in the hell was he going to tell her this time—that he’d earned the rank of Eagle Scout by helping little old ladies cross the desert?
Damn it!
She reappeared at the bathroom door. “Are you going to answer my question?”
“I said we’ll talk.” He tucked a Glock into the back of his jeans, then searched one of the bags for the first-aid kit. “But first we’re going to take care of that scratch. I don’t want it getting infected while we’re out in the desert.”
“PLAY THAT BACK and amplify the background. Listen.”
Joaquin watched as Julian and Marc used fancy police equipment to dissect the recording of Natalie’s phone call, picking up a man’s voice in the background. Julian scrolled back through the digital version of the recording, then hit play again.