He filled her with a single upward thrust, making them both moan.
And then there was nothing but urgent need. He drove into her fast and hard, his hands clenching her derriere, his muscles tensing beneath her hands, the cords of his neck straining. She’d never done anything like this before, never felt anything like this—being held by a man while he moved inside her. All she had to do was hang on and take him, each thrust lifting her up, carrying her higher and higher.
Then her head fell back, and she heard herself cry out, orgasm washing through her in a surge of liquid gold, flooding her with pleasure.
But he was right behind her. He groaned through gritted teeth, thrusting into her once, twice, three times, his body jerking as climax claimed him.
For a moment he held her, both of them wet and breathing hard, time measured in heartbeats. Sunset spilled its rosy light across the landscape. The now familiar night chorus was just beginning, crickets starting up, a million frogs joining them, coyotes yipping excitedly in the distance.
Natalie’s body seemed to sing with them, wild and free. She closed her eyes, vowing silently to do all she could to keep Zach from being arrested. Whatever mistakes he might have made, he was a good man through and through. How could she ever have mistrusted him? She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, let her fingers trail across his back, breathing in the rain-washed scent of him. “Am I getting too heavy?”
“No. Never.” Slowly he withdrew and lowered her to her feet. “Damn.”
She looked up to find him frowning. “What?”
“The condom.” He held crumpled bits of wet latex in his hands. “It broke.”
WEARING BORROWED BODY armor and carrying his camera, Joaquin stood next to a flooded wash, his gaze moving over the seemingly endless expanse of the Sonoran Desert. Natalie was out there somewhere, trying to make her way home. And he was going to find her. Or rather the Shadow Wolves were going to find her. He was just along for the ride.
Agent Chiago knelt next to muddy tracks beside the bank of the wash, reached out, and pulled something off a shrub, while the rest of his unit stood watch by the vehicles. “Whoever they were, they got caught napping during the thunderstorm. Looks like they had a hell of a time getting out, but they made it.”
Marc’s gaze followed the tracks. He was wearing his own Kevlar and carrying a rifle. “Two sets of tracks heading west-northwest.”
A gun on his hip, Gabe followed the tracks a short distance. “They probably headed to higher ground to find shelter.”
Chiago held up what looked like dark strands of hair. “This looks like it belongs to the same person as those strands I found before.”
Joaquin reached and took them. “Yeah, this looks like it could be hers.”
How did this guy see this shit? Chiago had been looking for tracks—what he called cutting sign—along the southern corner of the reservation, when he’d found a trail of bent grass, overturned rocks, and windblown indentations that he said were footprints. He’d even found a few strands of dark hair and a bit of blood on an ocotillo. They’d followed sign to what Chiago said had probably been a campsite, then continued on past a group of rotting corpses. Afraid Natalie might be among them, Joaquin had covered his nose and started to search, but Chiago had told them to forget it.
“They’ve been dead for a week or more,” he said, before calling the bodies in to HQ.
The man’s ability to track was like nothing Joaquin had ever seen.
Chiago followed the tracks to the base of a steep incline, then pulled out his infrared binoculars and scanned the darkening hillside ahead of them. “So, we’re most likely looking for one female and one male, right? I think I found them.” Then he lowered the binoculars. “We should, uh . . . give them a minute.”
Marc grabbed the binoculars from him, then looked up in the same general direction. “What the . . . ?” He lowered the binoculars, a strange expression on his face that was something between rage and astonishment. “We should move now. What if he’s forcing her?”
Chiago shrugged. “It looks consensual to me.”
And then Joaquin understood. “You don’t mean they’re . . .”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” Marc lowered his voice.
“If I find out he coerced her in any way, I’ll kill that son of a bitch—whoever he is.”
Gabe’s gaze wandered over the hillside. “Not before I make him eat his balls.”
“I’ll help.” Joaquin took the opportunity to ask Marc something he’d been meaning to ask for days. “When we get her back home, can you do me a favor?”
Marc nodded. “Sure. Name it.”
“Teach me to shoot. I want to learn how to use firearms.”
Both men looked at him, then looked at each other.
Marc’s brow furrowed, but he reached out and clapped Joaquin on the shoulder as if he understood. “You got it.”