Chiago turned to three men who’d just walked up behind them. Two were tall, and dark haired, one carrying an M4 like he knew how to use it, the other packing a sidearm in a hip holster. The third looked to be just under six foot, Latino, and armed with . . . a camera? The photographer.
Joaquin.
“Can you make a positive identification?”
“Marc? Gabe? Joaquin!” Heedless of the men with guns, she jumped up and ran to the newcomers, throwing her arms around Joaquin. “I was so sure you’d been shot!”
Her throat sounded tight, and Zach knew she was on the brink of tears.
“Madre María, it really is you. Thank God! I thought I’d never see my sweetchulaagain. I don’t think I’ve ever been more afraid for anyone in my life.”
Zach felt his teeth grind.
Then Natalie turned and hugged the one with the M4. “Oh, Marc, I knew you’d come. Thank you so much!”
He hugged her back, almost lifting her off the ground. “Hey, we take care of our own. No matter what happened, we’re going to help you get through it. We’re going to take care of you. Darcangelo would have come, too, but he didn’t want to miss his manicure and back waxing.”
For some reason, this made her laugh.
Then she turned to the one with the hip holster and sank into his arms. “Oh, Gabe, thank you! I don’t know how I’ll ever make this up to you all.”
“I’m so happy to see you alive and in one piece.” The guy kissed her on the cheek. “We’re here to bring you home. Kat is in Sells waiting at the hotel with the baby. She’s been worried sick about you.”
“So she deciphered Zach’s message.”
Marc nodded. “She did—with some insight from Joaquin and me.”
And Zach’s jealousy melted away. Natalie was safe now. She was going back to her life, back to a circle of friends who clearly cared for her. He should feel relieved, happy for her, satisfied that he’d kept his promise and gotten her home safely.
Chiago bent down, looked Zach in the eyes. “Zach McBride, old friend, what in the hell have you gotten yourself mixed up in now? Let him up, boys.”
ZACH MCBRIDE?
Natalie turned, looked at the man she’d just made love with not an hour ago. “So that’s your real name?”
“Chief Deputy U.S. Marshal Zachariah McBride at your service, Ms. Benoit.” He smiled, winked.
Behind her, Marc gave a snort, Joaquin whispering something that sounded like, “Yeah, right.”
“Simmer down, boys,” Gabe whispered. “We’ll kill him later.”
But her attention was on Zach.
“Sorry I couldn’t tell you before. The situation was too volatile. I couldn’t put your life or the operation at greater risk.”
A deputy U.S. marshal.
Zach was a chief deputy U.S. marshal.
Instead of being impressed, she felt a surge of anger, and before she could stop herself, she slapped him across the face hard enough to turn his head. “You let me believe you were some kind of criminal—a drug thief, an arms smuggler, a mercenary!”
He shook his head as if to clear it, his gaze piercing hers. “You came up with that on your own. I told you that I wasn’t what you thought I was. You didn’t believe me.”
So what if he was right? “I’ve been worried sick about what would happen to you when they found us. At least you could have told me you were some kind of good guy.”
“I thought my actions proved that.”
You haven’t exactly seen me at my best.