His words came back to her, and piece after piece slid into place. Why he knew so much about the cartels and smuggling routes. How he knew where to cross the border. His dedication to keeping her safe.
Why hadn’t she considered the possibility that he was law enforcement? It seemed so obvious now. “Are you really ex-military, or was that all just a story you made up to make me stop asking questions?”
The tall Indian agent stepped forward. “That’s the truth. McBride used to be a Navy SEAL. He’s one of three living men to have been awarded—”
Zach frowned. “Chiago, stop!”
“—the Medal of Honor for nearly dying while trying to save his team.”
“You two know each other?” She looked back and forth between the two men.
“McBride trained with us for a while after joining the Marshal Service. He wanted to learn to cut sign.”
“I see.”
A former Navy SEAL. And a Medal of Honor winner no less.
The man standing before her—the man who’d protected her, who’d saved her life, who’d made love to her—was a true American hero.
It stunned Natalie, and yet it fit him so well. “I . . . I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. It’s just that the circumstances . . .”
“If I’d been in your shoes, I would’ve thought the same thing.” Then he turned to Chiago—and started giving orders. “Until I say otherwise, there’s a news blackout on Ms. Benoit’s rescue and whereabouts. The Zetas were in full huntand-destroy mode, so I’d like to get her away from the border before we tell the world where she is. Besides, you don’t want to have to deal with the brass at the Justice Department, and they’re going to be very interested in this. Anyone have a dry jacket she can borrow? How far away are your vehicles?”
Natalie felt someone slide a jacket over her shoulders, and looked up to see Marc and Gabe exchange a knowing glance, Marc rolling his eyes for good measure.
“What is it?”
Gabe leaned down, whispered in her ear. “The U.S. Marshal Service is at the top of the law-enforcement pecking order, outranking everyone, even the FBI. They have jurisdiction no matter where they are.”
Marc’s gaze followed Zach. “I wish Darcangelo were here. He’d fucking hate this.”
Natalie watched as Zach took control of the scene. Six days of brutal torture. An arduous five-day escape. And he was completely in command.
NATALIE FELT LIKE the most protected woman in the world as they started downhill for the hour-long trek back to the Shadow Wolves’ vehicles. Marc walked on one side of her, Gabe and Joaquin on the other, and Zach in front, a dozen armed Shadow Wolves fanned out around them. Yes, she was safe now, and she was grateful to be rescued.
But that didn’t stop her from looking back over her shoulder at the little waterfall and feeling like she was leaving something precious behind.
ZACH USED HIS authority to arrange for Natalie to sit beside him on the long, bumpy ride to Sells. He knew her friends saw through it—for some reason the three of them seemed to want to kick his ass—but he didn’t really give a damn. This might be his last chance to be close to her.
He climbed into the seat and fastened his safety belt, her small, cool fingers twining with his—and holding on tight.
He leaned down and spoke for her ears only. “What’s wrong?”
She looked up at him, every emotion he was trying so hard not to feel written plainly on her face. “I’m scared. I’m so afraid I’ll never see you again after tonight. Don’t you dare leave without saying good-bye, Zach McBride.”
“AND THAT’S WHEN you saw McBride in chains?”
Natalie nodded. “He was hanging blindfolded from the ceiling by his wrists, too weak to support his own weight. He was soaking wet and covered with red electrical burns. There was a cart with a big battery and two electrical cables . . . I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the sound of his cries. They almost killed him.”
Agent Chiago wrote something down in his notebook. “Then what happened?”
Natalie had already given a written deposition, detailing everything she could remember from the moment the bus had stopped. Now she was just answering questions. Zach had warned her she’d have to do this more than once. But she’d been through this whole experience once before—when she’d helped investigators piece together their case against the intern who’d tried to kill her. She’d known it wouldn’t be easy.
“Then they . . . They held me, took off my shirt and bra and . . . One of the Zetas, the one with the scar on his face . . .” She pressed her hands into her lap to keep them from shaking, finding it hard to talk about this without breaking into tears.
Agent Chiago looked at her through brown eyes soft with compassion. “I know this must be hard for you. But we need to make sure we understand exactly what happened. Can I get you anything—water, soda, another cup of coffee?”
Natalie shook her head, trying to calm the sick feeling in her stomach. “They took off my shirt and bra, then the one with the scar . . . touched me. He was very rough. He left bruises. I couldn’t understand everything he was saying, but I knew he was trying to make a deal with Zach—the location of the stolen cocaine in exchange for . . . me.”