He’d given the men a good twenty minutes in private to talk about it with their wives, knowing that the women would want to weigh in before their men agreed to take on the added responsibility and risk. And the risk was real. The women knew this. He could see it in their eyes, in the grave way they watched their men, in the way they held their children, in the way they looked at him, as if trying to decide whether they could trust him.
It’s one hell of a position you’ve put them in—choosing between a friend’s safety and that of the men they love.
Rowan stared Hunter down. “McBride knows he can trust you three. If you don’t agree, he’ll have to find others to back him up. I’ve already run background checks on you. Darcangelo, I’m familiar with your deep cover work against sex trafficking during your years with the FBI and your record with Denver vice. When you brought Alexi Burien down, I was impressed. Hunter, you ran into some trouble in the DEA, but that’s behind you now. Chief Irving says you’ve done good work for him. You still hold the U.S. military record for long-distance sniper kill. Earned yourself a Bronze Star in Afghanistan, didn’t you?”
Zach had known this, but his faith in these men had nothing to do with their skills and everything to do with their loyalty to Natalie. The first rule of defeating the cartels was working with law enforcement and government officials who couldn’t be bought, and Zach knew that none of them would sell Natalie out to Cárdenas.
Rowan went on. “Rossiter, your law enforcement record is outstanding, and though you’ve been out of the game for a while, you’ve got more than your share of guts.”
“You’ve already talked to Chief Irving about this?” Darcangelo asked.
Rowan nodded. “He’s pledged his full support.”
Darcangelo frowned. “I thought special deputies have to be approved by DEA if there are illegal drugs involved.”
Rowan gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “What drugs? This is a case of organized crime striking at a U.S. citizen, a journalist. It’s about the free press, not drugs. Look, I know you FBI boys carry a deep grudge against the Marshal Service, but I really don’t give a damn. And I know, Hunter, that you and McBride didn’t start out on the right foot and the idea of working under him probably makes your teeth grind. But it’s time to put your big boy pants on. Either you’re in, or we’re wasting our time.”
Looking more than a little uncomfortable at this dressing down, Hunter, Darcangelo, and Rossiter raised their right hands, while Rowan quickly swore them in. She turned to Reyes. “Make sure they get badges.”
Then she met Zach’s gaze. “You’ve got your team. It’s up to you. Make her disappear, McBride.”
Unable to suppress a grin at Hunter’s and Rossiter’s irritation at suddenly working under his command, he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
CHAPTER 25
NATALIE LAY STRAPPED to a gurney, a bright blue sky passing by overhead as DUSMs disguised as medical staff rolled her feet-first across the rooftop helipad to the waiting chopper. They were hot-loading her, the helicopter’s rotors already running, drowning out the nurses’ shouts. The helicopter was a small one, the name LifeFlight painted in bright red against a royal blue background on its shell. Its side door opened as they drew near, hands reaching out to grab the handles of the collapsed gurney as she was quickly and carefully lifted up and brought on board.
The gurney was strapped into place, then the door shut beside her.
“Hang tight, angel.” It wasn’t a flight nurse who spoke, but Zach, his voice raised above the drone of the rotors. “We’ve got a thirty-minute flight.”
He sat back onto the flight seat beside her and strapped himself in, Kevlar visible beneath his bright blue flight nurse jumpsuit, an assault rifle beside him that looked like it ate AK-47s for breakfast.
The sound of the rotors became a high-pitched whir, and the chopper lifted off, the floor seeming to fall away from beneath her, making her gasp, her head suddenly lower than her feet.
A hand stroked her cheek—Zach reassuring her that everything was fine.
She’d been discharged this morning, a dull headache, memory loss, and a few nicks and cuts all that remained of her injuries from the explosion. She didn’t need to be strapped to a gurney in a medical helicopter, but Zach had decided it was the safest way to get her out of the hospital. U.S. Marshal Teresa Rowen, whom Natalie had met this morning, had grounded all air traffic over Colorado for ten minutes, so there would be no one else in the sky when they took off. The chopper pilot was a DUSM, not a LifeFlight employee. No flight plan had been filed, and once they were away from Denver, they’d fly below the radar. Even if the Zetas somehow realized Natalie was on that helicopter, they wouldn’t be able to follow her.
“You okay?” Zach called to her, his brows bent in a concerned frown.
She nodded, forcing a smile onto her face.
She wasn’t sure she knew what “okay” was any longer. If “okay” meant she was thankful to be alive, then, yes, absolutely, she was okay. If it meant she was grateful that Zach was with her, then she was definitely okay. If it meant she was no longer afraid . . .
She didn’t know if she’d ever feel safe again. If the Zetas could plant explosives in her car right here in Denver, what couldn’t they do? Despite assurances from Marshal Rowan, Zach, and the others that the Zetas wouldn’t get another crack at her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was going to happen. Her friends told her it was just post-traumatic stress from all she’d been through these past ten days—or perhaps the psychological impact of her head injury. She hoped they were right.
She still didn’t remember the explosion, and the neurosurgeon had told her that she probably never would, her shortterm memory having been damaged by the blow. Not that shewantedto remember. The photographs Joaquin had showed her of the flaming shell that had once been her shiny black Lexus had been more than enough.
It’s going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine.
She drew a deep breath, her gaze seeking out Zach, who was checking his watch. She knew they had a tight schedule. First they were flying her to a little-used military airfield where they would meet up with Marc and Gabe. Then they would drive to the undisclosed location that would be her home for as long as it took to ensure that the Zetas were no longer a threat to her—weeks, months, years.
Julian was already there, handling security, including the installation of the cryptographic private network that would enable her to communicate safely with the newspaper. Until this was over, e-mail and her encrypted cell phone would be the only ways she had to stay in touch with her friends, for their sake as well as hers. If the Zetas discovered who her friends were, it could potentially put all of them in danger, too.
Natalie would rather hand herself over to Cárdenas right now and be done with it than allow any of them to get hurt or killed.
She looked up again, to find Zach holding the assault rifle, his gaze fixed on the ground below, everything about him radiating readiness for action. Her mind flashed to the memory of him sitting beside her in the Zetas’ car wearing that skintight marijuana T-shirt and loading an AK-47, his face beaded with sweat, his jaw dark with stubble.