Breaking Point (14 page)

She shouldn’t let him do this. Zach was a dangerous man, a killer. She knew next to nothing about him, not even his last name. All she had was his promise that he wasn’t a criminal. But it had been so long since a man had touched her, so long since she’d
wanted
a man to touch her.

She slid her arms around his neck, arched into him, desperate for more.

He groaned, and the hand in her hair became a fist. And in a heartbeat the kiss transformed, his lips pressing hard and hot against hers, his tongue thrusting deep.

Oh, my stars!

Heat lanced through her, striking deep in her belly. With a whimper, she kissed him back, welcoming his tongue with her own, breathing in the male scent of him, her insides going liquid as his hand moved slowly down her spine.

And then it was over.

He drew back, his gaze meeting hers, his brows furrowed. He was breathing as hard as she was, his lips wet, his eyes dark. “I’m . . . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He’s sorry.

Natalie tried to still her body’s trembling, tried to catch her breath, fighting to understand how he could mean what he’d just said. He’d been the one to start it. “So . . . you . . . you didn’t actually mean to kiss me?”

She didn’t believe that.

“Ah, hell.” He stood, took a few steps back, ran a hand through his hair. “Of course, I did. You’re a beautiful woman, Natalie, but this isn’t the time or place for . . . I can’t afford to get distracted.”

“Oh.” Natalie hugged her arms around herself, feeling rejected despite his attempt at a compliment, her body still thrumming.

He sat down in the chair again and leaned forward. “Here’s the bottom line. You need to trust me. We need to be able to trust each other. If we’re going to get home safely, we need to work as a team, just like we did yesterday. I need to know that you’ll do what I tell you to do, and you need to believe that I’m acting in your best interests. I may not have time to explain everything, but I won’t tell you to do something if it isn’t very important.”

“Why is it important that I not call my friends? I trust them with my life.”

“We’re still deep in the state of Chihuahua. All it would take is one wiretap, one intercepted e-mail, one weak link in the chain of communication to bring the Zetas crashing through that door.” He pointed, his words leaching the heat from her blood. “It’s better for your friends and family to worry about you for a few extra days than it is for them to hear you’re okay, only to have you killed on the way home.”

She hadn’t realized they were still so vulnerable—or that the Zetas were so connected. “What is your plan for getting us home again?”

“We can’t go to the consulate. I’m sure they’ve staked those out. We’d probably get ambushed and shot trying to walk in. Same thing with the police stations. We can’t just drive across the border—his men are probably watching the highways up to the ports of entry, too. Traffic comes to a stop there, making it very easy to close in on a vehicle and carry out a hit. So we’re going to do the last thing Cárdenas expects us to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“We’re going to head northwest to a little town called Altar. We’re going to buy supplies there, and then we’re going to sneak across the border on foot. By the time Cárdenas has any clue what has happened, you’ll already be back in Denver.”

 

ARTURO KNELT IN his private chapel, blood rushing to his head at the news. “What do you mean they got away?”

His sister’s youngest son knelt in the aisle, gaze focused on the chapel’s marble floor, his arm bandaged where a bullet had struck it. “Forgive me, Jefe, but we did all you asked and more, and we cannot find them. They have vanished like two wisps of smoke.”

Hands clasped piously, Arturo bent his head as if in prayer, not wanting José-Luis to see his fear. Arturo César Cárdenas feared nothing. It was he who made others fear. Those who served him well, he rewarded. Those who failed him, those who betrayed him, he killed, their blood, their pain, their lives an offering to the one saint who ruled over all—
La Huesuda
, the Bony Lady, his grandmother had called her. He called her
Santa Muerte
.

Holy Death.

He raised his head, looked at the carved image of her that sat upon the altar, the candle he’d lit flickering at her feet. He’d had her carved from ivory and crowned with gold, her white hood and robes made of cloth taken from a priest’s robes. In one skeletal hand, she held a carved human skull, in the other a scythe used for harvesting human lives. And she was his protector.

She would protect him now.

His heartbeat slowed, fear cooling to anger. “Two people kill five of my men, escape in one of our cars, shoot you, my own nephew—and you cannot find them? I think you must not be trying. He is nothing but a thief and a liar, and she is just a woman, just another whore.”

An image of Natalie Benoit came into his mind. Young. Beautiful. Her strange blue eyes full of life. He’d been looking forward to having her for weeks. He enjoyed nothing more than dominating a woman until she broke, until her own suffering no longer mattered to her if it meant she could please him. Some of his women had walked willingly into the hands of Death for his sake. Others had fought him until the moment their souls had left their bodies, the fear on their young faces transforming to peace with their last breath. At that moment, they were more beautiful to him than they’d ever been.

Natalie Benoit would have made the perfect sacrifice. But now this
chingadero
who’d stolen his shipment of cocaine had also stolen her. And his men had failed to bring them back.

He crossed himself, wanting to set a good example for José-Luis, ugly scarred bastard that his nephew was. Then slowly he rose to his feet. “This man who stole the shipment—the man you could not break. He has taken the girl for himself. He probably has her in a hotel somewhere and is even at this moment fucking what is mine. Get our police officers into the hotels with her photograph. Check every hotel in every town in the state of Chihuahua if you must, but find them. Then bring them to me.”

“
Sí, Jefe.
” José-Luis started to rise.

Arturo caught him by his injured arm and squeezed, ignoring his nephew’s gasp of pain. “You have lost me a sacrifice. I swear on
La Santa Muerte
that if you do not find her, you will pay in blood.
¿Comprende?
”

“
Sí! Sí, Jefe.
”

CHAPTER 10

NATALIE THOUGHT ABOUT the kiss while she took another shower and shaved her legs. She thought about it while she slathered lotion on her skin. She thought about it while she blew her hair dry. She was still thinking about it as she started to dress.

The teasing brush of his lips over hers. The possessive way he’d clenched his fist in her hair. The steel-hard feel of his body against hers.

It had been so long since she’d felt the rush of desire that she’d almost forgotten what it was like—the racing pulse, the flutter in the belly, the urgent need to touch and be touched. In those few seconds, she’d felt more alive than she had since . . .

Since before Beau died.

Guilt, thick and greasy, spread through the pit of her stomach, leaving her cold. What was she thinking? Had she just compared Zach to Beau?

No, of course she hadn’t. There was no comparison. Zach was a stranger, a man she’d known for little more than forty-eight hours, a man who didn’t even trust her enough to tell her his last name.

Beau was the man she’d loved. He’d been her first date, her first real kiss, her first and only lover. He’d meant so much to her that she’d happily agreed to marry him and had worn his engagement ring proudly on her finger. She’d spent almost five years with him, never imagining that their life together would end so soon. How could she compare the way he’d made her feel to one silly kiss from a man she barely knew?

Except that the kiss hadn’t been silly. It had been passionate and hot and . . .
real
. Not just a memory. It had stirred something to life within her, making her blood run again, penetrating the numbness inside her. It had made her
feel
.

And for those few seconds, she’d been herself again.

A woman could get addicted to that.

What was she thinking? Was she actually hoping Zach would kiss her again?

She was out of sorts. That’s all. She’d just survived a horrible ordeal and was confusing the gratitude she owed Zach with desire. The fact that he was as handsome as sin wasn’t helping. But she wasn’t really interested in him, no matter how good-looking or courageous he was. How could she be when she still loved Beau?

Beau has been dead for six years, girl. Isn’t six years long enough?

Refusing to acknowledge the question or the direction of her own thoughts, she tugged on her panties, drew her tank top over her head, and stepped into the skirt, tucking the tank top into its elastic waistband. Then, too furious with herself to look at her own reflection, she opened the bathroom door.

She found Zach sitting on the edge of the bed cleaning one of the AK-47s, watching a television newscast. At least he was wearing a shirt now.

“Check this out.” He gave a jerk of his head toward the TV, his hands busy.

On the screen a pretty young woman spoke in rapid Spanish that was hard for Natalie to understand. But running across the bottom were English subtitles, white letters spelling out news that made her stomach knot.

Two American couples were attacked in their hotel rooms in Cd. Juárez last night with eyewitnesses blaming members of Los Zetas cartel.

 

“ARE YOU SURE you understand?”

Natalie nodded. “Yes.”

Zach sat and leveled his gaze at her, a warning look in his eyes. “No slipups.”

She pushed the button for speaker phone so that he could hear the conversation, then dialed the direct line for her editor’s desk, feeling both excited and nervous. Zach had grilled her about her coworkers and her boss, asking questions about each and every one of them. When he’d heard that Kat was Navajo, he’d seemed especially interested in her. He’d written out a script for Natalie, warning her that he would end the call if she deviated from it. Then he’d made her wait until they were packed and ready to go, so that the moment she hung up, they could leave the hotel.

Now it was finally time.

The phone rang once, twice, three times.

“Tom Trent.”

Natalie’s throat grew tight at the sound of Tom’s grouchy voice, and she had to swallow before she could speak. “Hi, Tom. It’s me. Please don’t say my name.”

There was a pause and some noise in the background. “I’m listening.”

She knew he was doing more than listening. He was recording the call, too, as they all did when an important call came in. “Nothing I say, not even the fact that I called, can go in the paper or online.”

“Understood. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to put you on speaker phone.”

Natalie looked over to Zach, who nodded. “That’s fine. Go ahead.”

From the background came gasps, and Natalie knew Tom had quickly summoned the rest of the I-Team into his office. They were all there, standing around his desk—everyone except Joaquin. And again her throat grew tight.

She looked down at her notes, fought to keep from tearing up. “This vacation got off to a bad start. I met some people I didn’t like. Then things turned around. I met another tourist, and we’re traveling together. We’re trying to avoid crowds because we don’t want to be bothered.”

“Can we call someone? Can we help in any way?”

A part of her wanted to cry, “Yes!” and beg Tom to call the State Department, the White House, the CIA, and the Marines. But Zach was sitting right next to the phone. Though she still wasn’t convinced that he hadn’t stolen that cocaine, he had proved that he was willing to risk his life to protect her. Besides, it was obvious that he knew Mexico much better than she did. Given the situation, she had little choice but to trust him.

“No, thanks.” It hurt to say those words.

“What’s next on your itinerary?” Tom was playing along.

“We’re not sure.” She only hoped what she had to say next would make sense to someone, because it made no sense to her. “I have a message for Kat.”

“She’s here. Go ahead.”

Natalie began to read from the notes Zach had written, careful to annunciate each nonsense syllable. “A-zeh-ha-geyah. Bi-tsan-dehn. Wol-la-chee. Ah-jad. A-woh. Be-la-sana. Dah-nes-tsa.”

She went on, hoping Kat understood what she was saying, because she certainly didn’t. The words must be Navajo—why else would Zach want the message to go to Kat? But when Natalie had asked Zach where he’d learned to speak Navajo, he told her that he didn’t speak Navajo at all.

She finished reciting the message, then waited, wondering how Kat would respond. But there was only silence. “Should I say that again?”

“No,” Tom answered. “I think we got it.”

Zach motioned for her to end the call.

But she didn’t want to hang up. Hearing Tom’s voice, knowing her friends were there—it felt like a lifeline. A link to home.

Then Tom spoke. “Before you go, there’s someone who wants to say hello.”

Natalie looked over to Zach, who frowned, tapping the face of his new watch and whispering, “Only if it’s really quick.”

“Is that really you,
chula
?”

Joaquin!

Blood rushed from Natalie’s head, the room seeming to spin. She found herself on her knees. But how? “I thought . . . I thought you were dead!”

Zach stood, shaking his head.

Joaquin’s voice came through strong. “Thanks to you, I’m still here.”

Zach whispered in her ear, “Time to go.”

“Good-bye! I miss you all so—”

But Zach had already hung up the phone.

 

“ARE YOU GOING to explain all that gibberish you had me say over the phone? Obviously it was a code of some kind.”