Breaking Point (41 page)

She climbed out of bed, walked naked into the beautiful marble bathroom, the tiles cool against her feet. She grabbed her toothbrush and quickly brushed, holding her hair back as she rinsed her mouth. She finished, set her toothbrush aside, then turned toward the door—and froze.

Still naked, he stood in the doorway, his gaze sliding intimately over her, his erection standing against his belly, his testicles hanging full and heavy beneath. There was something deeply primal about his aroused body, about the heat in his eyes, about the way he watched her.

He walked slowly toward her. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Beautiful.

That’s how she would describe
him
—beautiful, erotic, so powerfully male.

She met him halfway, rose on her tiptoes, and kissed him, her arms sliding behind his neck. He groaned, his tongue greeting hers.

And then she got an idea—a silly, naughty, exciting idea.

Suppressing her own laughter, she deliberately turned them in a slow-motion waltz until her back was toward the door. Slowly, she stepped back from him, smiled up at him from beneath her eyelashes—then turned and ran.

She dashed toward the bed, jumped in, and scuttled to the far side, looking back to find him watching her, a predatory gleam in his eyes now. Excitement shivered through her, the thrill of being pursued making her pulse trip.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He walked in slow strides toward her, his muscles shifting. “You can’t get away from me. You know that, don’t you?”

Quashing the giggle that welled up inside her, she drew back against the headboard, curling her legs beneath her, covering her bare breasts with her hands, her heart pounding harder as he drew near.

“Why are you covering yourself?” He stopped at the edge of the bed. “I’m going to see it all, touch it all, taste it all. I’m going to do whatever I want with your sweet body, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Then he lowered himself to one knee on the mattress.

With a squeal, Natalie leapt from the bed, but she didn’t make it far. A strong arm caught her around her waist and drew her back onto the bed. She fought just hard enough to make him use his strength, turning onto her belly, trying to crawl away.

“You think this will stop me?” He laughed, a dark masculine sound. “Save your strength. You’re going to need it.”

His weight pinned her to the bed. Powerful thighs pressed against her hips as he straddled her from behind, forcing her legs tightly together. He caught her wrists, drew her arms behind her back, one of his hands holding them there while the other grasped one of her buttocks, spreading her, exposing her to his view.

It was a position of utter submission, one that gave him total power over her and left her no means to resist.

But she wasn’t willing to surrender yet. She twisted and writhed, the thrill of being overpowered more arousing than she could have imagined. Then she felt the head of his cock rub against her labia. Liquid heat gathered inside her, her body longing for him, even as she pretended to resist.

“I can see everything—those sexy, bare outer lips . . . the pink edges of your sweet inner lips . . . And this . . .” His thumb brushed over a part of her no man had ever touched, the sensation both alarming and arousing, and for a moment she was afraid he planned to penetrate her there.

She gasped, shocked.

But he didn’t enter her there. Instead, he nudged the thick head of his cock between her labia and thrust deep, his groan drowning out the sound of her whimper.

With her legs held together like this, there seemed to be no room inside her. She could feel every inch of his steel-hard cock as he moved, from the engorged head that almost touched her cervix, to the thick base that stretched and stroked her sensitive entrance, to the taut skin of his testicles as they brushed her labia.

She moaned, bit a pillow, lost in the heat of these intense, new sensations. She’d never believed all that G-spot hype, never believed that a woman could climax through penetration alone. But now she knew she’d been wrong, his thrusts caressing some secret place inside her, the ache unbearable and sweet.

She whimpered and panted into the pillow, desperate for release. She wanted to raise her bottom, to spread her legs, to do something to bring the sweet torment to an end, but she couldn’t move. Helpless to do anything but take him, she was left hanging on the edge of an orgasm that seemed to hover just beyond her reach.

Then, when it seemed she could take no more, the tension inside her drew to its full height like a great shimmering wave and crashed over her, carrying her helplessly along as it surged through her, drowning her in pleasure.

She cried out, arching back, Zach’s sure strokes making her pleasure last until she lay, weak and panting, her face against a pillow.

He released her wrists and withdrew from her, pressing kisses along her back. Then gently he turned her onto her back, catching her legs and settling himself between them. It was then she realized he hadn’t yet come, his erection lying hard against her.

But when she opened her eyes, it wasn’t lust or playfulness she saw on his face, but a look of tenderness and torment, his brow furrowed, his gaze soft, his lips parted, his breathing still fast.

He smoothed the hair off her face, his gaze traveling over her features. For a moment, she thought he had something to tell her. But when at last he spoke, it was only to say her name. “
Natalie.
”

He adjusted his hips, nudged himself slowly inside her, and the pleasure began again. But this time he took it slowly, his gaze never leaving her face, as he brought her to a second shattering climax, his groans mingling with her cries as he at last claimed his own release.

 

AFTERWARD, THEY TOOK a long, hot shower together, getting water all over the marble floor, Zach feeling more alive and more at peace with himself than he had in years. While Natalie dressed and made breakfast, he checked in with Rowan, who told him Quintana was being transferred to a more secure federal facility—this one run by ICE, Immigration and Customs Enforcement—within the hour. He’d be available for interrogation by early afternoon.

Zach found Natalie setting the table, the scent of her cooking making his mouth water. She was wearing a short denim skirt that showed off her legs, together with a lacy V-neck tank top that made the most of her beautiful breasts, her dark hair still damp, her sweet face free of makeup.

She glanced up and smiled, those adorable dimples appearing in her cheeks. “Hungry?”

He held her gaze, grinned. “Starving.”

Her cheeks flushed pink. “I hope you like eggs Benedict. I made sausage, grits, and fresh coffee.”

“Mmm.” He sat, unable to take his gaze off her while she poured the coffee then sat across from him.

How in the hell had he gotten so lucky? She was smart, brave, beautiful, sexy as hell, had a playful side in the bedroom—and she could cook. No man deserved all that in one sweet package, let alone him.

Don’t question it, McBride. Just go with it.

He took a bite of the eggs and another. “Delicious.”

She smiled, clearly pleased. “I’m glad you like it.”

He jabbed his fork at what looked like a thick, white pool of Cream of Wheat. “So this is grits?”

“You’ve never had grits?” She gaped at him. “How did you get to be thirty-three years old without ever tasting grits?”

Amused by her reaction, he scooped some onto his fork and tasted it, nodding in approval. “Tastes like . . . corn?”

“That’s what it is—a corn mash or corn gruel.”

So the mystery of grits was solved once and for all.

They ate their breakfast slowly, talking about everything and nothing at all, the moment so like Zach’s fantasy from early this morning that it was like waking to find himself living in his own dream. But dreams rarely lasted.

He washed the last bite of eggs down with a gulp of strong black coffee, then glanced at his watch. “They’re transferring Quintana to the ICE facility outside town this morning. I’ll go in this afternoon to continue interrogating him.”

The sunshine left her face, her expression anxious, shadows in her eyes. “Will you be gone late?”

He reached over, took her hand. “If you want me to arrange for someone to be here with you while I’m away, I can do that. I don’t want you to be afraid.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that. Okay, well, it’s partly that. But also, I just hate to think of you being anywhere near him. I don’t know how you keep from beating the tar out of him after what he put you through.”

“It’s not easy.” Then Zach told her about yesterday’s fruitless interrogation and how he’d allowed himself one punch to the bastard’s gut before reining in his rage. He didn’t tell her what Quintana had said to him. “Sometimes I want to forget that I’m supposed to be one of the good guys. If I ever get my hands on Cárdenas . . .”

He let it go, the subject clearly upsetting to her.

“Tom called while you were on the phone. He wants to know what I’m working on. I had to tell him I didn’t have anything. That’s the first time that’s happened.”

“He doesn’t expect you to put out the same amount of material while all of this is going on, does he?”

She picked up her coffee. “I guess I could try to work something up about the forensic accountant’s report, even though she—”

“You heard back from her?” Zach didn’t know anything about this.

Natalie looked over at him. “I didn’t tell you?”

He shook his head. “I guess you didn’t get a chance.”

“She didn’t find any smoking guns, but she says the school’s endowment is very high for a private high school. And she’s right. I poked around the Internet and couldn’t find another private girls school in Colorado or anywhere else for that matter that came anywhere close to it.”

“That’s why you were logged onto the school’s website last night.”

“I was trying to figure out where the money came from, looking for major donors, hoping to compile a list you could check for ties to the Zetas—or that’s what I started doing.” Her lips curved in a sad smile. “I got caught up looking at photographs. They have a slideshow of photos that reminded me of my years at McGehee.”

Zach stood and walked into the kitchen to refill his coffee cup. “That list of donors is good thinking. I’ll definitely run it. In the meantime, I’ll see whether Rowan wants to assign someone to dig into the school’s endowment. She’s not as convinced as I am that the school is tied into this. Are you done with that dossier on Cárdenas or do you—”

Glass shattered behind him.

He turned to find Natalie staring at nothing, her eyes wide and startled, the plates she’d been carrying in shards on the wood floor. “Natalie, are you—”

“That’s it! That’s where I saw him!” She met his gaze. “Find the dossier! That’s the connection!”

 

HER HANDS SHAKING, Natalie turned the pages in the Cárdenas dossier, looking for one particular photograph. “I know it’s here! I saw it! Why didn’t I remember—”

Zach took her hands, held them in his. “Breathe, Natalie. It’s okay.”

She drew a deep breath, calmed by the reassurance she saw in his eyes, her heart still beating hard. With his help, she went through the pages one by one again, more carefully this time, until she found it.

A younger Cárdenas stood in the foreground holding some kind of assault rifle, wearing aviator-style sunglasses and a broad smile on his face. In the background, also smiling, stood another man, a bit older. Both were dressed in camouflage, a military vehicle parked behind them.

Natalie pointed toward the man in the background. “That’s him. It has to be.”

“That’s who?”

“You’ll see.” She reached for her laptop, typed Whitcomb Academy into her browser, misspelling it three times in her haste. “Damn!”

Finally, she made it to the school’s website and launched the slideshow she’d watched last night. The photographs drifted by one at a time—happy girls playing volleyball, camping, working in a science lab, studying in a library. And then . . .

“See. That’s him.” She paused at the photograph of the girl receiving her award, pointing to the image of Edward Wulfe. “Look at him. He’s older, yes, but it’s the same person. Look at the gap between his front teeth. Look at the helmet hair. And his face—so bland, so plain. That’s why I couldn’t remember.”

“Give me that.” Zach took her laptop, looked back and forth between the two images. “I’ll be damned. You’re right.”

“He and Cárdenas must be using the school to launder drug money.”

“That’s a good guess.” Zach set her laptop down on the coffee table and set the dossier beside it. He stood, drew out his cell phone, and dialed. “McBride here. I need everything you have on one Edward Wulfe and his past association with the Americas Institute for Tactical Training, often abbreviated AMINTAC. That’s Wulfe—Whiskey-Uniform-Lima-Foxtrot-Echo . . . Yeah, thanks. As fast as you can.”

He disconnected, walked toward the patio, and stood looking out at the city, his leather shoulder holster making a dark X against the white of his shirt. And for a time, he just stood there.

She stood also, his silence making her uneasy. “What is it?”

“Just something Quintana said yesterday.” Zach turned toward her. “ ‘Your enemy follows no rules, while you are bound by many,’ he said. Now I know what he meant by that.”

“Tell me.”

Zach turned to face her, his expression grim. “AMINTAC is the bastard offspring of the Department of Defense and the Central Intelligence Agency. If Wulfe worked for AMINTAC, he’s almost certainly former CIA. He knows all the tricks, has access to all the latest technology, not to mention connections and inexhaustible cash. We are in such deep shit.”

Natalie felt chills shiver down her spine.

Zach’s phone rang. “That’s Rowan’s office, calling to tell me Wulfe’s file is missing or encrypted.” He answered. “McBride . . . What the fuck? How did that happen? . . . God
damn
it!”