CHAPTER 8 #2
He’d seen that haunted look in her eyes all evening, and he’d known she would break sooner or later. It was the same haunted look he’d sometimes seen in the eyes of young SEALs back from their first taste of real combat.
He knew how to help his fellow seamen. He’d slap them on the back and tell them what a great job they’d done, welcoming them into the brotherhood of men who understood what it meant to fight and kill.
Most snapped out of it quickly. But they had chosen that lifestyle.
For whatever reason—patriotism, a thirst for adventure, family tradition—they had chosen to face the ugliness of war.
Natalie hadn’t chosen any of this.
Goddamn you, Cárdenas!
Her naked body covered only by the bath towel, she was huddled against him, her fists clenched around his filthy ganja T-shirt, her face buried against his chest, her body wracked with sobs.
The soft scents of shampoo and clean female skin filled his head, both arousing and comforting, reminding him of a part of life he’d nearly forgotten.
And as he held her, helpless to do anything for her, he realized that he hadn’t been this intimate with a woman in years.
Slowly, her tears subsided, and she seemed to realize where she was. She scooted off his lap onto the bed, drawing the towel tight around her. “I . . . I’m sorry.”
He handed her a tissue. “You have no reason to apologize.”
She sniffed, dabbed her eyes. “It was wrong of me to fall apart like that.”
“No.” He brushed a strand of wet hair from her cheek. “It wasn’t. There aren’t many women who could’ve done what you did today, Natalie. For a sweet little magnolia from Louisiana, you’re pretty damned tough.”
She met his gaze, a look of doubt in her eyes. “You don’t mean that. I—”
“Yeah, I do.” He did.
She took his hand. “Thank you for getting me away from that place.”
“You played a pretty big role in that yourself.” He closed his fingers around hers, her hand so small compared to his, her skin soft.
Careful, McBride. You’re treading on thin ice here.
Oh, was he ever.
Then her lips curved in a shaky smile, dimples appearing in her cheeks, her vulnerability making something twist deep inside his chest. “I guess it was lucky for me that I ended up locked in a cell next to you.”
He gave her hand a squeeze. “That was lucky for both of us.”
And for a moment, neither of them said anything.
She broke eye contact first, withdrawing her hand and hugging her arms around herself as if she suddenly felt exposed. “I . . . I suppose I should get dressed and call someone—the consulate, SPJ, the paper. They’ll want to know I’m safe.”
“No. Not yet. I don’t think what happened to you was random, and until we know for certain why Cárdenas wanted you, we need to lie low.”
She looked confused. “Why—”
Feeling suddenly exhausted, he cut her off, not willing to waste time answering more damned questions. “You want to get home safely? Do what I tell you to do. You have no idea what you’re dealing with here.”
She balked as if he’d yelled at her.
He stood, needing air. “We can talk about it in the morning. I’m going down to the shops in the lobby to buy some clothes and personal supplies. What size do you wear?”
“Six.” She stood, a wary expression on her face. “You won’t leave me here.”
She phrased it as a statement, but he knew it was a question.
He met her gaze, held it. “I made you a promise, Natalie, and I’m going to keep it.”
He left the room, making sure the door locked behind him, then went down to the lobby and used his encrypted government credit card to withdraw five grand from the hotel’s bank.
No one outside the Marshal Service would be able to detect his use of the card, and even the Marshal Service wouldn’t see the withdrawal until this time tomorrow.
But by then, he and Natalie would be long gone.
He grabbed the basics, like ibuprofen for his broken ribs and toothbrushes and toothpaste, then picked out clothes for himself.
But he must have been more exhausted than he’d realized.
When it came to choosing clothes for Natalie, he found himself grabbing whatever he thought might look pretty on her, including a silky white nightgown that looked like it was meant for honeymooners.
He dismissed the voice that told him he was out of his mind, assuring himself that this had nothing to do with his desire to see her in pretty clothes.
After all she’d been through, he just wanted her to have some new things to take home with her.
As mementos of the wonderful time she had in Mexico? Great idea, McBride.
He paid with the credit card, then carried three bags stuffed with purchases back to the elevator and up to their room. There he found Natalie sound asleep, still wearing only her towel. It looked as if she’d simply collapsed on the bed and fallen asleep the moment he’d left. He couldn’t blame her.
He dropped the bags on the floor, locked and bolted the door. Then, barely able to stay on his feet, he propped an AK against the wall next to the headboard, put the Glock on the bedside table, and stretched out on the bed beside her.
NATALIE AWOKE FROM a dreamless sleep to the sound of someone taking a shower. She opened her eyes, and for a moment, she couldn’t figure out where she was. It was the sight of the hunter green duffel bag—and the weapons inside—that brought it all back to her.
She sat bolt upright, only to realize she was wearing nothing but a towel. The indentation in the pillow next to hers told her that Zach had slept beside her all night. Slept beside her—and apparently hadn’t touched her.
Still sleepy, she rose, wondering where she’d left her clothes. Then she spotted a pile of women’s clothing on a chair in the corner and remembered Zach saying he was going down to the lobby to buy them a few things. A few things?
A small wardrobe sat there, the tags still on—panties, skirts in a rainbow of colors, blouses, T-shirts, a pair of linen pants, and a white silk nightgown.
She reached out, touched the different fabrics, surprised that he’d bought so many things for her.
Even without looking at the prices, she knew this must have cost him a few hundred U.S.
dollars. This was a lot more clothing than she’d need for the single day it would take to drive to the border, unless . . .
Unless he doesn’t plan on driving to the border.
Her heart gave a hard knock. She looked over at the closed bathroom door and wondered for a moment if she should take this chance to call the paper and tell them where she was or perhaps run downstairs and take a cab to the U.S.
consulate. Did Nuevos Casas Grandes even have a consulate? She had no idea.
Even if it does, you can’t go there naked, can you, girl?
No, she couldn’t.
She slipped into a pair of lacy white panties and a tiered cotton skirt in turquoise blue, then searched through the pile of clothing for a bra, only to realize he hadn’t bought one.
Consigned to going without, at least until she could wash her old one, she pulled a white tank top over her head, then dug through a pile of newly purchased hygiene supplies for a hairbrush and began to brush her hair, quickly working through the tangles.
By the time she was presentable, she had decided against making a run for it.
She didn’t know whom to trust here in Mexico.
But she knew she could trust her friends at the paper.
She could call them, tell them where she was, and they could contact the State Department for her without risking giving her away to the Zetas.
She hurried around the bed to the phone, picked up the receiver, and dialed 0 for the operator, trying to remember her Spanish.
“Natalie, don’t!”
She whirled toward the bathroom to see Zach standing in the bathroom doorway wearing nothing but a towel, his hair wet and ruffled, water beaded on the skin of his chest and trickling down his belly.
He crossed the room in three long strides, took the handset, and slammed it down.
He leaned in, his face inches from hers. “I said no phone calls—not yet.”
But it wasn’t the face she knew.
Gone was the thick stubble, the dirt, and the grime.
The dark circles were gone, too. His skin was tanned and smooth, the hollows in his cheeks seeming deeper, his lips somehow fuller.
And she found herself remembering how he’d kissed her and battling an unexpected urge to reach up and run her thumb along his lower lip just to see what it felt like.
Then those lips pressed together in a hard line.
He stood back and glared at her, his gray eyes hard as steel. “Do you want to tell me what in the hell you were just doing?”