CHAPTER 18 #2
She went on. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’ve forgotten the sound of his voice.
I find myself wondering if I can remember his face without photographs.
I kept my old cell phone—the one that had messages from him saved on it.
I fell apart when I accidentally ran it through the washing machine and destroyed it.
Somehow, it felt like I was losing him all over again. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“No, it isn’t.” He rested her head against his chest. “I may not have met Beau, but I know one thing for certain. He wouldn’t have wanted you to waste a moment blaming yourself. If he loved you at all, he would want you to live a full and happy life without him.”
She sniffed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone on like that. I haven’t even told my friends at work about Beau or what happened during the storm. I didn’t mean . . .”
“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s a hell of a thing to have been through.”
He wanted to say more than that. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was that life had thrown so much shit her way.
He wanted to remind her that if it weren’t for her, he’d be dead right now.
He wanted to tell her that if it were simply a matter of crossing the river Styx and trading places with Beau, he’d be gone in a heartbeat.
But he didn’t.
She drew back from him, wiping the tears from her face, clearly embarrassed that she was crying in front of him. But, hell, who could blame her?
“I think the rain’s letting up.”
THE RAIN DID, indeed, stop, and the sun came out.
Within fifteen minutes the air was warm again.
Feeling both embarrassed about having fallen apart in front of Zach and grateful that he’d listened, Natalie concentrated on the scenery.
Pools of water shimmered in the light of the setting sun, tiny ponds and puddles drawing thirsty wildlife.
She saw pronghorns and more javelinas, and she thought for a moment she’d spotted a mountain lion.
And then she noticed something odd—the sound of running water.
She stood, walked out of their little haven and downhill around to the side of the rock outcropping, where she discovered a little waterfall.
Only about ten feet high and no more than a foot wide, it spilled from a crack near the base of the stone, down the slope, where erosion had washed the sand away, leaving granite.
But it had stopped raining almost twenty minutes ago, which meant that this must be . . .
“A spring.” Zach’s voice came from beside her. He stood beside her, rifle in hand, as always. “It probably taps an aquifer near the surface and only runs when there’s been a downpour.”
Then an idea came to her—a crazy, wonderful idea. “Is there any soap in that backpack of yours?”
“I think the first-aid kit has a small bar.”
She turned on her heels and marched back uphill. “I’m taking a shower.”
“You’re . . . What?” He followed.
“I’m taking a shower.” She opened his pack and began to rummage through it.
“Here, let me find it. You’re going to mess up my system.”
She stepped back, watching as he moved things carefully aside, withdrew the first-aid kit, then handed her a small bar of soap. “Thanks. I can’t wait to feel clean again.”
She made her way back down to the little waterfall and was about to undress, when Zach insisted that he check the site to make sure there wasn’t anything there that could harm her.
Once he was satisfied, she stripped, sliding out of boots and socks and her still-damp pants, T-shirt, and panties and setting them down on a dry rock.
She supposed she ought to feel self-conscious being naked in the open air like this, but there was no one there apart from Zach, and he’d seen it all before.
She grabbed the soap and stepped through the sand into the stream of water.
It wasn’t as cold as she’d thought it would be, but it wasn’t warm either.
Working quickly, she lathered her entire body, then rinsed herself off, bubbles sliding downhill over stone. Then she tilted her head back and let the water wash her hair, the thought of being clean—if even for a moment—invigorating.
“Let me help.”
Startled, she whirled about to find Zach standing gloriously naked, his clothes piled with an AK beside hers.
He took the soap from her and worked some into her hair just at the base of the strands, gently massaging her scalp.
Then he lathered her back, his hands moving in slow, titillating circles down to her buttocks. “Rinse.”
She hadn’t intended this shower to lead to sex, but his touch changed that. She faced him, took the soap from his hands. “Your turn.”
She lathered him well, savoring the feel of hard muscle beneath soap-slick skin as she rubbed her hands slowly over his chest, belly, and upper thighs, aroused by touching him—and being touched by him.
He palmed her breasts, played with her nipples, while she slowly spread lather over those abdominal muscles she loved, her fingers tracing the veins low on his belly before grasping his erection.
He groaned, dragged her hard against him. “God, Natalie, what the hell have you done to me? I can’t keep my hands off you.”
There was true desperation in his voice, and she felt a feminine thrill to know that she affected him so strongly. She yielded to his kiss, the rasp of his chest hair on her nipples making her ache for him. “Please! Now!”
He stepped away for a second, grabbed something from his pile of clothes. A condom. In a heartbeat, he had it out and quickly rolled it onto himself.
Then he reached for her, lifted her against him, the head of his cock nudging impatiently against her, seeking entrance. She wrapped her legs around his hips, held tight to his shoulders with one arm, then reached down to guide him inside her.
He filled her with a single upward thrust, making them both moan.
And then there was nothing but urgent need.
He drove into her fast and hard, his hands clenching her derriere, his muscles tensing beneath her hands, the cords of his neck straining.
She’d never done anything like this before, never felt anything like this—being held by a man while he moved inside her.
All she had to do was hang on and take him, each thrust lifting her up, carrying her higher and higher.
Then her head fell back, and she heard herself cry out, orgasm washing through her in a surge of liquid gold, flooding her with pleasure.
But he was right behind her. He groaned through gritted teeth, thrusting into her once, twice, three times, his body jerking as climax claimed him.
For a moment he held her, both of them wet and breathing hard, time measured in heartbeats. Sunset spilled its rosy light across the landscape. The now familiar night chorus was just beginning, crickets starting up, a million frogs joining them, coyotes yipping excitedly in the distance.
Natalie’s body seemed to sing with them, wild and free.
She closed her eyes, vowing silently to do all she could to keep Zach from being arrested.
Whatever mistakes he might have made, he was a good man through and through.
How could she ever have mistrusted him? She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, let her fingers trail across his back, breathing in the rain-washed scent of him. “Am I getting too heavy?”
“No. Never.” Slowly he withdrew and lowered her to her feet. “Damn.”
She looked up to find him frowning. “What?”
“The condom.” He held crumpled bits of wet latex in his hands. “It broke.”
WEARING BORROWED BODY armor and carrying his camera, Joaquin stood next to a flooded wash, his gaze moving over the seemingly endless expanse of the Sonoran Desert.
Natalie was out there somewhere, trying to make her way home.
And he was going to find her. Or rather the Shadow Wolves were going to find her. He was just along for the ride.
Agent Chiago knelt next to muddy tracks beside the bank of the wash, reached out, and pulled something off a shrub, while the rest of his unit stood watch by the vehicles.
“Whoever they were, they got caught napping during the thunderstorm. Looks like they had a hell of a time getting out, but they made it.”
Marc’s gaze followed the tracks. He was wearing his own Kevlar and carrying a rifle. “Two sets of tracks heading west-northwest.”
A gun on his hip, Gabe followed the tracks a short distance. “They probably headed to higher ground to find shelter.”
Chiago held up what looked like dark strands of hair. “This looks like it belongs to the same person as those strands I found before.”
Joaquin reached and took them. “Yeah, this looks like it could be hers.”
How did this guy see this shit? Chiago had been looking for tracks—what he called cutting sign—along the southern corner of the reservation, when he’d found a trail of bent grass, overturned rocks, and windblown indentations that he said were footprints.
He’d even found a few strands of dark hair and a bit of blood on an ocotillo.
They’d followed sign to what Chiago said had probably been a campsite, then continued on past a group of rotting corpses.
Afraid Natalie might be among them, Joaquin had covered his nose and started to search, but Chiago had told them to forget it.
“They’ve been dead for a week or more,” he said, before calling the bodies in to HQ.
The man’s ability to track was like nothing Joaquin had ever seen.
Chiago followed the tracks to the base of a steep incline, then pulled out his infrared binoculars and scanned the darkening hillside ahead of them.
“So, we’re most likely looking for one female and one male, right?
I think I found them.” Then he lowered the binoculars.
“We should, uh . . . give them a minute.”
Marc grabbed the binoculars from him, then looked up in the same general direction. “What the . . . ?” He lowered the binoculars, a strange expression on his face that was something between rage and astonishment. “We should move now. What if he’s forcing her?”
Chiago shrugged. “It looks consensual to me.”
And then Joaquin understood. “You don’t mean they’re . . .”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” Marc lowered his voice.
“If I find out he coerced her in any way, I’ll kill that son of a bitch—whoever he is.”
Gabe’s gaze wandered over the hillside. “Not before I make him eat his balls.”
“I’ll help.” Joaquin took the opportunity to ask Marc something he’d been meaning to ask for days. “When we get her back home, can you do me a favor?”
Marc nodded. “Sure. Name it.”
“Teach me to shoot. I want to learn how to use firearms.”
Both men looked at him, then looked at each other.
Marc’s brow furrowed, but he reached out and clapped Joaquin on the shoulder as if he understood. “You got it.”