CHAPTER 25 #2
There would be consequences as a result of his coming here, and not just in Washington, D.C.
He was finding it damned hard to treat this like a job.
This morning in the hospital, he hadn’t been able to keep himself from touching her, holding her hand, drawing her into his arms. Now he could barely keep his eyes off her, the idea of being alone with her for the foreseeable future far too satisfying.
But he was on assignment, and that meant putting some professional distance between them. Would she understand that? Would she understand that they couldn’t pick up where they’d left off in Arizona?
Do you understand that, McBride?
Of course, he did. He was officially assigned to protect her and get the Zetas out of Denver, and he couldn’t focus on either of those things if he was busy getting her naked and doing the horizontal tango.
Then why did you buy a new box of condoms?
Well, the ones he’d bought in Mexico had been too small, and he wanted to be safe rather than sorry.
Wrong answer.
If he were smart, he wouldn’t have to worry about being safe or sorry. But then where Natalie was concerned, he’d been anything but smart or safe. And, strangely, he wasn’t one bit sorry either.
And that’s really the problem, isn’t it?
Yeah, it was.
He’d never felt this way about a woman—out of control, shaken up in body, mind, and soul.
She was as necessary for him as the breath in his own lungs.
He’d gladly rip out his beating heart to keep her safe.
But he wouldn’t be able to do his best for her if he couldn’t keep his mind and his hands off her. And afterward, when this was over . . .
He’d had the courage to say good-bye and walk away from her once. He wasn’t sure he could do it again. But if he cared for her . . .
If he cared for her, if he truly cared for her, that’s exactly what he’d have to do.
Hunter turned right at the next light, heading west toward Riverfront Park, prompting Zach to pull out his encrypted cell phone and call Darcangelo. “ETA five minutes.”
NATALIE STARED UP in disbelief as the car turned toward the underground parking garage at the most exclusive address in Denver—the Glass Tower. “I’m staying here?”
Newly built, it rose twenty-three stories high, all shining, silvery glass. They’d run an article on it in the paper’s Lifestyle section. Even the smallest lofts sold for a million dollars.
“It’s got unparalleled security.” Gabe pointed. “Watch this.”
The car drew up to what looked like an automated ticket dispenser, like the ones at city-owned parking lots.
In the front seat ahead of her, Marc rolled down his window, reached out, and pressed the pad of his left thumb to what looked like a square plastic button.
The moment he touched it, the plastic button glowed red.
Zach turned to look back at her. “Biometric technology. The pad is keyed for our fingerprints. No one who’s not in the system can enter. If anyone tries to hack it, the thing shuts down and sets off a security alarm.”
In front of them, the steel garage door rose. Julian walked out, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, the gray sports jacket he wore over his black T-shirt almost certainly concealing weapons. He walked toward the street, passing them as if they weren’t there, not even acknowledging them.
“He’s making sure we weren’t followed,” Gabe explained.
The car rolled into the well-lighted garage, the door coming down behind them, leaving Julian outside.
Natalie looked around at the expensive vehicles parked here, each parking spot marked with a number, probably an apartment number.
But Marc didn’t park the car. Instead, he drove around to the back to what looked like a large freight elevator.
Then he stepped out and pushed his thumb against the button—another biometric scanner.
The doors opened just as he climbed back inside the car, and he nudged it forward.
“We’re driving the car into the elevator?” Natalie had never imagined such a thing. But the elevator was more than big enough.
Zach nodded. “We’re keeping you off security cameras so that not even building security knows you’re here.”
“Wow.” That’s all she could really think to say.
The elevator doors closed behind them, and Natalie felt them moving quickly upward, the motion leaving her dizzy. In less than a minute, the elevator car stopped and the doors opened.
Zach climbed out and pushed the round red HOLD button.
Beside her, Gabe unbuckled his seat belt. “We’re here.”
While Marc and Gabe took the elevator back down to the garage to park the car, Natalie followed Zach along a tiled hallway, passing an ordinary elevator meant for people. At the end of the hallway was a wide double door with the brass number 2400 on it. They must be on the top floor.
Zach pressed his thumb against a biometric pad beside the door, and it opened with a quiet click. “Welcome home.”
Natalie stepped inside—and found herself in the pages of a magazine.
Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows on the west side, French doors open to a patio with a breathtaking view of the mountains. And she realized this wasn’t just a loft, but the penthouse. She was in the penthouse of the Glass Tower.
“This belongs to the U.S. Marshal Service?” No wonder there was a deficit.
Zach laughed. “No. I’m renting it under an alias. I want you to be safe, but also comfortable. You might be stuck here for a while.”
Being stuck here didn’t seem so bad—especially not if Zach was with her.
To her left was the living room, with wood floors and furniture in earth tones of cream, sage green, and a soft sky blue, a large painting of golden aspens in snow drawing the colors together, a gas fireplace beneath it.
To her right stood an open kitchen with stainless-steel appliances, the refrigerator flush with the wall, the countertops made of white granite.
Beyond that was a dining room graced by a long oak table and matching chairs, a modern take on the chandelier hanging above the table’s center.
Between the kitchen and the living room was a flight of stairs, the banister of polished oak. She took the stairs, but was hit by another wave of dizziness halfway up, her headache worse. She leaned against the rail, drew in deep breaths.
A hand rested against her back. “You okay?”
“Just a little dizzy.”
“Better take it slowly then.”
With him beside her, she took the remaining few stairs and found herself in a hallway.
To her left, above the living room, was the master bedroom, a king-sized bed set on a platform against one wall and covered with a fluffy white down comforter.
The bed was flanked by nightstands and surrounded by matching chairs near the windows and a chest of drawers against the far wall.
In the corner was a second gas fireplace, its mantel made of polished oak.
And on the mantel sat her framed photograph of Beau.
Natalie walked over to it, picked it up, turned back to look at Zach. “How . . . ?”
“We moved some of your things here last night. I thought you’d want that.”
“Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.” She held the photo against her chest for a moment, something familiar in the chaos that had become her life.
She set the photo down, walked to the closet, found her clothes hanging neatly inside. Then she turned and saw it—the bathroom. “Oh, my stars!”
The floors, walls, and countertops were made of a gray-veined marble, the tub deep and elliptical.
Big enough for two. The shower was one of those with multiple showerheads, one overhead, three on each side, all adjustable.
Twin sinks sat before twin oval mirrors.
Small recessed lights shined down from the ceiling like stars, fluffy white towels hung from silver towel racks.
She walked through the room, ran her fingertips over the cool marble, then looked out the single square window onto the city below. “This is unbelievable, Zach. Thank you.”
“We’re not done with the tour yet.”
He led her back out in the hallway to a small room that was her office, her laptop and files sitting on a wide oak desk. “We’re using VPN to allow you to connect with the newspaper, but I’ll explain that later. Let me show you the gym.”
He started back down the stairs, but Natalie had noticed another room upstairs. She walked over to it, saw a double bed with a duffel bag full of weapons on top of it, some shaving things set on the dresser. So he planned to sleep in here, away from her.
She hadn’t expected that. Nothing in how he’d acted toward her had given her any reason to expect that. And her spirits, which hadn’t been high to begin with, sank.
She turned to find him watching her.
“Nothing has changed between us, Natalie. We can’t be together. It will just make things harder for both of us if we sleep together. I’ve been assigned to protect you and help get the Zetas out of Colorado, and I need to stay focused. What happened in the desert—”
“Let me guess—it stays in the desert.” She walked past him and down the stairs, trying not to let him see that what was left of her world had just crumbled.
ARTURO WANTED TO laugh. He wanted to gloat. He wanted to rub it in their faces. Instead, he sent a prayer of thanks to La Santa Muerte, fighting to keep the joy out of his voice. “She is not so easy to kill, this Natalie Benoit.”
The bastard sons of whores had planted explosives in her car, but the wind had detonated the bomb, leaving her alive and almost uninjured. Even worse, she had disappeared, evading their best attempts to track her and finish the job.
“She told the cops she saw one of your men outside the newspaper. From her description, it must be your nephew, José-Luis.”
Arturo stopped, shifted the phone to his other ear, the laughter dying inside him. “José-Luis? Perhaps . . . I don’t know where he is. Sí. Yes, he is there, I think.”
A low chuckle. “We know he’s there, Arturo. If his presence were to blame for our failure, we’d have sent him back to you in pieces. Instead, it’s convinced every cop and agent in Denver that the Zetas are there on the streets hunting for her. Nice work.”
Arturo could hear the mocking tone in his voice. The stupid cabrón.
“The good news is that we may have use for your nephew. And for you. How soon can you meet us in Denver?”