CHAPTER 32
“WHAT WAS THAT?”
Through a haze of pain, Zach listened to the muted thrum of the helo’s rotors as it disappeared in the distance, hoping to God that Natalie was safely aboard that bird.
Every man in the room looked up.
“They’re on the roof.” Wulfe motioned to two of his men. “Get rid of them.”
Two men ran out onto the patio, squinting against the rain, heads craning to get a good look at the roof, assault rifles in hand.
Zach’s pulse spiked. If she was still up there . . .
God, let her be gone!
Zach fought to keep his fear off his face. “You’re out of time, Wulfe. You’ve lost. Your only hope is to get the hell out of here while you can. Hey, maybe Quintana will let you stay on his couch. You should ask him.”
Wulfe looked down at Zach, his calm facade impenetrable.
“Oh, don’t worry. My men will take out the officers on the roof.
The streets of Lower Downtown are flooded, cars stalled everywhere, so it’s going to take the rest of SWAT a while to get here.
Then they’ll want to evacuate the building, study the problem, come up with a plan.
Do you know what SWAT stands for? Stand, Wait, And Talk. We have some time.”
Flooded streets?
So that’s what was keeping Hunter and Rossiter.
“My lucky day.”
Wulfe smiled. “I don’t want to kill you, McBride.
Of course, I must, but I regret that. You’re a true hero.
Ah, yes, I see it surprises you that I value such qualities.
But I do. You’re a former SEAL, a Medal of Honor recipient.
Men with your strength, skill, and dedication are rare. You’re worth a hundred of my men.”
Zach gave a snort. “Forgive me if I don’t see that as a compliment.”
Wulfe’s smile grew thin. “If Arturo hadn’t been so inept, you’d still be out there, doing your job.
But he allowed himself to be manipulated by the Interpol operative into believing you’d stolen cocaine.
Then he had his men kidnap Ms. Benoit rather than simply terminating her on that bus, as I’d ordered him to do.
Naturally, you felt obliged to help her, led by your cock, no doubt. And here we are.”
So Wulfe had ordered Cárdenas to kill Natalie. Cárdenas must have seen her photo online and let his lust for her get the better of him. He’d had his men kidnap Natalie, planning to carry out Wulfe’s orders—but only after he’d used her in his sick way.
“So Los Zetas usually do what you tell them to do?”
Wulfe’s chin went up. “I am Los Zetas. I made them powerful, wealthy. Cárdenas was one of a handful of men who’ve run the organization for me.”
That was an interesting bit of information.
Zach hoped he lived to share it. He stalled for time. “What made you sell out, Ed? Do you mind if I call you Ed? Was it money? Power? Did someone at the Pentagon sleep with your wife?”
But Wulfe ignored the taunts. “Make things easier for yourself. I have no desire to see you suffer, so spare yourself unnecessary pain and answer the questions.”
Zach laughed. “Maybe that rubber bullet scrambled my brains, but I don’t see how answering questions that betray my mission so that I can be killed sooner and die with a guilty conscience makes anything easier for me.”
Wulfe leaned in. “Where did you send Ms. Benoit?”
“Disneyland.”
“Who knows about my connection to the Zetas?”
“The U.S. Marshal Service, SWAT, my dentist, Oprah—”
“How did you know we were coming? Clearly, someone tipped you off.”
“That guy.” Zach pointed with a jerk of his head toward one of Wulfe’s minions. The man looked uncertainly at Wulfe, taking a step backward. “He texted me just before you stepped into the elevator.”
Without a word, Wulfe stepped aside for Quintana, who moved in, holding the severed cord from an electrical lamp in his hand.
Cut from the lamp’s base, it was still plugged into the wall, the bare wires capable of delivering raw current that was far more powerful than the truck battery and excruciatingly painful.
Zach met Quintana’s gaze. “Don’t you ever get bored with this?”
Electricity poured through him like liquid agony, setting every nerve on fire. His body arched, his muscles going into spasms, a cry tearing itself from between his clenched teeth.
Then Quintana stepped back, leaving Zach shaking, breathless, wanting to puke. Strangely he found the pain easier to bear now than he had two weeks ago. Perhaps it was just that he’d been through this before. Or perhaps it was the fact that his pain was buying time for the woman he loved.
Why hadn’t he told her? Why hadn’t he told Natalie he loved her when he’d had the chance? It would’ve taken only a few seconds. What the hell had he been afraid of?
And all at once it hit him—regret as deep and wide as the ocean.
Natalie.
If he died today, she would never know what she meant to him. If he died, he would never even get a shot at building a life with her, of knowing what it was like to come home every night and find someone waiting for him. Hell, he wouldn’t even know whether he’d gotten her pregnant.
Then don’t die, McBride.
Right.
He raised his head and looked into Wulfe’s eyes, ready to answer at least one question.
“Do you really think you can kill us all? SWAT knows. Denver PD knows. The newspaper knows. The Marshal Service and FBI know. All of my documents and hers have been uploaded to encrypted accounts. If you kill us, someone else will follow. It’s over, Wulfe.
Turn yourself in, and I’ll argue for leniency. ”
Wulfe’s nostrils flared—an adrenaline response. He stepped aside and motioned Quintana forward again.
Zach gave a weak laugh. “What did I do? I answered your question, offered to help you out, and you fry me for that? You know what, Ed? You suck.”
Just then the two men who’d run onto the patio returned. “There’s no one on the roof, but SWAT is down in the street. They’ve set up a staging area around the block and have all the entry points to the building covered.”
No one on the roof.
Thank God!
Relief washed through Zach, a balm for the lingering pain, both physical and emotional. He might not live through this day, but Natalie was safe.
Quintana moved in on him.
WET AND CHILLED to the bone, Natalie slipped through the bathroom window, having had more than her fill of heights. She reached for the floor with her bare feet while Gabe slowly lowered her down, then she stood there shivering. He followed her, his feet landing silently on the marble floor.
The room had been torn apart, the shower curtain slashed, the shelves emptied, skin cream, shampoo, and conditioner dumped on the floor. Beyond the door, bodies lay in the hallway, blood on the walls and floor. Was it Zach’s blood?
Her stomach churned.
From the living room, she could hear men’s voices. She strained to listen and thought she heard Zach.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
Was he hurt? Was he even still alive? And what about Julian?
“They’ve already searched here, so I think you’ll be safe. Get into the bathtub. The steel will halt most stray rounds.” Gabe unfastened her harness and pressed a pistol into her hands. “Use this for self-defense only. Don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe. Not a sound!”
Natalie nodded and did as he asked, her limbs stiff from the cold.
She’d gained a new respect for Gabe today.
Realizing that Wulfe and his men had probably heard him hit the roof, he’d quickly put her in a harness, roped her in, then fixed the rope around the base of the lighted metal pole that warned airplanes away and dangled her—yes, dangled her—off the edge, more than two hundred feet of air beneath her.
Then, while she hung there, dizzy, her heart in her throat, he’d crept along a narrow steel ledge with no protection, to keep an eye on the patio, waiting for Wulfe’s men, who had, indeed, come out to check, to go back inside.
When they’d gone, he’d made his way back to her, then used the rope to rappel to the bathroom window.
A man’s agonized cry silenced her thoughts.
Zach!
She squeezed her eyes shut, a sick feeling swelling inside her at the sound of his suffering. It had been hard enough to hear when they’d been in Mexico and she’d barely known him. But she loved him now. To know they were hurting him . . .
From beside the tub, she heard Gabe speak quietly into his mouthpiece. “They’re going to kill him! Let me help him!”
Zach’s cry fell into silence.
A man’s raised voice: “For the last time, McBride—where is she?”
This was followed by a moment of silence—and then another agonized cry.
They were torturing him over her.
She opened her eyes, looked up at Gabe. “I have to do something!”
“If you care about Zach, then stay here and stay alive!”
“I can’t stand to hear him suffer! You don’t know what you’re asking of me!”
Gabe leaned in until his face was inches from hers, his gaze hard. “Yes, I do.”
And Natalie remembered that he’d been forced to listen, drugged and bounded, while a murdering sociopath had brutalized Kat.
Now she understood just how terrible that had been for him.
She might have said something had he not turned away from her, whispering fiercely into his microphone, his fingertips against his earpiece.
“I’m giving you two minutes, then I move whether you’re here or not. Fuck you, Hunter! You’re not my boss. He is, and they’re fucking killing him! Stand by? Christ! Hurry the fuck up!”
From downstairs came another rending cry.
“I’VE GOT TWO officers up there who are injured, maybe even dead, and I’ve got another officer and an innocent woman who are in danger of becoming dead, and you refuse to fly? What the hell kind of pilot did DPD stick us with?”
“One who seriously needs to grow a pair,” Joaquin muttered under his breath, unable to hide his contempt. He shot a few frames as Marc moved in on the chopper pilot, towering over him with his six-foot-plus frame, the helicopter sitting idle in the sodden park grass behind them.