Zach let his contempt for Wulfe show. “You don’t have the courage to kill me yourself? Can’t even pull a trigger. You’re pathetic.”
Wulfe looked down at him, seemed to hesitate, then gestured to Quintana, who stepped forward, a smile on his face, wires in his hand.
Zach watched Wulfe walk toward the door. “You’re a coward, Wulfe.”
Over thunder of his own pulse, he heard the whirring of an approaching helo. Everyone, including Quintana, turned to look. One of Wulfe’s men ran out onto the patio and looked skyward, making a full circle, eyes on the sky, before turning back to Wulfe and shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t see it!”
Quintana faced Zach again.
Zach looked into the eyes of the man who was going to kill him.
I love you, Natalie. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Forgive me.
It all happened in slow motion.
Quintana reaching out with the wires. Sunset breaking through the clouds. The hulking form of a helo rising up from below to hover just off the rooftop patio.
And then there was only pain.
“HOLD IT RIGHT there. I’ve got Quintana in my sights.”
Joaquin didn’t dare to breathe. He’d never seen anyone be so calm with so much at stake. Hunter lay motionless on his belly on the chopper floor, sniper rifle aimed toward the wall of glass at the other end of the patio.
On either side of him, four SWAT officers knelt, ready to rappel.
The helicopter bobbed in the wind. Up a few feet. Down again. Over.
“Hold it. Hold it.”
Time itself seemed to stop, Joaquin’s heartbeat louder than the chopper’s throbbing rotors. Then . . .
BAM! BAM!
The rifle seemed to fire itself. Hunter hadn’t moved at all.
“Go!” Hunter shouted.
The chopper rose, turned slightly, and hovered over the patio.
Hunter and the four volunteers dropped like spiders down thick, nylon webs, friction making the ropes whine. They landed on their feet and dispersed along the edges of the patio, heading toward the door. Assault rifles fired.
Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat! Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat! Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat!
It took Joaquin a moment to realize that the bullets were headed their way. His friends were going into danger, and once again he wasn’t with them.
Without thinking, he drew his camera strap over his head, grabbed on to one of the ropes, and, ignoring the pilot’s shouts, slid to the patio.
“STAY DOWN AND don’t make a sound!”
With those words, Gabe left her. Natalie pressed herself against the bottom of the tub, her pulse tripping, hell breaking loose around her.
The heavy drone of a helicopter. Zach’s strangled cry. Burst after burst of automatic weapons fire. Men’s shouts.
Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat! Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat! Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat!
Unable to stop herself, she raised her head just enough so that she could see above the rim of the tub.
Gabe had just shot a man, the body lying in a heap at Gabe’s feet. He raised the rifle again, crouched against the wall, glaring back at her. “Stay down!”
From the distance there came one last burst of gunfire—a high-caliber pistol.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
And then . . .
“Face down! Hands behind your head! Do it!” That was Marc’s voice.
“Clear back here.” A voice Natalie didn’t recognize.
“Clear up here.” That was Gabe.
“Where’s Wulfe?” Marc again. “I saw him in here. Son of a bitch! He’s gone!”
She waited to hear Zach’s voice, waited for him to ask about her.
“Hey, Rossiter,” Marc called, his voice grave. “Get down here!”
Natalie leapt from the tub, stepped over the body of the man Gabe had killed, and ran down the stairs—then stopped, stunned by the carnage. Black-clad bodies lay strewn about, blood in pools on the floor. Furniture was shredded, bullet holes in the walls. Lying in the middle of the room was Quintana, shot in the head. And nearby . . .
Head bowed and shirtless, Zach sat bound to a kitchen chair by silver duct tape, which Marc and Gabe were tearing off in handfuls. Even from a distance she could see the burn marks on his skin.
“Zach?” Natalie’s stomach fell.
“Ease him down.” Gabe held Zach’s head while Hunter helped lower Zach to the floor. Then Gabe pressed two fingers to Zach’s carotid artery. “He’s got no pulse. I think he’s in V-fib. Hunter, get the AED out of my pack. And someone call LifeFlight.”
No pulse?
The breath left Natalie’s lungs, her heart seeming to stop, legs with no strength left in them somehow carrying her across the floor. And then it all became a blur.
Marc tearing through Gabe’s pack. Gabe starting chest compressions. SWAT officers cuffing and patting down survivors.
“Zach?” Tears stinging her eyes, Natalie knelt beside him, touched her hand to his cheek, to the deep bruise on his temple, to the hair that lay across his brow. “Zach? Please don’t die! Don’t go! I love you! I love you so much!”
She didn’t hear Gabe tell her to move, didn’t realize what was happening until she felt arms surround her, Marc pulling her back.
“Clear!”
Gabe pressed the AED paddles to Zach’s still chest.
Zap!
Zach’s body jerked.
Gabe felt for a pulse again, his expression grim. “One more time.”
Marc held Natalie back as the defibrillator charged.
Gabe pressed the paddles to Zach’s chest once more. “Come on, McBride. You’re young and strong. You can pull through this.”
Zap!
Once again, Zach’s body jerked.
And then . . .
Gabe pressed his fingers to Zach’s throat. “I’m getting a pulse.”
“Oh, thank God!” Natalie pressed a hand against her lips, trembling with relief.
“It’s weak, but it’s there.” Gabe ripped open a package of nitrile gloves and slipped them on. “I’m going to get a couple IVs going, get some fluids in him. We need to get him to the ER as soon as possible. He’s alive, but I can’t guarantee he’ll stay that way. There could be trauma to his heart or other internal organs.”
“Thank you, Gabe. Thank you both.” Natalie took Zach’s hand, bent down, pressed her lips to his forehead. “Can you hear me, Zach? We’re going to take good care of you. Just stay alive.”
JOAQUIN WALKED IN off the patio to a scene he would never forget. Bodies and blood everywhere. And there in front of him, Natalie, still soaking wet, bent over McBride, her hands stroking his face, her cheeks streaked with tears.
Natalie looked up, saw him. “Joaquin?”
Then Marc was on his feet. “Jesus H. Christ! I really am going to kick your ass. How the hell did you get in here?”
“Same way you did.” But with blisters. He hadn’t been wearing gloves, and the rope had done a number on his palms.
“Stay the hell out of the way—and no photos!”
He nodded, then looked over at McBride. “Is he going to make it?”
It was Rossiter who answered, his gloved fingers busy inserting an IV needle into McBride’s arm. “I think so.”
Joaquin stepped over Quintana’s body, proof of Hunter’s skill with a sniper rifle. He found a throw on the couch that wasn’t bloodstained, carried it over to Natalie, and draped it over her shoulders, certain she must be cold.
She glanced up. “Thank you.” Then her gaze returned to McBride.
Out of the corner of his eye, Joaquin saw movement near the door. He tensed, looked up—and his jaw dropped.
Hunter pivoted, pistol out. “Darcangelo?”
Covered in blood, his face pale, Darcangelo slumped against the doorjamb. “It takes a while to climb . . . twenty-four flights of stairs . . . with a round in your shoulder . . . and no thumb. Anyone seen it . . . lying around?”
In an instant, Hunter was at Darcangelo’s side,
helping him to the floor. “Easy does it, buddy.”
“Make yourself useful, Ramirez.” Gabe stuffed a plastic carton of gauze, a folded emergency blanket, and a package of nitrile gloves into Joaquin’s hands. “Take these to Hunter, then see if there’s anything in the fridge or freezer you can use as an ice pack on his hand. Hunter, get him out of his shirt and body armor. Apply direct pressure, and keep him warm. I’ll come start an IV as soon as I can.”
Joaquin did as he was told, carrying the supplies to Hunter, who already had Darcangelo out of his shirt and was stripping off the bloody and pitted armor. There, on the right side of the vest was a blackened and bloodstained hole.
One of the rounds had penetrated.
Darcangelo looked up at Hunter, his face and lips unnaturally pale. “Wulfe was surprised to see me. Drew on me. I recognized him. Fired. Killed the son of a bitch.”
“Wulfe is dead?” Hunter and Rossiter asked at once.
Having no idea who this Wulfe was, Joaquin hurried into kitchen and opened the fridge and freezer, looking for something that could serve as an ice bag. There on the shelf was . . . His stomach did a flip. “I think I found your thumb.”
“Leave it there,” Rossiter called to him.
Joaquin grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and carried it over to Hunter, who now sat behind Darcangelo, supporting him and pressing a handful of gauze squares over the bullet wound in his shoulder, the emergency blanket covering them both. “Here you go, man.”
Hunter took the frozen peas and laid the bag over the already bloodstained gauze that covered Darcangelo’s maimed hand.
Darcangelo winced, gritted his teeth. “Want to tell me why . . . you’re sitting here cuddling me, Hunter?”
“Rossiter says I have to keep you warm. He thinks you’re in shock or some shit.” Despite his words and the tone of his voice, there was real worry on Hunter’s face.
“Great. Thanks.” Darcangelo’s head fell back to rest against Hunter’s vest, the big guy’s strength clearly spent.
A muscle clenched in Hunter’s jaw. “Hey, don’t mention it—ever.”
And that, Joaquin decided, swallowing the lump in his throat, was true friendship. Somehow his camera found its way back into his blistered hands, and he started shooting.
ZACH SAT ON the rim of the canyon, Mike, Chris, Brian, and Jimmy beside him. Like him, they were wearing civilian clothes, and for a moment Zach wondered why they were all out of uniform.
“Why are you still here, bro?” Jimmy asked. “Do you like this place?”
“No,” Zach answered. “I’m here because of you guys.”
Wasn’t that obvious?
Brian laughed. “We left a long time ago.”
Mike gave him a jab in the side with his elbow. “If you’re waiting here for us, you’re wasting your time. We only came back to check on you.”
There was something Zach needed to say to them, words that wouldn’t quite come to him that he needed to get out. “I’m . . . sorry.”
It was the only thing he could articulate.
Chris clapped him on the shoulder. “There’s no reason to be sorry, McBride. It wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. We knew it then. We know it now.”
Relief, sweet and pure, flowed through him. It was as if an unbearable weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt so . . . light.
The four of them stood.
“We need to get rolling.” Jimmy reached down, helped Zach to his feet.
“Where are we going?” Zach looked around at the landscape. It didn’t look like Afghanistan now that he thought about it.
Mike shook his head. “Oh, no. You’re not coming with us.”
Brian pointed. “You need to head that way.”
But Zach didn’t want to say good-bye so soon. “Can’t you stay for a while?”
Chris shook his head. “It’s time to move on.”
They exchanged man-hugs, the back-slapping ritual making Zach smile, a bittersweet ache in his chest. It had been so long. Why couldn’t they stay?
“Take it easy, McBride,” Jimmy said, reaching out for a final handshake.
“See you around, frogman.” Chris gave him a mock salute.
“We’ll never forget you, bro.” Mike slugged him lightly in the shoulder.
Brian met his gaze. “You were the best of us.” Then he, too, turned and walked away.
Zach watched them go, sadness seeping through him like a chill as they disappeared in the distance.
Then he turned and looked in the direction they’d pointed. He started walking, but the path was obscured to the point where he could barely make out the trail, the landscape shifting in front of him. Then there was a voice—a woman’s voice. She was calling him, guiding him.
“Zach, stay with me. Can you hear me?”
He opened his eyes and found Natalie looking down at him, tears in her beautiful eyes, anguish on her sweet face. “Natalie? Are you . . . okay?”
Through her tears, she smiled. “I will be now.”
CHAPTER 33
NATALIE STAYED WITH Zach and Julian while they were transported by helicopter to University Hospital, Marc and the others remaining behind to finish the job and answer questions from federal investigators. Zach was admitted into intensive care for tests and monitoring, while Julian was rushed into surgery, where a team of doctors hoped to remove the bullet from his shoulder and reattach his severed thumb.
Despite her objections, Natalie found herself shooed into the waiting area. It was only then that the horror of the past two hours hit her, leaving her weak and shaking. She struggled not to cry, getting herself a cup of coffee, hoping it would ward off the chill that had taken hold inside her. People stared at her damp clothes, bare feet, and wet, tangled hair, but she didn’t care. Let them try to hang on to a slippery roof twenty-four stories in the air during a thunderstorm while evil men tortured the man they loved, and see what they looked like afterward.
“Natalie?”
Natalie turned toward the sound of her own name. “Tessa!”
The two women hugged.
“You’re ice-cold. Your clothes and hair are damp. Bless your heart!” Tessa drew back, slipped her sweater off her shoulders. “Wear my cardigan.”
Natalie slipped into the warm blue cashmere, touched that Tessa would consider her comfort when she must be terribly worried about Julian and desperate to know how he’d been hurt. “Thanks.”
They found a quiet corner and Natalie told her what had happened—or what she knew of it, which wasn’t all that much. She stopped when she got to the part about dead bodies and blood. “I’m not sure I should be telling you any of this, with the baby.”
Tessa put on a brave smile. “The little guy is fine, and Julian will be, too. Chief Irving says Julian stopped to help a pregnant woman with a flat tire, and she shot him.”
Natalie hadn’t heard that. “I wondered what had happened.”
It would take some kind of deception to get the best of a man like Julian.
Tessa’s smile crumpled. “What sickens me is knowing that he was thinking of me when he stopped to help her. He’s a good man with a soft heart, especially when it comes to women. And it almost got him killed.”
Natalie took Tessa’s hand. “I’m sorry, Tessa. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“It’s not your fault.” Tessa gave her hand a squeeze. “Julian does a dangerous job. I’ve known that since I met him, and it’s part of why I respect and love him. We’ll get through this. We’ll all get through this. At least he’s alive.”
And Natalie wondered if she’d be able to respond with half as much grace if she were in Tessa’s position.
THE HOURS DRAGGED by as Natalie and Tessa waited, sharing a quiet dinner in the hospital cafeteria and getting to know each other in a way they hadn’t before. Holly and Kara came with a change of clothes, shoes, and a makeup kit so that Natalie should freshen up and have something dry to wear. Then investigators ar
rived to interview Natalie, followed by the media. Hospital security took Natalie and Tessa to a private waiting room upstairs to keep the media from pestering them—except for their own paper, of course.
Tom sent Matt to cover the shoot-out, as he was the only member of the I-Team available. Kat was still on the rez. Sophie was home with her own kids and babysitting Tessa’s daughter. Comfortable only reporting the facts, Natalie told Matt what she could—which was far more than any other media outlet would be able to report.
“Good God, Natalie,” Matt said when she finished. “If you don’t get a Pulitzer out of this, I will personally kick the committee’s ass.”
Then he left, headed back to the newsroom for a late night of deadline reporting.
“Tessa Darcangelo?” A doctor in surgical garb stepped into the room, his green surgical mask around his neck.
Tessa’s face went white. She stood. “I’m Tessa.”
The doctor came over, shook her hand. “Your husband’s lost a fair amount of blood, so we transfused him. We were able to remove the bullet, and that injury should heal well. He’ll have stiffness and pain in his shoulder for a time, but the bullet hit muscle, so there was no injury to the structure of the joint itself.”
“Thank goodness! What about his thumb?”
“We’ve reattached it. There’s blood flow. But we won’t know for some time how much function or sensation he’ll have. He’s awake and in recovery now, so if you’d like to see him—”
“God bless you! Yes, I’d love to see him.” Then Tessa turned, took Natalie’s hand, and gave it a squeeze. “I hope they bring good news about Zach soon.”
Natalie smiled, hoping the very same thing. “Go be with your husband.”
IT WAS ALMOST midnight by the time doctors came for Natalie with the welcome news that none of the tests showed permanent damage to Zach’s heart—and that Zach had been asking for her.
“Oh, thank God! When can I see him? I’d like to stay with him tonight.”
“Only family are allowed back into the ICU.”