Breaking Point

  And so she lied. “I’m his wife.”

  Back in the ICU, she found Zach asleep, his naked body covered only at the groin, by a towel. Electrodes were attached to his chest and side, IVs in his left arm, an oxygen tube beneath his nose. There were red blotches on his torso, dressings on his right shoulder and left thigh where bullets had grazed him—proof of how much he’d risked and how much he’d suffered to protect her.

  She took his hand, pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m here, Zach. I’m going to stay right here beside you.”

  IT WAS A combination of fluorescent light and a woman’s sweet voice that woke him.

  Zach opened his eyes, found Natalie sitting next to him, her gaze fixed on the heart monitor screen, worry and exhaustion lining her pretty face. “Angel.”

  She looked down at him, her lips curving in a sweet smile. “How do you feel?”

  “Not too bad . . . for a dead guy.”

  Her smile vanished. “Don’t even joke about that.”

  “Sorry.” He glanced around. “I thought they were moving me out of ICU.”

  She stroked his cheek. “Not till later this morning—and only if your heart keeps beating like it should.”

  His tests had come back normal, no sign of organ damage, external burns only. He was one lucky son of a bitch, and he knew it.

  He reached up and ran a knuckle down her cheek, needing to touch her. “How can you look so beautiful after all you’ve been through?”

  “I don’t.” Her smiled returned. “They’re just giving you good drugs.”

  “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.” He slid his fingers into her hair, savoring the silky feel of her dark strands. “I love you, Natalie.”

  There. That didn’t hurt, did it, McBride?

  Her eyes widened, and she looked down at him, searching his eyes as if trying to see whether he truly meant it. “Zach, I—”

  “Shh.” He pressed his finger to her lips. “When I realized I was going to die, the only thing I could think about was you and what an idiot I’d been for not telling you how I felt about you. I think I’ve loved you from the moment you lifted that awful blindfold off my face. I opened my eyes, and there you were, the bravest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. You set me free, Natalie. In so many ways, you set me free.”

  Tears glittered in her eyes. “I was so afraid I’d lost you!”

  He drew her down to his chest, held her. “When you’re up to it, tell me what happened and how you got back inside the loft. I thought they’d carried you off in that helo. I was so relieved to think you were safe.”

  When she had finished her story, he found himself smiling. “My angel, up on the roof, shouting at the thunderstorm, telling it what to go do with itself. Sounds like I owe Rossiter big-time. I’m sorry I had to put you up there. I really had no choice. If I’d put you inside a closet, they’d have found you—if a stray round hadn’t killed you first. Even rounds from a handgun can pierce walls, and—”

  “Hush, you. Don’t you dare apologize. You kept me safe, kept me alive.” She bent down and kissed him, her lips warm and soft.

  Again and again she kissed him, and Zach knew that she, like he, was reveling in the feeling of being together, safe and alive. He slid his fingers deeper into her hair, teased her tongue with his, the feel of her beside him calling him back to life.

  “Ahem.”

  They both looked toward the entrance to his room—in the ICU there were no doors—and saw his favorite nurse, a tall big-boned woman named Chris who looked like she could probably bench-press him.

  “You had several ectopic heartbeats, so I thought I’d come check on you, see how you were doing. Now I see the cause.”

  Natalie looked at the nurse, guilt and regret on her face. “Ectopic heartbeats?”

  Chris smiled. “That’s medical jargon for when your heart skips a beat. It’s completely harmless. You can go back to kissing your husband. Just keep it above the waist, okay? We don’t offer that kind of intensive care here.” Then Chris walked off, laughing at her own joke.

  Zach looked up at Natalie. “Husband?”

  That guilty look came over Natalie’s face again. “I told them that so they’d let me stay here with you last night. I hope you’re not angry. I don’t think they really believed me, anyway. No ring.”

  That was something he planned to change.

  He wasn’t ready to ask her yet. There were still too many loose threads in his life. He needed to tie those up, consider the offers that were on the table, and choose what he thought would be best—for both of them.

  Natalie looked down at him, a playful smile on his face. “So, kissing me makes your heart skip beats, does it?”

  “That’s hell-to-the-yeah, angel. Now kiss me again.”

  THEY MOVED ZACH out of the ICU just after lunch.

  Natalie walked beside him as they wheeled him down to a medical ward, feeling lighter than she had since this entire ordeal began. For the first time in more than two weeks, she wasn’t afraid for her life—or for the lives of those she loved.

  It was over. As impossible as it seemed, it was finally over.

  She’d just gotten Zach settled in the new room, opening the blinds to let in the sunlight, when Tom called on the hospital’s landline, wanting to know when she planned to come into the office. She hadn’t even been thinking about work.

  “We’ve got a big story that’s just waiting for you to get it into print. You fought hard for this one, Benoit. Don’t let the other papers take it from you.”

  “I’ll be in shortly.” She hung up, then turned to Zach, who’d heard her side of the conversation. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

  He reached over, took her hand. “Don’t worry about me. I did my job so that you’d be safe to do yours. Besides, I don’t think I’m going to be alone.”

  In the doorway stood Rowan with two DUSMs. She entered, the two men behind her. “Ms. Benoit. McBride.”

  “I want to thank you for all you did to protect me.” Natalie held out her hand, shook Rowan’s. “Whatever rules Zach may have broken, he did it to save my life. Don’t be hard on him.”

  Rowan smiled. “You’re welcome. And don’t worry about McBride. The guys in D.C. might be idiots, but I’ve got his back. By the way, we found this on the bottom of your car, McBride.” She held up a strange long box with magnets on one side and an antenna sticking out of the one end.

  Natalie had no idea what it was, but Zach seemed to.

  “Son of a bitch. A GPS tracker.”

  “We figure they watched the cop shop after Quintana was brought in, waited for you to arrive, then popped it on your car. You led them right to you. All they needed then was a thumb.” She handed the device to one of the men. “And there’s more. Wulfe rented a condo in the Glass Tower under a false name the day prior to the attack. My guess is that’s where he was headed when Darcangelo stopped him. We found food, weapons, and cognac stockpiled there, along with Quintana’s jail uniform and cuffs. If things went wrong, Wulfe apparently planned to hide out there, while we searched heaven and earth trying to bring him in.”

  Natalie could see Zach’s mind working, understanding dawning on his face. “That’s why he and Quintana appeared out of nowhere. And that’s why he was so cool when SWAT moved in. He didn’t need to get out of the building. He had a cozy hidey-hole waiting for him.”

  “Exactly. So you see, McBride, I didn’t give you away. Oh, don’t try to deny you had your doubts about me. From the moment Quintana escaped, I knew you’d wonder if I was dirty. I can’t explain how they knew when we were moving Quintana, but before this is over, I will. Still, I can’t blame you for suspecting me.” Rowan met Natalie’s gaze. “It’s all in the report you’re about to request from my office, Ms. Benoit.”

  Natalie smiled, liking this woman more by the minute. But she couldn’t stay. She leaned down and kissed Zach. “I’ll call to check on you. If you need anything, call me, okay? Don’t le
t them hassle you. See you tonight.”

  Then she left the room and hurried down the hallway. She needed to go home, take a shower, then get to the office.

  But first, there was someone else she needed to see.

  SHE WENT TO Julian’s hospital room, only to find it crowded when she walked in. Tessa was there, of course, but so was almost everyone else—Sophie and Marc, Gabe, Joaquin, Kara and Reece.

  “I hear the doc gave you a thumbs-up on your surgery,” Marc was saying.

  “Sophie, your husband’s mouth is talking again.” Obviously on pain meds, but still alert and in good humor, Julian lay bare-chested in his bed, the head of his bed raised, multiple IVs in his right arm. There was a thick surgical dressing over his right shoulder and four dark bruises on his chest where bullets had struck his body armor. His left arm was heavily bandaged, his thumb in the extended position.

  “Did they tell you how long you’ll have to stay in the hospital?” Gabe asked. “You’re not the kind who likes to lie around twiddling your thumbs.”

  “But, hey, they’re saying you have a chance at full recovery,” Reece added. “That’s nothing to thumb your nose at.”

  Julian rolled his eyes, apparently resigned to being teased.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, stop with the thumb jokes!” Tessa objected, the slight smile on her face proving she was as amused as she was irritated.

  It was Julian who saw her first.

  “Hey, Natalie, come on in. How’s McBride?”

  “They just moved him out of ICU. It looks like he’s going to be okay.”

  Natalie shared what the doctors had told her—that the shocks had basically shorted out the electrical impulses in Zach’s heart. Only Gabe’s intervention had saved his life. Fortunately, there seemed to be no permanent damage.

  Sophie gave Natalie a hug. “Thank God! I’m so glad he’s going to be okay.”

  “How are you?” Natalie asked Julian.

  “Doing well, all things considered.” Then he looked at Marc and Gabe. “I told you double plating was worth the cost.”

  Sophie looked sternly at Marc. “You’re getting double plating in your vest today. I don’t care how much it costs.”

  They talked for a good half an hour, Julian explaining how he’d been shot, how he’d come to in the trunk of the car with his thumb missing, and how he’d managed to send Zach a warning by text message, knowing what must be about to happen.

  “That message saved our lives, Julian.” Natalie gave his right hand a squeeze. “I don’t know how to thank you—any of you—for what you’ve done for me and Zach.”

  Julian gave her a weak smile, his face pale. “Seems to me you just did.”

  “I was happy to help.” Marc winked.

  “You made it easy, Natalie.” Gabe grinned. “You’re one tough chick.”

  “I hope the woman who shot my husband has a run-in with karma,” Tessa said.

  Julian turned to Tessa. “Didn’t I tell you? She’s dead. When they started bagging the bodies, I saw her face. McBride must’ve gotten her in the first wave. And don’t worry—she wasn’t really pregnant.”

  “Well, I feel better.” Tessa frowned. “Or maybe I don’t. It doesn’t feel right to be happy because someone’s dead.”

  The room fell silent.

  It was then that Joaquin decided to share the gift that he’d brought with him. “I have something for you all.”

  He reached into his camera bag and drew out an envelope holding prints he’d made this morning of photos from yesterday’s action. He opened the envelope and drew out the photos one by one, handing them first to Natalie, who passed them on. He said nothing, letting the images speak for themselves.

  Natalie clinging to the rooftop, looking pleadingly over her shoulder toward the helicopter. Gabe being lowered down in a rescue attempt. Gabe crawling across the rooftop toward Natalie. Flooded streets, stranded cars. The helicopter sitting idle while Marc yelled at the pilot. An overhead view of the SWAT staging area. Marc aiming his sniper rifle at Quintana, as calm and cool as steel. SWAT volunteers storming the loft.

  And then came the photos he wasn’t supposed to have taken.

  “Oh, Joaquin!” Natalie whispered.

  It was the photo of Marc and Julian. The lighting had been perfect, catching the texture of their skin, the subtlest details of their faces, exposing their emotions. Julian lay, bloodied and shirtless, against Marc’s chest, his eyes closed, pain etched on every feature of his face. Marc looked down at him, pressing gauze to the bullet wound in his shoulder and an ice bag to his hand, his expression fierce, a mix of anger, concern, and—there was no other word for it—love.

  Natalie stared at it, then looked up at Joaquin, passing it on. “This is amazing. These are Pulitzer quality, Joaquin.”

  “Unbelievable.” Reece looked up at him. “They make me feel like I was there, give me an appreciation for how terrible it truly was.”

  Joaquin drew out one more—an image of Natalie smiling through her tears at Zach, who had just opened his eyes, Gabe focused intently on starting an IV.

  Natalie stared at it, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  As the photos made the rounds, Joaquin watched, taking in people’s reactions. He saw the glance of acknowledgment that passed between Marc and Julian, the tears in Tessa’s and Sophie’s eyes, the appreciation in Gabe’s and Reece’s, and he knew his images had revealed a deeper truth about their friendships and the ordeal they’d just endured than they could have expressed themselves.

  “You have a gift,” Julian said at last, handing back the photos. “Anyone can be trained to shoot a gun. But what you do, Ramirez—it’s art.”

  And for the first time since Mexico, Joaquin felt at home in his own shoes.

  FOR NATALIE, THE next few days passed in a blur. Zach was released after three days in the hospital and stayed at her place. They hadn’t discussed it. Natalie had simply brought him home, and he’d stayed, moving what he had in, his toothbrush, razor, and shampoo taking up space beside hers in the bathroom, his clothes in her closet, his body in bed beside hers at night.

  Officially on medical leave, he was supposed to be taking it easy, but he had a somewhat different idea of what that meant than she did. While she worked long hours at the paper putting together a series of articles about Wulfe, Cárdenas, and Whitcomb Academy, he installed a security alarm, new window locks, outdoor security lights, and a special lock for her sliding glass door.

  She was at the paper one afternoon, interviewing Rowan for the fourth time, when Zach appeared in the newsroom.

  “Did you hear?” she asked when she got off the phone.

  “They found the soccer coach’s body in the county landfill. It was badly decomposed but . . .”

  It was then she noticed the expression on his face.

  “I’ve been called back to D.C.,” he said. “It seems Pearce and the others at the OD have a few more questions before they can put the investigation against me to rest. I need to clear my name once and for all, Natalie.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  They said good-bye in the conference room, sealing their farewell with a long kiss.

  “Please call as often as you can. I’m going to miss you, Zach Black.”

  He ran his thumb over the curve of her cheek. “I’ll miss you, too, angel.”

  NATALIE’S SERIES, SET off by Joaquin’s stunning photos, caused an uproar from the first installment through the third. But it wasn’t over when the series was completed. She worked late every day, staying with the story, as one development led to another.

  Three other members of the school’s Board of Trustees were arrested for knowing about the bogus donations and failing to report them. The sheriff and district attorney resigned after the school’s financials proved they’d gotten payoffs in exchange for dropping the investigation. Congress called for an investigation of AMINTAC, while the Department of Defense remained stoically silent.

&nbs
p; While she interviewed congressmen, Pentagon brass, and Mexican government officials, other reporters wanted to interview her. She gave a couple of interviews to local papers, but balked when the TV talk shows showed up. Then an agent called, offering to help her get rich if she decided one day to write a book about her experience.

  Though she felt great satisfaction at exposing Wulfe and Cárdenas—and everyone who had worked with them—the excitement of big headlines, interviews, and book offers meant little to her. She lived for the moments late in the evening when Zach called and the two of them shared their day.

  In the middle of it all, Natalie started her period, the knowledge that she wasn’t pregnant leaving her deeply disappointed. One week became two. Two weeks became three, and still her spirits didn’t lift. It was then she realized she needed some real time off—no SPJ seminar this time, but a bona fide vacation. She called Zach, told him her plans, then bought a plane ticket to New Orleans.

  There was something she needed to do.

  ZACH OPENED THE cemetery’s elegant iron gate and walked through the rows of marble tombs, feeling a hitch in his chest when he spotted her. He stopped in his tracks and just watched her. It had been three weeks since he’d last seen her, and damned if she hadn’t become even more beautiful.

  You are so lost, McBride.

  Yeah, he was completely and utterly lost—in her. And he loved it.

  He hadn’t been exaggerating when he told her in the hospital that she’d set him free. She’d seen him at his best and his worst, and she’d accepted all of him without question or condemnation. And when he’d broken, the guilt he’d carried with him for so long spilling out, she’d been there to put the pieces of him back together again. She was his absolution, his redemption, his salvation.

  She had changed him. The man who’d told her not long ago that he didn’t want to be a father had been surprised by how disappointed he’d felt when she’d told him that she wasn’t pregnant. It had taken a few days for him to decide that it was probably for the best. It would give them some time just to be with each other. Natalie was only twenty-seven. They had plenty of time left to start a family.