Breaking Point by Pamela Clare
With those words in her mind, she followed Zach, the darkness pressing in on her.
They reached the first fence fifteen minutes later.
Zach climbed it with no problem, then turned back to her, his gaze searching the landscape behind her. “Give me your pack.”
Natalie unbuckled the hip band, slipped out of the shoulder harness, and handed it to him. He dropped it onto the sandy ground and reached for her, helping her over.
His hands lingered at her waist. “That’s it. That’s the U.S. border. You’re back in the States now, angel.”
And some part of Natalie wanted to cry.
“YOU SHALL HAVE a First Communion worthy of a true princess, sí?” Arturo gave his granddaughter a good-night kiss, her sweet smile taking the edge off his nerves at least for a moment. He switched off her bedside lamp. “Sleep with the angels, Isabella.”
“Good night, Grandpa.”
He left the child to his daughter’s care, then walked to the other wing of the house, to his private study, where no one, not even his wife, would dare to bother him. He poured himself a shot of tequila. It would hurt his stomach, but he needed it.
He tossed it back, grimaced at the razor-sharp pain in his gut, poured another.
The news today had not been good. The men José-Luis had set to watch the U.S. consulate had opened fire on a car in which they thought Natalie Benoit was riding, only to learn later that they had wounded the wife of a U.S. official. Then several of his men had been killed when the roadblock they’d set up at Altar was attacked by those goat-fucking Sinaloa bastards.
Arturo didn’t give a horse’s ass for the American woman who’d been shot or for the men he’d lost at Altar. He didn’t even care about the shipment of cocaine. All he cared about now was getting his hands on that bitch of a reporter and killing her.
If he failed . . . If she survived . . .
He hadn’t built an empire out of nothing only to lose it now. La Santa Muerte wouldn’t allow it. Then again it had been a long time since the Bony Lady had been fed. He had promised her Natalie, but both he and the Lady had been denied.
Perhaps that was the problem—or part of it. Bad things happened in threes. Everyone knew that. But now the count was full. The bitch and the gringo who’d stolen Arturo’s cocaine had disappeared. Next, his men had shot the wife of a U.S. diplomat. And then they’d been attacked at Altar. Three pieces of bad luck.
Could the tide be turned with blood?
He drew his mobile phone out of his pocket and dialed José-Luis. His nephew had failed him miserably, so perhaps it ought to be his blood Arturo spilled. But La Santa Muerte would want nothing to do with his ugly, scarred face. She preferred sweeter-tasting blood.
José-Luis answered after the third ring.
He started to speak, but Arturo cut him off. “I want you to find that bitch Gisella. I want to know everything she knows about the American who stole our cocaine. Perhaps she knows more about him than she told us before. Perhaps she can lead us to him again.”
CHAPTER 16
A WANING HALF moon peeked out from behind banks of fast-moving clouds, providing at least some light, but the wind had picked up, a sign that a monsoon was brewing. Getting caught in a downpour was not high on Zach’s list of things to do tonight. Not only would it put them at risk for hypothermia, but it would make walking more dangerous and difficult—and leave a trail of prints that anyone could follow.
He glanced behind him, trying to gauge how Natalie was holding out. Damn, she was tough. She hadn’t complained once, though he knew this had to be hard for her, both physically and mentally. Combat-style sleep deprivation, a forced night march, the ever-present threat of violence—she’d never been through anything like this before.
Then again, neither had he.
In the past when he’d been in circumstances like these, he’d been with other men who’d undergone the same training he had. They’d had his back, and he’d had theirs. Or he’d tried.
Which doesn’t explain why they’re dead and you’re not, does it, McBride?
He forced the thought aside, refusing to let it distract him.
Natalie had no military or law enforcement training. She was dependent on him in a way that his SEAL team and fellow DUSMs had never been. He’d never felt so entirely responsible for another person’s life as he had these past few days—and it scared the hell out of him.
He found himself listening to her breathing, the tread of her boots against the sand, his gaze drawn over his shoulder time and again as he tried to determine whether she needed to rest, eat something, or drink more. But so far, so good.
They’d been walking for almost five hours now, the terrain steeper as they moved into the foothills south of Baboquivari Peak, which would serve as their guidepost. By dawn, they ought to be able to see its rocky summit jutting into the sky like a giant tooth. They would keep it on their right, heading diagonally—
“Ooh!” A gasp of pain.
Zach turned to find Natalie holding her arm, an ocotillo branch snagged on the collar of her jacket. “Hold still.”
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I was watching my feet. I didn’t see it.”
He took the branch and pulled it free, careful to keep the thorns away from her face. But there on the right side of her neck was a deep, nasty scratch. “Let’s take a break, and I’ll look at that.”
He drew her to some nearby rocks, sent a scorpion flying with his boot before she could spot it, then shucked his backpack and helped her out of hers. Then he opened his pack, drew out the first-aid kit and a couple of energy bars. “Eat. How are your feet?”
She took one of the bars and tore open its wrapper. “The left one is just a little sore on the heel.”
“Let’s look at that, too.” Figuring the moonlight would be enough, he shed the night vision goggles and his gloves, set them on the pack where nothing was likely to crawl inside them, then opened the first-aid kit and drew out a Betadine swab. “Tilt your head to the left. Perfect. This is pretty deep, so the antiseptic is going to sting.”
She gasped, squeezed her eyes shut, the energy bar stopped just short of her lips.
He worked quickly, spreading antibiotic ointment on it, and then covering the scratch with an adhesive bandage. “Okay, now the foot.”
“Yes, Mom.” She gave him a teasing look, then reached to unlace her left boot.
He beat her to it. He drew off her boot and sock and set them in her lap. Then he grabbed the moleskin out of the first-aid kit. “Were you and your mother close?”
What’s the matter with you, McBride? Now you’re asking the nosy questions.
Natalie nodded. “I was an only child, so, yes, she and I were close. I was close to my father, too. They were the best parents in the world.”
“They’d be incredibly proud if they could see you now—the way you’ve handled this, how much you’ve done for yourself.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I know so.”
“I miss them. Every day of my life, I miss them.” Her voice was filled with sadness.
He took a piece of moleskin, tore off the adhesive strip, and wrapped the protective flannel around her heel where he could just feel the beginning of a blister. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
She looked up at him, rested a hand on his arm. “No, don’t be. I don’t m—”
He clamped a hand over her mouth and listened.
Men’s voices.
WITHOUT ZACH NEEDING to tell her what to do, Natalie drew on her sock, crammed her foot into her boot, and began lacing. By the time she was finished, Zach had her pack ready. She slipped into the shoulder straps and fastened the hip belt.
He pointed toward the hillside, whispering. “Go! Fast as you can.”
Fast as she could was pretty damned fast if there were bad guys on their tail.
Fueled by adrenaline, she attacked the hillside with quick strides, ignoring the burn in her thighs and the ache in
She froze.
“This way.” Strong hands grabbed the back of her pack and jerked her to the right just as the telltale rattle started.
Moving as fast as her feet could carry her, she continued in the direction Zach had steered her. She was wondering how she was going to get around the stand of mesquite in their path, when he halted her.
“Down.”
Grabbing the rifle off her pack, she crawled beneath the mesquite, her breath coming hard. Zach raised his goggles, then lifted his AK, sighting on the valley below, his finger shifting the weapon into full-auto mode. She did the same, just as he’d showed her back at the hotel in Altar. Through the rifle’s night scope, the desert glowed green again.
Some thirty feet away, the rattlesnake had fallen silent. Or maybe her heart was beating too loudly for her to hear it.
And then off to the south, she saw them—a line of about fifteen men carrying strange burlap backpacks. Judging from the way the men walked, stooping forward, the packs were extremely heavy.
Zach pressed his lips against her ear. “Drug runners.”
Three of them had what looked like AK-47s. Moving slowly, they scanned the hillside, weapons raised. They must have heard her and Zach talking—or heard their gear rattling during their hasty uphill escape.
“Don’t fire. Don’t move.” Zach’s voice was barely a whisper. None of the men below were wearing night vision goggles, which gave Natalie some hope. One hissed something to another in Spanish. That one hissed back. It sounded to her like they were arguing, though she couldn’t make out the words.
Slowly, so slowly, they passed by, Natalie watching through the night scope until they disappeared in the distance.
She let out the breath she’d been holding and leaned her cheek against the cold steel of the rifle, her heart still racing, her body starting to tremble.
“You are without a doubt the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.”
Adrenaline still hot in her veins, she looked over to find Zach watching her, his teeth white in the darkness as he smiled down at her. Without even thinking, she let go of the rifle, planted her palms on either side of his face—and kissed him.
He made a little groan in his throat, leaned into the kiss, his tongue meeting hers halfway, his hands removing first his backpack, then hers. Then his arms were around her, crushing her against him, the kiss now a brutal clash of lips and teeth and tongues.
She reached down, unbuttoned the top button of his pants, slid her hand beneath his T-shirt, feeling the ridges of his muscles before unzipping his fly and freeing his erection. She took him in hand, working the length of him, as his hand fought with her zipper, slid inside her panties, and stroked her.
Then all at once she was on her hands and knees, Zach jerking her pants down with such force that he dragged her backward. He nudged his knee between her legs, parting her thighs as wide as they could go, then pushed into her—hard.
Again and again he drove himself into her, stretching her, filling her, the slippery friction igniting a fire deep in her belly. She arched her back, his thrusts so wonderfully hard that they rocked her, his testicles slapping against her. Then he reached around, his fingers delving between her thighs, finding her clitoris, stroking her inside and out.
It felt so good, so good . . . Thrust after thrust . . . Deeper, harder . . . Zach! Piercing her, penetrating her . . . Oh, Zach! She needed him, ached for him . . . Her gloved fingers dug into the sand . . . Digging in, holding on, as the heat inside her drew into a tense, shimmering knot—and exploded.
She bit her lip, held back a cry as pleasure blazed through her, a firestorm of sensation, Zach’s deep thrusts prolonging her climax until the flames had burned themselves out, her body nothing but ashes floating on the night wind.
Then she heard him suck in a breath, felt him pull out, his fingers digging into her hips as he came on her bare derriere, ejaculate hitting her in hot, wet spurts, his bare thighs pressed against her. Then for a moment he collapsed over her, breathing hard, pressing kisses to her shoulder, his hand resting beside hers in the sand.
“You are the most amazing woman . . . Don’t move.” One big hand rubbed circles onto the skin of her lower back, while the other rummaged around in his pack. Then something cold and wet touched the skin of her behind as he wiped her clean. “If I told you your bare ass looks fantastic in the moonlight, would you hold that against me?”
ZACH HELPED NATALIE to her feet, fighting the urge to hold her. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She fastened her hip belt. “I’m not that fragile, for goodness’ sake.”
“Let’s go. We’ve got some catching up to do.” He slipped into the night vision goggles, then led her down the hillside, regret taking some of the glow out of his postorgasmic high.
He didn’t regret having sex with her. What red-blooded, heterosexual man would? True, shagging in the middle of the desert in the middle of the night in the middle of what was essentially a war zone was not an act of tactical genius. In fact, it had been flat-out irresponsible. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. But he was sorry for the way he’d handled it.
She deserves tenderness, McBride. You just shoved her onto her hands and knees and fucked her.
To be fair, she had started it, and she had come. It was not as if she hadn’t enjoyed it. But he’d been so rough with her. After everything she’d been through . . .
If you had waited until it was safer, until you had more time . . .
He would make it up to her when they reached Sells. In the meantime, he was going to find where he’d put the damned condoms he’d bought and make sure he kept one where he could easily grab it. The chemistry between them was combustible. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to lose control and come inside her, and he did not want to do that to her.
He glanced back to make sure she truly was okay, then focused his mind on footprints in the sand, not because he wanted to track the drug runners who’d passed by them, but because he wanted to avoid them. He’d watched them disappear beyond the draw just ahead. If he and Natalie followed the draw west, they might be able to avoid them and still stay on course. The traffickers had clearly heard them and knew someone else was in the area. They would be ready and waiting.
He crouched down as they neared the draw, his gaze searching through thick stands of mesquite, looking for any sign of movement. Nada. “This way.”
They traveled west along the draw until it vanished into a tangle of tamarisk and ocotillo, then made their way carefully northward again, flushing a small herd of javelinas out of a patch of prickly pear where they’d been feasting.
“Look!” She pointed, a smile on her face. “Wild pigs!”
“They have razor-sharp tusks, so don’t try to hug one.”
Zach kept his gaze on the sand, wishing he had Jason Chiago’s skill with cutting sign. But Jason had been born to it. He could read the desert like no one Zach had ever seen. Zach had trained with him for a couple of weeks during his first year with the Marshal Service. He’d learned a lot, but not enough to match even the least skilled Shadow Wolf.
They stopped at 0300 hours to rest and refuel, Zach introducing her to the joys of MREs.
“That’s a fudge brownie?” She stared down at the food in her hand. “It tastes more like—”
“Chocolate-flavored cardboard? Eat the entire thing. You need it.”
“Yes, sir!” She gave him a mock salute, but dutifully took another bite, washing it down with a sip from her hydration pack.
She still hadn’t uttered a single word of complaint, but Zach could see the exhaustion on her face. “I had planned to go on past dawn. Are you up to that?”
She nodded again.
But two hours later it was clear that she wasn’t going to hold out. Dead on her feet, she stumbled after him, misery and fatigue etched in every
“We’re going to find a place to camp and stop for the night.”
“Okay.” She started to sit.
He grabbed her shoulder harness and drew her back to her feet. “Not here, angel. We need to find someplace sheltered. Stay with me, okay?”
“Okay.”
Thirty minutes later he’d found a rock ledge overhanging a space wide enough for the two of them. It was protected on one side by a gully and hidden on the other by a thick stand of mesquite. Best of all, it faced west—away from the rising sun.
He took Natalie’s pack and sat her down on a nearby rock with orders to eat another so-called brownie. He made sure the area under the overhang was arachnid and snake free, then set out the wool blanket he’d brought. Grabbing two ibuprofen from his pack, he carried them to her. “Take these, then drink the rest of your water.”
She didn’t even ask what the pills were, but swallowed them with several gulps from her hydration pack.
“It’s bedtime.”
“Thank God.” She stood, took his hand, and let him lead her to the little camp he’d made, her movements wooden. She stopped and glanced upward, speaking in a sleepy voice. “I never knew there were so many stars.”
He sat on the blanket. She sat beside him, her head falling against his chest. And he realized that she was already sound asleep.
Chuckling to himself, he lowered her to the blanket, removed his jacket, and draped it over her to ward off the nighttime chill. Then he grabbed the AK and leaned back against the rock to keep watch, his gaze returning again and again to her face.
NATALIE WAS SOUND asleep when something jabbed her on the butt—hard. She opened her eyes, found herself lying on her stomach on a thick wool blanket, the sun already up. And for a moment she thought she’d imagined being poked.
Then it happened again—a painful, sharp jab.
She rolled over, saw something big and black standing beside her, and screamed.
Whatever it was—a big ugly bird—screamed, too, flapping its wings and jumping away from her. Then it spread its wings and, with a few hops, took to the sky.