Hoping to find some measure of peace of mind in the contents of Mark’s safe deposit box, she followed Nick as a male bank clerk led them to the entrance to the boxes. A guard opened the gate-like door and they all stepped in. The clerk used his key, Mary Beth hers, then moments later, the man excused himself, leaving Nick and her alone, the metal box on a table in front of them.
With shaky fingers, she swung the hinged top open. Inside were stacks of papers in stiff letter-sized folders marked to indicate they contained Mark’s life insurance policy and will. She opened the folder that held the will and found a single one-hundred-dollar bill. “I wonder why he kept this in here?”
“Maybe it’s the first money he ever made.” Nick took the bill from her and put it on the table as she investigated the will.
“Mark’s not a sentimentalist. He wouldn’t do that.” She scanned the brief document and almost sobbed in frustration. Mark hadn’t left her any sort of message. This was nothing more than the disposition of his belongings, what few there were. He’d added her name to his savings at this bank, his half of their grandmother’s bequest. It, and her half, would help her pay the ransom. She put the will back inside its folder and closed it. “There are numbers penned on the back of this. See?”
“They’re dates, but they’re old. Do these mean anything to you?” Nick turned the folder so he could read it.
“No,” she replied, and took it back. “I don’t understand why there’s not more here. Something that would explain what’s going on.”
“Don’t be disappointed. This is probably a good sign,” Nick said.
“I was sure—” She stopped, her hand reaching into the box again. A small manila envelope, no more than two inches square, lay on the bottom.
“What is it?” Nick asked.
When she lifted the tiny envelope, something metallic jingled inside. She ripped it open and poured out the contents.
A chain fell into her palm. A chain with a metal tag about one inch long, three-quarters of an inch wide.
Nick’s quickly inhaled breath made Mary Beth look up at him in confusion. He reached for the chain and held it up, letting the tag dangle from his fingers. It appeared to be a military dog tag. Nick’s fingers trembled slightly as he held it steady.
She didn’t understand until he passed it back to her.
Embossed in square businesslike type were a date and a number, followed by a name: Daniel Vargas Romero, Capitán.
***
Nick drove away from the bank in silence. Finding Daniel’s dog tags in Mark Williams’ safety deposit box had shaken him. Daniel had lost them during a particularly harrowing exercise, so he’d had to go through the bureaucracy to get another set. Or so he’d told Nick. The new ones had been on his body after the general’s assault on the rebels’ compound. Had Daniel lied about losing them and instead given them to Williams? Or had Williams taken them? Or did it mean that Daniel had been running guns with him?
If Williams was suspected of being involved with Primero de Mayo’s drug trafficking, the Drug Enforcement Administration would claim the lead in an investigation. But what about the Secret Service? Daniel had worked with both the American Special Forces group stationed as advisers and the DEA in a number of instances. The CIA was always a possibility in any investigation, but Nick couldn’t recall mention of the Secret Service. And there was no mention of the American’s ATF, which, if there was an investigation into gunrunning, would have definitely been involved. Maybe, as with every other bit of confusing information having to do with Williams, Carlos’ contacts had simply added another American alphabet agency.
But there was a connection between Daniel and Williams. The general had to have known what it was. The request to burn the house had a purpose. He must believe it contained something incriminating. The question remained: Did it incriminate the general? Or Daniel?
The key was Mark Williams.
“Was your brother ever stationed in San Mateo when he was in the Army?” Nick asked Mary Beth.
“I don’t know He was in and out of several countries, with two tours in Afghanistan.”
“Do you know what unit he was in?”
“The 7th Special Forces Group, based at Eglin Air Force Base.”
A Green Beret, then. Nick had trained with them. They’d been in San Mateo and other Latin American countries on counter narcotics operations as well as in Afghanistan. Had Williams’ military background and perhaps experience in San Mateo led him into the arms trade?
“Does the company he works for contract with the military?”
“I wouldn’t know that.” She looked at him curiously. “What are you thinking?”
Carlos could find out more about the company. There was a connection between his brother and hers. Some connection…
They pulled in front of the house, both deep in thought. Nick checked the perimeter, aware that with the general knowing they were here, anyone following them could know. But he saw nothing out of the ordinary.
“Mark hasn’t done anything wrong,” Mary Beth said when he finished and opened her car door. “I know that. There has to be an explanation for this insane accusation, for his involvement with your cousin.”
The phone began ringing in the house. Nick ignored it, choosing instead to follow through on his thoughts. “What if we find out it’s true?”
She shook her head vigorously. “It’s not.”
So she’d lost whatever doubts had haunted her. Mark Williams was the type of man who inspired loyalty. Nick hoped it was well deserved. And wished desperately that the general had not shaken his faith in Daniel.
The phone kept ringing, quit when he opened the front door, only to begin again immediately.
The house, dark because of the closed shades, felt odd. Unsettled.
Nick pushed Mary Beth behind him as he entered and turned on the lights.
The house had been ransacked, the couch cushions overturned, every drawer in the dining and living room up-ended.
Keeping her behind him, he eased down the hall. The phone quit ringing. The room she’d used looked much the same as her hotel room had the day before. Clothing tossed everywhere, drawers open, the contents torn apart.
“What do they want?” she whispered.
The phone started ringing again. Nick dragged her with him toward the room he’d used, alert to any noise in case he’d missed someone hiding in the house. This room, like hers, had been tossed. He grabbed the phone.
“Sí,” he said, his gaze on Mary Beth.
“Nicholas!”
The panicky quality of Mario Gomez from the Ministry of Justice came over the line.
“¿Que pasa?” Nick asked.
“You must leave. Quickly.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Rangers will take you. You must leave the country. ¡Ahora!”
Even over the phone, Nick could hear Mario’s uneven breathing.
“Many hands are involved. Leave, Nicholas. I am doing you a favor. Believe me. Your family name cannot save you.”
“Save me from what?”
“The woman. La americana. Los gringos and our Rangers, they are in competition to get her. If they find you, they will take you also.”
“What—”
“¡Escucha, Nicholas! I am warning you because I owe you. There is a fabricated story of a ransom demand by Primero de Mayo. I can say no more. You must leave now,” he repeated.
“Mario—”
But Mario had hung up.
“What’s happening?” Mary Beth stood, staring at him.
“I don’t know.” He wasn’t yet convinced that the ransom demand was a hoax, but if Mario was right, if it was a hoax, the game had changed. Still, someone thought Mary Beth had something of value—or was trying to scare her away. The Americans? The San Matean Rangers? Nick preferred to believe that the Americans would treat her fairly, despite what Carlos had said. He had no doubt what Vargas’ men would do.
Nick reached
up into the closet and pulled out a box. From it, he took two handguns, a Glock and a .357, along with several boxes of ammunition.
“Guns?” Mary Beth asked, her voice catching.
He met her gaze steadily. “Do you know how to shoot?”
She glanced at the guns, then at him. “Sort of.”
“We’ll work on it.” Grabbing the guns and boxes, he put them into a small duffle bag. Next, he pulled two raincoats from the closet and handed them to her. “Take these. We’re going on and may not have shelter from the rain and the cold. Pack only what you’ll need for two to three days.”
***
Two hours of riding in the lurching Land Cruiser over a nonexistent road gave Mary Beth plenty of time to think. She’d exhausted herself with possible explanations for Mark’s predicament and had turned her attention to Nick.
The peacemaker wasn’t necessarily a peaceful man. He knew how to use a gun. Well, that wasn’t so odd. Diplomatic Security took care of American diplomats overseas. Surely all diplomats were trained in self-defense. Nick had been sent all over the world, not only by San Mateo but also by the UN. It stood to reason he should know how to take care of himself.
But it didn’t explain that sense she’d gotten when they first arrived in the mountains. She’d sensed … well, a predator.
Now that was fanciful.
“Here we are.”
Ahead, cast against the brilliant blue of a sunny sky and the barren Andean plateau, stood a single-story wooden house, smoke pouring from its chimney. A ramshackle old barn was off to the left.
Nick pulled up to the barn, got out to open the huge sliding door, then drove the Land Cruiser inside. Hay stacked to the ceiling left little room for the car. Two empty stalls held freshly scattered hay across the floor.
“What are we doing here?”
“I want to ask the owner a question or two.” He stepped out of the car. “I’m going to the house and tell César we’re here.”
She opened the door to get out.
“Wait here.”
She didn’t want to be left alone. The barn, with the door shut and its tiny window covered with dust, was dim and cold despite the midday sun. She closed the car door behind herself, shivering, and leaned against it.
Minutes later, the grinding sound of the barn door startled her. “Mary Beth?” Nick called. “Come give me a hand.”
A short heavy man stood next to Nick holding a bundle. Nick held a small box.
“Blankets, señorita,” the man said in Spanish. “And food.”
Nick made the introductions in the same language. “This is César Gonzalez.”
“Gracias,” she said, taking the blankets from César and putting them inside the Land Cruiser. The box Nick held contained bread and a few things wrapped in white paper.
“I will leave you, Don Nicholas.”
“César,” Nick said, stopping him as he reached the open barn door. “When was the last time you saw Capitán Daniel?”
“Oh, let me see.” César scratched his head. “It was a week or two before he was taken. Sí, that is when it was. He came with the man he met here.”
“What man?”
“Tall. He spoke like a city man.”
“San Matean?”
“Argentino, I think. Many here called him el rubio because of the color of his hair.”
“A blond?”
Mary Beth stepped closer, her attention fixed on what César was saying.
“Like la señorita, maybe. Hair the color of straw.”
Mark. It had to be Mark.
“How often did he meet this man?”
“Tal vez … one time or two in a month.” César paused. “Sí, almost every two weeks. Isabel, my niece, she spent time with el rubio. She claimed he was a carpenter, from la montaña. She said he worked for Padre Franco at the mission.”
“Is your niece here?”
“Yes, she stays with us because she teaches here.”
“May we talk to her?”
“She cannot come until after her school. Eat, rest. I will bring her.”
After César left, Mary Beth voiced her question. “It’s Mark, isn’t it? Mark meeting your cousin.”
“It’s possible.”
“But Mark’s not a carpenter.”
“Would you rather believe he’s a gunrunner?”
She had no reply.
“Do you have a picture of Mark with you?”
“It’s small,” she hedged.
“We’ll see if she recognizes him.”
A few minutes later, after they’d eaten the bread and ham César had brought them, Nick spread a blanket on the hay. He wanted to ask Mary Beth what she would do when she found answers that destroyed her faith in her brother. As he might find answers that would destroy Daniel’s professional reputation—the one thing Daniel had left that he could claim with pride as his own.
Nick had taken everything else.
***
Mary Beth wrapped herself in a blanket and sat, shivering, her back against a bale of hay. She arranged and rearranged the cover around her shoulders until Nick couldn’t watch anymore.
Smiling, he said, “You could sit next to me.”
She stopped fiddling with the blanket and looked up.
“We could share the blankets and the body heat.” She didn’t move. “It’s cold, Mary Beth.”
“I’ll be fine right here.”
Nick almost laughed at her quick retort. He suspected he understood. At least he understood his reasons for keeping her at arms’ length.
“Look,” he began, hoping he didn’t sound like a total ass. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together. We both have reasons to continue—obligations, promises, if you will. We are adults. There is an attraction, but you set the limits.”
“That’s rather generous of you.” Was there a hint of laughter in her voice?
“Not really. I know what I want.” Something he couldn’t have. “The real question is what do you want?”
He knew he had her undivided attention by the way she stiffened. “I want to save my brother.”
“That’s not what we’re talking about.”
“That’s what’s important, what matters.”
He felt compelled to make her acknowledge the passion that had flared between them. He refused to be alone in it. He squatted down and gently traced her cheek with his fingers. “Is that all?”
Confusion simmered in her eyes. And yearning. He could see it as clearly as he felt the same pull in himself.
She took a deep shaky breath and pulled away. “I won’t let anything interfere with saving Mark.”
***
Mary Beth woke to the sound of a cow mooing. Heat encompassed her back from her neck to her legs. A heavy weight curled beneath her arm and against her breast. She reveled in the heat, then suddenly remembered where she was. And with whom.
Pushing the hair away from her face, she looked down to see Nick’s strong arm holding her. A stab of desire, so quick it startled her, speared her senses. His steady breathing indicated he was still asleep.
He’d given her the power to decide where their “attraction,” as he called it, would go. Nothing about him, nothing he’d said indicated any interest in permanence. He was simply being a gentleman and letting her decide. Or was he? As a diplomat, he knew better than most what it would take to get what he wanted. Even Doña Elena said he knew how to be persuasive. She didn’t kid herself that he was here only to help her and Mark. He was here because his cousin was somehow involved. Practically, he was using her as much as she was using him.
What did it matter? She knew what kind of life he led, one of half-truths and secrets. If she had the misfortune to find Nicholas Romero a temptation too great to withstand, why worry where it went? She wouldn’t get hurt as long as she didn’t let herself expect anything from him. He’d do only what served his purposes. As long as he saw a need to save Mark, she’d get what she came for. She simply had to re
main in control of her emotions.
She tried to move away. His arm tightened around her and his breathing altered.
“Did you sleep well?” His voice rumbled against her neck, sending shivers to her toes.
With gentle pressure he turned her onto her back so that she gazed directly into his eyes. He had no right to look so good. A shadow of beard roughened his features. Those blue eyes, so deep, pulled at her.
“Yes,” she managed to say, and felt him stretch against her.
“Warm enough?”
Hot enough to sizzle. “Oh, yes.” Was that her voice?
“Isabel should be here shortly,” he said softly. “We should get up.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
And then she knew he was doing just that, and not doing a very good job. Because he lowered his face to hers and, eyes fastened to her mouth, kissed her.
The contact, so fiery, made her gasp. He caught the sound in his mouth and settled one strong thigh across her hips. She was melting against the blankets rumpled on the hay. His mouth, fierce and enticing, feasted on hers. The scratchy feel of his unshaven chin added texture to the fires of passion and woke her to what she was doing.
He was too complicated a man for her. She wished, desperately, that she could separate the physical from the emotional.
He pulled away, still close enough for her to see the curl of his lashes.
“Stop me now.” His words reverberated against her tingling nerves.
She nodded slowly, unable to utter a word with the delicious feel of his body crushing her to the hay.
He moved a hand to touch her lips. Suddenly, he sprang from their coarse bed.
When she’d composed herself enough to look at him, she saw arousal in the taut lines of his body.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. She was, but she wasn’t sure if it was because she hadn’t made up her mind or because he’d stopped so easily.
He looked down at her, the lips that had scalded her turned up slightly. He raised his arms over his head and stretched, his body sleek and perfect and enticing. With something that sounded like regret, he said, “So am I.”
***
A half hour later, Isabel, a pretty woman of around thirty, came to the barn. Mary Beth showed her Mark’s picture.
To the Limit (Shadow Heroes Book 3) Page 9
