To the Limit (Shadow Heroes Book 3)

by Virginia Kelly

  She pounded on the rough door of the clinic, shifting her weight from one foot to the other when no one answered. She banged louder, and heard movement from inside.

  “¿Qué pasa?” came a man’s voice.

  “¡Doctór!” she shouted back. From behind the door came the sound of shuffling feet.

  It swung open and a short, gray-haired man with a ruddy complexion stood before her. He finished buttoning a blue shirt.

  “I need the doctor,” she said.

  “I am Jean Rousseau, the doctor. What is wrong?”

  “Padre Franco sent us. It’s Nick Romero. He’s hurt.”

  Without another word, the middle-aged man stepped outside, opened the back door of the Land Cruiser and bent down. “Good God, Nick! What happened?”

  “He’s bleeding. Stabbed, I think.”

  Even as she answered, the doctor was opening the blankets, hastily lifting the bloody towel. “How long ago?”

  “Sometime last night. I don’t know exactly when.”

  “Let’s get him inside.”

  With some help from Nick, who seemed to understand what they were doing, they managed. Halfway through the struggle, she realized she and the doctor were speaking English.

  The inside of the clinic reassured Mary Beth somewhat. It was better equipped than she expected, very clean and there seemed to be all sorts of supplies stored in the glass fronted cabinets around the room. She helped the doctor lay Nick on an examining table.

  “Jean,” he said once, then closed his eyes.

  The doctor cut Nick’s shirt off and peeled it away from his body. Mary Beth had opened his jeans and folded the waist down low on his hips to place the towels on his wounds. Now Dr. Rousseau lifted the blood soaked pads, then turned the light from an examining lamp onto his abdomen.

  The sight made Mary Beth’s chest ache. She sucked in a breath. The floor seemed to move beneath her.

  The doctor turned to her. “Get out of here. You’ll do him no good if you faint.” His words brooked no argument. “There’s a bathroom down the hall,” he said, signaling with his eyes. “Sit down and put your head between your knees. Then splash cold water on your face. Don’t come back unless you can be of help.”

  Mary Beth stumbled through the door. She found the bathroom and, taking big steady breaths, did as she was told. After the woozy feeling passed, she stood and looked at herself in the small mirror. Blood smeared her cheeks. With jerky movements, she turned on the cold water and scrubbed her face and hands.

  Finally, with her head clear, she stepped through the examining room door and watched the doctor work on Nick, his movements sure and practical.

  Nick looked like a mannequin. Angular features, dark hair, ashen skin. Perfect body except for the dark stitches marring the beauty of his abdomen.

  “Don’t come in here if you’re going to faint.”

  “I won’t faint.”

  “Good.” He put aside something he held in his hand and turned toward her. “You are…?”

  “Mary Beth Williams.”

  “Mary Beth, we have to turn him over. Help me.”

  Maybe it was the knowledge that Dr. Rousseau was in charge, that she was no longer solely responsible for Nick’s life, that prompted her to follow the doctor’s orders. She even watched as he cleaned, stitched and bandaged the wound on his lower back.

  “What happened?” Jean Rousseau asked when he’d finished.

  “I don’t know.” Mary Beth helped turn Nick back over again. He was so still. She gently brushed his hair away from his forehead.

  “Through some miracle, nothing vital was cut. I had to clean the wounds, which caused him a lot of pain. I gave him something for it, so he’s going to sleep.” The doctor lifted the bandage on the abdominal wound, looked closely, then pressed it down again. “Infection is the biggest threat now. I’ve given him a shot of antibiotics. I wish I had more local anesthetic, but the injection I gave him for pain seemed to help. I don’t have any way of giving him a transfusion.”

  “Will he be all right?”

  “He should sleep for a good while. He’ll probably wake up a little groggy from the narcotic. Rest is what he needs.”

  “No one must know he’s here.”

  The doctor’s gaze shot to hers.

  It took only a second for Mary Beth to decide whether to tell Dr. Rousseau all of it. If Padre Franco and Nick trusted the man, she would, too. “San Matean Rangers, a man claiming to be from the American embassy, and maybe American Special Forces are after us.”

  The whole story bubbled out of Mary Beth as the doctor finished with Nick. They moved him into the doctor’s living quarters. Nick was of little help, barely holding himself up, until they lowered him onto a cot.

  “So you believe Daniel knew your brother?”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  “Nick will help you save your brother.”

  Mary Beth knelt down next to Nick and took his hand. “He was dreaming about his cousin’s death earlier.”

  “That was a very dark time for him,” the doctor said.

  “I’ve heard bits and pieces of what happened. Can you fill in the blanks?” Mary Beth asked.

  Dr. Rousseau looked up and seemed to assess her before pointing to a nearby cot. “Sit.”

  He checked Nick’s pupils, then moved away to lean against the doorjamb. “And please, call me Jean.” At her nod, he continued. “Nick was in New York when the news broke that Daniel had been taken hostage. He rushed back, determined to negotiate as he had so often, not just here, but all over the world. The generals, unbeknownst to Nick, pushed for a military option—a raid to rescue the men. They didn’t want a two-month standoff like the one at the Italian embassy. Nick met with the terrorists and came out. While he was preparing for a second meeting, General Vargas, Daniel’s father, with the help of one of his officers, went ahead with the raid. It was a horrible mistake.”

  Mary Beth shivered and hugged herself. The doctor took a blanket from a nearby shelf and handed it to her.

  “Nick couldn’t stop the assault. The general personally led the raid. It was a purely political move. There were others much more capable.”

  “That’s why Nick blames him.”

  “He’s right. Daniel and the two soldiers with him should be alive.” Jean Rousseau shook his head. “As it was, Nick and Franco found Daniel’s body inside the compound after the failed raid. He’d been executed, as had the other two men. Some of the terrorists were killed, but others got away. Vargas didn’t save the men. The whole thing was a disaster. But as with everything that man does, he salvaged something. Politically, he sold many people on the idea that he was tough on terrorists.”

  “Daniel?” Nick muttered, his voice cracking.

  Mary Beth knelt next to him and took his hand.

  “You’re safe, Nick.”

  “I’m sorry.” He sighed and slipped into unconsciousness.

  ***

  Mary Beth’s eyes flew open at the sound of a male voice.

  Nick. He was shifting, mumbling, his voice rough. She jumped from the cot next to him and bent to hold his shoulder down to keep him from sitting up. He’d uncovered himself, so she pulled the sheet up over his bare bandaged abdomen.

  Strong fingers grabbed her hand. “No,” he whispered, his blue eyes fever-glazed. “No.”

  “It’s okay, Nick. You’re safe. At Dr. Rousseau’s.”

  “No.” He held her hand with increased pressure. “It’s in the blood.” He spoke in Spanish and took a deep breath. “Angela!”

  “It’s me, Nick. Mary Beth.”

  “It’s in the blood…” His words trailed off and his hold on her loosened.

  She heard the door open, and turned.

  The doctor stepped into the room. “Is he awake?”

  “He was, I think. But he’s restless and he’s not making sense.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Something about blood.”

  The doct
or nodded and checked the bandages.

  “Who’s Angela?”

  He straightened and looked at her. “His real mother. She was an American. Died shortly after childbirth. He mentioned her?”

  “Yes.”

  Once again, he bent over Nick, this time to check his pupils. “He’s having a bad reaction to what I gave him for pain. Let me know if he says anything else odd or if he becomes restless. His fever should break shortly. I wish I’d had more local anesthetic.”

  ***

  Three women looked at him. All casualties of a Vargas.

  Angela Crosby. Beautiful, forever young. Forever lost. She’d had no life after giving birth to him.

  Elena, a survivor who deserved a life after giving up hers to mother the child he had been, the man he’d become. The man who failed her son.

  Cristina, left alone to raise a child who needed protection. His son now.

  He owed each of them.

  “Nick?” Mary Beth’s voice intruded on his vision. “I’m here.”

  But she wouldn’t be when she found out what he was.

  ***

  A noise from the front of the clinic pierced the fog of Mary Beth’s dreams. She was glad for it. Her dreams had been nightmares awash in Nick’s bright red blood.

  “You’re awake.” Jean Rousseau’s friendly face smiled down at her.

  “Yes.” She sat up, instantly looking toward Nick. “He’s been very restless. Sometimes reaching for things that aren’t there.”

  “I saw. He’s reacting to the narcotic.” He bent over Nick, checked his pulse. “If only I’d had— Well, doesn’t make any difference now. It’ll wear off. He’s sleeping now, so I’m not going to disturb him. I’ll have to change the bandages later, but first, you need to eat.”

  The thought triggered a spike of nausea. “I don’t think I can.”

  “You’ll have to if you want to be of any help to him.”

  A few minutes later, while she washed in the small bathroom, she thought she understood what the doctor had done. He would make her take care of herself for Nick. Somehow he’d seen how important Nick had become to her.

  The small kitchen smelled of coffee and hot bread. Despite her earlier reaction to the thought of food, Mary Beth’s stomach rumbled. Jean heard and smiled.

  “I guess I am hungry.” She glanced at the time. Nearly 6:00 p.m., about twelve hours since they’d left the mission.

  “Eat and we’ll try to get Nick to take something.”

  Nick didn’t protest when Jean woke him changing the bandages. He said a single word before letting himself be propped up enough to take a few swallows of orange juice. “Gracias.” Then he fell asleep again.

  Jean took his pulse, then looked at Mary Beth. “His fever’s broken and the pain med I gave him is wearing off. Both are good things. I have to go check on some patients. Try to give him some juice every hour or so. Sweet tea would be good, too.”

  Patiently, Mary Beth spent hours feeding Nick spoonsful of liquid. He didn’t protest. He didn’t open his eyes. He said nothing.

  ***

  The slamming of the door woke Mary Beth. She’d fallen asleep again slumped in a chair next to Nick’s cot, even though she’d dozed all day long and most of the evening. The tea had gotten cold.

  “I brought steaks and bananas.” Jean said from the open door. “We have to build his strength back up, so I asked for my payment to be beef. The bananas will restore his potassium levels.”

  Mary Beth stood, stretching. “I’ll cook if you’ll tell me where things are.”

  “Be my guest.” He led Mary Beth into the kitchen. “Has he been awake at all?”

  “No, not really. He’s talked nonsense once, but he hasn’t tried to get up again.”

  “Good, good,” he said. “That’s a good sign. I’ll give him another injection of antibiotics and look at the wounds.” He turned to leave, then turned back. “Oh, Mary Beth, I hid the Land Cruiser.”

  Mary Beth half listened to the doctor’s explanation of where the car was hidden, until she realized that in her concern over Nick she’d pushed Mark aside. She couldn’t afford to do that.

  Four more days and the terrorists would kill him. Nick was in no shape to go anywhere.

  She would have to go on alone.

  ***

  Nick opened his eyes at the feel of pressure on his wrist.

  “Well, my fine young friend,” Jean said, smiling as he took his pulse. “You’re going to live.”

  He cleared his throat, his mouth dry. “I feel like hell.”

  “You look it, too.”

  “Have I thanked you?”

  “Yes. But it’s Mary Beth you should thank. She got you here before you lost too much blood.”

  He didn’t want to owe her. “I’m sure I thanked her.” But the words came out harshly.

  “I certainly hope you don’t use that tone with her.”

  Nick didn’t have the energy to argue.

  “Unfortunately, I didn’t help you very much. I ran out of local anesthetic as I cleaned your wounds. Do you remember?”

  “I remember pain.”

  “I had to give you a narcotic painkiller. You didn’t react well. You’ll have to remember in the future. You don’t want to hallucinate again.”

  “I hallucinated?”

  “Had your pretty nurse very worried about you.”

  Nick didn’t like the thought of being out of control. What had he said?

  “About her brother…” Jean said. “Are you helping her for her sake or for Daniel’s?”

  Jean Rousseau knew him too well.

  “I just hope we find him alive,” Nick replied.

  “What happened to you?”

  “I got a tip that our Rangers had him.” He took a steadying breath. “So I went to the stockade. Williams wasn’t there, but there were weapons. Grenade launchers. Guns. Ammunition.” He shut his eyes against the burning at his stomach. “Lots of them.” He took another careful breath. “And a guard with a knife.”

  “You think they’ve got Mary Beth’s brother?”

  “They had him, but I don’t know what they did with him.” He tried to shift but thought better of it. “Took him and an old man named Demetrio Vazquez.”

  “Oh, you mean the counterfeiter.”

  Surprised, Nick rolled to one side, ignoring the discomfort, and looked at Jean. “Counterfeiter?”

  “Got out of jail about six months ago. He was one of the best counterfeiters of American dollars around,” Jean said. “Daniel was involved with that arrest, I think. So was the American Secret Service.”

  Nick struggled to think, but the heaviness of exhaustion made it impossible.

  “Rest a while,” Jean said.

  Nick closed his eyes, drifting between wakefulness and sleep.

  ***

  Mary Beth stood over Nick. The aroma of steak drifted up from the plate she held in her hand. She hated to wake him.

  “Nick?”

  He shifted a little but didn’t open his eyes.

  “Nick?” She put the plate down on the small table next to the cot. “Jean says you have to drink and try to eat.”

  He opened his eyes and looked straight at her.

  “It’s counterfeiting.”

  “What?”

  “Whatever is going on,” he said. “It’s counterfeiting.”

  She brushed her hand across his forehead. He was still reacting to the drug. “I’ll get Jean.”

  He took her hand, pulled it to his chest and spoke firmly. “The numbers on the scrap of paper,” he insisted. “The hundred-dollar bill. It has to do with counterfeiting.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He attempted to sit, and winced. “My head is clear. I’ll explain.”

  She put her right arm under his shoulder and helped him push himself up. He held his bandaged stomach, mouth drawn in pain, and sat with his back against the wall. After taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes.

  �
�Are you sure you’re okay?”

  He nodded, eyes still closed, and he replied. “I found a boy at the market who told me his grandfather and Mark were taken by the Rangers.”

  “If the Rangers took Mark, how did the rebels get him?”

  “I’m not convinced Primero de Mayo has him.” He told her what he’d learned.

  As she listened, Mary Beth’s thoughts raced. “Currency serial numbers.”

  “American dollars.” His words were more breath than sound.

  “Don’t talk. You need to eat.”

  She helped him eat as much of the steak as he wanted, in the end feeding him herself when he rolled onto his good side. Then he slept.

  Mary Beth sat back in the chair and stared at him. And worried. The one-hundred-dollar bill in Mark’s safe deposit box. It was a counterfeit.

  Surely Mark hadn’t done this.

  What about Daniel Vargas? What did he have to do with all of it?

  “No!” Nick jerked awake, his eyes wild.

  Mary Beth bent and tried to soothe him, her hand on his cheek. “It’s okay. Just a dream.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Not a dream.”

  “It’s okay,” she repeated.

  She didn’t expect him to say anything else because he’d closed his eyes again. When he did speak, his words seemed lucid, but they were the words of his delirium.

  “It’s in the blood.”

  Chapter Ten

  Mary Beth lay on the narrow cot next to Nick’s and stared at the ceiling. Dust motes danced in the bright morning light.

  He’d slept the night through, waking only once to reach for the juice glass on the small table. The more she thought about what he’d been repeating, the more curious she became. It’s in the blood. What was in the blood? Were the words a reaction to the drug in his system? Or was it more?

  Like those old sayings. Blood will tell. Blood ties.

  She and Mark were tied by blood, by kinship. By love. And it was beginning to look like Mark was involved with some pretty bad things. Had he been duped, as she had been years ago, and gotten in over his head?

  Nick shared a blood tie with Daniel Vargas. Was Nick thinking that his cousin had gotten involved in gunrunning and counterfeiting?