To the Limit (Shadow Heroes Book 3)

by Virginia Kelly

  Did he blame himself for his cousin’s death?

  Jean spoke quickly. “It wasn’t your fault—”

  “There is always fault, Jean. You know that.”

  “I’ve seen too much suffering to believe that.”

  “I’ve seen too much not to.”

  Both men fell silent. In the charged stillness, Mary Beth’s own voice sounded tight, “I’ll, um, go—”

  “I have to finish a new supply list,” Jean said as he left the room.

  Nick lowered himself to a chair, holding his stomach. “Jean has few complications in his life.”

  Mary Beth could think of one complication—whatever Jean felt for Elena Vargas. But this wasn’t the time or the place to mention it. Instead, she leaned back against the sink, trying to relax the knot of tension in her stomach.

  “I don’t want it on my conscience that I hurt you,” he said, his eyes steady on her.

  “You haven’t.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You’re giving yourself too much credit.”

  “Ah.” Nick smiled his urbane smile. Behind the beard it didn’t look the same as it had at his mother’s formal party. “Mary Beth Williams is back.” He placed his hands on the table. “Cool and in control.”

  “It’s who I am.”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice dropping. “It is.”

  She straightened without looking at Nick again.

  As she walked out of the room, she thought she heard him say, “And I’m who I am.”

  ***

  Nick woke suddenly. He’d dreamed of Daniel again.

  Across the room, he could hear the even sound of Mary Beth’s breathing. The nearby clock read just past 4:00 a.m. Mary Beth had placed a gaping distance between them. A distance that had to be maintained.

  He wanted to curse at the heavens.

  Jean had said he was the master of compromise. But he could find nothing that would overcome what made Mary Beth unreachable. Just as he hadn’t found a way to save Daniel and the two other men until it was too late. While he’d taken Alex as his own, one of those men left a widow and child. It was the general’s fault, but it was his fault, too. He could have saved them if he’d admitted sooner that compromise was out of the question. That violence was the only solution.

  If he’d allowed himself to be what he was, instead of denying it, he could have picked off the terrorists. Three men could have continued their lives. He would have saved his brother.

  And he could have Mary Beth if he was willing to ignore her need for honesty.

  He rolled to one side, surprised that the wounds barely hurt. Pulling on his pants, socks and a shirt, he made his way quietly out of the room.

  Bright moonlight lit the kitchen. The single window, its curtains slightly parted, served as a conduit for the intense beam. Nick didn’t bother to turn on the light as he made his way to the refrigerator.

  He should send Mary Beth back to the city. Back to the States. She didn’t belong here.

  But she wanted to save her brother, just as he wanted to save his brother’s reputation. And he hadn’t solved the dilemma of what he’d do if helping one precluded helping the other.

  The sound of a car’s engine came through the window. It intensified until it was obvious that the driver was coming toward the clinic. One quick look outside at the military Jeep confirmed the identity of the occupants. San Matean Rangers. Careful to avoid the window, Nick hurried back to the room he shared with Mary Beth. He picked up the bag that held his guns and spare clothes and moved toward her.

  She woke with a start, struggling against the hand he held it over her mouth.

  “Shh!” When she nodded he removed his hand. “Get dressed. Rangers are coming.”

  But she’d slept clothed. He pulled his Glock and holster from the bag, pocketed a box of ammunition and tied his boots as quickly as possible. In the shadows, he saw her bend to tie her shoes just as someone began knocking on the front door.

  From the next room, Jean yelled a reply at what had turned into pounding.

  Nick signaled to Mary Beth to follow him. He pushed aside the curtains and opened the window. From the front of the clinic he heard Jean’s mumbled words.

  Then there was shouting and the sounds of the front door crashing open.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mary Beth barely had time to gather her wits when she heard the crash. Nick grabbed her arm and propelled her toward the window.

  “Go!” he whispered against her ear. “Head for the car.”

  Stumbling, she grabbed the bag that held her clothes, the ransom money and Mark’s papers.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” he said.

  She ducked to fit through the small opening. Once outside, she turned to see Nick maneuvering his much bigger body through the window, gun in his right hand, his own bag in his left.

  Bright moonlight glowed off the densely packed dirt yard. To her left stood an auto mechanic’s shop, to her right a dilapidated barn.

  The Ranger search party would look in both places first. They had to get to the cantina, past the dirt track behind the barn. She only hoped she could outrun them. That Nick could in his condition.

  “Which way?” he whispered, his breath frosty in the cold, Andean night air.

  Pointing, she answered, “The cantina, past the barn.”

  He grabbed her hand and started running. Her bag bumped against her legs. She was too scared to look back, too scared to look forward.

  They made it to the barn in time to hear a man yell from the clinic. “¡Encuéntrenlos!”

  Find them! he’d said. They would. There was no way out of this.

  Nick swung her against the outside of the rough-hewn barn. Dust and particles of hay drifted up as they eased along the side. She tried not to breathe hard, not to make noise.

  He led her behind the barn, careful to stay in shadows. Sounds of running feet broke the silence of the night.

  A loud bang reverberated through the old building. Nick froze. She held her breath. Two men spoke quietly to each other as they searched the inside of the barn, only a feet and thin rotting boards away. More men approached. Mary Beth’s heart pounded in her ears. She wanted to close her eyes and make this nightmare go away.

  Nick pulled her close as he leaned against the outside of the barn, his body solid comfort. Beams of light from several flashlights streaked through gaps in the boards, missing them by inches.

  She felt the ridiculous urge to jump out, to tell the men she was here, to get the inevitable over with. The men came back outside. Flashlight beams skirted around them again, never penetrating the deep shadows.

  By the time the search party moved on, her knees were so weak, only the force and heat of Nick’s body kept her upright. She dared a look over his shoulder and saw the backs of three men as they left and spread out. Two of the men headed for the cantina.

  With icy fingers, she tugged at Nick’s shirtsleeve and pointed toward the men.

  “I see,” he breathed into her ear.

  His warm breath pierced the cold dread and she sagged against him.

  “Wait,” he said.

  The minutes dragged by; he stepped away slightly. “Where’s the car?” he whispered.

  “In those trees across from the cantina.”

  “Let them move on.”

  Mary Beth discovered she wasn’t patient. The wait took an eternity of forevers. In the shadow of the barn, she couldn’t make out Nick’s face. Only his scent and the knowledge of his presence kept her sane.

  “Let’s go.” His softly spoken words startled Mary Beth.

  Taking her hand, he led her, ducking and running, out of the shadows and across the open ground toward the cantina. Mary Beth felt like a moving target. Despite the awkwardness of the bag, she tried to match Nick’s long strides, but she had to jog to keep up. By the time they reached the bushes surrounding the cantina, altitude and exertion had robbed her of breath.

  Nick stopped
and looked around. The Rangers had taken the small dirt track back toward the central road in town, the one directly in front of the clinic. From inside the cantina, sounds of music and laughter poured into the night. Light from the front door glinted off Nick’s hair as he ran toward the trees.

  Jean had taken the time to cover the Land Cruiser with hay. Mary Beth supposed he thought that would keep any reflections off and make it less noticeable. Nick began brushing at the car, leaning in and stretching. She saw a small hesitation as if something hurt him, but he kept at it. She knew it would be useless to tell him to stop, so she hurried to help.

  But when she started to open the passenger side door, he grabbed her hand.

  “Wait,” he whispered. “Let them move toward the other side of town.”

  On wobbly legs, she rubbed her nose, itching from the particles of hay she’d inhaled. Nick leaned gingerly on the front of the car.

  “Are you bleeding?” she asked, also whispering.

  “No.”

  “You need to be—”

  “We have bigger problems than my stitches right now.”

  “I thought Padre Franco said the Rangers had gone on to the Río Hermoso Valley and that the road was blocked.”

  “Maybe the road is open, or this is another contingent of Rangers.”

  A door slammed in the distance and a dog barked.

  They waited. Predawn turned the eastern sky a soft blue. Mary Beth hugged herself against the cold and wondered how they would get away. The search party continued through the tiny town, their movement made obvious by barking dogs and more slammed doors. The sky grew lighter and lighter until it glowed orange and yellow. Finally, the sound of a vehicle moving back the way it had come broke the silence.

  Nick whispered, “Let’s go.” He opened the driver’s side door, climbed in, then put his bag next to hers at her feet before placing the gun he carried on the seat between them. In the shadow of the trees, the dash lights seemed bright and intrusive.

  The rumble of the Land Cruiser’s engine filled the early morning. He threw the car in gear and inched forward between the trees toward the back of the cantina. Before pulling out, he looked back over his shoulder, then his gaze rested on her.

  “Hang on,” he said.

  She gripped the armrest on the door.

  While the occasional strain of music came from the cantina, no one else seemed to stir at this early hour. The wooden building loomed between them and the main road in front of the clinic. The wide-open plain would provide little cover for their escape. They could only hope the Ranger search party wouldn’t come this way.

  The Land Cruiser broke from the trees.

  Minutes later, Mary Beth could see the poor excuse of a town falling behind them. Then a Jeep lunged from behind a mass of boulders, headlights bright in the early dawn glow, startling her.

  Nick checked the rearview mirror, then the side view.

  He accelerated at the same moment she heard shots. One shattered the rear windshield, spraying bits of glass on them.

  “Get down!” Nick shouted.

  The shooting continued as he raced the car across the dusty, bumpy road. One shot pinged on metal and almost immediately the Land Cruiser lurched to a stuttering stop. After two failed attempts at cranking it, Nick reached down onto the floorboard and grabbed the other gun from his bag. Mary Beth looked around at the open plain, her heart in her throat. No place to hide. The only cover, an enormous boulder, lay more than a hundred yards away.

  Behind them, the soldiers quit shooting.

  “Stay down,” Nick ordered, carefully tucking one pistol into the back waistband of his jeans. He grabbed the other, holding it down on the seat next to him. “Don’t move until I tell you to.”

  The Jeep, approaching from behind, held his attention. It pulled to a stop behind them, headlights blazing. Numb, Mary Beth waited, slouched down and half turned in the seat, her attention on Nick. He seemed to be moving easily, his wounds causing no problems.

  Elliot Smith and three heavily armed soldiers surrounded the Land Cruiser, rifles aimed and ready.

  “Mr. Romero, Ms. Williams,” Smith said, his voice so pleasantly menacing that Mary Beth’s stomach tightened. “Please get out and throw down your weapons.”

  “You’re in San Mateo, Smith. You have no authority here,” Nick replied, still holding his gun out of sight.

  “Be realistic, Romero, you can’t get away. The Ranger search party could come this way at any minute.”

  “You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  “Don’t waste my time. We simply want to talk to Ms. Williams.”

  “What about?” Nick asked.

  “Her brother.”

  “What about my—?” Mary Beth began, only to feel Nick’s touch on her leg, stopping her.

  “Throw out your weapons and get out of the car,” Smith ordered.

  Nick tossed out the gun in his hand. It skidded across the dirt road. Then he took her hand and pulled her across the seat toward him. “Watch my face. When I tell you to fall, do it.”

  He opened his door, arms raised. “Tell them to lower the rifles.”

  Smith nodded at the soldiers. They lowered the rifles and Nick got out. The biggest of the three kept his attention on Mary Beth as she scooted across the seat.

  Nick nodded and Mary Beth stepped out.

  “We have to find your brother, Ms. Williams. He’s in danger. I’m afraid he’s gotten involved in a gunrunning operation.”

  “It’s not true—”

  “If we don’t find him soon, San Matean Rangers will capture him. I don’t think I have to tell you what conditions are like in the jails here, if he lives long enough to see the inside of one.”

  “Mark wouldn’t do anything that would cause him to go to prison.”

  “Ms. Williams,” Smith said with exaggerated patience, “I know this must be difficult for you, but you have to trust that the embassy is doing all it can to find your brother before anything happens to him.”

  “Why did you ask me to leave the country?”

  “I was trying to keep you out of this,” Smith replied. “Your persistence in staying, in trying to find your brother, has made it necessary for me to come after you.”

  “What about the—”

  “We didn’t know this involved gunrunning,” Nick interjected, his arms lowered. “If we had—”

  “Romero, I wasn’t born yesterday. You know exactly what’s going on.” He smiled. “The question is, how much does Ms. Williams know?”

  “I know you’re wrong about Mark,” she retorted.

  “Your loyalty is commendable, Ms. Williams, but your friend here has an interest in seeing your brother dead.”

  Mary Beth kept her gaze on Smith, but in her peripheral vision Nick seemed unmoved by Smith’s accusation.

  “Romero is only interested in preventing the public humiliation of his family. All he has to do is find Mark and kill him in order to eliminate any question about his cousin’s involvement in this gunrunning operation.”

  “Mark isn’t a gunrunner,” Mary Beth insisted. But she had her doubts and knew Smith was right. Nick’s family would always come first with him.

  “No arguments, Romero? No defense of your cousin or your own sterling character?”

  “Why aren’t you working with our Rangers or the American Special Forces?” Nick asked, ignoring Smith’s question.

  “The State Department has decided this way is best.”

  No way would Catherine Ellison allow this sort of thing, Mary Beth thought. The Secretary of State knew them, knew her father and mother.

  “They assigned these men to you?”

  Smith replied. “I’m not here to explain the actions of the United States government.” Turning to his men, he ordered, “Check them for weapons.”

  One of the soldiers started toward Nick just as a heavier one approached her.

  “And mind your manners, Wyatt,” Smith warned as the soldier reached
out to her.

  Mary Beth’s skin crawled at the look in the man’s eyes. If he was an American soldier, he had the hardened look of someone who’d enlisted to avoid prison. Despite Smith’s warning, Wyatt rubbed his thumbs down the sides of her breasts as he frisked her. Repulsed, she jerked away.

  “Get your filthy hands off her,” Nick said, struggling with the man patting him down. The soldier pulled Nick’s arms behind his back and held him.

  “Unless you want a bullet in your head, I suggest you stand still, Romero.” Smith’s voice brooked no argument. “Wyatt, don’t provoke a situation. Get away from her.”

  The man obeyed, but not before running one hand across her bottom.

  Nick responded immediately. “Stay away—”

  The soldier restraining Nick used the butt of his gun to strike Nick across the left cheek. He fell and didn’t move.

  “Are you crazy?” Mary Beth asked, rushing toward Nick.

  “Don’t do anything foolish, Ms. Williams.” Smith grabbed her. “You’re in no position to help him.”

  “You could have killed him!” She tried to pull away.

  “He’s not dead. I wouldn’t waste any sympathy on him.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” she asked, still trying to wrench her arm from his grasp. If this man really represented the American embassy, he’d gone rogue.

  “Ms. Williams,” Smith replied. “Stop, or I’ll have you bound and gagged.”

  “We have to help him!” She looked at Nick, still on the ground, immobile.

  “He’ll be fine. We don’t need him.”

  “You don’t understand. Mark—”

  “Your brother is why I’m here. We have to find him. He’s in danger.”

  “Of course he is.” She quit struggling, the bite of Smith’s fingers strong on her arm. “The Primero de Mayo is holding him for ransom. If I don’t get the money to them in two days, they’ll kill him.”

  Smith laughed. “You believed Vargas?”

  “Vargas? What do you mean?”

  “General Vargas, the man in charge of the operation to catch Mark. He had you called, lured you here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s really very simple, Ms. Williams,” Smith said, releasing her. “Vargas can’t catch Mark, so he gets you to come to San Mateo in the hopes that if he has you, Mark will come out of hiding. Those are his men going through the town back there.”