“I won’t. But it’s too dangerous for you,” Nick said.
“What makes you the expert?” she snapped back.
“Daniel, the Flores brothers and I used to go down to the valley this way.”
“When you had less brains than a peanut.” The tactless words poured out, prompted by fear.
“Thank you, Miss Ambassador’s daughter.” Nick smiled as if he’d just learned some secret of hers.
Mary Beth watched the mists float away, revealing more of the treacherous drop. “How far down is it?”
“Three thousand feet.”
“What?” She choked on the word.
“Give or take a few hundred.” He sounded so reasonable. “It’ll take at least a half a day to get there.”
“What about a road?”
“The only one may not be open, remember? Even if it is, it’ll be watched by Vargas and his Rangers. They control this whole area. There’s no choice.”
“It’s suicide.” They’d die. Both of them. In an endless fall. Just the thought of it made her dizzy. “Is there no other way?”
“Not if the goal is to get there.” He took her hand in his. “You’re not going. You’ll be safe here.”
She looked into the nothingness of the drop again. How she wanted to stay! But there was no choice. “I have to go.”
Nick cursed. She hadn’t heard some of the words he used, since some were in Spanish. But the majority were in English, even though he’d told her he didn’t curse in English.
“Mark is down there.” She looked into his eyes, the blue muted by the gray tropical mists. “It doesn’t make any difference what’s happening with him. He won’t trust you if I’m not along.”
Nick shook his head and cursed again.
She faced him more fully, intent on making him see she was serious. “I have to go.” As much as the thought of descending into the cloud-shrouded nothingness of the tumbling cliff frightened her. Because no matter how badly she wanted to believe Nick would help her find Mark, that kernel of doubt lingered.
Nick would do anything to protect his family.
***
The unspoken words hung between them as they began the trip down a half hour later. Nick knew why she’d insisted on coming. He would have if he’d been in her position. It didn’t make him feel particularly proud of himself to admit that she was right. She had to wonder what he’d do once they learned what had gone on between Daniel and her brother.
But that wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want to bring her. The physical demands of the effort were too much. But Mary Beth didn’t make it harder for him, at least not physically. This daughter of privilege had guts and strength reinforced by determination. Nick admired her tenacity. She didn’t like the height, so she didn’t look beyond her own feet as she followed him. They’d been on the downward descent for a little less than an hour, slipping and sliding down the treacherous cliff side.
He didn’t know when he’d learn to handle his fear that she would slip, fall and tumble to her death. Every time she grabbed a vine that broke, his heart stopped.
“Let’s rest here,” he said, standing on the first piece of flat ground they’d encountered. It was a ledge of sorts, firm because of the vegetation that anchored the rich but wet earth.
She came down the steep grade and joined him, jeans covered in mud. He’d insisted she wear work gloves they’d gotten from Doña Inez to protect her hands from the bite of the vines. She hadn’t argued with anything he’d asked of her from the moment he’d agreed to let her come. Now her cheeks were smeared with drying mud and her hair had come loose of the clips she’d used to hold it away from her face. With shaky fingers, she removed the gloves and lay them aside carefully. Pulling the clips out, she held them between her teeth as she readjusted her hair before using them again.
“Water?” he asked, holding out the canteen.
“Please,” she replied with her pristine manners.
Nick smiled. Mary Beth Williams had crept into his heart, and his heart was having a hell of a time dealing with her. She was all polished manners and perseverance and loyalty.
“It’s not as steep as I thought it would be,” she said after taking a sip. “There’s actually a path.”
“Years ago, people took mules down this way. There have been too many landslides for that now.”
“How long do you think it’ll take us from here?”
“Another couple of hours, at least.” But he knew it would take longer. She was trying, but he wasn’t going as fast as he would by himself. “How are you doing?”
“I’m tired,” she admitted.
“Me, too.” The stitches on his stomach and back pulled and burned. He should have removed them before attempting the descent, but that was hindsight.
She stretched her arms high, then moved her neck, as if loosening overworked muscles.
God, she was beautiful. And he wanted her for himself as that one someone that was his and only his. Not someone that came to him by way of the name he used, not something that had been touched by the truth of his paternity.
They rested, then continued. The midday sun broke through the mists, warming the air. Perspiration plastered Nick’s shirt to his back and mud caked his pants. Mary Beth fared no better, but she never complained. They stopped again and ate the bread and cheese he had in a backpack.
“Which way?” she asked when they’d finished.
Nick looked down, then from side to side. He’d followed the route he had taken years before, but from this point on, a landslide had taken away everything he recognized. He’d have to scout ahead to see which way to go.
“I’m going up that way and see if I can find the path. You stay here.”
“If you don’t know which way to go, why don’t we split up? It’ll save time.”
“Splitting up is always a bad idea,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
***
Mary Beth watched Nick disappear behind a boulder. She was tired. Exhausted, really, but she wouldn’t admit it to him. They had to get off this cliff. She looked around for another possible path down, pulled on her gloves and stood.
A couple of feet higher. Yes, that looked like a path. She reached up and grasped a sturdy vine. Pulling on it gently before committing her weight, she stepped up, pleased when she realized how much more level this path was. Confident now that this was it, she moved forward. She’d walk to the little clearing no more than ten yards ahead, check it out, then come back and wait for Nick.
The wet earth squished even beneath the overgrown greenery. She leaned to her left against the cliff side, both hands grabbing bushes and vines, avoiding looking over the edge into the tangle of vines and earth that sloped downward.
The wet ground gave way.
She fell, struggling for a toehold on the incline. Her gloved hands tore down the length of a sturdy vine as she slid ten feet or more before stopping.
Praying the vine held, she scrambled to her right, intent on reaching a more level area that would see her clear so she could get back to Nick.
Then she heard it—someone breathing hard, a rustling in the vegetation below. “Nick,” she called tentatively.
A little give, a tiny ripping sound, and the vine she gripped started tearing away. Mary Beth dug her toes deeper into the mud. Reaching out with her right hand, she grabbed a bush and pulled, testing its ability to hold her. It fell away. She dropped another foot as her hands slipped on the vine.
Surprisingly clearheaded, she clung to the cliff side, her eyes scanning for anything she might use for support.
She identified sounds. Breathing. Soggy earth, rocks tumbling down the incline.
The vine tore completely from its mooring and she slid again, hands clutching at mud for a firm hold, legs churning for support. No breath to scream.
Something caught her right arm, stopping her downward descent. She looked up. A large male hand held her.
In an instant, she recognized the coars
e features of the man who’d caught her, a salacious grin on his face. The one soldier Nick hadn’t shot. The one named Wyatt. The one who’d groped her.
“Gotcha!” he said, dragging her toward him even as she struggled to free herself. When he pulled her onto somewhat level ground, he pinned her arms to the muddy earth.
“Let go!”
“There’s no need to shout,” he replied, his fingers biting into her arms.
“Where’s Smith?”
Wyatt smiled. “Looking for you.” He raised one leg over her prone body, anchoring her thighs with his. “He’s gonna have to wait.”
Something mean and ugly settled into Wyatt’s eyes. She fought the hold of his hands and struggled to move out from under him.
He pushed her arms down harder. “No reason to fight,” he said softly.
But there was a reason. There was no doubt in her mind what he planned. “Smith won’t like this.”
Wyatt laughed. “I don’t think he’ll care.”
She was on her own. If she was going to survive, she had to do something. She twisted beneath him, turning to one side and thrashing her legs—until he settled against her, crushing her.
But the mud proved her friend. Wyatt couldn’t hold her, as slippery as she was. She twisted, flipped onto her stomach and fought to escape his clutching hands as he laughed, one hand around her ankle. She grasped handfuls of mud and grass, but couldn’t find anything to help her. He began inching up one of her legs, pulling her toward him as she kicked with her other leg. She found a rock about the size of a brick and hurled it at him. It hit his shoulder and bounced off. Desperate now, she kicked at the hand that held her leg, kicking herself in the process. He grabbed her free leg and again pinned her down.
Never a quitter, Mary Beth feared this time she’d couldn’t win. She had no more fight in her. The cliff had exhausted her. This man might do as he wanted. But she wouldn’t make it easy.
With one last effort she jerked her leg in an attempt to un-balance him so he’d release her.
“Let her go.” The words, so calm, rose over the sound of her shattered breathing. She barely had time to register Nick’s presence before she was free.
Choking back sobs, she scrambled away to lean against the cliff side.
“Take it easy,” Wyatt said, sitting back, his arms wide.
“Where’s Smith?” Nick demanded, the gun he carried pointed at the man.
“In the valley, looking for you. I told him you’d find another way down,” Wyatt replied with a smile. The smile faded as Nick’s expression hardened.
“Stand up,” Nick ordered.
“Sure, just take it easy. No need to—”
“Now.”
Reluctantly, his eyes darting from Nick to the gun, Wyatt did as he was told. “There’s no need to play the hero here. I was just having a little fun. It’s got nothing to do with you.”
“Pull the pistol from your holster and toss it aside,” Nick ordered. “Slowly.”
Mary Beth had missed that. Wyatt had been armed all along. He could just as easily have shot her. But that hadn’t been his intention. At least, not until he was through with her.
She tried to control the trembling spreading through her limbs and clutched her knees to her chest.
In the blink of an eye Wyatt pulled the pistol from his hip and swung his arm up toward Nick, just as Nick fired. The man collapsed to the muddy ground.
Before she could suck in a breath, the slope where Wyatt lay gave way, sending him tumbling down.
Mary Beth closed her eyes at the breaking, falling sounds of earth and, then endless moments later, the muffled moment of impact.
Nick had said he’d been a Ranger, a marksman. But the memory only briefly connected after she realized the shot Nick had taken had landed squarely between Wyatt’s eyes.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, the echoes of fear and death screaming around her, when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Are you all right?” Nick asked.
She nodded, teeth chattering. Despite the heat, she shivered. Strong arms gathered her close. She turned into the solidity of Nick’s body. The sobs she’d tried to swallow burst from her. She buried her face in the welcoming space between his neck and shoulder. The warmth of his flesh comforted.
He rubbed his hands up and down her back and rumbled his reassurances. Finally, her nerves soothed by his presence, by his attention, she pulled away marginally. And met the intense blue of his gaze.
“Dios mío,” he said, his voice hoarse and raspy.
Fear for her, she thought, shone from the depths of his eyes, to disappear instantly before he lowered his mouth to hers.
It wasn’t a kiss of passion, but rather one of relief, and overwhelming thankfulness.
Hands gentle but trembling, he held her face. Then as if reluctant, he pulled away and took a deep breath before pushing aside strands of her hair that had come loose. “We’re going back up. With that—man—missing in the slide, Smith won’t think to look for us in San Vicente.”
She didn’t argue. She couldn’t.
Nick’s strong hands, his own determination and unwavering strength got her back up. She’d turned into a spineless robot, one hand before the other, one foot after the other.
Late-afternoon mists had drifted back to cover the deep abyss by the time they reached the top.
Nick explained that the town square was empty because the people of San Vicente were enjoying lonche, a sort of afternoon tea, legacy of a long-ago English influence. He led her to Doña Inez’s house and pulled a key from one colorful pot full of blooming flowers.
Once inside, they pulled off their muddy shoes, and Mary Beth fell into one of the kitchen chairs as Nick opened the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of the national cola. Removing the caps, he handed one to her and sat on the floor beside her. Neither said a word as they drank. The clock over the stove ticked.
Long minutes passed. Nick removed his holster and put it on the floor beside him. Mary Beth couldn’t formulate logical thought. Memories of that man falling, of the shot that killed him, flashed through her mind. Finally, the sugar and caffeine from the soda kicked in. She wanted to get up. To move. To feel something besides terror.
Reaching out her hand, she brushed her fingers against Nick’s wet hair. He turned toward her, the bottle halfway to his lips. She tried to look away, tried to turn from the intensity she saw there, but couldn’t. He held her with his eyes as he finished the drink. She couldn’t bring herself to stop touching him. He put the bottle down without breaking eye contact, then reached up and took her hand from his hair and held it pressed to his lips.
He was filthy, just as she was. She’d thought before that his beard made him look dangerous. It did. He was, he’d proven that today. Very dangerous, she acknowledged, aware of the male intensity rolling off him. Not the sort of man she had ever thought she’d find herself drawn to, not the sort of man she’d thought he was. Yet he fascinated her. She could deny her feelings until hell froze over but nothing would change them.
“Mary Beth—”
“I’m sorry you had to shoot—”
“Don’t talk about that miserable excuse—” He cut himself off, shifting on the floor so that he sat on his heels in front of her, his hands on her knees, over her mud covered jeans. “I should not have left you alone.”
She couldn’t bear not to feel his warm flesh beneath her fingers. Reaching out, she touched his cheek.
His nostrils flared. “Nothing has changed.”
“Don’t. Please don’t.” She took a jagged breath, her heart pounding out a rhythm that threatened to make her light-headed. “I don’t want to analyze. I just want you.”
He tensed, his gaze pinning her in place. His hands moved from her knees to the arms of the chair. “Be sure.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in all my life.”
***
Nick’s control slipped. She represented some
thing fine—hope for himself—and he’d almost lost her. If he’d had the chance he would have shot the bastard on the cliff twenty times. For hurting her. For even looking at her. Clutching the arms of her chair, he tried to tame the savagery trying to surface. He let a moment pass, hoping he wouldn’t scare her with his feelings.
But she took things out of his hands with a simple touch, the pad of her thumb across his lower lip. A soft caress, sliding under his control.
Sure he was shaking, sure he’d topple them both over, he shifted onto his knees, his hands gripping the chair. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Her eyes darkened to the color of mellow whiskey and she whispered, “You can only hurt me if you stop.”
Blood pounding through him, he leaned toward her, toward her mouth. She watched him, only closing her eyes when his lips touched hers. The heat of her mouth pulled him in. He couldn’t get enough. He’d wanted her for so long. Wanted her with more than his body. But it was his body that took over, leaning into the chair, pulling her roughly against him as he plunged his tongue into her mouth.
She welcomed him, drew him to her, her fingers clutching his head. It felt like coming home, like finding something precious there, something he’d missed with all his being. The scraping of the chair across the tile brought him back to what he was doing. He pulled away, only inches, and watched her. Her eyes opened, blinked as if surprised. He’d pushed her chair against the wall. He wanted to slow down, to bring some sort of control to what raged through him, but she did it again.
She pressed her mouth, open and hot, against his. And he lost whatever modicum of control he’d been able to maintain from the moment he realized what she was to him. The kiss scorched him. Her hands clawed at his back, pulling his shirt out of his pants.
He had to feel her against him, couldn’t wait. Pushing himself away, he pulled at her shirt, lifting it off, then tore off his own, tossing them both to the floor. He felt like he was sliding down a slope, unable to put on the brakes, unable to stop.
The chair tumbled over and she sprawled onto him, her mouth clinging to his. He tangled his fingers in her hair, needing more. She moaned, her hands stroking down his chest.
To the Limit (Shadow Heroes Book 3) Page 19
