To the Limit (Shadow Heroes Book 3)

by Virginia Kelly

  “You’re going to be okay,” Mary Beth said.

  He touched the bandages. “This is going to keep me out of commission for a while.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’re still in the Army?

  “I’m not,” he replied.

  “Then what in the world is going on?”

  He sighed. “I guess you deserve to know.”

  “You’re damn right.”

  “You cursed, big sister.”

  “I learned from a master,” she replied. “One little damn isn’t half of what went on in my head.”

  Mark smiled at her. The first real smile she’d seen on his face. His poor bruised and swollen face.

  “This is something you can’t tell anyone,” he said. “Nobody can know.”

  A little frightened, she nodded. “I swear,” she said, now really scared, before adding the words of their childhood to the promise. “Cross my heart.”

  “I was stationed here five years ago. Before my Afghanistan tours. Running drug interdiction with the San Matean Rangers. I made some good contacts, got a cover identity—”

  “Juan Marcos.”

  “Yeah.” He took a deep breath, pulled at the oxygen tubing, then continued. “Daniel Vargas and I discovered a connection between the narcotraffickers and gunrunning from Monte Blanco. American guns. I used Juan Marcos to infiltrate a small drug gang that was involved in the gun trade. I discovered there was a tie to counterfeiting of American dollars. That brought in American civilian agencies to work alongside Daniel.” He closed his eyes briefly.

  “Are you okay? Do you need something?” Mary Beth asked.

  “Let me finish.” But he paused for a moment. “While I was in Afghanistan, Daniel uncovered some things, so when I came back, we were sure of who was behind the gunrunning.”

  “General Vargas?”

  Mark nodded. “The general was heavily involved in the gun trade and the counterfeiting. But we had to have irrefutable evidence or cause a huge international incident, never mind chaos here in San Mateo.”

  “The meetings, the numbers.”

  “That was part of it. Daniel had some things, too.”

  “Why did you give me his phone number?”

  “Things got dicey a couple of months before Daniel died.” He adjusted the bed with his right hand. “He was afraid my cover was too deep, that I couldn’t get back to my unit quickly enough. If something happened to him, no one in San Mateo would believe I was working with him. I knew you’d wonder what happened if I vanished, so I gave you his number.” With a groan, he shifted slightly in the bed. “We also exchanged dog tags. Then Daniel was killed.” He paused, seemingly for a breath, eyes closed.

  Mary Beth remembered what the woman in the mountains had told her about Mark leaving when Juan Marcos heard about Daniel Vargas. “You tried to help him, didn’t you?”

  Moments passed. She thought he’d gone to sleep, but he opened his eyes. “I tried to get the captain of my unit to intervene. Wouldn’t do it without an order from above. I went on, hoping I could do something. Vargas had already ordered an assault on the compound. I got inside during the confusion, but I was too late.”

  As Nick had been. Two men who would forever carry a sense of failure because of what one selfish and evil person had done.

  “Daniel and one other man were dead. But one was alive, barely. I knew him. We’d trained together in the States and in San Mateo. He had a wife and child. He, ah…” His voice cracked and he closed his eyes.

  After a brief pause, he continued. “The last time Daniel and I met, he told me he had the evidence that directly implicated his father. The smoking gun we needed. A stack of the next-to-worthless real bills they bring over from Monte Blanco to make them look like dollars. That and a ledger with notes about guns, bought and sold, that General Vargas had written in. Daniel died before we met again, so I never got any of it.”

  That was what Nick had found, what he’d given to Iglesias.

  “But that was three years ago, Mark. What were you doing all this time?”

  “My cover was to leave San Mateo periodically. Sometimes I’d leave with my unit, other times I’d cross the border into Monte Blanco and get back on my own.” He reached for the water, which Mary Beth quickly gave him. After a few swallows, he continued. “Just in the last month, I learned that Elliot Smith, my CIA contact, was either blackmailing or working with Vargas to run both the gun trade and the counterfeiting. My other local contact, an Army Master Sergeant I served with, was pulled out for some top secret deployment. I couldn’t get word out about Smith before Vargas captured me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?”

  “I started to, but I didn’t want Dad or Mom to find out. Either of them could have made it difficult by interfering. I was afraid you might slip up and tell them.”

  “But you gave me the safe deposit box information.”

  “At the time, that was insurance.” He closed his eyes again, briefly. “I never got back to that little bank to leave instructions.”

  “I don’t understand some of this. If this was your assignment, why didn’t the Army do more in the past few days?”

  “I told you I wasn’t re-enlisting after my last Afghan tour. I was recruited to finish the job.”

  “Why would an engineering firm recruit you for something like this?”

  “Not the engineering company. The CIA.”

  She sat back. “Oh, Mark.” Suddenly it all made sense. “Jonathan Ethridge is CIA.”

  “Yes.”

  She started to ask more questions, but two hurried knocks on the door stopped her. A nurse came in, quietly checked the monitors, and left.

  Mark was dozing, so she poured herself some water and thought about all he’d said.

  A few minutes later, he surprised her.

  “I’ll make sure Romero gets the agency clearance he needs,” he said. “Tell me about him.” He gave her one of his shrewd looks. “And you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  At ten a.m., the day after Mark was shot, Mary Beth left her father at the hospital, furious about her presence in San Mateo. The guards, her father said, were a courtesy to a decorated combat veteran who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time while working for an engineering company. Mary Beth suspected they had more to do with the CIA trying to maintain Mark’s cover.

  Doña Elena had booked them all rooms in a pensión, a beautiful Spanish ranch house with huge bedrooms and private baths. By noon, Mary Beth stood under the pounding spray of a steamy shower until she was sure the boardinghouse staff would knock on her door and order her to stop. When she got out, she found someone had brought the suitcase she’d left at Doña Elena’s. It felt wonderful to slip on her comfortable nightshirt and eat the light lunch left on the sitting-area table. Finally, exhausted, she crawled between the sheets of the big bed, and slept.

  She woke to the sound of someone knocking on her door. The bedside table clock said it was four p.m. She rolled onto her stomach and scooted her arms beneath the pillow, determined to go back to sleep. But the knocking persisted.

  Finally, she sat up and asked, “¿Quién es?”

  “Nick.”

  She’d quit expecting him. During the hours she’d spent by Mark’s bedside, she’d replayed everything that happened, the secret Nick kept, and had come to one conclusion. Had she been in his position, she would have done the very same thing. She would never have disclosed the truth about such complicated relationships. Honesty, as she’d told him she must have, could not come at the cost of damage to so many lives. At least, not without the utmost faith of love.

  And he did not love her.

  As her mind raced through these thoughts, he knocked again.

  “Mary Beth!”

  He wasn’t going to stop. He would keep knocking until everyone on this wing of the pensión heard him.

  She’d forgotten to pack a robe, so she grabbed clean jeans from her suitcase and pulled them
on, leaving her nightshirt hanging out. Standing in front of the closed door, she took one deep breath, ran her fingers hastily through her disastrous hair and reached for the knob.

  When she swung the door open, Nick was leaning his forehead against the back of his hand, his upper arm braced against the doorjamb. He wore a white dress shirt open at the collar and khaki pants. He’d shaved. He looked exhausted. She made that assessment quickly as she stood, one bare foot over the other, staring up at him.

  “Can I come in?” he asked.

  She was too tired to do anything but open the door wider. He stepped inside and waited for her to close it.

  “I went by the hospital and spoke with your brother. Your mother told me you were here.”

  Her father had no doubt found a reason to leave her mother alone with Mark. Her parents never spent more than a few minutes in each other’s company.

  Nick looked at her as if he expected her to say something. She couldn’t think of a thing. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke. “You said you needed honesty, niña. You finally heard it.”

  She didn’t know what to say, except “I understand now.”

  He studied her as if trying to see beyond her words.

  “I’m sorry,” he said finally.

  “For what?”

  “For nearly getting you killed, for not telling you the truth…” He seemed to struggle for words. “For everything.”

  He was the type of man who was never at a loss for words. A man who had probably never apologized for anything, yet he had to her. Twice. Or was it three times?

  Maybe there was some hope. Maybe he’d come to see her because she mattered. He’d told her secrets she was sure he’d told only those closest to him. Maybe he’d given her the honesty she craved not because it was expedient or necessary, but because he wanted to. Because she was important to him.

  But she refused to hope. Instead, she asked, “Are you okay?”

  He avoided her gaze. “We found him three miles downriver. He was dead. The official reports will show that Elliot Smith ran the operation. Vargas, according to the report, drowned. There will be rumors, but they won’t hurt my mother. She can go on with her life without the stigma of being the widow of a man who did so much wrong.”

  “I’m glad you’re able to protect Doña Elena, but I still want to know if you’re okay.”

  He looked up then, his gaze steady on her. “I’m as okay as I’ll ever be.”

  “Are you sorry he’s dead?”

  “No.” There was no doubt in his voice. “I’m sorry you were caught in the middle. I’m sorry you had to try to save my life while I couldn’t guarantee yours.”

  “I was there through my own choices.”

  “But I knew better. I should have left you in the city, sent you home.”

  “I would not have gone. You know that.”

  He smiled. “No, you wouldn’t have. You are very brave.”

  She remembered that the general had said the same thing. She didn’t think of herself as brave. She’d been terrified most of the time. Only when she’d been with Nick, knowing she could count on him, had she felt safe. Yet she’d been afraid to trust him.

  “I wanted to destroy him,” he said quietly. “For all that he’d done. But I didn’t know how bad it was. The general sold arms to Primero de Mayo. He wanted the instant political glory of a victory against the terrorists. He double-crossed them and, in doing so, he set up Daniel’s death. But he was right. I should have gone into that compound the first time and killed those men in order to get my brother out. Instead, I tried to talk to them.” He laughed, a quick bitter laugh.

  “It wasn’t your fault—”

  “I’ll never know if I could have killed them without also killing Daniel.” He paused. “I gambled that there would be another chance to save him and the others.”

  “Mark tried to help, but he was too late.”

  “I just spoke with him. He filled in some blanks. I have been cleared by your CIA for this. He said to tell you that your cross your heart oath doesn’t count with me. That we can talk freely about what happens next.”

  “Next?”

  “Mark Williams, the engineer, will go back to the States to recover. What he did over the years was pretty remarkable. He was able to destroy large caches of weapons by playing one gun trafficking gang against the other. While no one will ever learn about this, I thought you should know. By arranging it so that Juan Marcos has vanished into Monte Blanco, your brother will be able to maintain his CIA cover.”

  “Are you—?”

  “CIA?” He laughed. “No. But I’ve worked with operators like your brother, so I know … some of the people who cleared my access to information.”

  “Jonathan Ethridge,” Mary Beth said. “I met him.”

  “It might be best to forget you ever did.” He smiled when he said it.

  Then he sobered, walked to the window and opened the curtains, letting afternoon light in, before turning back toward her. “When Vargas was in the compound with you and Mark alone, I wanted to kill him. I could have. Iglesias gave me a rifle.”

  “What stopped you?” she asked, stepping closer.

  “I couldn’t risk your life. Then, when I went in, I had another chance, but if I had missed…”

  She reached out and touched his arm. “Then I’m glad you made the choice you made.”

  He shook his head. “He was right, you know. Fear stopped me. The truth of who he was, of what I was about to do, that, well…” He kept his gaze steady on her. “But I was more afraid you would die.”

  She wouldn’t read more into those words, wouldn’t interpret them to mean he cared for her more than he would anyone else. He wouldn’t want anyone to die.

  “You made the right choice,” she repeated.

  “You can say that now, but what if he’d shot you?”

  “He didn’t. He made some choices too. I think he might have made them before he tried to get away.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think he knew he couldn’t. That it was hopeless. He meant what he said, that it would have been easier for him if you had killed him. But I also believe he didn’t think you would. And that he was glad of it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Nick shook his head. “He only admired strength.”

  “In the end, he saw that your conscience, the way you live your life, is your strength.”

  “Don’t give him credit for anything. The man was a monster, Mary Beth,” he said, defeat in his voice.

  Suddenly she understood why he hadn’t told her.

  “You’re nothing like him.”

  “I have the ability to kill a man with a single shot at a thousand yards. I’m even better than he was.”

  “But you chose to make a life outside of that ability. You chose something at the opposite end of death. You chose hope.”

  “It’s his blood that flows through me.”

  “But it’s Doña Elena who molded you.”

  Silence greeted her statement for long moments.

  “Do you really believe that?” he asked so quietly Mary Beth had to strain to hear him.

  “He wouldn’t acknowledge his own son, yet you claimed your brother’s as your own. You help others. You are nothing like him. You’re Nicholas Romero.” She’d been afraid from the moment she realized that she’d fallen in love with him, afraid because it was such a risk on her part. But in reality it wasn’t. “You’re the man I love.”

  Very gently he reached out and cupped her cheek. “I’m obstinate, very hardheaded. When I make up my mind—” He laughed a genuine laugh, running his hand over the mess of her hair and down to her cheek again. “I am no different than you. You are the most determined person I have ever met.”

  She smiled. It felt so good to smile. She put her hand over his on her cheek. “We’ll have to compromise, agree on some things.”

  “I love you, Mary Beth.”

&nbs
p; He said the words with such conviction, tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat.

  “We agree to love each other. No compromises about that. Ever.” He took her hand and kissed the back. “All else is negotiable. But,” he said, his eyes dark, “the truth can never come out.”

  “I understand.”

  He clasped her hand tightly. “Be sure, niña. My life and my name are a lie, but they are what I am.”

  “No.” She shook her head, her voice trembling. “Your life has made you into a man who is honest and good.”

  His blue gaze intent on her, he said, “I may never tell Alex the truth. He may forever believe he is a Romero.”

  She thought about that. Considered what the truth about the general could do to the child, to the man he would become. “You’ll decide. You and Cristina.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” She understood the need for secrets.

  He kissed her, a sweet gentle kiss that had her hugging him tightly. But when he pulled away, there was more than gentleness in his expression. “Did you sleep? Are you tired?”

  She laughed. “I’m not that tired.”

  “Mary Beth Williams, I love you,” he said with a smile that lit up his face. “I can show you.” He glanced around the room, his gaze resting on the bed before he pulled her close.

  “You think?” she teased.

  “I’m sure I can manage some demonstration of my devotion.” But instead of taking her to bed, he led her to the single chair, sat, and pulled her into his lap, her legs straddling his.

  She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I was hoping for a bit more than this.”

  Drawing her face down to his, he kissed her, his mouth open and hot. He felt so good, so strong. So right. He lifted the back of her nightshirt and ran his hands up and down her back. She tried to get closer, wanting, needing him. But he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, his breathing fast.

  “Why are you stopping?” she asked.

  He laughed, hugging her close. “Because I want it all.” He released her, urging her to sit straighter and look down at him. When she did, he asked, “Will you marry me?”