"That's a safety deposit box key. Mark told me he kept his papers there."
With strong, deft fingers he opened the booklet. "This is a branch of a large bank in San Mateo. It's in an Andean town near the Romero family estancia." He examined the booklet for several moments, then handed it back to her.
Hands shaking, she put it back in her pocket as he studied the mess in the room.
"We can be there by tonight," he said finally.
He'd agreed. Her relief was so profound, her knees felt weak. It was what she'd wanted, the only way to save Mark. She should be thrilled.
But she'd seen something beyond the darkness of grief in Nick's eyes. Something … cold. It made her question herself and her reliance on him.
Nick drove through the gate of his mother's house, still unsure why he'd told Mary Beth he'd take her to her brother's bank. He didn't need her with him to accomplish his goal. Maybe he wasn't as hard-hearted as he'd thought. Maybe Carlos's admonitions of helping a woman in distress had gotten to him. She certainly had.
He'd left Mary Beth here earlier. No doubt by now Dona Elena had given her a room and made her feel welcome. He could always count on his mother.
It had taken him two hours to clear his schedule, freeing himself for at least ten days. Plenty of time to deal with this sudden turn of events, this opportunity to ruin Antonio Vargas.
No one was in the house when he went in. Mary Beth was either upstairs or with his mother, wherever she was. He walked to the foot of the stairs and picked up the framed photograph that his mother had placed there so many years ago.
He remembered the joy of the day Doña Elena had taken this snapshot, remembered it and so many other moments shared with Daniel.
"Hi," Mary Beth said from the landing.
He hadn't heard her, he'd been so caught up in his memories.
She came down the rest of the way and looked at the picture he held. "Is that Daniel?" she asked.
"Yes. We'd just finished a soccer game."
They'd been eleven or twelve years old. Daniel on the left, his arm causally thrown over Nick's shoulder, laughed into the camera. They were both dirty, dressed in shorts, knee socks and jerseys.
"Fútbol. The national sport," he explained.
Mary Beth seemed to study his face, then looked back at the picture. "Did you win the game?"
"I don't remember." He couldn't. Funny. Winning had seemed so important then. "All I remember is my mother taking the picture, then telling us we were filthy."
"You miss him."
He looked up, wondering if she'd seen what he tried so hard to hide from everyone. "His mother misses him more."
"She has you."
"I'm not really her son. She took me in as an infant. I claim the Romero name by way of her only brother. The Romero heir, who happened to have an American mother who died in childbirth."
"I wasn't—"
"Prying? I know. But you must have wondered why I call Doña Elena 'mother.' She raised me. She became my mother. And Daniel was more than a cousin to me."
"You're lucky to have such a family," she said after a moment's silence.
Nick put the picture down. The recitation had cost him.
He'd never had to explain. He never expected parentage, or the lack thereof, to matter one way or the other. It bothered him that it did. With this woman.
"Is my mother home?"
"I think so, but I haven't seen her."
"I've told her we are going north to the wildlife preserve, on a sightseeing visit. If I told her the truth, she would try to talk us out of going."
"Why?"
"How much do you know about recent San Matean history?"
"Only that there was a big problem with terrorism."
"It was war. Terrorists would invade parts of the country and take over, killing all opposition. The government finally seemed to have it all under control, but then a group took over the Italian embassy, here in the city. It took over two months for San Matean Rangers to free the hostages. The terrorists were killed. After that, there was some sporadic activity." He chose his next words carefully, trying to remain objective. "Terrorists involved themselves in drug trafficking and gunrunning in Los Desamparados and the rest of the Rio Hermoso valley. Daniel's Ranger unit was assigned to stop them. He and three of his fellow Rangers were taken from his house outside of Los Desamparados."
Nick paused, remembering the helplessness he'd felt, how his chance to get Daniel out had been sabotaged by Antonio Vargas. The general had done it in order to save his own career, and Nick had failed to deliver on the childhood promise he'd made to Daniel. "Demands for ransom were sent to the families. Hard-liners in the Army would allow only one attempt at negotiations before a military attack. Daniel and the others were shot and killed. The terrorists got away." Anger threatened to smother him. Fists clenched, he fought back against the rolling tide. "Dona Elena has nothing good to say of the place."
Mary Beth felt a sudden need to reach out and comfort him, but there was nothing she could say or do that would take away such pain. And pain was the one thing she had sensed in him from the moment she'd seen him staring at the picture of his dead cousin.
"Nicky?" Doña Elena called as she rushed into the living room. The interruption saved Mary Beth from trying to find something to say to Nick.
"Sí, Mamá." Nick kissed her cheek.
"Will you go by Dr. Rousseau's clinic?"
"Not this time, no."
"Oh." She looked a bit disappointed, but continued. "There are many things he will soon need. I will talk with Carlos about finding someone to take them."
"He has several people he could send."
"Antonio came by today. He wanted to know why you are home."
"What did you tell him?" Nick asked.
"That this is your vacation." Doña Elena touched Nick's cheek as she spoke. "Hijo, perhaps you should—"
"Papi!" A child's voice broke in.
Nick turned as a small boy dashed toward them. The dark-haired child, no more than three, threw himself at Nick, unbalancing him. He bent and lifted the boy.
"Daniel Alejandro Romero, you must not jump on your father," Doña Elena scolded with mock ferocity, her hands on her hips.
The child in the pictures on Nick's desk. A son. No reports she'd read about the San Matean diplomat mentioned a child.
"Papi," the boy giggled breathlessly, undaunted by his grandmother's reproof. "Mami is taking me to Miami. Can you come, too?"
Nick shifted the child from one arm to the other. "No, Alex, I have to stay here for a few weeks. But I'll come to Miami as soon as I can."
"Will you take me to Disney World?"
"Yes, I'll take you and your cousin, okay?" Nick eased
Alex to the floor. "Now, remember your manners and meet my guest."
"Mary Beth, this is Alex. Alex, this is Miss Williams."
The little boy seemed to consider what he should do, lifting first his left hand, then his right. Finally, mind made up, he stretched out his left hand. Mary Beth quickly compensated by extending her left hand. From the corner of her eye she could see Nick's smiling approval.
"How old are you, Alex?" she asked.
"Three," he replied, holding up three chubby fingers. "Papi is taking me to Disney World." A single dimple appeared on Alex's left cheek. Black eyes flashed mischief as he looked back at his father. "Can your friend come, too?"
Mary Beth couldn't help but grin. While the little boy's eyes weren't blue, the resemblance was there.
"We'll see," Nick replied. "Where is your mother?"
"Here, Nicholas."
The woman who spoke these words stood in the living room entryway, her gaze lovingly fixed on the small boy. Alex's mother was gorgeous. Lustrous dark hair fell to her shoulders. Her designer clothing emphasized her height and voluptuousness.
Nick looked up. "Laura, it is good to see you."
"You also, Nick."
Mary Beth's gaze moved from one
to the other, curious about the formality.
"Laura, this is Mary Beth Williams. I'm taking her to the wildlife preserve."
Laura smiled and walked across the room toward her.
"Mary Beth, this is Alex's mother, Laura Morales."
"Ms. Morales," Mary Beth said, shaking the woman's hand.
"Laura, please. It is good to meet you," she said, then turned toward Nick. "I will take Alex upstairs to get his ball. Your mother has asked us to stay for lunch since we are going away for a few weeks."
Nick nodded and Alex ran from the room; his mother and grandmother followed.
A thick silence enveloped the room.
"He's a beautiful child," Mary Beth said, eager to break the awkwardness of the moment.
"Thank you." Nick smiled, pride in his expression.
She struggled to push aside half-formed ideas about him. She'd obviously been wrong to think he showed any interest in her. "His English is very good, especially at his age."
"I've chosen to speak English to him. His mother and mine speak Spanish to him."
"He doesn't get confused?"
"No." Nick stood and moved behind a wingback chair, his hands on the back. "Alex is very important in my life—"
"There is no need to explain—"
"His mother and I are divorced."
But there was a need, Mary Beth acknowledged. She hadn't misunderstood Nick Romero's interest. The expression on his face had given way to a look of very masculine regard, to eyes too hot for her. She felt pinned by his intensity.
"We share custody of Alex."
She tried to unjumble her thoughts. He had a child. A child not mentioned in any article she'd read. A child they had named after his cousin. She wanted to ask why they hadn't named him after Nick, but she couldn't figure out how to ask, then realized she was fixating on something inconsequential. Why did his child surprise her so much?
Alex bounded down the stairs ahead of his mother. "Papi, let's play futbol."
Nick turned toward his son, smiling with genuine pleasure. "Let's go, then, Alex."
Mary Beth sighed, relieved at the interruption, and watched Alex pull Nick away. She wasn't ready for this. For Nick.
He's not why you're here.
She was here for Mark. She would have to depend on Nick to help her save him. That was all that mattered. Nicholas
Romero and his family were of no concern to her, never would be.
She began walking through the living room into the dining room, intent on asking Dona Elena if she could help, when Laura came down the steps. What was she supposed to say to this woman? You have a beautiful child and your ex-husband is the most attractive man I've ever met?
"Nicholas is a good man," Laura said with an unassuming smile, coming to stand a few feet away from her.
"Yes, he is," Mary Beth hurried to say, uncomfortable and not sure where this conversation was going.
Laura looked out the window into the backyard where Nick played with Alex, then back at her. "He deserves much happiness. His mother and I, we want him to find someone who will take the darkness from him."
Was this woman giving her blessing to a future relationship? That was insane. "I—"
"Because of Alex, he tells me that he is taking you to Los Desamparados."
Surprised, Mary Beth nodded. "Yes, he is."
Laura shook her head slightly, glanced out the window again, then said, "He has taken responsibility for the family. He has put the Romeros, all of them, before himself." Her voice tightened, turned into a whisper. "Daniel would not want this for him." She caught an unsteady breath.
Confused that Daniel Vargas featured so prominently in Laura's words, Mary Beth could only listen as this beautiful woman, her eyes dark and lost, continued.
"Be very careful, Mary Beth. Make Nicholas be very careful. Alex cannot be without a father. The Rio Hermoso is a killing place."
Chapter 4
« ^ »
A killing place. The words still echoed in Mary Beth's mind hours later as Nick shifted an older-model Land Rover into third gear. They were on the ascent into the Andes, en route to the town where Mark kept his bank account. The fact that he'd chosen an Andean town instead of the capital was odd, but then Mark often shunned the city in favor of the mountains and jungles. He'd always craved adventure. Mary Beth prayed that this one didn't kill him.
The road was dangerous, with tight curves and a precipitous drop that had her initially clinging to the armrest. But she'd relaxed after the first few miles, surprised at her trust of Nick's driving despite the endless switchbacks. She hadn't expected the dry, chilly temperatures that made his suggestion of jeans and a light sweatshirt a good one. He'd explained that their route would take them over the Andes Mountains before they reached the semitropical slopes of the ceja de montaña. She should have known, should have thought of that but hadn't. She'd been too surprised to discover he had a son, and was puzzled by the formal and cordial relationship between Nick and his ex-wife. And their dedication to Daniel Vargas.
But there was no point in dwelling on something she would never understand, never needed to understand.
Patterns of shadow and light, formed by the immense boulders and afternoon sun, played against the steadily climbing car.
"This is incredible." Mary Beth pitched her voice to be heard over the heavy drone of the vehicle's engine.
"This canyon is called Infiernillo." Nick kept his gaze straight ahead. "Little Hell."
"A demon had to have built this road."
"Civil engineers with tons of dynamite," Nick corrected. "Nothing else would have cut through solid rock."
"It looks like a cubist's fantasy," she said in wonder.
Nick smiled and shifted yet again. Around the next bend, he pulled the Rover into an overlook.
"Let's get out and stretch," he said once he'd secured the emergency brake.
Mary Beth did, but waited for him before stepping away from the car. While she appreciated the geometric beauty of the Infiernillo, she held tightly to the guardrail. She'd never been fond of heights. This was the highest she'd ever been, other than in an airplane.
"How much farther?" she shouted against the wind that whipped up in swirls.
"Probably another twenty miles to the top, but it'll take us about an hour."
She took a small step back toward the Rover before asking, "Then what?"
"Then we head for the Romero estancia. We can stay at— I have a house there. We'll spend the night and go to your brother's bank in the morning."
Once back in the Rover, Nick asked, "Have you ever had soroche? Altitude sickness?"
"No. I've never been above ten thousand feet."
"When we reach the top, we'll be at around fifteen thousand feet. There's a thermos of tea in the back seat. Drink some of it. It should help."
Minutes later, Mary Beth choked on the first swallow of tea. "What is this stuff?"
"It's what you'd call a traditional remedy. It'll keep you from having soroche." Nick drank from the mug he'd prepared for himself.
"It tastes awful."
"Drink it anyway."
She didn't want to, it was so bad, but she realized he wouldn't be drinking it if there wasn't a reason to do so. They drove on, only the steady drone of the engine breaking the silence. Mary Beth's ears popped several times.
"Is that the top?"
"Yes. Finish the tea or you'll get sick."
A half-hour later they drove through a jagged break in stone and onto the level plateau. At fifteen thousand feet, the air seemed rarified. If the road had been spectacular, the plateau was eerie. Quiet, flat, not a thing in sight but blue sky and brown grass broken by white boulders. Higher mountains loomed in the distance.
"Wow," Mary Beth whispered.
"As flat as the sky. And as cold."
Mary Beth rolled her window down a fraction of an inch and inhaled the crisp, cold air. "Fifteen thousand feet, you said?"
"Yes."
"I'm not sick," she said, turning the cup slightly, watching the last of the now-tepid liquid swirl around and around. "What's in this tea?"
His answer proved to her that she really didn't know what she'd gotten herself into.
"Coca leaves."
"Here we are," Nick said finally, as the sun dipped below the faraway horizon and twilight settled over them.
Mary Beth stretched, tired from the drive across the dusty plateau and back down to around ten thousand feet. Here the terrain was not so desolate, with some conifers and other vegetation visible along the sides of the rocky dirt road. While not as cold as the area five thousand feet higher, the temperature seemed to drop as the sun set.
They turned onto a track that led to a surprisingly modern single-story house nestled among the trees. The roof angled down low over the huge windows of the facade. Nick drove the Rover around to the side and parked.
"Wait here," he said, getting out but leaving the door ajar. Glancing from side to side, he moved toward the rear of the house, his back against the aged cedar siding, and peered around the corner. Turning, he looked around, as if making sure no one was watching.
She saw it then. Or perhaps she'd seen it all along.
This was not the Nicholas Romero she'd met in the city. This was another man. Not Alex's father, not Dona Elena's son and certainly not the man she'd read about. He looked … harder. Capable of taking care of himself in the isolated interior of San Mateo. He'd said she needed a mercenary to find Mark. All she needed was Nicholas Romero.
"This way," he said, once he'd walked around to her side. He led her to the front door and inserted a key into the lock. It clicked loudly when he opened the door. A clean, white marbled foyer held the cold of the unoccupied house.
Stepping inside, she could see a small living room-dining room combination with ultramodern furniture. The room was austere, with only a single painting on the wall, a panel of black splashed with white. Nothing about the house fit what she'd seen of Nick.
Surprised at the decor, she asked, "This is yours?"
"I have some calls to make," he said. "Bathroom's down the hall. You can freshen up."
Wincing from so obvious and abrupt a dismissal, Mary Beth took her bag and walked down the short hall, past a baby's bedroom. There was, indeed, a bathroom. A woman's bathroom, with stockings hanging on the shower curtain.
To the Limit Page 4
