To the Limit

by Virginia Kelly

  He accepted the challenge, letting her place his hands on the front fastener of her bra. He released the clip and she let the white cotton slide off. When he stood one step below her, their faces were almost level. He broke the kiss and looked down at her.

  Gorgeous. She was perfect.

  Her hands, which had rested on his shoulders, traced the line of his collarbone, then lower to his chest. She leaned forward and placed her mouth gently at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Her hot breath tickled, tantalized.

  Somehow he managed not to trip as he stepped up and, one hand tangled in her hair, the other around her waist, backed his way to the first bedroom. Later he wouldn't remember how they got to the bathroom.

  But he'd never forget the feel of her. The taste. The explosive need came back to him so quickly he couldn't slow down for finesse. She didn't seem to mind, and seemed to encourage the madness with her mouth and her hands.

  They managed to tear off the rest of their muddy clothes and toss them aside. Nick was surprised he had enough clarity of mind to turn on the hot water. Then they were in the shower, the spray washing the mud and grime off. Soap and shampoo added to the slickness of their bodies.

  He'd never realized how finely muscled she was. She looked so trim, so feminine, but there was strength in the lithe lines of her body. Strength that she used to hold him to her, to push him and entice him until he thought he'd go roaring mad if he didn't get inside her.

  Unable to breathe from the intoxication of desire, he opened his mouth over hers and, cupping her bottom, raised her off the shower floor. She moaned and wrapped those perfect legs around his waist, her ankles crossed at his flanks. Nearly slipping down, catching himself and her against the tiled wall, brought back his sanity. He jerked the shower curtain open and carried her into the bedroom, her legs still wrapped around him. He fell back onto the bed, clutching at her wet body.

  She straddled his hips, her hair wet and wild, the way he loved it. He tunneled his hands through the still dark mass and pulled her to his mouth. She melted onto him, hot and damp from the bath. Then she pulled away and rose slightly, aligning them. He couldn't wait, couldn't contain what had burned in him for so long. Flipping them over, he thrust into her.

  Surprise, and pleasure, etched her features. The feel of her beneath him, around him, nearly pushed him over the edge. She moved with him, met his urgency, until her pleasure made her call his name and he allowed himself the release he sought.

  Mary Beth could hear the water still running in the bathroom.

  "Can you," Nick said, "breathe?"

  She wasn't alive, she thought. This hadn't happened.

  "Mary Beth?" he asked.

  "Mmm," she replied. He weighed a ton. A beautiful, heavenly ton. Still slightly damp from the shower. Still buried inside her. She ran a hand down his back. It was the feel of the stiff stitches at his waist that made her shift. "Your back," she said, pulling her hand away. "Your stomach."

  She felt the effort he made to push himself up. "I can't feel anything." His eyes focused on her. There was laughter in his voice.

  "I can feel a lot," she said, and immediately felt the hot rush of embarrassment as they both realized what she'd said.

  He chuckled, sending the most amazing sensations spiraling through her body. Her sexual experience was limited. There had never been anything as intense as what had just happened to her. She'd never wanted the … intimacy of what had happened. She supposed she'd never thought anything could be so spontaneous. And so carnal.

  "The water," she hurried to say before his mouth settled on hers again.

  "Water?"

  "In the shower. It's on."

  He stared down at her and shifted. "It bothers you?"

  "Hmm," she sighed as she felt his growing fullness.

  He levered his upper body away. "I'll go turn it—"

  "No! Don't you dare leave now."

  "Why, Miss Williams—" Nick breathed against her mouth "—where have your excellent manners gone?"

  Chapter 14

  « ^ »

  Nick put the cloth he'd used to clean his Glock into his bag. After reloading the semiautomatic, he put it into the holster under his left arm and stretched. He'd cleaned the floor and washed the few dishes they'd left last night when he and Mary Beth came down to get something to eat. Just being in the kitchen reminded him again of all that had transpired. The exhaustion, the fear, the terror of losing Mary Beth. Survival had brought on an incredible hunger that had started as a physical craving and had turned into much more. The too-proper Mary Beth had delighted in him, had let herself go, had relinquished control.

  She was his now, more truly his than anything or anyone in his life. And as his, she was his responsibility. He would protect her with his last breath. That meant leaving her here while he went into the valley and confronted whatever had brought her brother into contact with his own. Whatever had placed San Matean Rangers and an American who claimed to act in the name of the American embassy into a collision course with a mysterious American who pretended to be anyone but who he was. And who had pushed Antonio Vargas into admitting what he'd denied for thirty-three years.

  He poured himself a cup of coffee, his gaze drawn to the chair Mary Beth had sat on before they'd gone upstairs. The memory of her fingers in his hair tempted him.

  Maybe there was a chance. A chance she'd want the pleasure enough to accept the outward Nicholas Romero, accept the hot passion and not demand his soul, not demand the secrets that bound him to who and what he was.

  If he didn't have to make a choice that would affect Mark Williams. If Daniel hadn't become a Vargas in the end, compromising everything they'd sworn to believe in. If he himself didn't fall into the same trap to protect his brother.

  Grimly, he realized he'd be better off, as far as Mary Beth was concerned, if Williams was dead. That pragmatism was too close to a Vargas trait for comfort.

  He put aside the troublesome idea. He'd already done too much he didn't like, pushing the envelope of what was reasonable in the man he wanted to be. He'd killed one man and hurt two others. Those actions had kept Mary Beth safe. For the moment. He had to ensure that safety by keeping her out of it from here on.

  Carlos had to know more about what was going on by now.

  He stood, his thoughts upstairs where Mary Beth lay sleeping. The temptation to go up, to sink into her and forget his duty, his responsibilities, was strong. But he had no choice. No other option.

  He picked up the telephone.

  The inside of a shower would forevermore bring back some pretty fantastic images, Mary Beth decided as she turned on the hot water. Stretching, her body aching from the climb down and then up the cliff, she adjusted the spray and stepped in. The rush of water brought back memories of the night—the hot passion, the joy that had blotted out the events of a frightening day.

  Her lips felt swollen, her body felt … different. Stronger. She blushed at the memory of what she'd said, what she'd done, the things she'd felt. But Nick had reveled in her, his body hers for the asking. And she had asked. She'd abandoned all caution, all the barriers she'd put up years ago against any invasion of her emotions. It was entirely too late for barriers. Nicholas Romero owned her heart.

  What would she say to him? What would he say to her?

  The question of what they would do brought her out of her brief shower and made her hurry to dry off.

  Dressed in bra and panties, the last clean ones she had, she rummaged through a dresser and a closet until she found a man's white shirt and some khaki shorts that fit a little loosely. Drumming up her courage, she made her way down the quiet stairs and into the kitchen. No sign of Nick. Gingerly, she touched the side of the percolator on the stove and found it warm. She took the grounds out and turned on the burner.

  In a paper bag, she found rolls and took one. She felt ravenous, shaky from the long night.

  Then she heard Nick talking. She walked through the dining room, following the
sound of his voice, drawn to him.

  Nick paced as he talked, pulling the phone cord with him. "There's nothing on Elliot Smith?"

  "Nothing at all. No one at the embassy will talk about him," Carlos replied. "But something is happening. Many new faces coming and going. One of my contacts tells me there are three Secret Service agents working out of the embassy."

  That clearly indicated counterfeiting, Nick thought. "Are they new?"

  "These men are, but there have been men from that department here for a few years. Since before Daniel died. I think one group worked with him."

  There was the connection again. He had to know what Mark Williams had to with it all. Why Elliot Smith and his men were so desperate to find him. The answers were to be found in the valley.

  "Any word on the general?"

  "It is rumored in some circles that Francisco Arenales has been given command of the Rio Hermoso troops. Many within the Army are saying that means that the general's power has ended. Arenales, they say, will play by no one else's rules." Carlos paused as the line crackled. "Be careful, Nick. It is common knowledge that you have taken the American's sister with you. Neither the Americans nor the Rangers mention the man's name. You know what that means…"

  Yes, he knew. He completed Carlos's thought. "Mark Williams is expendable."

  Mary Beth sucked in a quick breath at Nick's words. She didn't need to hear anything else.

  She'd been duped. Again.

  Somehow, she managed to get back up the stairs, undress and get into bed. She didn't know what she would do if he touched her, but she knew she couldn't face him. She had to push the betrayal and anger aside if she was going to help Mark.

  Nick came upstairs. Mary Beth heard him open the bedroom door and quietly walk to the side of the bed. It took everything she had not to roll over and scream at him. She was sure she was trembling with rage when she felt the soft touch of his hand on her cheek.

  Then he walked out and down the stairs. She moved only when she heard the front door close.

  Running to the window, she watched as he walked toward the mist-enshrouded descent into the Rio Hermoso Valley.

  Nick slid the final few yards to the valley floor and landed on his feet. Though exhausted and covered in mud, he knew he had to be alert. Rangers would be everywhere. They'd either found Wyatt's body, or it lay buried beneath rock and mud. He wondered if Elliot Smith would even bother looking for the man. There appeared to be no one around. Five minutes later, after walking through an untended coffee patch, he came to the bank of the Rio Hermoso.

  What a misnomer. There was nothing beautiful about the river now. The rainy season had turned the sparkling waters of the placid river into a muddy torrent. Initial surprise at finding no Rangers guarding the swinging bridge built of tightly wound vines gave way to frustrated reality. The bridge wouldn't be guarded because it couldn't be called that anymore. The only things that remained were the two vine-ropes that held the bridge up. The sides and the floor had fallen. What was there barely cleared the chocolate-colored water that sprayed up from the larger boulders. The only other bridge was the stone one that was part of the main road in the valley. That one would be guarded.

  Nick wiped sweat from his face and reached up to test what was left of the bridge. He pulled and the rope swayed but didn't give. It felt sturdy enough. And he had no choice. With the river so high, there would be no place to ford it. It was either this or swim. Or both, if the vine broke.

  The long morning crawled by, each minute longer than the one before. Mary Beth concentrated on Mark.

  She'd spent a frantic hour trying to make the overseas connection to contact her father. To no avail. Spencer Williams was not to be found, neither at home, nor at his office. Mary Beth left messages everywhere; she even broke down and called her mother, the senator's wife. Of course her mother hadn't heard from her father, but someone from Mark's company had called repeatedly about his whereabouts.

  She remembered the Jeep, but Nick had taken the key. So she went to the church, hoping the priest could find someone to start it for her, but he was away.

  Finally, she admitted that her hands were tied. She could do nothing but wait until her father called. If he called. And then what? What could he do from so far away?

  She broke down and called once again. And again did not contact him.

  Now, desperate for something to do, she cleaned the bathroom and washed her muddy clothes, hanging them on the clothesline beside the house, all the while banishing thoughts of Nick. She studied the papers with the numbers again and again, trying to see what she was missing. Giving up, she decided to wrap them in the plastic again and tuck them into her bra. She was just finishing when she heard a car engine. A quick look out the living room window confirmed her fear. San Matean Rangers.

  She ran up the stairs to the bedroom they'd used and, with her back against the wall, peeked out the window in time to see two Rangers step out of a Jeep.

  They walked to the door and pounded. Mary Beth held her breath, her gaze darting around the room in search of a possible hiding place. The bang of the door being opened and hitting the wall downstairs propelled her into motion. She ran into the bathroom, then into the next room, desperately seeking a place they wouldn't check.

  The men climbed the stairs.

  The only place to hide was under the bed, but it was too low to the floor to allow her underneath. With nowhere left to go, she urgently sought some sort of weapon. Nick's bag was in the other room. She bit back a moan of despair when the only thing she could find was a single brass candleholder. She curled her fingers around the cold metal just as the soldiers opened her door.

  "Señorita," the Ranger with lieutenant's stripes said. "Please come with us."

  Mary Beth felt a bubble of nervous laughter threaten to escape. Such perfect manners from such a fierce-looking man.

  She held the candleholder in front of her. A silly move. "What do you want with me?"

  "You are to come. Quietly."

  "No," she said in a shaky voice.

  "Please, señorita, we mean you no harm."

  "And pigs fly."

  "Pardon me?"

  "The American embassy won't stand for this."

  "The American embassy is not here, señorita," the lieutenant replied.

  There was no way out. She'd never get away.

  She placed the candleholder on the dresser and followed him.

  Outside, the reflection of the sun off the Jeep blinded her momentarily. The lieutenant held her arm and pushed her into the back seat.

  They drove down the muddy, washed-out switchback road that kept Mary Beth clutching at the seat as they wound their way into the Río Hermoso Valley. Parts of the side of the mountain had crumbled, taking pieces of the road with it, causing the Jeep's driver to hug the mountainside in several places. No one said anything to her. Both men were unfailingly polite—in their own menacing way.

  The road in the valley was in much better condition than the one on the mountainside. They drove for a few minutes, first across a single-lane stone bridge over a raging, muddy river that had to be the Río Hermoso, then through rows and rows of coffee trees. Finally, a few, small wood-frame houses with tin roofs came into view. The Jeep pulled up in front of the one closest to the riverbank.

  Without a word, she was hauled out of the Jeep. The lieutenant held her arm and led her inside.

  Mary Beth looked around. The inside of the house was surprisingly modern for this rural part of San Mateo. Air-conditioned—a real surprise—it also had two computers with large industrial printers attached. The furniture was utilitarian. An open door led to a small kitchen. Another door was closed, a Ranger standing in front. From beyond the door, she heard the sound of a chair scraping across the wooden floor. Moments later, the door opened from the inside.

  Nick's uncle, Antonio Vargas, opened it wider. She could see inside.

  Mark.

  In a chair, his hair long and tangled, one side
of his face bruised, one eye swollen shut, his lower lip split open. A bloody bandage rode high on his left arm. Handcuffs dangled from his right wrist, as if he'd just been released from the left one. He looked glassy-eyed and disoriented.

  She tore free of the lieutenant's grasp, but he grabbed her before she took a single step.

  "Let her go, Lieutenant," General Vargas said.

  Mary Beth ran the few steps necessary to reach Mark, and knelt to embrace him. He jerked, as if she'd woken him, shaking the chair, then pushing her away with his right hand.

  "Damn and hell."

  Ignoring his exclamation, Mary Beth hugged him. He winced when she touched his back. "What have they done to you?"

  He focused on her. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "Mr. Williams," the general said.

  Mary Beth turned.

  "Perhaps now you will cooperate with us."

  "Let her go, Vargas," Mark said in a hoarse whisper.

  The general laughed and shook his head. "I admire bravery, not stupidity. She will go when you tell me what I need to know."

  Mary Beth clutched Mark's hand. It was icy cold. "My brother needs medical treatment," she said. "We demand access to the American embassy."

  Vargas laughed again. Mary Beth noticed that the lieutenant who had brought her here wasn't smiling. He stood outside the room. The general walked around behind Mark's chair.

  "Your sister is fierce, no? That is good." Turning to the lieutenant, he said in Spanish, "I will deal with them from here. Leave us."

  As the door closed behind the lieutenant, Vargas moved around so he faced them both. "Now, Mr. Williams, we will continue our discussion."

  "I have nothing to discuss with you," Mark said, his voice only slightly clearer.

  "Then I must persuade you." The general's hand rested on the pistol he had strapped to his hip.

  "Mark," Mary Beth said in what she hoped was a fearless tone. "What's going on?"