To the Limit

by Virginia Kelly

  "In exchange for what?"

  "Your life, old man."

  "You cannot heap such sin on your soul, Nicholas."

  "My soul is not your concern. Move away or die."

  The roar of the river filled the air.

  "You should have taken the shot when I was inside. It would have been easier for me."

  "But not for me," Nick admitted.

  "Then Elena did raise you well," the general said, backing to the edge of the crumbling riverbank. He pushed Mary Beth forward, toward Nick.

  Seeing his chance, Nick reached back for the Glock as she stumbled to the muddy ground.

  The general, gaze steady on Nick, no expression on his face, jumped into the raging river.

  And vanished.

  Mary Beth scrambled to her feet and ran to the edge of the river. Brown spray flew around her. Nick, his unfired gun dangling from his right hand, stood silently staring down into the boiling waters that had swallowed Antonio Vargas.

  Confusion overwhelmed her. She couldn't describe her jumble of emotions. Relief was the only obvious one. Questions she couldn't sort out tumbled around in her mind.

  "Miss Williams?" the colonel, said jogging up to her. The Rangers were already on the bank searching the river. "Are you hurt?"

  "No. No, I'm not," she replied, shivering with a sudden chill. "My brother?"

  "A helicopter will arrive within minutes to take him to the hospital in Trujillo. My medic has stabilized him."

  "May I ride with him?"

  "Of course. I will tell my men that they are to help you aboard the helicopter." With a brief, stiff nod, he walked away, leaving her alone with Nick.

  He was still standing on the riverbank, as if all his strength had been used up. It probably had been. He'd spent the better part of an hour trying to find a way to save her.

  He hadn't abandoned her.

  She had to understand, had to make sense of things. "You said Mark was expendable."

  He turned sharply toward her. "I never said that. I would never—" He nodded, as if remembering. "You heard me talking to Carlos on the phone."

  She wouldn't help him, refused to help him come up with an excuse.

  "He was filling me in on what he'd learned. It was so bad, he didn't want to say it, so I did. According to everyone, Mark was expendable."

  He'd saved her life, but did she dare believe him? Trust him? He'd told her all along he couldn't give her honesty.

  There was something different about him now, a stillness. A quietness. Not sorrow, not defeat. Not anything she could name.

  "Do you know what their involvement in the counterfeiting was?"

  He turned back toward her again. "Mark didn't tell you?"

  She shook her head.

  "He is Secret Service. Daniel was his San Matean contact. They had a good deal of evidence. Enough to bring General Vargas and Elliot Smith down. Daniel's death left Mark out in the cold since Smith was his contact. I don't know exactly what happened, but Mark and Daniel were investigating, not participating, in the counterfeiting."

  "So they are innocent?"

  "Yes."

  "Then they've been vindicated."

  "Yes."

  From downriver came the clap of helicopter blades. Nick shielded his eyes and looked up.

  Mary Beth had one last question. "He knew about Alex, but what did he mean when he said he still wins, that there is you?"

  Nick looked back at her, his face drawn, the expression in his eyes tearing at her heart.

  "That monster was my father."

  Chapter 16

  « ^

  He'd told her the truth and she'd left. Intellectually, Nick knew Mary Beth had run back to the compound because the helicopter had arrived. She'd had to go to her brother. He'd even told her to, unable to stand her scrutiny any longer.

  But as he stared into the Rio Hermoso, as he watched more of the muddy bank tumble into the brown waters, taking with it bushes and trees, he found he couldn't be pragmatic.

  He couldn't be like the man who was surely dead.

  He wanted something besides the shock on her face.

  All along, he'd told himself that he couldn't tell her the truth because it would hurt his family. He'd been lying to himself. She would have kept his secret, just as he knew she would keep the one about Alex. No, he had not been able to tell her because he couldn't stand to see that look on her face, couldn't stand to have her know such a horrible thing about him.

  And it was much worse than he'd imagined. Antonio Vargas had sold weapons to Primero de Mayo and, when he double-crossed them with his attempt to capture them, they had taken his son. Simple greed had motivated the counterfeiting operation. Demetrio Vazquez, the expert counterfeiter, had proved a temptation the general and Elliot Smith could not resist. They'd organized a huge counterfeiting operation that continued even after Vazquez went to jail and the American authorities became involved. Vazquez had told Arenales about the general's scheme after Mark had helped him escape from Vargas.

  Now Nick had to see if it was really over. Had to find the general.

  Arenales quickly organized a search party. A few Rangers walked; others drove on either side of the river, searching for Vargas's body. But they might never find it. The Rio Hermoso flowed into another larger river, a tributary of the Amazon, when it reached the town of Los Desamparados.

  The Forsaken, as he'd told Mary Beth only days earlier. Funny, he'd tried to frighten her with the word, had tried to make her go back to the safety of her life. Yet he was the one who felt lost.

  The blast of air from the helicopter as it left for the hospital pushed him into action. Arenales loaned him a Jeep. He got in and drove along the riverbank, ahead of the search party on this side of the river. Once, he thought he saw something, but it turned out to be a wooden fence post bobbing in the churning waters. The river turned about three miles ahead, just before it passed by a tiny mission church. The bank there wasn't eroded, but slopped to the shallows along a rocky shore. Eyes scanning the bank, he slowed the Jeep to a crawl when he saw something wash up. He drove to the shore.

  It was Antonio Vargas.

  Nick stopped the Jeep and got out. If the general was still alive, he'd go to trial. As his wife, Dona Elena would suffer. Better that he were dead.

  He walked slowly, deliberately, over the big rocks that kept this part of the bank from eroding. The general lay half in, half out of the river, facing skyward.

  He was battered, bruised, cut up.

  Dead.

  Nick didn't touch him. He didn't want to.

  Instead, he studied him, trying to see the man who was no longer there. He'd told Carlos he wouldn't stop until the general burned in hell. He was surely there. Yet Nick felt no elation—only relief that no one else had died.

  That Mary Beth had not died.

  There had been no physical resemblance between them. No one would ever have guessed they were related. Nick's eyes came from Angela Crosby, who had been a blue-eyed blonde. The only physical attribute he'd inherited from the general was his black hair and his hand-eye coordination. Those reflexes that had given him a deadly ability.

  And there it stopped. Because everything else he was had been given to him by Elena Romero. And it was that side of him that wanted a future.

  "You found him," a young lieutenant said.

  "Yes," Nick replied. "It's over."

  Mark hadn't regained consciousness even as he was loaded into the helicopter. For Mary Beth, the entire day in the military hospital became a nightmare of dread and waiting. A bullet and several fragments were taken from his shoulder in a two-hour operation. The doctors said he would need a great deal of rehabilitation to regain full mobility—rehabilitation better completed in the States.

  From his bedside, she called her parents and informed them of Mark's condition. Both immediately made plans to come to San Mateo, expecting to arrive within a day. An orderly brought a message saying that a Señora Vargas had made arrangem
ents for her parents to get to the hospital quickly and that they would all have a place to stay.

  But Mary Beth didn't hear one word from Nick.

  He'd pushed her away. He'd finally told her the truth, and he'd pushed her away.

  Eight hours after leaving the Rio Hermoso, Mark woke and managed to speak a few words, telling Mary Beth not to worry, he'd be okay. Typical Mark. Then he drifted into a drug-induced sleep.

  She spent the night in a chair beside his bed. Nurses came and went, checking on Mark every few hours. They urged her to leave, but she couldn't bring herself to go until one of her parents could watch over him.

  As the first streaks of dawn brightened the eastern sky, she sipped hot coffee brought to her by a nurse's assistant. Mark stirred, twisted slightly in the bed, and reached up to touch his heavily bandaged shoulder. Mary Beth stood quickly and bent to hold his hand. He opened his eyes.

  "It's okay," she said. "You're in a hospital."

  He nodded and through dry lips said, "Water."

  She gave him small sips as he tried to rouse himself. After that, he slept intermittently. Once she was sure that he would be okay, Mary Beth sat back and dozed.

  She woke to the sound of his voice. "Mary B., you okay?"

  Rushing to her feet, she bent over and kissed his forehead. "I'm great. How do you feel?"

  "Groggy," he replied in a raspy voice.

  "You're on so many drugs, I can't begin to name them."

  "What happened?"

  She told him, answering all his questions, leaving out only what she'd learned about Nick's relationship to the general.

  "Elliot Smith is dead. They weren't able to save him."

  Eyes closed, Mark shook his head. "He had the agency thinking I'd gone rogue."

  "They know what happened now. There are a couple of agents waiting to talk to you when you feel better."

  He nodded and fell asleep again.

  An hour later he woke, asking for more water. After taking a sip, he asked, "Those agents still out there?"

  "They left to get something to eat," she replied.

  He stared out the window.

  "I want to know something, Mark. Why were Daniel Vargas's dog tags in your safety deposit box?"

  With a sigh, he said, "I couldn't get anything out past Smith. When things started going to hell, we didn't know what else to do, how else to make sure we were believed, should something happen to one of us." He paused, shifted slightly in the bed. "I gave him my ID and he gave me his. Then Daniel was killed." He paused, seemingly for a breath.

  "You tried to help him, didn't you."

  He closed his eyes. Moments passed and she thought he'd gone to sleep, but then he said, "Vargas had already ordered an assault on the terrorist compound. I was too late.'

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

  "You did all you could, Mark."

  "Daniel's death stopped the investigation. Vargas found out about it after Daniel died. At first he thought it would end, but I kept at it. I needed the evidence Daniel had hidden and someone I could trust."

  "I understand there was a counterfeiting plate."

  "Vargas kept them. I don't know how Daniel got one, but he did. That and a counterfeit hundred dollar bill, single-sided, that General Vargas had written on. Daniel told me he had them, but he died before I could add them to our collection of evidence."

  That was what Nick had found, what he'd given to Arenales.

  "Why didn't you tell me you'd joined the Secret Service?"

  "I started to, but I didn't want Dad or Mother to find out. Either of them could have made it impossible. I was afraid you might slip up and tell them."

  "But you sent me the safety deposit box information."

  "Insurance." He smiled and his eyes closed again. "I figured if something happened to me, you'd see the things and contact Dad."

  "When the call came from who I thought were the terrorists, they told me they'd kill you if I told anyone," Mary Beth explained. "I was afraid Dad would launch some grand plan to rescue you."

  Mark opened his eyes. "Vargas set it all up hoping to use you to get to me."

  "And I walked right into it."

  "But you did good, Mary B."

  A nurse came in, quietly checked the monitors and left.

  Mark appeared to have gone to sleep again, so he surprised her when he said, "Tell me about Nick Romero."

  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 boarding-house 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.

  The next thing she knew; she heard knocking on her door. The bedside table clock said it was four o'clock. She rolled onto her stomach and scooted her arms beneath the pillow. But the knocking persisted.

  Finally, she sat up and asked loudly, "¿Quién es?"

  "Nick."

  She had quit expecting him. During the hours she'd spent by Mark's bedside, she'd replayed everything that had happened, the secret he had kept, and had come to one conclusion. Had she been in Nick's position, she would have done the very same thing. She would never have disclosed the truth about such tangled 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 tangled hair and reached for the knob.

  When she swung the door open, Nick was leaning his forehead on his hand, his upper arm braced against the doorjamb. He was clean, 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."

  She'd left her father with Mark. Her parents had somehow managed to arrive separately. Neither spent more than a few minutes in the company of the other. Her father had no doubt found a reason to leave her mother alone with Mark. Her family was being true to itself.

  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 couldn't answer, 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. His words hung suspended between them.

  "For what?"

  "For nearly allowing you to be 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 importa
nt to him.

  Afraid to hope, she asked, "Are you okay?"

  He avoided her gaze. "We found him three miles downriver. He was dead. Arenales has agreed to let the blame fall publicly on Elliot Smith. The official reports will have it all. 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 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 would not have gone. 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. Arenales told me about the sale of arms to Primero de Mayo. Vargas 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 all those men in order to take my brother out. Instead, I tried to talk to them." He laughed, a quick bitter laugh.

  "Do you think you could have negotiated with them if the general hadn't—"

  "No. They knew the general was going to kill them. They had nothing to lose. But Daniel would have lived longer." He paused. "There would have been another chance to save him."

  "Mark tried to help, but he said he was too late."

  "He told me."

  "You both did all you could do."

  He didn't reply. He walked to the window and opened the curtains, letting afternoon light in, then turned back toward her. "When Vargas was in the compound with you and Mark, alone, I wanted to kill him. I could have. Arenales had given me a rifle."