To the Limit (Shadow Heroes Book 3) Page 4

She moved around slowly, taking in the chaos.

  Suddenly, she walked toward the closet and looked down at the overturned suitcase, crouched, and began straightening the mess.

  “Señor,” the security man said. “We have searched the hotel but cannot find who did this. La policía will be here shortly.”

  “How did they get in?” Nick asked.

  “They broke the lock.”

  “Do you have a lot of break-ins?”

  “No. We are very careful. This is the first in years.” He looked around at the room. “Señorita, if you will check your belongings. The cleaning woman will return shortly to help you.”

  Mary Beth, checking the room safe, and nodded.

  “Señor,” the security man said. “These men. It is not usual. The maid says they were not dressed as common thieves. They have masks to cover their faces and they wear business suits.”

  The men in the lobby. Nick should have paid more attention. What he remembered about them was the way they stood. Military, not civilians, despite their clothing.

  “Mary Beth, did they take your passport or your money?” Nick asked when the security officer stepped into the hall to talk to his assistant.

  She looked over her shoulder at him, her face pale. “I have my passport in my purse. My money’s still in the safe.” She sounded bewildered. “I don’t understand.” She closed the safe, stood, and turned, pocketing something.

  “You have nothing in here anyone could want?”

  A flush crept over her cheeks. Her arm tensed, as if she were fisting the hand in her pocket.

  “Nothing anyone would break in here for?”

  She slid her hands out of her pockets and looked around the room, her eyes stopping first on the stripped bed, then on the overturned dresser drawers. “I don’t see any reason why the kidnappers would do this. They would know they’ll get their money.”

  She was scared. The catch in her voice betrayed her.

  Nick closed the distance between them, put one hand on her shoulder, trying to keep his touch impersonal, and felt her tremble slightly. “Who else, besides the embassy, knows you’re in San Mateo?”

  “No one.” She met his gaze, the golden brown of her eyes dark.

  But something was going on. The kidnappers wanted the money, but they wouldn’t steal it from her after telling her to take it to Los Desamparados. If he believed what the Ministry of Justice man said, and Nick had no reason not to do so, Mark Williams was the focus of this gunrunning investigation jointly handled by the Americans and the San Matean government. If the men who broke in were military, they were San Matean Rangers. And if they were Rangers, General Vargas was behind the whole thing.

  But why take an interest in the gunrunner’s sister? Unless she was involved in the business. Instinct told him to discard that possibility, but the quiet investigation Carlos had started would soon yield answers, and if not, he would call his CIA contact. If the Americans were involved Jonathan Ethridge would know. Still, the Rangers were looking for something.

  The fear on her face nearly made Nick reach up to push a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “Maybe we can figure out what’s going on. Tell me about your brother.”

  ***

  Mary Beth anticipated Nick’s touch and felt oddly bereft when he lowered his hand. She stepped back.

  She was scared. Scared for Mark. For herself. She didn’t understand why the embassy was warning her out of San Mateo, why a military attaché found it necessary to talk to her. Unless they knew about the kidnapping. But how could they? None of it made any sense—not Mark’s kidnapping, not anything that had happened since she’d arrived in this country. And certainly not the single connection Mark had to Nick.

  “There’s something you have to know,” she said, praying she wasn’t about to make the one mistake that would guarantee Mark’s death. “Something I didn’t know until I read it in this morning’s paper.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Mark knew your cousin, Daniel Vargas.”

  She felt the silence of the wrecked room around her, saw Nick shutter his expression, but continued. “Before today, when I read the newspaper, I had no idea, not of your relationship, not that he was killed. It’s not the kind of thing that makes the news in the States.”

  “What did your brother have to do with Daniel?”

  “I don’t know how they knew each other. All I know is that Mark gave me his name and phone number, here in San Mateo, three years ago, in case I ever needed to get in touch and couldn’t.”

  “Do you have that number with you?”

  “I called it when I heard from the kidnappers. There was no answer.”

  “What’s the number?” he insisted.

  Grabbing her purse from the floor, she pulled out her cell phone. “Here,” she said, handing it to him after tapping a few keys. “Was it really his number?”

  “Yes.” He gave her back her phone.

  She thought she saw his fingers tremble slightly.

  “His private number,” he added.

  “The paper said your cousin was a San Matean Ranger. Mark’s work here had nothing to do with the military.”

  “Maybe they met outside of their work,” Nick replied. “What does your brother do?”

  “He’s a civil engineer with a Miami-based firm. They do a lot of road construction, bridges, that sort of thing.”

  “Did you contact the engineering company when you got the ransom demand?”

  “No. I was told not to. The man who called told me not to tell anyone.” She took a deep breath in an effort to keep her voice steady.

  Nick nodded. “We’ll find out what’s going on. What he was doing for the company.” Pulling his cell phone from his back pocket, he asked her, “Mark Williams, right?”

  “John Mark Williams,” she corrected.

  He tapped in a number. “Carlos, Nick. I need information on John Mark Williams, an American, born—” He looked at her and waited while she told him Mark’s birth date. “Yes, that’s right.” He listened for a moment, then spoke into the phone again. “Sí, muy bien. Gracias.”

  Then he turned to her. That darker, fiercer look, which she’d seen as he spoke about his dead cousin, was gone. “What did you put in your pocket?”

  One tiny doubt, probably a remnant of her past, remained, but she had to get the rest of the money she needed to ransom Mark. “The key to a safe deposit box at a bank here in San Mateo. It’s where Mark keeps some money. I’ll need it for the ransom.”

  “Which bank is it?”

  She took a small envelope from of her pocket and handed it to him. “The name is inside.

  With strong, deft fingers he opened the envelope and examined the tag on the key. “This is a branch of a large bank in San Mateo. It’s in an Andean town near the Romero family estancia.” After replacing the key in the envelope, he handed it back to her.

  Hands shaking, she put it in her pocket again as he studied the mess in the room.

  “We can be there by tonight,” he said finally.

  He’d agreed. Her knees felt suddenly 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 that warned her to be wary of relying on him too much. Something … cold.

  ***

  Nick drove back 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’ admonitions of helping a woman in distress had gotten to him. She certainly had.

  Honesty forced him to admit that while all that was true, the fact that San Matean Rangers had ransacked her room likely meant that there was a connection to Antonio Vargas. He could use whatever the general wanted with her to his advantage.

  He’d left Mary Beth here earlier. No doubt by now Doña 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 bring down General Vargas.

  The house was silent as he entered. He walked to the foot of the stairs and picked up the framed photograph that his mother had placed on a small table so many years ago. He remembered the day Doña Elena had taken this snapshot.

  “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 her son. She took me in as an infant. I claim the Romero name by way of her only brother, Alejandro Romero. My mother was an American who died in childbirth shortly after he died.”

  “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 close 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 again 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?”

  “She was in the kitchen.”

  “I’ve told her we’re 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?”

  “Well, there’s been a democratically elected president and congress for many years, one that’s run the country well,” she said. “As far as Primero de Mayo, I read that the government seems to have them under control after a few years of chaos.”

  “It was war. The Primero de Mayo started as a fringe rebel group, but quickly adopted terrorist tactics, invaded parts of the country, destroyed power grids and roads, killing all opposition. The government destroyed the leadership about five years ago, but then a splinter group overran the Italian embassy, here in the city, holding everyone inside hostage. It took over two months for San Matean Rangers to free the hostages and kill the terrorists who wanted to trade hostages for their compadres in prison. After that, there was some sporadic activity.” He chose his next words carefully, trying to remain objective. “The remnants of Primero de Mayo took over drug trafficking in Los Desamparados and the rest of the Río Hermoso valley. Daniel’s Ranger unit was assigned to stop them. He and two of his fellow Rangers were ambushed and held hostage.”

  Nick paused, the helplessness he’d felt still a tangible thing—along with the black fury of how his chance to get Daniel out had been sabotaged by Antonio Vargas. The general had done it in order to further 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.” Fists clenched, he fought back against the rolling tide of anger. “Doña Elena has nothing good to say of the place.”

  ***

  Mary Beth felt a sudden need to reach out and comfort Nick, but nothing could 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 that could comfort Nick.

  “Sí, Mamá.” Nick kissed her cheek.

  “Will you go by Dr. Rousseau’s clinic?”

  “Not this time, no.”

  “Oh.” She looked disappointed, but continued, “There are many supplies he will soon need. I will talk with Carlos about finding someone to take them.”

  “He knows several people he could send.”

  “Antonio came by today,” she said, her tone cautious. “He wanted to know why you are home.”

  “What did you tell him?” Nick asked, his tone even.

  “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, probably three years old, threw himself at Nick, unbalancing him. He bent and lifted the boy.

  “Daniel Alejandro, 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. Nothing she’d heard about the San Matean diplomat mentioned a wife or child.

  “Papi,” the boy giggled breathlessly, using the familiar term for father, undaunted by his grandmother’s reproof. “Mami is taking me to Florida. 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 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 right 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.”

  A woman 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. “Cristina, it is good to see you.”

  “You also, Nick.”

  Mary Beth’s gaze moved from one to the other, curious about the formality.

  “Cristina, this is Mary Beth Williams. The American I mentioned.”

  Cristina smiled and walked across the room toward her.

  “Mary Beth, this is Alex’s mother, Cristina Morales.”

  “Ms. Morales,” Mary Beth said, shaking the woman’s hand.

  “Cristina, 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 the attraction she thought she’d sensed. “His English is very good, especially at his age.”

  “I speak English to him. His mother and mine speak Spanish.”

  “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 very masculine interest, 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 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 fútbol.”

  Nick turned toward his son, smiling with genuine pleasure. “Out back, then, Alex.”

  Relieved at the interruption Mary Beth 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. Her brother 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 Doña Elena if she could help, when Cristina 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,” Cristina 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.

  Cristina 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.”