So why couldn't she just accept that he was being nice?
Because he's a handsome, worldly man. Because he operates in a world where nice people are nothing more than casualties, a world that nearly destroyed you. She knew better than to tangle with this stranger standing beside her.
"Why are you here?"
"I think it's time we talked about your predicament."
"I told you—"
"You simply asked me to accompany you because you believe I can be of help. That is not a discussion."
"What is there to discuss? I have to pay the ransom for my brother. He will be killed if I don't."
He seemed to study her for a moment before saying, "Tell me about him."
"Tell you what?" her guilty conscience prodded her to ask too sharply.
"What does he do? Why is he in San Mateo?"
"Will you go with me?"
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "This isn't a good place to talk. Join me for coffee. There's a café around the block."
Coffee? She didn't want coffee. She wanted an opportunity. That was all she needed. He wanted to discuss her predicament? She would convince, not discuss. She just needed a moment to step back, to compose herself. To decide what she would say without telling him that Mark knew his cousin.
The cousin Primero de Mayo killed.
The elevator chimed and the doors swept open. Two men in business suits stepped out.
"I'd like to put my package away and change first," she said. "Can you wait for me?"
Fifteen minutes later, Nick was still waiting on one of the uncomfortable couches in the modern, marble-floored lobby. The two men who'd stepped off the elevator when Mary Beth got on had long ago given up waiting for it and had taken the stairs, apparently having gotten off on the wrong floor.
An embassy official he'd met months earlier walked in from the street and looked around. Nick couldn't remember his name or title. The dark-haired man spoke with the desk clerk, then the elevator door opened and Nick forgot everything else.
She'd done it again. The Mary Beth who stepped out of the elevator was no longer the harried woman he'd surprised minutes earlier, but a beautiful and poised woman. She wasn't wearing the little black dress, but it didn't matter. Her armor—green blouse and cream slacks—was in place, and she was ready for battle. Nick smiled in appreciation and wondered what she'd think if he did what every male instinct told him to do—walk up to her, run his fingers through that wild, honey-colored hair and pull her against him.
Distracted by his musing, he'd barely gotten to his feet when he heard the embassy man call out, "Miss Williams?"
Eyebrows raised in surprise, Mary Beth turned. "Yes?"
"I'm Elliot Smith," he said, handing her a business card, "from the American embassy. Your father and I worked together in Madrid. May I have a few moments of your time?"
"Is something wrong, Mr. Smith?"
"Yes. In a way." The short man looked around the lobby, let his eyes meet Nick's for a moment, then straightened his tie.
Mary Beth excused herself from Nick and led Smith a few feet away, stopping beside a replica of an Incan urn. Nick made himself comfortable by leaning on a nearby column. He'd be able to hear their conversation, which, judging from the man's pointed stare, Smith didn't want.
Mary Beth gave Nick a cursory look, then dismissed him with a slight turn of her head. "What is this about?"
"We are warning Americans visiting San Mateo about the dangers here."
"I'm not aware of any dangers," she said.
"There have been problems with terrorists. It's not a good time to be here. Especially not for an American woman."
"Your concern is appreciated." Mary Beth studied him with cool regard. "I still don't see why you're here."
Nick smiled as she deliberately ignored the man's condescending look.
"The ambassador is always worried about Americans who put themselves in jeopardy in San Mateo. He's limited in what he can do to help, especially in dealing with the San Matean bureaucracy."
"I certainly hope he doesn't have to intervene in anything because of me."
"Since you're Spencer Williams's daughter, we thought we'd speak with you about reconsidering your … visit to San Mateo and going home. We are concerned that you're on your own."
"Thank you, and—" Mary Beth moved away slightly "—please thank the ambassador. But I'm not alone. I'm visiting with Mr. Romero."
Nick fought the urge to smile as Smith turned toward him, then focused on Mary Beth again.
"Mr. Romero?"
"Is that a problem?"
Nick pushed away from the column, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction. If Smith had hoped to find a woman susceptible to intimidation, he'd been wrong.
Smith straightened his tie again. "No. Of course not."
"Is that all, then?" Mary Beth asked.
"One last thing." He buttoned his suit jacket. "How is your brother?"
"My brother?"
"I met him in Barranquilla a few years ago."
She paused before answering. "I'll tell Mark you asked about him."
"Please do." Smith shook her extended hand, nodded at Nick and made his way to the front entrance.
Nick felt an unexpected respect for Mary Beth Williams. She was a force to contend with.
"Do you know that man?" She stood with her back ramrod straight, her polished manners perfect.
She reacted to difficult situations with studied decorum. For one wayward moment, he wondered what it would take to rattle her composure, then his better nature took over.
"I've met him," he replied.
"Is he really the military attaché?" She looked up from Smith's business card, which she held in her hand.
"As far as I know."
"Why would he tell me to leave?"
"He's probably worried about your safety." But Nick didn't think so.' Smith might have found out she was here through regular channels, but there was no reason why he'd make the effort. It was time to find out exactly what was going on with her brother, what he was about to get himself involved in.
She took a few more steps toward the doors, then turned quickly, her short hair swinging around her face. "Do you think he would have someone follow me?"
Nick masked his expression carefully. "You believe you're being followed?"
"A car followed me from the airport, then again to your house last night. I also saw a man earlier, when I was shopping." She pushed her hair back with the same gesture he'd noticed the night before.
This time Nick recognized it for what it was. Beneath the designer clothes and the cool exterior beat the heart of a frightened woman. Ingrained protective instincts rose to the surface and made him reassess the situation.
Time for the truth. At least part of it. "The man you saw this morning is mine."
It took Mary Beth a moment to fully understand what Nick had said. In that moment, she finally realized how far out of her league she was. "Having me followed doesn't seem like the kind of thing a man of your reputation would do."
"I meant nothing sinister by it." He kept his voice low.
Skeptical, she met his gaze.
"Last night," he explained, "my neighbor told me he suspected you were followed. I had my man verify it."
"Does the Primero de Mayo have people in the city?"
"Probably," he replied. "Did you tell anyone about your brother?"
"No. I was told not to." She took a quick breath. "Why would you have me followed?"
"For some reason, I thought you might need protection."
His eyes, intense in the sun-washed lobby, flashed a combination of humor and something that puzzled her.
"Although I've come to the conclusion that there are areas in which you don't need protecting."
She felt the warmth of his steady perusal as he continued.
"That cool demeanor, the ability to brush off all questions, serves you well." He looked her up and down with some degree of
admiration. And something warmer. "Where did you learn to handle yourself like this?"
"My life is not at issue. My brother's is." She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.
"You've made it my concern by involving me." He stepped closer.
For an instant she had the unsettling feeling that he might touch her. The thought confused her, made her aware of the fleeting notion that she didn't know whether to move toward him or step back. Insanity warred with common sense.
"I only want to save my brother," she finally said, as calmly as possible.
"Then we have to come to an agreement."
Heart pounding in her chest, she asked, "Does that mean you will go with me?"
"It means you have to tell me about your brother. Why would terrorists kidnap him? Why would the embassy care enough about you to warn you out of the country?"
Did he know about Mark and his cousin? Had he known all along?
No. If he knew, he would tell her. No need to play this game unless he was at least considering helping her.
"I don't have time for this. Mark is in danger and you're the only one who can help. I would have thought you, of all people, someone whose profession it is to deal with hostage takers, would know this."
"I'm sure I deserve the subtle insult." His lips twitched up in a half smile. "But the ice-maiden act doesn't work with me. You can't dismiss me and my questions the way you did Smith and his." With that, he directed a silent challenge to her, walked back to the plush couch and sat down.
Mary Beth told herself only necessity made her follow and sit down opposite him.
When she did, Nicholas Romero, well-known diplomat, world-class negotiator, looked at her and said, "You're all alone in this, Mary Beth. You don't like it, but you need me. And to get me to cooperate, you'll have to answer my questions."
Chapter 3
« ^ »
Nick had to hand it to her. Mary Beth didn't allow that studied poise to slip even though they both knew he had her.
Instead, she asked, "What do you want to know about Mark?"
She was hiding something. It was obvious from the defensive tone of her question.
He found his gaze drawn to the spot where her silk blouse parted slightly to reveal a tiny gold cross. Maybe it was the sight of the religious symbol, or the fact she was such a fascinating woman. Either way, he realized he was surprisingly tempted to go easy on her.
And that made no sense. No matter what protective instincts he might possess, he had one goal and one goal only. Antonio Vargas would pay. Mary Beth Williams was nothing more than a means to an end. He would not abandon the promise he'd made to himself, what he owed his family.
"What was he—"
"Señorita Williams," the concierge interrupted.
Mary Beth looked up.
"The chief of hotel security would like for you to meet him in your room." The older man wrung his hands.
Nick rose. "What's wrong?"
The man's gaze shot from Mary Beth to Nick. "The cleaning woman has discovered a break-in. Por favor, you will come?" He led the way to the elevator, which opened immediately when he depressed the call button.
Once in the elevator, Mary Beth's eyes remained focused on the display indicating the passing floors. Her stillness made Nick wonder if he would finally see a crack in her composure. But he didn't. She stepped quickly, but calmly, out of the elevator.
A security man waited for them in the hallway, hands behind his stiff back. "The cleaning woman interrupted two men going through the closet."
"Was she hurt?" Mary Beth asked.
"No, no. They ran away," replied the security man. As Mary Beth walked past him, he added, "Señorita. I am very sorry."
The room was a shambles—the dresser drawers flung open, the contents of the closet tossed on the floor. Mary Beth's suitcase had been opened, her clothing thrown aside. Even her cosmetics had been dumped on the bathroom floor, lotions splattered on the tile.
Nick watched her move around slowly, taking in the chaos.
Suddenly, she walked toward the closet and looked down at the overturned suitcase. Her back to him, she crouched and began straightening the mess.
"Señor," the security man said. "We cannot find who did this."
"How did they get in?"
"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 help you."
Mary Beth, now kneeling on the floor, nodded and put her shoes back into her suitcase.
"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 wished he could remember something besides what they wore. Definitely San Matean, going on what he could remember. The way they stood said they were 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, her face pale. "I keep that in my purse." She sounded bewildered. "I don't understand." Standing, she turned and pocketed something.
"You have nothing in here anyone could want?"
A flush crept over her cheeks. Her arm muscles 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 pants 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. I don't have the ransom money here. I put it in the hotel safe."
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. If he believed Mario, and he had no reason not to do so, the San Matean government was interested in Mark Williams in this gunrunning investigation. If the men who broke in were military, they were San Matean Rangers. And if they were Rangers, 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 Carlos would find out more and he'd know for sure. Still, the Rangers were looking for something.
The fear on her face nearly made him reach up to push a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. "Tell me about your brother. What he does. Maybe we can figure out what's going on."
Mary Beth saw Nick's hand move up, anticipated his touch and felt oddly bereft when he lowered it. 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, felt him close everything out, then continued. "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. But Mark gave me his name and phone number, here in San Mateo, in case I ever tried to get in touch with him 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 a tiny address book. "Here," she said, handing him the open book. "Was it really his number?"
"Yes," he replied, handing the book back to her.
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 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. They told me not to tell anyone." She took a deep breath in an effort to keep her voice steady.
Nick nodded and turned away. "We'll find out what's going on. What he was doing for the company." Picking up the phone, he asked her, "Mark Williams, right?"
"John Mark Williams," she corrected.
He dialed 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 passbook to a bank here in San Mateo. It's where Mark keeps some money."
"Which bank is it?"
She took a small red booklet out of her pocket and handed it to him. He touched the key Mary Beth had taped inside and looked up at her.
To the Limit Page 3