"I'm fine. Why do you ask?"
"You were talking to the general. You don't like him."
"Nobody likes the general."
She moved toward him, her footsteps quiet on the tiles. "Was he a good father?"
Surprise nearly made him jump. "What?" Surely she wasn't that astute. Nobody was.
"Was he a good father to your cousin? Separation can make it difficult."
"No."
"That was a quick answer."
"I wouldn't consider the man responsible for his son's death a good father."
In the silence that followed, he heard music and laughter from inside.
"You hold him responsible for your cousin's death?"
"He didn't shoot Daniel, but he is responsible." The old man's impatience, his need for a quick victory, had ended Daniel's life before Nick could save it. "And not just for
Daniel's death. For the deaths of Daniel's companions. His decision to attack the compound where they were held amounted to murder." Nick had worn out his rage on the topic, but he could still taste the bitterness of what had happened.
"You assign him an awful lot of power," she commented.
He did. And he didn't like it. "It's a reflex. Left over from my youth." He ran a hand absently through his hair.
"What was it like, growing up with Doña Elena and Daniel?" She put her arms into the sweater she had thrown over her shoulders.
She seemed genuinely interested in a response, not simply making idle conversation. He found himself answering with more candor than he would have thought possible. "Doña Elena is one of those women who's a natural mother. She could have been handed any child and she would have loved it."
"But you weren't any child. You were her brother's son."
But he wasn't.
Nick looked toward the horizon, then straight up to the sky. All traces of sunset were gone now. "You can see the stars clearly here, away from the city lights."
Mary Beth stepped closer and held out his jacket. He had the oddest need to hold on to her. To anchor himself against the shock waves of the general's admission. But she had no way of knowing that, no way of knowing he wasn't who he pretended to be. He was already using her—too much of a Vargas trait.
He shrugged into the jacket and tried distracting them both. "When we were boys, Mamá would take us higher into the mountains. The Romeros have another farm there. Her father was still alive. A fantastic man. He would take us out on horseback and tell us stories about the stars, about Indian legends." He looked past her, lost in thought. "Daniel and I were hellions. When our girl cousins went with us, we pulled their hair and scared their horses."
"Did your grandfather punish you?"
He quickly looked back down at her, catching a bit of light as it reflected off her eyes. "Who?"
"Your grandfather."
"Oh, yes. He made us walk back once. We'd heard all the stories of the wamanis."
"The whats?"
"Wamanis," he repeated. "The Indians of the region believe them to be spirits that live on the mountain peaks. They're in charge of the herds of llamas and sheep. During | certain parts of the year, the wamanis roam the earth searching for offerings. Sometimes they eat the hearts of men who walk alone or show them no respect."
"That's a scary legend."
"Very," Nick agreed. "And for two thirteen-year-olds, absolutely frightening." He laughed, remembering. "After the first few minutes of the walk, I couldn't tell if I was shaking because of Daniel, or if he was because of me. We were locked together. We promised, then and there, that each would protect and defend the other forever, no matter the cost." He fell silent, unwilling to talk about how he'd failed Daniel. "Mama was angry with her father, but he said we had to learn to be understanding of those weaker. We deserved the punishment." It was a lesson neither he nor Daniel would have learned from the general.
"I don't think Mark and I were ever punished. It's amazing to me that either of us has a conscience." She paused. "That makes it sound like we had a horrible childhood."
"Did you?"
"It was … not traditional. Not the close family you seem to have."
"Are you close to your brother?"
"We were. He's been traveling for so long, we don't see each other often. But we grew up close. Sort of like two musketeers. We did everything together, including fight." She hugged herself against the cold and let him put his jacket over her shoulders. "Our parents divorced when we were young. We went to live with Dad, which meant private schools, socially and politically correct acquaintances. Dad was a diplomat, like you. When he was given the ambassadorship of Spain, Mark and I went with him. It was difficult having to deal with that … social life."
"And you don't like formal parties," Nick interjected.
"Oh, I liked them at first." Mary Beth bowed her head. "It was sort of a challenge, to see if I could be sophisticated enough to fit into those circumstances."
"You learned your lessons well."
In the dark, her hair cast a shadow across her face. He reached out tentatively, his fingers aching for the feel of her. Then she looked up, her eyes glittering.
"Mark was always there for me. He stayed close, when he should have gone on."
Nick pulled his hand away and rubbed his forehead. "You said he's an engineer. Where did he study?"
"In Spain, while we were there. Then, when I came back to the States, he came with me and made sure I … got my life in order."
"That was very loyal of him."
"And very foolish. He should have gotten on with his life, instead of waiting for me to decide what to do."
"He sounds like a good brother, Mary Beth." But good brothers, good men, could make mistakes. Nick knew that firsthand.
"He's the best. Which is why I have to help him now."
"Did Primero de Mayo contact your father?"
"No, which surprises me."
It was odd, but fit nicely with the possibility that the kidnapping, the ransom demand, were a ruse arranged by the general to cover up something.
"Nick," said a voice from the house. "¡Teléfono!"
"I'd better get it," he said, stepping toward the door that led to the library. "Why don't you come inside. It's cold."
After letting Mary Beth into the living room, Nick closed the door of the library and picked up the phone.
"Do you remember Paul Martens?" Carlos Montoya asked over the crackling connection.
"Vaguely. I met him years ago, at the Hague, when I was still a Ranger. There was a problem. Some sort of trouble in England, wasn't it?" Nick sat down behind the ornate desk. The sound of music seeped into the room.
"Spain. It was a scandal, Nick. He was spying for the Russians."
"What does he have to do with Mark Williams?"
"His sister was engaged to him."
Nick got up and pulled the phone with him until he could move around to the front of the desk. "What happened?"
"She was never implicated. She called off her engagement before the news broke, but it didn't save her the humiliation or the questions. Her father's position as ambassador was compromised, and he was forced to resign. No one knows how the Americans found out about Martens, but our ambassador in Madrid during that time says rumors were flying that it was Mark Williams who trapped Martens."
That explained so much of what she'd told him about how he'd helped her. "Anything on the brother?"
"I am waiting on an American contact, but so far there is very little beyond the basics. It is as if the man barely exists in any American file."
Not a good sign, Nick thought as he hung up the phone. If Mark Williams did not register on the American's very efficient and computerized systems, what was going on?
Opening the door to the living room, he found an impromptu dance. His aunts, uncles and cousins were all doing a marinera. White handkerchiefs and colored scarves flipped with the turn of each dancer. Over to one side, clapping with enthusiasm, stood Mary Beth. The dance ended a
nd one of his uncles started an old record. The music was slow, a vals, or waltz, with a regional, Latin rhythm.
"¡Nicholas, baila con la niña!" shouted Tía Rosa. For a tiny little woman, she had the voice of a lumberjack. Soon everyone was shouting at him to dance with Mary Beth. Never one to be stopped, Tía Rosa grabbed Mary Beth's hand and dragged her across the living room to Nick. "Baila, pues, hijo," she ordered, her voice booming over the music.
He laughed. He loved this family—pushy, meddlesome, annoying. A family not really his. But the man who was his family was beyond contempt. Nick deliberately pushed aside the general's acknowledgment of paternity.
This was his family.
When he saw that Mary Beth wasn't upset by Tía Rosa's bossiness, he pulled her into his arms and began to move to the steady beat of the vals.
She fit him perfectly. The realization almost made him miss a step. Unable to resist his other curiosity, he gently touched her hair. Soft, thick, lustrous.
"Your family is really something," he heard her say against his shoulder.
"They're usually not this boisterous. I think I've been away too long." He was fighting the urge to pull her closer. He could feel one of her hands, high on his arm. He held the other against his chest.
"How long do these get-togethers go on?" She sounded breathless.
"They're wound up tonight. We'll be lucky to get away by midnight." And then they'd go back to Daniel's house. Alone.
Damn.
"What?" she asked, turning her head slightly to one side.
"I didn't say anything."
She stepped closer, her breath a whisper in his ear as she tried to keep her words between them. "I thought you said 'damn.'"
He slid his left hand up her back toward the nape of her neck. "I never swear in English."
"I wondered about that. I don't think I've heard you swear at all." She pulled back marginally when his hand touched her neck. "Nick, I don't—"
"It's just a dance, nothing more."
"It feels like something more," she said, so softly that he knew she hadn't intended him to hear.
She was right. It felt like something more.
Damn.
Chapter 5
« ^ »
Cool off, Mary Beth told herself. Turning into the cold, crisp breeze, she raised her arms high. She should be freezing out here in the cold Andean night. The soft rhythmic sounds of the tiled courtyard's fountain competed with the music drifting from inside, where Nick's family was still at it, pulling him into their gaiety.
She'd laughed and danced and had too much wine. It felt wonderful. Nick felt wonderful. Everything was wonderful.
No, she scolded herself, dropping her arms. Look at him, an inner voice whispered. You're being a fool again. Didn't you learn?
Nothing is ever what it seems.
It's not the same, she argued back. But she knew it was. She could never again go starry-eyed into any relationship. Appearances were deceiving. Her childhood would seem picture-perfect to anyone—money, the best schools, the best social contacts.
But devoid of love.
Except for Mark. The reason she was here. Infatuation had made her forget about the one person she trusted, the one person she could depend on. Tomorrow morning would give her seven days to save him.
"Mary Beth?"
She spun around at the sound of Nick's voice.
"Are you okay?"
No, she wanted to shout, I'm not okay. Instead, she said, "I'm just cooling off." She fanned herself ineffectively with one hand to prove her point. "Don't your aunts get tired?"
He walked up to her, blocking the breeze, tantalizing her with his presence. "They're asking for you."
"I just needed some air," she said, trying to step around him.
"Don't rush in. Stay here for a minute," he said.
"I don't think—"
"Stay." He touched her shoulder, holding her gently, turning her toward him. "Please." The outside light flickered on and glanced off his cheekbones, casting his eyes in shadows.
Move away, the inner voice shouted. But it was too late. She was trapped by indecision, by his nearness. By her own curiosity.
With exquisite care, Nick touched her cheek with one finger. Mary Beth felt the breath leave her body. He stepped closer and moved his caressing finger to her chin. With the barest minimum of pressure, he tilted her face up. She shifted, restless at the contact, unable to move or look away.
The heat of his hand ran down her neck to her shoulder and shimmered to her arm. Twining his fingers with hers, he tugged.
Helpless to resist, she swayed forward, and he held her as he had earlier when they danced. With her senses swallowed by his solid presence, she finally heard the soft strains of a ballad pouring from the house. Nick adjusted his legs to hers as they began moving to the music.
Endless, breathless seconds later, he released her hand and tangled his fingers in her hair at the back of her head, holding her still. His face drew nearer until Mary Beth closed her eyes to block out anything that might interfere with this moment. His breath, so gentle, brushed her lips before she felt the tenuous contact.
The barest touch, a soft meeting of lips.
Floating on a sea of warmth, she heard something calling her back to reality.
She released her hold on Nick's neck, using her hands to push against his chest. She felt a rumble in his chest just before he spoke.
"It's just—"
"This isn't—"
"Nicky!" a woman called out. "¡Teléfono de nuevo!"
Dazed, glad for the faint light so he couldn't see her face, Mary Beth stepped back quickly. She could feel his eyes on her, even though it was too dark to see his expression. He didn't release her arms.
"¿Quién es?"
"Carlos!" came the feminine reply from the French doors.
"Carlos is on the phone." Nick stepped back.
"I—"
"Be right back."
He walked away, his powerful strides taking him away from a moment suspended in time. A moment that should not have happened. Mary Beth wanted to groan. He walked past his cousin. What was her name? Maria, that was it. She was coming out to join her. Great, just what she needed.
"We are all so happy, Mary Beth," she said, squeezing her arm lightly.
"Happy?"
"That Nicholas has found someone."
"You don't understand—"
"We were so worried, no?" Maria's English was heavily accented. "He never brings any woman to the family. My mother and his other aunts all despair for him. He is so handsome, so smart. Tía Rosa has tried for years to find someone for him, but he has shown no interest."
"You don't—"
"Now you are here." She paused only a moment to gather a breath. "Las tías are so happy. They have wanted a big wedding for Nicholas. We, the girls, we have big weddings, but this will be a Romero wedding."
"I don't understand," Mary Beth said, giving up on trying to explain away what Maria had seen.
"It is clear, no? You marry our Nicky, the Romero family will have a celebration, no?"
"What about his wedding to Alex's mother?"
"Laura Morales?" Maria took a step back. "He did not tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"I don't think—"
"Tell me what?"
"It is for him to—"
"What?" Mary Beth insisted.
"Little Alex is his, how do you say?" She paused. "Hijo natural, his natural child. He married Laura quickly because she has the baby. Is okay, really," Maria continued, in rolling English. "We did not know about her. One day here is Nicky telling us he has a child. The boy is six months old. No es posible, we all say, but he says yes, the child is his. A Romero. Las tías call Alex la inmaculada concepción." She paused, searching for the words. "Ah, sí, immaculate conception."
This should be funny. Mary Beth wanted it to be funny. "I don't understand," she murmured.
"The only time we have seen him w
ith the baby's mother, they behave like strangers. No one can imagine how they…" She shrugged, helpless to explain. "You know." She paused, obviously hoping Mary Beth would catch on. "Nicky would not act that way with a woman who had his child. No es posible, but the child is a Romero," Maria continued. "He married because of duty. Now he will marry because he is … enamorado?"
"In love," Mary Beth translated automatically.
Maria grabbed her hand in a reassuring squeeze. "All will be okay. You will see. Nicky will explain."
She wanted to say, Nicky doesn't have to, but she didn't. Instead, she watched Maria go back into the house.
She'd learned nothing from her life or her mistakes.
Nicholas Romero kept his secrets well.
"What?" Nick asked, loud enough for one of his aunts to open the library door and ask if he was all right. Explaining that he was, he closed the door again and listened as Carlos told him what he'd learned.
There was no doubt that Mark Williams was being hunted down as a gunrunner. Not only were San Matean Rangers trying to capture him, but Carlos had verified that both the American CIA and the Secret Service were involved. But his contacts had told him to stop asking questions, so he had no information as to the man's whereabouts.
"Where was he last seen?"
"Along the northern frontier," Carlos replied. "As far away from the Rio Hermoso and the Primero de Mayo as he could possibly be."
That information matched what Roberto Vidal had told him. "So why does the government think he's the one selling arms to them?"
"There is a report that details his activities."
Again Nick asked himself, Would terrorists hold their source of weapons hostage? To what end? Money? The desire for international attention? Possibly, yes, but Mark Williams and Daniel knew each other. Was that the reason the old man wanted Daniel's house burned? Because there was a connection between a gunrunner and his son?
Or because there was a connection between a gunrunner and himself? Vargas had the power to create and destroy reports, to make things happen, to—
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