Beverly Barton - In the Arms of a Hero

Her gaze locked with his. She clenched her teeth tightly. Her cheeks flushed. Aha! His remarks had hit a nerve!

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Do you feel guilty that you and your family are so rich and these poor people don’t have a pot to piss in? Do you really think sacrificing your life is going to change one damn thing for them?”

“You’re heartless, aren’t you, Mr. McCoy?”

“Got that right!” He withdrew from her. “Somebody mentioned a cantina not far from here. I need a good stiff drink. I’ll be back in about an hour to pick up that letter you’re going to write to your father.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll have Ernesto bring the letter to you. I assume you’re going to Cantina Caesar. It’s the only one in town.”

Quinn opened the door, then paused to look back at her. “See you around, princess.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You never know.”

Segundo laid his meaty hand on the bar, placing his palm up as his mouth curved into a toothless smile. The massively built owner of the Cantina Caesar reminded Quinn of a Sumo wrestler.

“To arrange passage for two on the Evita, the only boat going down the Rio Blanco this evening, costs more than I anticipated.” Segundo sighed. “Now that the rebel troops are within striking distance of Palmira, any form of escape has doubled in price.”

“I understand.” Quinn retrieved the money from a pouch in his backpack, then counted it out on the bar. “Did you make the other arrangements?”

“Sí. That, too, will cost—”

“Twice as much.” Quinn added the extra cash atop the other bills on the bar. “When Julio told me that I could rely on your assistance, he forgot to mention how expensive your services are.”

“You know how it is, señor. A man such as myself must make a living as best he can.”

Quinn grunted. “Yeah, sure.” He knew Segundo’s type. He’d dealt with men like him many times in the past. They could be trusted—for the right price. “What’s the latest news on the rebel troops? Will I have enough time to put this plan into action and get out of Palmira before they take over?”

“Maybe,” Segundo replied truthfully. “My sources say it’s a matter of hours before Captain Esteban and his regiment arrive in our little town. The Nationalist soldiers have already retreated and are moving out of Palmira as we speak.”

“You’d better take down that flag.” Quinn nodded to the gold, red and green flag displayed over the bar.

“I’ll replace it with a rebel flag the minute their troops enter the town. By then, you and your friend should be headed downriver.”

“Let’s just hope your man is convincing enough to persuade Señorita Victoria to leave the clinic. There’s no way I can go there and get her, without having to kill a few of her protectors. And I’d rather not take that route.”

“Pablo will convince her,” Segundo assured Quinn. “By the time you arrive at the warehouse, he should be on his way there with the señorita.”

“I’m surprised you found someone in Palmira who would betray Victoria. Everyone seems totally devoted to her.”

“I convinced Pablo that by tricking the señorita, he will be saving her life. He does this not as a favor to me and not even for your money. He does it because he does not want to see the señorita raped and killed by the rebel soldiers.”

Quinn’s stomach knotted painfully at the image Segundo’s words created in his mind. From what he had found out about Captain Esteban’s regiment, Quinn didn’t doubt for a minute that they would rape Victoria, as they would any of the Palmira women they singled out to pleasure them. Only if and when the captain discovered Victoria’s true identity would he send her to General Xavier to use as a hostage. The rebel forces as a whole were no more brutal or immoral than the Nationalists, except for Esteban’s men, who were known for their inhuman treatment of captives. But General Xavier would no doubt use Victoria and any other Americans as examples of his hatred and disdain for the United States government. Even if Ryan Fortune paid the ransom money the general would undoubtedly request, Victoria would never leave Santo Bonisto alive.

Quinn knew he had to get her out of Palmira before nightfall—before Captain Esteban took over the town. He sure as hell hoped Segundo’s plan worked. If it didn’t, he’d have no choice but to storm the clinic and take Victoria, even if it meant disposing of her protectors.

Reaching into his shirt pocket, he removed the letter Ernesto had delivered more than two hours ago. Victoria’s letter to her father. The one explaining why she couldn’t abandon her duty, why she was willing to sacrifice her own life for the people of one little, godforsaken town whose residents were expendable to both the rebels and the Nationalists.

Rage ignited inside Quinn. He had known some stubborn females in his time, but Victoria Fortune took first prize. He tore the letter in two, then ripped it to shreds. He didn’t give a damn what she wanted, he wasn’t leaving this island without her. Whatever message she wanted to give her father, she could deliver in person. Just as soon as Quinn took her home to the Double Crown Ranch.

“Please, Pablo, calm down.” Victoria clasped the man’s trembling hands as he babbled incoherently. “I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

In the distance, artillery fire echoed through the jungle that surrounded the little town. With each passing hour, the sounds of war drew closer and closer. She knew that, before nightfall, the rebel troops would invade Palmira.

“My sister-in-law’s baby is trying to be born. Now. But something is wrong,” Pablo explained, his speech slower and plainer. “We tried to bring her into town, to the clinic, but we had to stop because her pain is so great. She has been in labor since early morning and my wife says the baby will not come. You must take the baby from her belly, señorita. It is the only way to save both mother and child.”

Victoria rubbed the back of her neck. She wished she could divide herself into a dozen nurses, all capable of doing a doctor’s job. She had lost seven patients since early morning and two more were at death’s door. But there was nothing she could do for either man. If she went with Pablo, perhaps she could save two lives by performing a Caesarean section. Although she had never performed a C-section back in the U.S., she had, because of her specialty in obstetrics, assisted on several occasions. Since arriving in Palmira, she had done one successful C-section, so she felt reasonably confident that she could help Pablo’s sister-in-law.

“I hate to leave the clinic.” Victoria turned to Dolores. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time until more wounded soldiers are brought in.”

“You go with Pablo and save the mother and her child,” Dolores said. “Ernesto and I can handle things here for a while. If you are needed, I will send for you.” She turned to Pablo and asked him where he had left his sister-in-law.

Pablo stuttered, obviously still quite nervous. “In the old…old warehouse at…at the end of town.”

Victoria hesitated, but when Pablo squeezed her hands and pleaded with her, she relented. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She pulled her hands from Pablo’s. “I need to get my medical bag.”

“Bless you, señorita. Bless you.” Pablo, tears streaming down his face, bowed several times. “You do not know how important this is to me. To save a life is a very good thing.”

Fifteen minutes later Pablo led Victoria into a ramshackle building on the outskirts of town. The interior was dark and dank. The aroma of whiskey permeated the air. The moment the door closed behind her, Victoria’s sense of self-preservation kicked in. Something wasn’t right about this.