In the Arms of a Hero

by Beverly Barton

  The shapely, long-legged redhead was a tough-talking, hardworking professional totally unintimidated by the enormous task facing her. He hated to be the one to take her away from these people, but he’d been hired to do just that. A job was a job. He never let his personal feelings interfere with his assignments.

  Quinn had one more card to play and if that didn’t sway Victoria, he’d be forced to take drastic actions. When Ernesto’s wife Dolores insisted that Victoria take a break and eat something, Quinn took the opportunity to follow her into the small, makeshift office that doubled as her bedroom.

  “We have enough food for you, too, Señor McCoy,” Dolores told him as he entered the office.

  “No, thanks. But a cup of coffee would be great.”

  “I’ll be right back with your coffee,” she said in Spanish. “I hope you like it black. We have no cream or sugar.”

  “Black is fine.”

  He had learned the Spanish language gradually over the years, finding it useful in his line of work to know how to speak more than just English. He was fluent in Spanish and French, knew enough German and Italian to get by, and had gained a smattering of various other languages.

  Victoria slumped down in the tattered swivel chair at her desk. She leaned her head back against the plaster wall behind her and closed her eyes momentarily. After breathing a deep, heaving sigh, she opened her eyes and stared directly at Quinn.

  “Thanks for your help,” she said. “You make a pretty good medic. Dare I ask how you gained your knowledge?”

  Quinn sat on the edge of her desk. “In my line of work a guy needs to know how to keep himself and his associates alive.”

  Quinn took a long, hard look at Ryan Fortune’s daughter. Her tan pants and white shirt were filthy, stained with a combination of blood, mud and unidentifiable substances. Her short-cropped red hair was damp with perspiration. Her thick bangs clung to her forehead. Without a smidgen of makeup, she looked about eighteen instead of the twenty-five he knew her to be. The sprinkling of freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks added to the wholesomeness she projected.

  Bone-weary, dirty and disheveled, Victoria Fortune shouldn’t have appealed to him, but she did. And for the life of him, he wasn’t sure why. She was cute, in a clean-cut tomboy sort of way, but definitely not his type. He wasn’t usually attracted to the cute type or the filthy rich. Victoria was both.

  He’d had a few dalliances with the debutante sort, and had found most of those ladies a little cool for his liking. He preferred the more earthy types, the ones who knew how to give as well as take. Maybe that’s what appealed to him about Victoria. Despite her heiress status, she was obviously a giver and not a taker.

  “What are you staring at?” When she frowned, her small, perfect nose crinkled slightly.

  “At you, princess.”

  Squaring her shoulders, she sat upright in the chair and glared disapprovingly at him. “I appreciate all you’ve done here today, but if you think hanging around helping out will change my mind about leaving Palmira—”

  “Here’s your coffee.” Dolores entered the office, then handed Quinn a cracked mug filled with steaming black liquid. She glanced at Quinn and then at Victoria. “Stay in here and rest for a while, señorita. We have things under control for the time being.” She left the office and closed the door behind her.

  “I’ve got something for you.” Quinn reached inside his shirt pocket, pulled out a letter and handed it to Victoria.

  “What’s this?”

  “A letter from your father.”

  She made no move to open the envelope, just sat there for several minutes staring at it. “I’m not sure I want to read this. My father can be a very persuasive man.”

  “Don’t you think you owe him that much? The man has already paid me a quarter of a million dollars to come after you. That tells me your safety is worth more to him than anything.”

  “Of course, you’re right. I have to read it.” She ripped open the envelope, removed the one-page missive and unfolded the handwritten letter.

  My dearest Victoria,

  I know you do not want to leave Santo Bonisto, that you feel you will be abandoning the people of Palmira when they need you the most. But you must know that your life is in danger from the rebel forces. Being an American puts you at risk. Being my daughter is a death sentence.

  I have hired a man, Quinn McCoy, whom my security chief, Sam Waterman, assures me is the best there is at what he does. Please, go with Mr. McCoy. Let him bring you safely home to me. To your family.

  You may think we don’t need you, but we do. Now more than ever. Lily’s trial date has been set. I cannot believe that she was ever arrested for murder, not my sweet, gentle Lily. I try to hide my worry from her and from the family, but the situation doesn’t look good. The media is having a heyday with the situation saying horrible things about my lover murdering my wife. If these vultures had known your stepmother the way we did, they wouldn’t make her out to be the wronged wife.

  Even Matthew and Claudia have put aside their differences in order to lend their united support. Your brother and sister-in-law have suffered greatly since their precious little Bryan was kidnapped and I pray that, despite everything, they can save their marriage. After all that your family has endured during these past months, don’t you think we have all suffered enough? I cannot bear the thought of losing you. Don’t add to my torment. Come home where you belong. Home where you are needed.

  I love you,

  Daddy

  Her father knew all the right buttons to push. He knew her weaknesses. More than anything, she wanted to be needed, to help those who suffered as her mother Janine had suffered during her long, agonized bout with cancer. Victoria had been a child—only twelve—when her mother had died, but she had vowed then and there that she would dedicate her life to alleviating the suffering of others. She hadn’t been able to save her mother, but her mission in life was to save as many lives as possible.

  Now her family was suffering—not physical pain, but a mental torment that seemed to be spreading like wildfire, affecting one person after another. The kidnapping of her nephew Bryan. The breakup of her brother Matthew’s marriage. The death of her wicked stepmother Sophia. The arrest of Lily, the woman her father loved.

  Her father was right. Her family did need her. Her father needed her. She should go home!

  But how could she leave Palmira? She had made a commitment to these people. They were counting on her. If she left with Quinn McCoy, there would be no medically trained person at the clinic. People would surely die without her.

  But if I stay here, I could very well end up dead, she reminded herself.

  Quinn watched the play of emotions on Victoria’s face and knew she was torn between doing what her father asked and fulfilling her duty to the people of Palmira. If she agreed to her father’s request, it sure as hell would make his job a lot easier. He didn’t like the idea of having to force the woman to go with him. But if kidnapping her was the only way to get the job done, then that’s what he’d do.

  “Do you know what the letter says?” Victoria asked.

  “No,” Quinn said. “Sam Waterman gave me the letter sealed. But I figure your father asked you to come home and told you that your family needed you right now.”

  “He wants me to go along nicely with you, to put my life and the needs of my family first.” Victoria tossed the letter on the scarred, wobbly desk as she shoved back her chair. She stood, then began pacing back and forth in the 10’ x 10’ room.

  “His request doesn’t sound unreasonable to me.” Quinn’s gut instinct told him that she was in the process of talking herself out of leaving Palmira, despite her father’s pleas. “You’ve got to know that by staying here, you’re signing your own death warrant.”

  “Possibly,” she agreed. “But if I leave with you today, how many people will die because I’m not here to save them? Is my life worth the lives of countless others?”

  Quinn
released a loud huff, then rubbed his forehead as he chuckled. Damn stupid do-gooder! Out to save the world! The woman had a martyr complex! She was willing to die for the people of Palmira. Noble sentiments. But did she really have any idea what the rebel troops might do to her? Before and after they collected a sizable ransom from her father. And Ryan Fortune would pay whatever they asked. But he’d never see his daughter alive again.

  “Your life is priceless to your father,” Quinn said.

  “I wish I could do as my father asked, but…I can’t.”

  “Is that it? You’ve made your decision? You’re definitely not leaving with me today.”

  She nodded.

  “What do I tell your father?”

  “Tell him— No, don’t tell him anything.” Victoria sat, then opened a desk drawer and withdrew a pen and paper. “I’ll write a letter to him and you can deliver it when you return to Texas.”

  “Your last will and testament?”

  She cut her eyes in Quinn’s direction, the look one of pure disdain. “Haven’t you ever cared enough about anything or anyone to risk your life?”

  “Nope, can’t say that I have.” He eased up off the desk. “I’ve risked my life more than once, but it wasn’t for any ideal or for anyone I cared about. It was always for money. That’s the only thing worth risking your life for.”

  “Money is meaningless without integrity and self-respect and genuine—”

  “Spoken like a woman born with a silver spoon in her mouth.” Quinn leaned over the desk, putting his face only inches from hers. “I grew up a poor, motherless kid in Houston. I just barely managed to stay on the right side of the law. I can relate to these Santo Bonisto peasants a lot better than you can, princess.”

  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.

  “Where’s your sister-in-law, Pablo? Is she in a back room somewhere?”

  “No, señorita, my sister-in-law is not here.”

  Victoria turned to leave, but found Pablo blocking the doorway. Her heart raced maddeningly. Her stomach churned with fear. Dear God, she had walked straight into a trap. But the question was, whose trap?

  She couldn’t believe Pablo had betrayed her. She had treated his mother’s arthritis, had vaccinated his children from disease, had treated his wife when she’d severely burned her hand, and had even set Pablo’s broken leg. She would have staked her life on Pablo’s loyalty. How could she have been so wrong about a person?