In the Arms of a Hero

by Beverly Barton

  A shudder raced over Victoria’s nerve endings. “Why have you brought me here? I thought you and your family were my friends. I can’t believe you lied to me.”

  “I am sorry for the lie, señorita. Please, forgive me.” Fresh tears formed in the corners of Pablo’s eyes. “I do this to save your life. You must leave Palmira before the rebels take over. I have already sent Mama and Alva and the children to Alva’s brother in the mountains. They left two days ago. Now, Señorita Victoria, you must go home to America where you will be safe.”

  She heard a noise from behind her and knew before she turned around who was standing there. Somehow Pablo had been convinced that bringing her here was the right thing to do, that by luring her into Quinn McCoy’s trap, he could save her life.

  “Tell the man ‘thank you,”’ Quinn said. “By bringing you here, he’s not only saving your life, but the lives of anyone who would have tried to keep me from taking you.”

  Victoria turned slowly, then faced Quinn, her eyes glowering with loathing. He had tricked poor Pablo! She turned to Pablo and smiled weakly. “I know you believe you did what was best for me. I’ll be all right now. You must go and get away, out of Palmira and to your family as soon as possible.”

  “Sí. I and several other men who have sent their families away are joining them tonight.” Pablo bowed to Victoria. “Go with God, señorita.”

  Pablo opened the door, then scurried down the deserted street. The rumble of gunfire echoed in the stillness. Dark smoke billowed up into the sky, temporarily blocking out the late afternoon sunlight and turning the blue horizon a sooty gray.

  Her first instinct was to run out into the street, to try to escape from her captor. But before she could act, Quinn slammed the door shut, then grabbed her arm.

  She whirled around, her eyes flashing menacingly at him. “Get your hands off me!”

  He released her instantly. “I’ve got passage for two booked on a boat leaving Palmira in less than an hour. We’re going to be on that boat. You can either come along willingly or I can knock you out and carry you over my shoulder.”

  “You wouldn’t dare! My father isn’t paying you to abuse me!”

  “Princess, the last thing I want to do is lay a hand on you, but if you put up a fight, then I’m going to have to get rough. I’m afraid I didn’t bring along any knockout drops. Stupid me, I thought any woman in her right mind would want to be rescued. But I’m now convinced that you aren’t in your right mind.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest in a defiant manner and titled her chin haughtily. “Just what did you mean when you said that Pablo saved the lives of anyone who would have tried to prevent your taking me?”

  “I thought the comment was self-explanatory. If we hadn’t figured out a way to lure you from the clinic, I’d have had no choice but to storm the place and take you out. Ernesto had told me that he and several others would kill me in order to protect you. That being the case, I’d have had no choice but to kill them first.”

  Victoria gasped. “You would have killed Ernesto? What kind of man are you? Does my father know he hired a killer?”

  “Yes, to questions one and three. And as for what kind of man I am—I’m a professional who gets the job done. That’s why your father hired me. Why he’s paying me the big bucks. A nice guy, I’m not. But then, a nice guy couldn’t get you home to Daddy all safe and sound.”

  “And you can?”

  “I’m sure as hell going to try, even if I have to fight you, half this town and all of Captain Esteban’s regiment. I’ve got five hundred thousand dollars waiting for me when I get back to Texas.”

  “I thought you said it was a quarter of a million.”

  “Half before I left and half when I return.”

  Victoria stuck out her chin. “Well, you’d better go ahead and knock me out because I’m not going to cooperate. If I thought you had a heart, I’d plead with you to allow me to return to the clinic. But since I know what an unfeeling, uncaring jerk you are, then just go ahead and—”

  Her grabbed her so quickly that his actions surprised her. She cried out in protest, which prompted him to cover her mouth with his hand. She tried unsuccessfully to maneuver her teeth so that she could bite him.

  “I’m beginning to think I should have asked your father for more money.” Quinn had no intention of knocking her out. He’d thought just the threat would be enough to bring her into line. With any other woman that tactic would have worked. But not with Victoria Fortune.

  So what are you going to do now? a small voice chided. How are you going to get her out of Palmira and down to the river without someone realizing you’ve kidnapped their guardian angel?

  He didn’t have any time to waste trying to figure out a way to make her come around to his way of thinking. She already thought he was a ruthless killer, capable of just about any brutal act, so why not use her beliefs against her?

  She struggled with him, trying to free herself from his hold and loosen his hand over her mouth. He jerked her forward, pressing her into his body. He felt the lushness of her breasts, which were hidden beneath the billowy white blouse she wore. She fit against him as if she’d been made to be in his arms. His sex throbbed at the intimate contact.

  “You’re going to walk out of here with me and act like you want to go. We’re going to board that fishing boat docked at the pier and I’m taking you down the Rio Blanco. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll be forced to kill whoever tries to come to your rescue. Do I make myself clear?”

  Her big green eyes grew wide and round. She nodded her head affirmatively.

  “I’ll remove my hand, but if you try to scream, I’ll muzzle you.”

  He lifted his hand. She opened her mouth and took in a deep breath. They stared at each other for a moment before Quinn eased her away from him. He reached over and lifted his M-16, draped it across his shoulder and then checked the straps on his backpack.

  Swinging open the door, Quinn grabbed Victoria’s arm and pulled her out into the street. The sun lay low in the western sky, like a ball of melting orange sherbet. Victoria realized that she had to do whatever this man told her to do. At least for the time being. She didn’t doubt for one minute that he was capable of killing anyone who got in his way.

  With his big hand gripping her arm, Quinn led and she followed. Just as they exited the outskirts of town and headed down the dirt road leading to the river, a thunderous explosion rocked the earth beneath their feet. Crying out in shock, Victoria threw herself into Quinn’s arms. He wrapped her protectively in his embrace.

  “That was too damn close,” he said. “Looks like Esteban’s boys have arrived in Palmira. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  She ran as fast as she could to keep up with Quinn’s quick pace, but after a few minutes, she felt as if he were dragging her. When she protested, he slowed his gait just enough to accommodate her. The river lay ahead of them, about a hundred yards. A rusty old boat that had seen better days sat anchored at the pier. The name printed on the side of the hull was barely legible, but Victoria thought it read Evita. A scruffy, breaded man wearing battered slacks and a dirty T-shirt stood on the deck of the boat. He looked as if he were waiting for someone.

  He’s waiting for us, she thought. Waiting to take them down the Rio Blanco, away from Palmira, away from the people who depended on her. What would Ernesto and Dolores do when they realized she wasn’t coming back? How would they cope with the sick, the wounded, the dying?

  Quinn threw up his hand and waved at the captain of the Evita. The man grinned, exposing two gold front teeth. He waved and motioned for them to come aboard. When they reached the edge of the pier, Quinn hoisted Victoria onto the deck, then jumped on board.

  “We must hurry,” the captain said in Spanish. “I want to be downriver before—”

  A bullet whizzed past the captain’s shoulder and pierced the metal bucket hanging on the pole to his right. Within seconds a squad of soldiers sprung out of the woods and
descended on the pier.

  “Get this tugboat moving,” Quinn hollered to the captain as he shoved Victoria flat on her face to the deck. “Stay down!”

  She lay flat on her belly, but lifted her head enough to see what was going on around her. Fear ate away at her stomach like a powerful acid.

  A barrage of gunfire pelted the boat. A shot hit a crewman, who yelled as he dropped overboard into the river. Crawling across the deck several feet, Quinn eased his M-16 over the edge and aimed it at the oncoming soldiers. With the ease and precision of a highly trained mercenary, he mowed down the soldiers before any of them could board the boat. But within minutes another contingent of rebels emerged from the woods—twice as many men, with twice as many guns. If the captain didn’t get the boat moving immediately, not even Quinn McCoy could hold off that many attackers.

  Three

  Victoria’s body shook uncontrollably as she crawled across the deck toward Quinn. A barrage of bullets pierced the deck of the Evita, killing another crewman and wounding a third. The captain weighed anchor just as two soldiers leaped aboard the boat. Quinn rolled over quickly and aimed his M-16 at the invaders. Before either man had time to attack, Quinn shot each where he stood. Victoria covered her mouth to stifle a cry. Quinn glared at her, his piercing blue eyes issuing her a warning.

  The rebel troops stormed the pier. Victoria’s heartbeat accelerated so fast she felt as if she’d faint. But she’d never fainted in her life and wasn’t going to let today be the first time. She crawled to Quinn’s side, somehow feeling safer close to him. The thought wasn’t a rational one. She acted purely on instinct.

  Quinn’s big body dripped with perspiration as he held their attackers at bay. He was like a one-man army, but Victoria wondered how much longer even he could hold off so many soldiers.

  The boat’s old single-engine motor groaned once, then a second time and a third, finally dying on the fourth try. Three rebels headed straight for the boat. Quinn shot one, but the other two managed to climb aboard.

  The boat’s engine groaned again. Victoria said a silent prayer. Suddenly the motor roared to life. Thank you, God! Now, maybe they had a chance.

  The two soldiers separated, flanking Quinn. Victoria held her breath. What could she do to help him?

  Quinn reacted swiftly, using the butt of the M-16 to smash into one rebel’s head as he swung his leg high into the air in some sort of karate movement. His foot made contact with the other soldier’s chest, tossing him backward onto the deck.

  Just as the downed rebel started to rise, there was the sound of a gunshot and a bullet ripped through his body. Victoria glanced up at the helm and saw that the captain held a revolver in his hand.

  The Evita eased slowly from the pier. Quinn reloaded his weapon. Running along the riverbanks, the soldiers continued firing at them. Before he took aim again, he glanced over at Victoria.

  “Keep your head down, princess. We’re about to make our getaway.”

  She nodded agreement, but didn’t think he saw her. His attention focused on the task at hand. She slumped over and closed her eyes.

  So this is what war is truly like, she thought. No amount of television coverage could depict the harsh reality of soldiers killing and being killed. How could anyone endure it? Brutally taking another’s life to stay alive.

  In his years as a mercenary, how many men had Quinn McCoy killed? Didn’t it bother him at all to annihilate so many men in one battle? Apparently he was more than just an ordinary expert at this sort of thing. No doubt about it, her father had gotten his money’s worth when he’d hired Quinn.

  But she had no right to condemn Quinn. Not when he had just saved her life. However, if he’d left her in Palmira, she wouldn’t have been caught in the cross fire. She would be safe at her clinic. But for how long? She had no way of knowing for sure what the rebel troops would have done to her. Even now, Captain Esteban’s troops could be murdering every wounded man at the clinic.

  She should be there, with Ernesto and Dolores. She was needed… The soldiers would rip through the town and then leave it in ruins. Afterward, her services would be needed even more than now. If she could find a way to escape and return to Palmira, she could hide out until the rebels moved on, then go to the clinic. There were people who would help her, if only she could get away from Quinn.

  Once the boat cleared the riverbank, leaving the rebels behind, Quinn draped his M-16 over his shoulder, then inspected the bodies lying on deck. One by one, he hoisted the corpses and dumped them overboard. Victoria watched in silent horror as he disposed of the men he’d killed. She found herself repulsed by Quinn and yet at the same time strangely drawn to him, too.

  She didn’t like her father’s hired gun, in fact she almost hated him. But after recent events, she had gained a grudging respect for his expertise. Obviously, Quinn was a man accustomed to getting things done, regardless of what it took to accomplish his objective. He was, most definitely, a man you’d want on your side in any battle.

  What would such a man be capable of doing to protect a woman he cared for, a woman who meant something to him?

  “Looks like you’ve got work to do,” Quinn said.

  “What?” Still stunned by her oddly romantic thoughts, it took Victoria a couple of seconds to realize he was referring to the two wounded crew members. “We left my medical bag at the warehouse, so I don’t have any supplies with me, but I’ll do what I can.”

  “I’ll help you see to them.”

  He followed her to the starboard side of the creaking vessel, where both men lay on the deck.

  “Shouldn’t you keep watch or something?” she asked. “What if the rebel soldiers are following us?”

  “My guess is that Esteban’s men are too busy burning, looting and ravaging Palmira to worry about following us. Besides, I don’t think there are any other boats in Palmira, especially none that could make the nine, ten knots the Evita probably can. And as far as I know, General Xavier doesn’t have a navy at his disposal.”

  Victoria cringed at Quinn’s comment about Palmira being ravaged at this very moment. Thoughts of her friends’ safety came instantly to mind. “I should be at the clinic with Ernesto and Dolores.”

  “What’s your problem, princess? Do you have some sort of death wish?”

  Quinn bent to one knee and lifted the bloody crewman’s limp body, then turned him over very slowly. The man groaned in pain. The exit wound had created a large gaping hole in his stomach. Shutting her eyes momentarily, Victoria admitted to herself that there was nothing she could do for this man. If she had some morphine, she could make his dying easier. But she had no medical supplies of any kind.

  “Do you suppose the captain has any medicine?” she asked Quinn.

  “I doubt it, but my bet is he has plenty of whiskey aboard.” Quinn made direct eye contact with the crewman, then spoke to him in Spanish. “Take it easy. We’ll do what we can for you.”

  “Go ask the captain if he has any whiskey,” Victoria said. “I’ll check on the other crewman and see how bad a shape he’s in.”

  Quinn nodded, then headed toward the cockpit, from where the captain steered the Evita down the Rio Blanco, slowly but surely taking them farther and farther away from Palmira. She watched the captain making hand motions when Quinn approached him, but she was too far away to hear what was being said. Suddenly remembering there was another man in need of her medical attention, she hurried over to check the crewman lying a few feet away.

  The young man forced himself up on his elbows. His mahogany face turned ashen. Victoria inspected him visually, from head to toe, and found the bullet hole in his pant leg.

  “I don’t think it’s bad, señorita.” he told her. “But it hurts very much.”

  While she ripped the pants up to his thigh, she heard whispers and mumblings. Glancing over her shoulder she noticed several people coming from below deck, and realized, for the first time, that she and Quinn weren’t the only passengers aboard the Evita. Sh
e didn’t recognize anyone, so she doubted they were from Palmira. Had these people come downriver hoping to escape the forward-moving band of rebel soldiers? Three men, one woman and two young children emerged cautiously, their attention caught first by the wounded crewmen and second by the redheaded Anglo.

  Victoria examined the man’s leg. “The bullet will have to be removed. Otherwise gangrene could set in and you’ll lose your leg.”

  “Ask your man to take the bullet out,” he said. “Please, señorita.”

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Chico.”

  “Hello, Chico. My name is Victoria—”

  “Here’s the whiskey!” Quinn shouted.

  Victoria gave him a puzzled look. Why had he yelled at her? She wasn’t deaf. “Thanks. Now, if you’ll take care of—”

  Quinn grabbed her arm, then jerked her to her feet and up against him. He hissed his words into her ear. “Don’t tell anyone your name!” He glanced around and saw that the other passengers were watching them. “Hi, there, Chico,” Quinn said. “I’m Quinn McCoy and this is my wife, Victoria.”

  Quinn’s deadly glare warned her not to contradict him. He was right, of course, she realized. They had no way of knowing who they could trust.

  “Chico has a bullet in his leg that’s going to have to come out,” she explained. “He wanted you to—”

  “Fine. I can handle it. Here, you take this whiskey—” he shoved the bottle into her hand “—and go do what you can for that man over there.” He nodded toward the dying crewman.

  “But I should be the one to take care of Chico’s leg. After all I am a nur—”

  “You’re my wife,” Quinn reiterated. “You’ll do what I tell you to do. You see to the dying and let me remove the bullet from Chico’s leg.”

  Her cheeks crimson, her eyes narrowed to angry slits, Victoria stomped across the deck. After sitting, she lifted the dying man’s head onto her lap. She opened the cap and placed the whiskey bottle to his lips.