Page 25 of Duty Devoted

Lauren

We’d been moving through the jungle for over an hour since our desperate river crossing, putting as much distance as possible between us and those two cartel members who’d spotted us from the opposite bank.

My clothes had mostly dried in the humid heat, at least from the river water, but my boots still squelched with every step.

“How much farther to Puerto Esperanza?” I asked, pausing to catch my breath against a tree.

“Maybe five miles.” Logan was constantly scanning the terrain. “We’re making good time.”

That was when I heard it—voices carrying through the trees from somewhere ahead of us. Not behind, where our original pursuers might eventually follow, but from the direction we were heading. My blood ran cold.

Logan heard it too. His hand found mine, yanking me behind a cluster of broad-leafed plants. Through the foliage, we saw them. Three men in dark clothing, moving with purpose through the jungle. They carried radios and weapons, clearly searching for something—or someone.

Us.

“—confirmed, the two Americans crossed the river an hour ago,” one of them was saying into his radio in Spanish. “We’re searching the western zone now.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. The two men who’d spotted us at the river had radioed it in, and now every cartel member in the area was looking for us, just like he’d known would happen.

Logan studied their search pattern. “They’re moving in a coordinated grid, systematically covering ground.”

“Can we go around them?” I breathed.

“If we try to backtrack, we risk running into the others who are probably across the river by now. We’ll need to?—”

“There they are! The doctor!” A shout in Spanish rang out behind us, a fourth man separate from the others.

We burst from cover, running perpendicular to the patrol’s path. Behind us, more shouts erupted as we were spotted.

The jungle seemed to be working against us. Every vine threatened to catch my feet, every low branch seemed determined to slow us down. Logan moved through it like water, finding paths I couldn’t see, but I crashed along behind him with all the grace of a wounded elephant.

“Over here,” Logan directed, guiding me around a fallen tree that would have taken too long to climb over. His hand never left mine, steadying me when I stumbled, practically lifting me over rough patches of terrain.

I don’t know how long we ran. Way past the point where everything hurt, when Logan suddenly stopped, pressing us both behind a massive tree trunk. I bent double, trying to catch my breath without making too much noise.

He peered around the trunk, body tense. “They’re gaining.”

I risked a look and saw them—all four men moving through the jungle with purpose. They weren’t running, but their steady pace was eating up the distance between us. They knew we couldn’t maintain this speed forever.

“Come on.” Logan pulled me forward again, but this time, he led us up a steep incline. My legs shook with the effort, muscles threatening to give out entirely. He practically dragged me the last few feet to the top.

“Logan, I can’t—” I started, hating how weak I sounded.

“Yes, you can.” He had no sympathy in his voice, just certainty. “One foot in front of the other, just keep going.”

We ran along the ridgeline, the terrain slightly easier here. But I could hear them behind us now—branches breaking, occasional voices calling to each other in Spanish.

Logan glanced back, his expression grim. “They’re not shooting.”

“What?” I gasped between strides.

“They’ve had clear shots at us twice now. They’re not taking them.” He helped me over a cluster of roots. “Means they have orders to take us alive.”

The implications of that made my blood run cold. Mateo wanted me brought back. After what had happened to Carlos, after seeing what the Silva father and son were capable of…

“What do we do?”

“I don’t think we can outrun them.” He suddenly changed direction, leading us down the other side of the ridge. “This way. I have an idea.”

We half ran, half slid down the steep slope, my boots skidding on loose soil. At the bottom, Logan paused, studying our surroundings with that tactical awareness I’d come to depend on.

“Listen to me,” he said, gripping my shoulders. “There are four of them. I can’t take them on if I’m trying to protect you at the same time.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you need to hide. I’ll lead them away, circle back, and pick them off one by one.”

“No. There are four of them.” The words came out harder than I intended. “We stay together.”

“Lauren.” His hands tightened on my shoulders. “I’m good at what I do, but I’m better when I don’t have to worry about civilian safety. You hiding gives me the advantage I need.”

Everything in me rebelled against the idea. Hiding while he risked his life felt wrong on every level. But the logical part of my brain—the part that made quick decisions in a medical emergency—recognized the truth in his words.

“Where?”

He scanned the area and pointed to a cluster of fallen trees creating a natural blind about thirty yards away. “There. Get deep in the shadows, don’t move, don’t make a sound, no matter what you hear. I’ll come back for you.”

“What if you don’t?”

His expression softened for just a moment.

“I will. But if something goes wrong, you run for Puerto Esperanza—straight along that ridge, then as the sun starts to set, follow it so you’re heading west. Stay off the main paths, trust no one, and get to the port.

” He pulled the satellite phone from his pack and pressed it into my hands.

“Speed dial one. That’s Jace. Call when you reach the port, and they’ll come get you. ”

I wanted to argue more, but voices carried through the trees—closer now. Our time was up.

“Go,” he urged, pushing me toward the hiding spot.

I ran for the fallen trees, squeezing myself into the deepest shadows between two massive trunks. Dead leaves and debris provided additional cover. From my position, I could see glimpses of the area where I’d left Logan, but not much else.

He waited until I was hidden, then moved in the opposite direction, deliberately breaking a branch loud enough to draw attention. He continued farther from my position, making just enough noise to be followed. Leading them away from me.

The voices grew louder, excited. They’d heard him. I pressed myself deeper into my hiding spot, barely breathing as multiple sets of footsteps rushed past my position. They were focused on him, not searching for anyone else.

Then…silence.

The jungle held its breath. No birds, no insects, just the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. Minutes stretched like hours. Where was Logan? What was happening?

A gunshot shattered the quiet.

My whole body jerked at the sound. Just one shot. What did that mean? Was Logan hurt? Dead? Had he taken out one of them?

I couldn’t just sit here. Every instinct screamed at me to help, to do something. Logan had asked me to trust him, to stay hidden, but what if he needed me?

Another gunshot, then sounds of impact—bodies colliding, grunts of effort. Fighting.

I eased out of my hiding spot, moving as quietly as I could toward the sounds. Through the trees, I caught glimpses of movement. There—Logan, engaged in hand-to-hand combat with one man while two others lay motionless on the ground. His pistol was several feet away, knocked aside in the struggle.

Even from a distance, I could see his training in every movement.

The remaining attacker had a machete, swinging it in wide arcs that Logan dodged with practiced ease.

Logan ducked under a wild swing, drove an elbow into the man’s solar plexus, then swept his legs.

The man went down hard, the machete flying from his grip.

It was brutal and efficient and terrifying to watch. This was what Logan had trained for, what he’d meant when he said he was good at his job. Not just good—lethal.

But where was the fourth man?

My blood turned to ice as I scanned the area. Three men fighting Logan, but there had been four following us. Where?—

Movement to my left caught my eye. The fourth man, circling wide through the trees. He had a gun, was raising it, aiming at Logan’s back while he was engaged with the other attacker.

I didn’t think. I grabbed the heaviest branch I could find and ran.

The man must have heard me coming at the last second. He started to turn, and my medical training kicked in.

The pterion—that vulnerable spot at the temple where the skull bones meet. The middle meningeal artery ran right beneath it. A solid impact there should cause immediate disruption and possible epidural hematoma.

I swung with everything I had.

The branch connected exactly where I’d aimed. He staggered badly, gun wavering as his balance failed. The temporal impact had done its job; I could see the disorientation in his unfocused eyes.

But even dazed, his training was evident.

As he stumbled, his finger found the trigger.

The gunshot was deafeningly close, and fire traced across my left side just above my hip in the fatty part of my waist. A graze—I could tell by the burning line of pain rather than deep impact—but enough to make me gasp.

I didn’t let it stop me. Adjusting my grip on the branch through the pain, I swung again, this time catching him squarely in the same spot. His eyes rolled back, and he dropped like a stone, the gun clattering away across the jungle floor with a moan before he fell silent.

“Lauren!” Logan appeared at my side, breathing hard, blood on his knuckles. His eyes went immediately to the unconscious man, then to me. “What happened?”

“I left my hiding spot. He was going to shoot you.” The wound burned like fire, and I could already feel blood trickling into my shirt, although it was hidden by the dark color.

Tangential gunshot wound—the bullet had torn through skin and subcutaneous tissue, probably nicked the external oblique muscle.

Painful and bloody but not life-threatening.

“We have to keep going. Really push. I’m sure there are more cartel soldiers coming.

Puerto Esperanza should only be about three miles.

We need to leave everything and run. Every second we wait, the harder it’s going to be to survive.

It won’t be long before they have as many of their men out here as they can get. ”

I grabbed a spare shirt from my medical bag—what was left of it—and pressed it against the wound as discreetly as I could.

The bleeding wasn’t arterial, but it wasn’t nothing either.

I wasn’t going to tell him about the wound.

There was nothing that could be done at this second, and he needed to focus his attention on making sure we weren’t caught.

He took my hand again, and we ran. Every step sent fire through my side, but I gritted my teeth and kept pace. Three miles. I could do three miles. I had to.

The jungle blurred around us as we moved, Logan choosing paths that avoided the worst of the terrain. My shirt grew wet with blood and sweat, but I kept running. Kept breathing. Kept putting one foot in front of the other.

Because Logan was right—more would be coming. And next time, they might not care about taking us alive.