Page 6 of Duty Devoted

Logan

Less than twenty hours after ending our call with the Valentinos and Dr. Merrick, we were hovering over Corazón.

The helicopter’s rotors whipped the humid air into a frenzy as we descended toward the landing zone two klicks south of the clinic.

Through the open door, I could see the jungle canopy swaying harder than it should have been—the outer bands of the approaching storm were already making their presence known.

“The hurricane has taken a turn toward us,” Jace called over the engine noise, adjusting his headset. His laptop balanced precariously on his knees, weather data streaming across multiple windows. “It’s possible it might turn back out to sea, but I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“Shit. What sort of time frame are we looking at?”

“Hard to say. May start feeling the effects in a few days, may be longer, may not hit us at all.”

I gave a brief nod. “Then the plan stays as-is.”

Ty checked his gear one final time, the movement practiced and efficient. “Time to earn a paycheck.”

I studied the terrain below as the pilot found our designated landing zone. Dense jungle stretched in every direction from the LZ, broken only by the thin ribbon of road that connected the clinic to the outside world.

Tactically, it was a nightmare—limited sight lines, countless hiding spots for hostiles, and only one viable exit route.

The pilot’s voice keyed into our headsets. “Radio us when you need us. We’ll be staged a few hours from here for the next few days.”

The landing was rougher than usual, the pilot having to work for every foot of altitude. As soon as the skids touched dirt, we were moving, shouldering our packs and fake meteorological equipment with the efficiency of a team that had done this dance too many times to count.

“Radio check,” I said into my throat mic as the helicopter lifted off behind us, disappearing into the gray sky.

“Lima Charlie,” Ty’s voice with the military abbreviation for loud and clear came through exactly that.

“Same same,” Jace confirmed. “We officially look like the world’s most amateur atmospheric research team.”

We moved through the jungle in tactical formation, our civilian clothing and research equipment hopefully selling the cover story to any watching eyes.

But beneath the academic facade, muscle memory guided every step—spacing, angles of advance, fields of fire.

Each of us had at least a decade of combat experience, and that kind of training didn’t just switch off because you were carrying weather sensors.

“I still can’t believe we pulled together this much meteorological gear in six hours,” Ty said, adjusting the strap of a weather station that looked like it had been assembled from spare parts, probably because it had.

“Craigslist coming in clutch,” Jace replied with a grin. “Nothing says legitimate scientific research like equipment from twelve different sellers.”

“Let’s hope we don’t need it,” I muttered.

The clinic appeared through the trees on the outskirts of the village—a converted schoolhouse that was larger than I’d expected from the intelligence photos.

The two-story building showed its educational origins in the tall windows and institutional design, probably first built by missionaries who had long since deserted it.

Years of tropical weather had taken their toll.

Paint peeled from weathered walls, several windows were cracked or boarded up, and the whole structure had the slightly sagging look of a building that had seen better decades.

“Shit,” Ty muttered under his breath. “That thing’s held together with hope and duct tape.”

“More space than anticipated, but not exactly a fortress.” I automatically cataloged the tactical challenges. Multiple entry points, large windows that couldn’t be properly secured, and walls that probably wouldn’t stop much more than harsh language. “We’ll have to work with what we’ve got.”

Jace looked up from his equipment. “At least there’s room to spread out. Won’t be sleeping on top of each other.”

As we approached the main entrance, the heavy wooden door opened and a woman in scrubs emerged, squinting against the wind. She was Asian, mid-forties. Behind her, two other figures appeared—men, both in medical clothing, both looking wary.

“Can I help you?” she called out, her tone cautious. Her eyes moved from our civilian clothes to the weather equipment we were carrying, clearly trying to piece together what we were doing here.

“We were told there was a medical clinic here? Is that you guys?” I said, stepping forward while Ty and Jace continued positioning equipment.

The woman exchanged glances with her colleagues as I walked forward and shook her hand. “I’m Dr. Yang. This is Dr. Martinez and Dr. Williams. We weren’t expecting anyone.”

Before Dr. Yang could respond further, the door opened wider, and another figure emerged. Time seemed to slow as I took in Dr. Lauren Valentino in the flesh, just a few feet away from me.

She was taller than I’d expected—probably five-ten—with the kind of presence that made her seem even taller.

Honey-blonde hair was up in a simple ponytail, escaping in ways that should have looked disheveled but instead looked effortlessly beautiful.

She wore worn scrubs that had seen better days and work boots that were more practical than pretty.

She wasn’t conventionally beautiful in any sort of polished way that I usually found attractive—not that I’d done much, or any, dating in the past few years. Dating tended to require going out in public and being around other people. Not a good fit for me.

The fact that she wore boxy scrubs, with no carefully applied makeup or delicate feminine touches, should be a turn-off. Instead, there was something raw and real about her that took my breath away.

The way she carried herself spoke of someone comfortable with hard work and harder decisions. Her hands bore the calluses and small scars of someone who worked with them daily, and she had a smudge of something that looked like antiseptic on her forearm.

Fuck if that wasn’t somehow more attractive than anything I’d encountered in years.

But it was her eyes that completely fucking derailed my professional focus—green and intelligent, with the focused intensity of someone who’d seen too much suffering and refused to look away.

Those eyes took in our group with a quick, assessing glance that lingered on me for just a moment longer than the others.

“Dr. Valentino,” Dr. Yang said, and I caught the deference in her tone. Despite being the youngest doctor, Lauren was clearly the leader here. “These men say they’re looking for the medical clinic.”

Lauren’s gaze settled on me, and I felt that electric connection again—like she was measuring me and finding the calculation interesting. “You found it. What can we do for you?”

“I’m Logan Kane,” I said, deciding to drop the pretense. There was no point in keeping these doctors in the dark. “This is Ty Hughes and Jace Monroe. We’re with Citadel Solutions, a private security company. Compass Medical Outreach hired us to get you out of here.”

The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Lauren Valentino the coldest of them all.

Dr. Yang stepped forward, her expression shifting from confusion to understanding. “We knew there were concerns about cartel activity. We discussed the possibility of additional security measures, but our communications have been down for nearly a week. We had no idea anybody was coming today.”

Communications blackout explained the radio silence and everyone’s near-panic back stateside.

“What do you mean, you’re here to get us out of here? What if we don’t want to go? It’s dangerous, but we knew it would be when we signed up.” Lauren’s tone carried a skepticism that somehow made her more attractive. This wasn’t someone who accepted things at face value.

“Current threat levels have changed that. Dr. Merrick made the call and sent us in. Things have been deteriorating here on multiple levels.”

Lauren glanced at Dr. Yang. Obviously, they’d already had a similar conversation.

“How long do we have? Six weeks? A month?” Lauren crossed her arms over her chest.

“One week.”

“What?” Those ridiculous green eyes got big then promptly narrowed. “Compass always gives at least a month, sometimes more.”

I mimicked her action, crossing my arms over my chest. “That wasn’t an option.”

Telling her that a full week might not even be an option didn’t feel like a good plan.

Yang touched Lauren’s arm. “You know this is the best thing. Especially after…”

My eyes narrowed when she didn’t finish the sentence. “After what?”

Lauren shook her head. “Nothing has happened. No one has gotten hurt. But yeah, the area has become progressively less stable. Cartel stuff. I knew we’d have to go. I just thought we’d have more time.”

The other doctors nodded, but they obviously lacked the same conviction as Lauren. They were ready to go.

“I can give you a week.” Maybe more than that, but I wasn’t willing to make the promise, only to see heartbreak in those green eyes.

And what the fuck was that about? Was I going to start spouting poetry next? I needed to fucking pull it together.

“While we’re here,” I continued, turning slightly so I was speaking to everyone more equally, “we’ll need everyone’s cooperation in maintaining our cover story to the locals and especially any cartel members.

If anyone asks, we’re meteorologists studying storm patterns from the hurricane headed in this direction. ”

Dr. Martinez, a stocky man in his fifties, looked between his colleagues nervously. “Hurricane? How bad is it? We haven’t had any news from the outside world since our communication system went down.”