Page 11

Logan

God fucking damn it.

Finding civilian casualties after a battle was one thing. Watching as they were killed firsthand when you couldn’t do a single fucking thing about it was another entirely.

The walk back to the clinic passed in a haze of tactical assessment and barely controlled rage. Lauren moved beside me like a sleepwalker, her face pale and eyes unfocused. Every few steps, she’d stumble slightly, and I’d steady her with a hand on her elbow. The shock was setting in hard.

I kept my eyes moving, scanning the path around us for threats while my mind processed what I’d just witnessed. Diego Silva had executed an unarmed, wounded man in cold blood. Not in anger, not as punishment for some perceived slight—but as a demonstration.

It wasn’t even so much a message for Lauren as it was some sick life lesson for his son: less talk, more demonstrations of power.

But no doubt Mateo wasn’t going to take it that way. He was going to blame Lauren for being made to look the fool publicly.

She was not safe here anymore, not that she ever truly had been. We needed to get out and get out right fucking now . When Silva’s car showed up to pick her up for dinner, she would need to be long gone.

“Almost there,” I said quietly as the clinic’s blue walls came into view through the trees. Lauren didn’t respond, but her pace quickened slightly.

The moment we reached the building, I guided her through the front door and directly to the nearest chair. She sat heavily, her hands shaking as she stared at the floor.

“Jace,” I called out, my voice carrying the edge of command that meant business. “Ty. Conference. Now.”

They appeared within seconds, taking one look at Lauren’s condition and my expression before Jace grabbed his laptop and Ty checked his sidearm, looking over my shoulder for trouble.

“Sophia,” I called to Dr. Yang, who was emerging from one of the treatment rooms. “Stay with Lauren. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Sophia took one look at Lauren’s face and immediately moved to her side, medical training kicking in as she began checking for signs of physical injury.

I led my team to the small office that served as our makeshift command center. The moment the door closed, I activated the signal-jamming device Jace had installed to prevent electronic surveillance. It was probably overkill, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

“Situation?” Ty asked, noting the tension radiating from every line of my body.

“Silva cartel just executed a patient in front of Dr. Valentino. Diego Silva personally pulled the trigger.” I moved to the window, checking sight lines out of habit.

“Mateo Silva invited Lauren to dinner tonight. When she made an excuse about staying with a patient, Diego stepped in and executed the man on the spot. It was a demonstration—a show of power that nobody says no to his family.”

Jace’s fingers stilled on his keyboard. “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s time to go. Giving them a week to wrap things up is no longer an option.”

Jace pulled up multiple screens on his laptop—weather data, communication logs, tactical assessments. “How much time do we have?”

“Too fucking little. Mateo Silva issued a dinner invitation for tonight, eight o’clock. We need to be gone before then.” I checked my watch. “That gives us maybe six hours.”

“That’s probably better anyway. Hurricane Tristan is definitely headed this way now and tracking faster than predicted,” Jace reported, pulling up meteorological data.

“Latest NOAA updates show landfall in twenty-four to thirty-six hours. But the outer bands are already affecting flight conditions.”

Shit. I studied the weather patterns, calculating rapidly. “Window for helicopter extraction?”

“Look at you being a true meteorologist,” Ty said with a dry grin.

“Getting narrow,” Jace said. “Winds are picking up, visibility dropping. I’d say we have maybe twelve hours of flyable conditions before the storm makes aerial extraction impossible for multiple days.”

The tactical picture was becoming clear, and none of it was good. We were facing an obsessed cartel leader with nearly unlimited resources, a natural disaster that would eliminate our primary extraction method, and four civilians who had no idea how to operate in a combat environment.

Worse, if we stayed and Mateo or Diego Silva decided our meteorologist cover story didn’t hold up, they wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate what they’d see as foreign intelligence operatives.

Which…was exactly what we were.

“So we need to get everyone out before either the hurricane or cartel decides to make our stay here permanent.”

Jace pulled up satellite imagery of the extraction zone. “Helicopter can be here in four hours. That puts us wheels up before the dinner party deadline.”

I studied the map, running tactical scenarios in my head.

“Clinic has a medical transport van,” Jace said. “Old, but functional. That’s faster than the thirty minutes it takes to walk to the clearing.”

I nodded. “We’ll need to assume the Silva cartel has people watching the clinic. The moment we start moving, we’ll be tracked.”

As Jace worked his communications magic, I outlined our movement plan.

“We stage everyone in the clinic until departure. Then single convoy to extraction point so it doesn’t look suspicious to anyone watching.

Ty, you’ll be the driver. I’ll ride front for cover, and Jace, you sit in the back with the doctors and monitor comms and pull rear security. ”

“Will the doctors be okay?” Ty asked. “Lauren seemed half in shock, and the others didn’t look like they signed up for this level of excitement.”

Lauren had definitely been traumatized, not that anyone could blame her. But she was going to rebound. “Dr. Valentino’s stronger than she looks. The others will follow her lead.”

“And if the Silva cartel shows up before we can extract?”

“Then we do what we’re paid to do,” I said simply. “We get our people out alive, regardless of opposition.”

Jace looked up from his laptop. “Helicopter’s en route. ETA three hours forty-five minutes. Pilot confirms weather conditions are marginal but still flyable.”

“That’s our window,” I said. “I’ll brief the medical team. Let’s move. Leave all our fake meteorological equipment behind.”

Ty let out a dramatic sigh. “But what about the flying ants? The flying ants , Logan.”

A smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. “We’ll have to leave that to the local grandmothers.”

I checked my sidearm one final time, ensuring the magazine was fully loaded. The familiar weight of the weapon was reassuring, but I hoped we wouldn’t need it. Quick and quiet was always preferable to loud and messy.

We rejoined the medical team in the main treatment area. Lauren looked steadier, though the pallor remained. Sophia had positioned herself protectively nearby, while Dr. Martinez and Dr. Williams spoke in hushed, worried tones.

“Everyone listen up,” I said, automatically taking command of the room. “The situation has escalated beyond what we initially anticipated. We’re implementing immediate evacuation procedures for all medical personnel.”

Dr. Williams looked up sharply. “Immediate? But the patients?—”

“Will be safer without you here,” I interrupted. “The Silva cartel has demonstrated they’re willing to target medical personnel. Your presence is now actively endangering the people you’re trying to help.”

Lauren’s head came up at that, and I saw awareness returning to her eyes. “Carlos died because of me.”

“Carlos died because Diego Silva is a psychopath who uses murder as a communication tool,” I corrected firmly. “You are not responsible for the actions of violent criminals.”

“But if I hadn’t made excuses?—”

“He would have found another reason,” Sophia said quietly. “Violent men like that always do.”

The words hit closer to home than I expected. Violent men . Was that how Lauren saw me and my team? We carried weapons, spoke in tactical terms, planned for killing if necessary. In her world of healing and saving lives, we probably looked like part of the problem rather than the solution.

The thought settled in my chest like shrapnel—sharp, unwanted, impossible to ignore. Could someone like Lauren ever really see past what I was…what I’d done? Or would the blood always speak louder than anything else?

There were times I’d tried saving people like they did. Times when?—

Carter’s neck was slick with blood, his pulse stuttering under my hands. Arterial spray painted my uniform in brutal red.

“Stay with me, goddammit! You hear me? Stay with me!”

Gunfire cracked overhead, baking the air with sound and heat.

“Keep pressure on it!” the corpsman barked, sliding in beside me, hands already moving.

But Carter’s eyes were already going distant. His lungs rattled with every failing breath.

I dragged myself out of the memory and found everyone staring at me. Now wasn’t the time to deal with trauma. Now was the time to get these people out of here safely.

I moved to the center of the group, establishing eye contact with each doctor.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. In approximately three hours, a helicopter will arrive at a clearing thirty minutes’ walk from here.

We’ll convoy there as a unit in the van and extract together.

No deviations, no delays, no looking back. ”

“Prepare emergency supply kits,” I continued.

“Whatever your current patients need that you can give them. Also, antibiotics, pain medication, basic wound care supplies. Leave them with instructions for local distribution. But understand—staying here will not help your patients. It will only get you killed and potentially escalate violence against the people you’re trying to protect. ”

The harsh assessment hung in the air, but it was necessary. These doctors needed to understand the reality of their situation.

“How dangerous is the extraction?” Dr. Yang asked, her practical nature cutting through emotion to focus on facts.

“Unknown at this time,” I answered honestly. “The Silva cartel has resources and motivation. We’ll assume tracked movement and potential hostile contact. But extraction remains our safest option.”

“And if something goes wrong?” Lauren asked, her voice stronger than it had been since the village.

“Then we adapt and overcome,” I said, meeting her eyes directly. “But nothing’s going wrong. We’re good at what we do.”

Jace appeared at my shoulder. “Communication with helicopter confirmed. Pilot reports weather conditions continually deteriorating but still within operational parameters. Advises immediate departure upon arrival.”

I nodded, then addressed the medical team again.

“You have two hours to prepare, so we can be staged and ready to depart earlier if needed. Personal essentials only for the helicopter—one bag each. Dr. Yang, I need you to coordinate medical supply distribution for the patients you’re leaving behind.

But don’t make announcements. Make them think it’s Christmas. ”

“I can handle that,” she said, already moving toward the pharmacy area.

“Dr. Martinez, Dr. Williams—work with Dr. Yang to identify critical patients who might need immediate attention after you leave. Prepare care instructions and medication protocols.”

They nodded, purposeful activity helping to counter the shock and anxiety.

“Lauren,” I said, drawing her aside as the others dispersed. “How are you holding up?”

She met my eyes, and I saw the steel I’d recognized earlier. “I’ll be fine. But Logan, leaving feels like abandoning them.”

“Staying feels like getting them killed,” I replied, gritting my teeth as she flinched. “Diego Silva made it clear today that he’s willing to hurt innocent people to control you. The longer you remain, the more danger is created.”

“Carlos asked me yesterday if I thought his nephew would be proud of him someday.” Her voice caught slightly. “He was so worried about providing for his family.”

I felt something twist in my chest at the pain in her voice. “It’s not your fault. Carlos died because a violent criminal decided to employ murder as a tool of psychological manipulation. Nothing you did or didn’t do would have changed that outcome.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because I’ve seen men like Diego Silva before. They don’t need reasons—they create justifications. If it hadn’t been the dinner invitation, it would have been something else. It was more of a power play with his son than it was anything else.”

She nodded slowly, and I could see her processing the shock in the systematic way of someone with medical training. Compartmentalizing to function despite the horror.

“What happens after the extraction?” she asked.

“Debrief, threat assessment, protective protocols as necessary,” I said.

“And the clinic?”

“Will hopefully be forgotten once you’re gone. The Silva cartel’s interest appears to be personal rather than territorial.”

Another half-truth. Mateo’s pride had been damaged when Lauren rejected his advances. Then felt foolish when his father had to work the problem for him. Men like Mateo and Diego Silva didn’t forget slights, especially from women who refused to be intimidated. They might take it out on the village.

But Lauren needed to focus on immediate survival, not long-term threat scenarios.

“Go pack,” I said gently. “Like I said, one bag. Essential items only, and then help with performing a final triage of the clinic’s patients. Focus on what you know how to do.”

As she moved toward her quarters, I caught sight of the determination in her stride. Dr. Lauren Valentino was stronger than she knew, but strength wouldn’t be enough against what Silva could bring to bear. She could not stay here if she wanted to survive.

I rejoined my team, checking our tactical preparation one final time. Weapons loaded, communications tested, extraction route confirmed. Everything that could be controlled had been controlled.

But in operations like this, it was the uncontrollable variables that usually determined success or failure. And the Silva cartel was the ultimate uncontrollable variable—violent men with a fuck-ton of resources and a personal fixation that made them unpredictable.

In three hours, we’d find out if our preparation was enough.