Page 9

Lauren

The predawn air carried the familiar scents of jungle and antiseptic as I wrapped my hands around my coffee mug, settling onto the weathered bench outside the clinic.

This had become my morning ritual—stealing a few quiet moments before the chaos of another day began.

Over the hum of the generator, I could hear the sounds of awakening birds and distant howler monkeys.

I sensed him before I saw him. Logan Kane was on the clinic’s roof, a dark silhouette against the brightening day. Even from this distance, I could feel the weight of his gaze. It made my skin prickle with an awareness I didn’t want to acknowledge.

God, what was wrong with me? The man had been here less than twenty-four hours, and already I was acting like some hormonal teenager.

Which was ridiculous, considering he’d made it abundantly clear I was nothing more than a problem to solve—another asset to extract before the situation deteriorated further.

I took a long sip of coffee, using the bitter heat to ground myself.

Logan Kane was everything I usually avoided in a man.

Tall—at least six-two—with the kind of build that came from actual combat, not running on a treadmill or lifting weights.

Broad shoulders that filled out his tactical shirt perfectly.

Arms thick with functional muscle. Dark hair cropped short in that military style that somehow made his jawline look even sharper.

And those eyes—deep brown, constantly moving, cataloging threats and exits and God knew what else.

He was gorgeous in that dangerous, unattainable way. The kind of man who probably had women falling at his feet wherever he went. Women who were petite and delicate and knew how to flirt properly. Not women like me—too tall, too direct, hands rough from work instead of soft from luxury.

Patrick had made that crystal clear. You’re not exactly the kind of girl guys picture on their arm at formal events, Lauren. You’re more like…one of the guys.

I forced the memory away, but the damage was done. I knew exactly what I was—practical, competent, useful, despite the fact that I’d been called naive yesterday. I was the kind of woman men respected professionally but didn’t tend to see romantically.

Logan’s careful distance, his professional demeanor, his obvious irritation with my reluctance to leave? All confirmation that some things never changed.

The clinic door opened, and Sophia emerged, her own coffee in hand. She settled beside me with a heavy sigh.

“So,” she said quietly, “one week.”

“One week.” The words tasted bitter. “I keep thinking about all the people we won’t be able to help. Miguel’s follow-ups. Mrs. Rivera’s diabetes management. All the prenatal cases…”

“I know.” Sophia’s voice carried the same weight of guilt I felt. “But staying until the cartel decides we’re a problem won’t help anyone.”

“When do we tell them?”

“Not today.” She shook her head. “Let’s get organized first. Make comprehensive lists of who needs what, stock counts of medications we can leave behind, detailed instructions for the most critical cases.”

“The nearest clinic is forty kilometers away.” I stared into my coffee. “Most of these people can’t make that journey.”

“Lauren.” Sophia’s tone was kind but firm. “We always knew this was temporary. We’ve done good work here, but?—”

“But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.”

We sat in silence for a moment, watching the sun creep higher. Above us, I heard movement on the roof—Logan shifting position, probably getting a better vantage point. Always watching. Always ready for threats that might never materialize.

“What do you think of our security team?” Sophia asked, following my gaze upward.

“Professional. Competent.” I kept my voice neutral. “They’ll get us out safely.”

“That’s not what I meant.” A hint of amusement colored her words. “Logan Kane is quite…impressive.”

“If you like the strong, silent, emotionally unavailable type.”

She chuckled. “So you have noticed.”

“Hard not to notice someone who looks like he could bench-press a car.” I stood abruptly. “I’m going to start inventorying meds. Full day ahead.”

Sophia’s knowing look followed me as I headed inside, but she didn’t push. She’d been here long enough to recognize defensive walls when she saw them.

By lunch, I’d compiled lists of our thirty-seven regular patients, their conditions, and medication needs. The numbers were stark—we could leave maybe a month’s worth of supplies, two at most for some conditions. After that…

I pushed the rice around my plate, appetite gone. Across the makeshift dining area, Logan sat with his team, their conversation too low to hear. He’d acknowledged me with a brief nod when I’d entered, then gone back to whatever tactical discussion they were having.

Professional. Distant. Exactly what I should have expected.

“I’ll be leaving for afternoon rounds in a few minutes,” I announced to the room in general, standing to clear my plate. “Anyone who needs supplies delivered, get them to me in the next twenty minutes.”

“I’ll come with you,” Logan said, the first words he’d directed at me since yesterday morning.

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is.” His tone held no room for argument. “Part of our assessment includes understanding movement patterns and village layout. Plus, no one should be going out by themselves for the foreseeable future.”

Of course. Not desire for my company. Just another box to check on his mission parameters.

“Fine.” I turned away before he could see my expression. “Twenty minutes.”

I wasn’t surprised when he was ready at the door exactly twenty minutes later.

The afternoon heat pressed against our skin like a damp blanket as we walked the narrow dirt path toward the village.

I’d grabbed my medical bag and a small cooler of vaccines, falling into the familiar rhythm of house calls that had become an important part of my life over the past six months.

What wasn’t familiar was the way my pulse kicked up every time Logan moved—or how my awareness of him seemed to fill all the space between us.

Or why the hell I was having such a reaction to a man who obviously didn’t have the same response to me.

“First stop will be Mrs. Rivera,” I said, adjusting the strap of my medical bag. “Diabetic, needs her insulin levels checked. She can’t make it to the clinic anymore since her leg infection got worse.”

“How far is the village center?” He positioned himself slightly behind me and to the right, creating some kind of tactical formation that both irritated and oddly reassured me.

“About half a mile from the clinic. Most of my regular patients live within walking distance.” I ducked under a low-hanging branch, acutely aware of how he matched the movement. “These people have been taking care of each other for generations. They don’t trust outsiders easily.”

“But they trust you.”

“Took time.” I glanced back at him, catching the way his gaze swept our surroundings before settling on me with that same assessing look. Like I was a problem to solve. “They had to see I wasn’t here for a few weeks of feeling good about myself.”

“Is that what your parents expected?”

I should’ve known. “My parents are behind this extraction, aren’t they? Did they hire you?”

“No. Technically, we answer to Compass Medical Outreach.”

I let out a sigh. “We both know Dr. Merrick doesn’t have the funds to cover a private security team like this. My parents are footing the bill, aren’t they?”

He shrugged one massive shoulder. “Honestly, I don’t pay much attention to the back-end stuff. I just do what I’m told.”

Liar. “How much did they tell you about me when they hired you?”

A touch of a smile almost made it to his mouth at my persistence. “Enough.”

“Let me guess—brilliant but misguided daughter, throwing away her potential on people who can’t appreciate it?”

“Something like that.” At least he didn’t pretend otherwise. “They’re worried about you.”

“They’re worried about their legacy.” I pushed through a cluster of leaves with more force than necessary. “God forbid their daughter choose service over status.”

“Is that why you’re here? Rebelling against expectations?”

I stopped walking and turned to face him, anger flaring hot. “You think I’ve spent six months in primitive conditions, sometimes performing surgery by candlelight, treating infections that could kill me, all to make a point to my parents?”

“I think everyone’s motivations are complicated.” His expression remained maddeningly neutral. “Including yours.”

“And what would you know about my motivations?”

“I know you’re talented enough to work anywhere. I know you chose here. And I know you’re fighting leaving even though the smart move is obvious.” He stepped closer, using his height advantage. “So yeah, I think there’s more to this than pure altruism.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“It’s pretty obvious you’re stubborn to the point of self-destruction and that you don’t necessarily see some situations the way they really are, just how you want them to be.”

He was talking about that naive comment again from yesterday.

“And you’re arrogant to the point of—” I cut myself off, hating that he’d gotten under my skin so easily. I was known for the fact that I had unwavering patience. That I didn’t tend to snap. That I was logical rather than emotional.

Somehow this man erased all that.

“We should keep moving. Patients are waiting.”

His mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. “Lead the way, Doctor.”

I stalked ahead, focusing on the uneven path rather than the man whose presence seemed to take up too much space in my awareness. We reached Mrs. Rivera’s house in tense silence.

“Mrs. Rivera,” I called out in Spanish, forcing warmth into my voice. “How are you feeling today?”

Her weathered face lit up when she saw me, then grew curious as she took in Logan. “Much better, doctora. The antibiotics are helping. Who is your friend?”

“A colleague,” I said vaguely, settling into the familiar routine of checking her blood sugar and examining the healing infection. Logan positioned himself near the doorway, alert but unobtrusive.

“She’s improving,” I told him quietly as I repacked my supplies a little bit later. “Last week, I wasn’t sure she’d keep the leg.”

“You treated her here?”

“Cleaned the infection, debrided tissue, started antibiotics.” I stood, brushing dust from my knees. “Basic intervention that saved her life.”

“Nothing about working in these conditions seems basic.”

Was that approval in his voice? I couldn’t tell and refused to care.

We moved through the village, stopping at each patient’s home.

A baby with a respiratory infection. An elderly man needing blood pressure management.

With each visit, Logan observed silently, occasionally helping carry supplies but maintaining that professional distance that shouldn’t bother me at all, yet somehow did.

“You’re good with them,” he said as we walked between houses.

“It’s my job.”

“It’s more than that. They trust you. Respect you.”

“Why does that surprise you?”

He studied me with those dark eyes. “It doesn’t. But trust can be dangerous in places like this. Makes people vulnerable.”

“Everything here is dangerous.” I stopped walking to face him again. “Including self-important security contractors who think they know better than the people actually doing the work.”

He raised one eyebrow. “That what you think I am? Self-important?”

“I think you’re here to check boxes and collect a paycheck from my parents.” The words came out harsher than intended. “One week of babysitting the idealistic doctor, then back to whatever war zone pays better.”

Something flashed in his eyes, but his voice remained level. “You don’t know anything about why I do this job.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Maybe I believe in helping people too. Just differently than you do.”

“By dragging them away from where they’re needed?”

“By keeping them alive.” He stepped closer, intensity radiating from every line of his body. “That is my primary mission.”

“You sound like a robot. I didn’t ask for your protection.”

“No, but you’ve got it anyway. So maybe try not to make my job impossible.”

We stood there, too close, tension crackling between us like a live wire. For a moment, something else flickered in his expression—heat, maybe, or interest. But it was gone before I could be sure, replaced by that maddening professional mask.

“We should finish rounds,” I said, hating how breathless I sounded.

“Yeah.” He stepped back, creating distance. “Lead on.”

We walked farther into the village toward Carlos Quispe’s house.

“Carlos is my most complicated case right now,” I explained. “A bullet fragment is still lodged near his spine. I’ve been debating whether he needs surgery I can’t provide here.”

Logan nodded, but I noticed his posture had changed—more alert, more focused on our surroundings rather than our conversation.

“Something wrong?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Just noticed we’ve been in the village for over an hour, and I haven’t seen or heard many vehicles. Now, I’m hearing engines.”

I listened, catching the low rumble of engines beneath normal village sounds. My stomach clenched with familiar dread.

“Supply delivery?” But even as I said it, I knew better. Supply trucks didn’t sound like that—aggressive, fast, multiple vehicles.

Logan’s hand moved to his waistband, a subtle adjustment that told me he was armed. “How often does the cartel come through?”

“Not often.” The engines grew louder, closer. “But when they do…”

The first black SUV rounded the corner, kicking up dust. Then a second. A third.

My blood turned to ice as I recognized the lead vehicle.

The Silvas were here.