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In the Arms of a Hero
BEVERLY BARTON
Idealistic and rebellious Victoria Fortune defied her legacy in favor of a nursing assignment on the tiny island nation of Santo Bonisto. When the nation erupts in rebellion, mercenary Quinn McCoy is hired to get Victoria safely back to Texas.It's a dangerous adventure that nearly costs both Victoria and Quinn their lives. The few days they spend trapped together become a lifetime, and passion becomes a lifeline.But things change when they get back to the real world. Quinn, a loner and a tough guy, is convinced he has no place in the privileged world of the Texas Fortunes. He walks away, leaving a heartbroken Victoria with no choice but to live up to the name of her strong, proud family. She vows to go after the man she loves…because nothing stands between a Fortune and her heart.


THE TEXAS TATTLER
All the news that’s barely fit to print!
Fortune Fiancée Arrested For Murder
A media frenzy erupted last week when a blood-red ruby bracelet found at the scene of a heinous crime led police to the doorstep of the Double Crown Ranch. A seemingly stunned Lily Cassidy, Ryan Fortune’s fiancée, was taken into custody and awaits trial for the murder of Sophia Fortune, Ryan’s wife.
The megamogul has been in a grueling divorce standoff with second wife Sophia, who refused to bow out of their marriage even though hubby’s offer would have made her a millionaire—many times over. Ever-devoted Ryan has been keeping constant vigil at the prison and swears on his Texas-sized integrity that Lily is innocent. Still, the district attorney continues to mount a strong case, making Lily out as the sort of woman who’d stop at nothing to get her man…and his money.
And in the wake of this shocker comes the next…the life of Victoria Fortune, international do-gooder, is reportedly at risk. Sources confirm that the knockout nightingale became stranded in San Bonisto when the tiny, remote nation broke out in civil war late last month. Fearful father Ryan has commissioned mercenary-for-hire Quinn McCoy to smuggle the heiress back to safety. But those close to the fiery innocent know she doesn’t kowtow to anyone, especially her father’s errand boys—even when this “errand boy” is 100% virile man!

About the Author


BEVERLY BARTON
has been in love with romance since her grandfather gave her an illustrated edition of Beauty and the Beast. An avid reader since childhood, Beverly wrote her first book at the age of nine. After marriage to her own “hero” and the births of her daughter and son, Beverly chose to be a full-time homemaker—aka wife, mother, friend and volunteer. The author of thirty books, Beverly is a member of Romance Writers of America and helped found the Heart of Dixie chapter in Alabama. She has won numerous awards and has made the New York Times, Waldenbooks and USA TODAY bestseller lists.

In the Arms of a Hero
Beverly Barton

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)






Meet the Fortunes of Texas
Victoria Fortune: Her life was on the line, and out of nowhere hero Quinn McCoy arrived. And soon days spent dodging danger with the handsome stranger led to nights of passion. But was it just the moment or could it be forever kind of love?
Quinn McCoy: Protecting former debutante Victoria Fortune was turning into the mercenary’s most perilous assignment ever…because this time he was in danger of losing not only his life, but also his heart.
Lily Cassidy: When Ryan Fortune’s wife was found murdered, all fingers pointed to the billionaire’s soon-to-be third bride. Did Lily resort to murder to clear her path down the aisle with Ryan?
Cole Cassidy: He couldn’t stand idly by and let his mother go to jail. But would he be able to prove Lily’s innocence before it was too late?
To my wonderful former editor, Lynda Curnyn, whose tireless efforts to help me make each book the best it can be are greatly appreciated.

Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve

Prologue
“I can’t guarantee the man that I can bring his daughter home safe and sound!” Quinn McCoy narrowed his piercing blue eyes into slits as he glared at the closed door to Ryan Fortune’s study.
Sam Waterman scrutinized his old friend, someone he trusted implicitly, despite Quinn’s mercenary background and mean-as-the-devil reputation. Women considered the man good-looking, in a rough and rugged way. They were attracted to him like bears to honey. And he was definitely a man other men respected and feared. Smart men. Those not so smart learned the hard way not to cross swords with Quinn McCoy.
As head of security for the Fortunes since Ryan Fortune, the patriarch of the family, had hired him, Sam took his responsibilities seriously. After the man’s grandson had been abducted right out of his own crib, more bodyguards had been added to protect the family. It seemed unfair that with Ryan already having to deal with his fiancée being accused of murdering his former wife and his grandson being kidnapped that he now had to worry about his daughter Victoria’s safety.
But Sam knew, without a doubt, that the hardboiled gun-for-hire was a godsend for the Fortunes—the only man on earth he felt certain could bring Victoria home to her family.
“I told Ryan you were the best, that you’re worth every penny of what he’s offering you,” Sam said. “Just go in there and talk to him. He’s a father who’s worried sick about his child. He’ll give you anything you want, if you bring Victoria home to him.”
“And what happens if I go after this spoiled little heiress and don’t bring her back?” Quinn turned his speculative gaze on Sam. “Ryan Fortune is one of the most powerful men in the U.S. and not someone I’d want as an enemy.”
“But if you succeed, he’d be your friend for life.”
“Do you know how slim the odds are that I’d be able to make it in and out of Palmira, let alone bring Victoria Fortune out alive, now that Santo Bonisto is at war?”
“Just talk to Ryan before you make your decision.” Sam rapped loudly on the closed door.
“Come in!”
Sam opened the door. Quinn hesitated.
Ryan Fortune rose from behind his massive desk, his dark eyes surveying the man Sam ushered into his private domain. Sam waited for several minutes, allowing the two men to size each other up and assimilate their gut reactions. As two bucks about to go into battle over a doe, the wealthy, powerful older man studied the lean, broad-shouldered warrior while the younger man defiantly met his perusal with a cool, confident observation of his own.
Before Sam could make the introductions, Ryan rounded the edge of the desk. “So you’re Quinn McCoy.”
Quinn didn’t so much as flinch. “So you’re Ryan Fortune.”
The corners of Ryan’s lips twitched as if he were going to smile, but instead he nodded to a manila file folder on his desk. “I know everything there is to know about you, Mr. McCoy, from your shoe size to how many fillings you have in your teeth. You’ve lived a rather dangerous, exciting life, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, I suppose I have.”
“Sam tells me that I can trust you, Mr. McCoy. His faith in you is the reason you’re here today,” Ryan said. “The reason I’m willing to offer you half a million dollars to bring my daughter back to Texas.”
Quinn let out a long, low whistle. “I’ve been offered some fat fees before, but nothing close to five hundred thousand!”
“You don’t have children, do you?” Ryan asked.
“No. Why?”
“If you did, you’d understand how I feel. My baby girl has gone and gotten herself caught right in the middle of a civil war in Santo Bonisto. She’s in grave danger now, but if the rebel forces find out she’s my daughter, they’ll kidnap her and God knows what could happen to her. I want you to go in there and get her out of that hellhole before anything does happen.”
“I don’t see why you ever let your daughter go to a Third World country like Santo Bonisto,” Quinn said.
“If you knew my Victoria, you’d know that no one allows her to do anything. She’s her own woman. And in her own way, as stubborn as her old man.” Moisture glazed Ryan Fortune’s brilliant dark eyes. “My girl has a big heart. Since she was just a kid all she’s wanted to do was be a nurse, to ease other people’s suffering. And now her idealism is putting her life at risk. When I talked to her this past week, she told me she couldn’t desert the people in Palmira because she’s the only trained medical help they’ve got. She’s letting her loyalty and concern for those people make her act foolishly.”
“I can’t guarantee her safe return. Once I land on the island, anything could happen.”
Sam had known Quinn long enough to realize by what he’d said that he was going to take the job. Had seeing, firsthand, a father’s barely controlled agony actually swayed Quinn? Sam wondered. Or did he think of this assignment as simply another challenge? Few men were qualified for such a dangerous job and even fewer would have a snowball’s chance in hell of actually bringing Victoria Fortune off that South American island powder keg. But Quinn McCoy had the credentials. A former navy pilot turned mercenary. A man who’d traveled the globe as a bodyguard, private pilot and all-around soldier of fortune.
“I understand,” Ryan said. “All I ask is that you do everything within your power to bring my daughter safely home to us. I’m prepared to deposit a quarter of a million dollars into your bank account right now and another quarter million once you return with Victoria.”
“And if I can’t—”
“The quarter million is yours, if you come back alive, with or without Victoria.”
“Fair enough.”
“If there’s anything else you need, all you have to do is tell Sam and he’ll see that you have it.” Ryan turned his gaze on Sam. “This family has been through enough. We will not lose anyone else we love.”
“I understand,” Sam assured Ryan.
“Mr. Fortune, there’s one big item I need before I head off for Santo Bonisto,” Quinn said.
“What’s that?”
“My old plane is in pretty bad shape. I’d feel more confident about getting on and off the island if I—”
“Sam, get Mr. McCoy a new plane. Whatever he wants!”
Sam nodded agreement, then gave Quinn a deadly glare. He knew Quinn didn’t have much use for the idle rich. His friend didn’t make any secret of his disdain for most of his wealthy clients, but it riled Sam to think Quinn was taking advantage of Ryan at a time such as this.
Ryan Fortune held out his hand. “Do we have a deal, Mr. McCoy?”
“We have a deal, Mr. Fortune.”
As soon as the two men sealed their agreement with a handshake, Sam ushered Quinn out into the hallway.
“You’re getting greedy, aren’t you, asking for a new plane?” Sam gripped Quinn’s shoulder.
“I’m risking my neck to even go into Santo Bonisto. There’s a fifty/fifty chance I won’t make it back alive. And you and I both know what will happen to Victoria Fortune if the rebels get hold of her, so the odds of me bringing the spoiled little princess back to the U.S. are slim to none. My odds are better with a decent plane. Besides, I figure the old man won’t miss the money.”
“Sometimes, you can be a heartless son of a bitch.”
A quirky grin curved Quinn’s lips. “You know me too well, old buddy.”

“What do you mean, all lines of communication with the outside world have been severed?” Victoria Fortune demanded as she slammed down the dead telephone receiver. “Are you saying I can’t even contact anyone in the capital city?”
“Sí, Señorita Victoria, that is what I am telling you,” Ernesto Hernando said. “The rebel forces are headed this way and they are destroying all communication lines as they approach the city.”
“Then there’s no way to get word out of here? No way I can contact my family in the United States?”
“When your papa called last week and asked you to come home, you should have gone then.” Ernesto gazed at Victoria, his huge brown eyes filled with concern. “Now you are trapped here with us and if it is discovered you are a wealthy American heiress, your life will be in grave danger. I wish I knew a way to get you to safety, to get you out of Palmira and to Gurabo.”
She patted Ernesto’s thin brown arm. “I can’t leave you and Dolores here alone to cope with the clinic. As much help as you both are to me, neither of you has any medical training, other than what I’ve been able to teach you. And if the war does reach Palmira, I’ll be needed here more than ever.”
“You are an angel, señorita.”
Ernesto stared at Victoria with such admiration and devotion that she blushed. In the three years she’d been working through the World Health Institute, as the only nurse at the small clinic in Palmira, she had become close friends with Ernesto and his wife Dolores. During her first month at the clinic, Victoria delivered the couple’s third child, little Rico Fortune Hernando. Named in her honor because she had saved the premature infant’s life.
“We must make sure that everyone in Palmira knows not to reveal my true identity to any of the rebel soldiers,” Victoria said. “I’m afraid with my red hair and green eyes, and my limited Spanish I’d never pass as a native. If necessary, I’ll just have to use a false name and claim my papers were somehow lost or destroyed.”
“Sí, the whole town will keep silent. You are greatly loved here. There is not one family who does not owe you their allegiance.”
“From now on, I’ll use the name Victoria Lockhart.” She had instantly thought of using her mother’s maiden name.
“Sí, Señorita Lockhart.” Smiling, Ernesto nodded agreement.
“We need to make preparations for the children’s immunizations this afternoon. Sister Maria is expecting us at two o’clock.”
Ernesto hesitated, but when Victoria smiled reassuringly, he turned to leave. Just as he reached the doorway, he paused momentarily and, without looking back, said, “We will find a way to keep you safe.”
Before Victoria could reply, Ernesto slipped away quietly. She sighed. The thought that her presence here might put her friends’ lives in danger unnerved her. She had to make Ernesto and Dolores understand that she didn’t expect anyone to put their own lives on the line to protect her.
She had willingly chosen to come to Santo Bonisto, to live and work in the tragically poor little town of Palmira. Before she had set up a clinic here, the nearest medical facility had been a hundred miles away in Las Palomas. She had known the civil war would eventually reach her town, but she had hoped it wouldn’t be this soon. Her father had demanded, in the way only Ryan Fortune could demand, that she return to the United States immediately. In attempting to make him understand why she couldn’t leave, she had only made him angry. And she knew his anger was a result of fear. He loved her and wanted her safety above all else. She had promised him that she could stay in Palmira without endangering her life. But now she realized that there was every possibility she had lied to herself as well as her father. In her devotion to her duty, she had refused to admit the obvious. And now it was too late.
Just being an American in Santo Bonisto these days could be dangerous, if you were captured by the rebels. But if it was known that she was the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the United States, nothing and no one could save her.

One
Quinn landed his new Cessna on an abandoned airstrip near a wide-open savanna halfway up Mt. Simona. Jungle surrounded the freshly cleared area. He could have demanded and gotten a more expensive plane from Ryan Fortune, but he had chosen a hundred-and-forty-thousand-dollar jewel. A larger plane would have had great difficulty landing, but the Skyhawk 172R breezed onto the narrow strip. The 172 didn’t excel at anything in particular, not in style nor performance. But no other plane, on as little as 145 hp, could equal its overall performance. Quinn had chosen this particular plane for its dependability. In his chosen profession, that quality outweighed any other.
The airstrip built on the mountain plateau known as El Prado prior to World War II and left to the jungle in the early seventies had been forgotten by all but a few old-timers. Quinn never began an assignment without knowing the terrain of the country and searching out “associates” who could assist him. Julio Vargas, who waited for Quinn to disembark, had come highly recommended by “friends.”
The short, stocky native, a machete in his hand, greeted Quinn with a wide smile. “Bienvenido! Welcome to Santo Bonisto.”
The sun kissed the mountain peaks above them, creating a colorful twilight. The sounds of oncoming night in the jungle resonated like distant music as a hushed stillness encompassed the secluded mountain plateau. A mad, high-pitched cry announced that a laughing falcon was nearby. The sound, so close to human hilarity, grated on Quinn’s nerves. He scanned the area. A three-toed sloth hanging from a fig tree branch seemed to be staring at him. Ugly creature, he thought.
“Let’s camouflage the plane and get out of here. I don’t want to set up camp anywhere close by,” Quinn said.
Coming in at night would have been ideal, except it would have required Julio to light the runway. Any unidentified light up so high in the mountains would have been suspect if seen by rebel soldiers. So coming in at dusk had been the wisest alternative. The plane, once hidden by brush, a lot of it removed from the runway itself, would be safe enough. As safe as any isolated spot on this godforsaken island.
He had done his homework on Victoria Fortune before flying out of Puerto Rico, after refueling there earlier in the day. The more he knew about the woman beforehand, the better his chances of persuading her to leave Santo Bonisto. The picture that had been included in the folder Sam had given him didn’t look much like a sophisticated heiress. The fresh-faced redhead, with a splattering of freckles across her nose, looked more like the girl next door than a multi-millionaire’s daughter. But her do-gooder complex marked her as lady who had more money than sense. Any woman in her right mind wouldn’t be playing nursemaid to a bunch of peasants in a Third World country ready to blow sky-high at any moment. Just what was Ms. Fortune trying to prove? With her college degrees, she could be working in any hospital or clinic of her choice in the U.S. Or with her daddy’s millions, she could be part of the jet-setting idle rich. So why had she become a member of the World Health Institute? And why had she stayed in Santo Bonisto when civil war broke out? Didn’t she know that by staying in Palmira, she risked not only her life, but the lives of anyone who befriended her? And now she was risking his life—the sucker her father had hired to save her spoiled little butt.
“There is no time to set up camp, Señor McCoy.” After laying aside his machete, Julio began dragging up brush to cover the plane. “You must go to Palmira as quickly as possible, if you wish to bring Señorita Fortune back with you.”
Quinn lifted a heavy tree limb that lay on the ground. “What’s happened?” He positioned the limb against the side of the plane.
“The rebel forces will be in Palmira no later than day after tomorrow. Perhaps as early as late tomorrow.” Julio continued the process of hiding the plane from any aerial observance. “In order to reach Palmira before daybreak, you must get started immediately.”
“I thought I’d have more time.”
“Your supplies are ready.” Julio removed a rolled parchment from his jacket and handed it to Quinn. “The quickest and safest way to reach Palmira is to take a boat upriver. I have a boat waiting for you when you reach the Rio Blanco. Here’s a map to guide you down the mountain and to the river. I have marked the exact location of the clinic in Palmira. I understand that Señorita Fortune has a room there.”
“Just what will I run into on my way?” Quinn asked.
Julio disappeared inside the thicket to his right, then returned leading a heavily laden mule. He retrieved an M-16 and tossed it to Quinn. “Going in will be relatively safe. Coming out is another story altogether.”
Julio grinned, exposing a wide expanse of rosy gum above a row of white teeth. He removed the backpack from the mule.
Quinn strapped on the pack, checked the M-16 and then opened the map. Scanning the map quickly, he noticed that Julio had outlined the rebel troop movements in the area. They were advancing toward Palmira at this very moment. If he didn’t get in as soon as possible, he might not be able to find Victoria Fortune and get her to safety before all hell broke loose.
“I couldn’t make any arrangements to aid you in returning from Palmira,” Julio told him. “The rebel forces have spies everywhere. Just a hint that someone from the outside was in the area would send off alarm signals. If you need help while in Palmira, contact Segundo. He works at the Cantina Caesar. You can trust him.”
Quinn gripped Julio’s shoulder and shook his hand soundly. “Keep an eye on my plane. If all goes as planned, I should be back with my passenger before nightfall tomorrow.”
“If anything goes wrong, your best course of action is to head to Gurabo. There’s a U.S. consulate there, and for now, the capital city is still held by the president’s army.”
Getting Victoria Fortune out of Santo Bonisto sounded as if it would be a simple operation. Travel to Palmira, tell the woman her father had sent him to fetch her home, bring her with him down the Rio Blanco and up Mt. Simona, then fly her back to Texas. An uncomplicated task—if rebel soldiers didn’t already have Palmira practically surrounded. “My gut instincts tell me not to count on this being easy.”
“Sí,” Julio said. “A man should always listen to his gut instincts.”

Victoria studied the man’s face—young, handsome, and deadly still. His big brown eyes stared sightlessly up at the ceiling. She had lost him. Tears clouded her vision. Emotion clogged her throat. She had seen people die before, had attended elderly patients on their deathbeds and children passing away after suffering with incurable diseases. But this was her first experience with a soldier whose body was riddled with shrapnel. And he was only one of many who had been brought to the clinic from a battle less than twenty miles from Palmira. Nationalist soldiers were trying valiantly to protect Palmira from the horde of savage rebels blazing a path of death and destruction on their march toward Gurabo.
With gentle fingers she closed the youth’s eyes, then lifted the sheet to cover his bloody body.
“Move this man onto the back porch,” Victoria instructed Felipe, an elderly Palmira resident who had volunteered to help with the onslaught of wounded men being brought into the clinic. “There was nothing I could do for him. And I’m sure there will be others who will die tonight. Go to the church and bring Father Marco. He’s needed here. Then see if you can round up some men to…” She took a deep, calming breath. “Someone will have to bury this man and any others who die.”
“Sí, señorita,” Felipe said. “I go now.” His weary, faded brown eyes gazed at her with the same adoration she often saw in Ernesto’s eyes. “You care for the soldiers who are alive. Let me take care of the dead.”
Victoria nodded, then brushed her damp bangs from her forehead. Nightfall had brought cooler temperatures, but the day’s humidity lingered inside the stucco walls, creating a steam bath effect. The crowded clinic, filled beyond capacity, reeked with body odor, medicinal scents, fresh blood and the unmistakable stench of death.
Rain was badly needed—to ease the humidity, clean the air and to stall the rebel forces’ descent upon the town. Most of the roads leading in and out of Palmira were either dirt or sparsely graveled and filled with potholes. If it rained, perhaps the Nationalist troops could hold off the attack on the town until reinforcements arrived.
Victoria left the dead man with Felipe as she rushed toward Dolores, who was trying unsuccessfully to hold down a delirious soldier. Before she reached them, Ernesto restrained the man while Dolores prepared a syringe.
Her eyes met Dolores’s and they exchanged a silent message that assured Victoria she could move on to someone else. Although she had worked long hours on many occasions and had handled emergencies from time to time, nothing could have prepared her for the onslaught of wounded men who littered the clinic. Some she could help, others she couldn’t. The most she could do for several was to ease their pain. Less than an hour earlier she had operated on a middle-aged man whose black eyes reminded her of her father’s. A strong, broad-shouldered soldier, who now lay hovering between life and death.
She wasn’t a doctor, and a doctor was what these men needed. But she was all they had—their only hope. The burden of that responsibility hung heavily on her shoulders. She was needed here, tonight, as she had never been needed before in her life. And she suspected that in the days and weeks ahead, she would be needed even more.
Perhaps she’d been foolish to stay in Palmira, putting her own life in danger. But how could she have lived with herself if she had abandoned these people when they needed her the most? Some of the young soldiers were boys from Palmira who had volunteered in recent days. Two she knew by name lay here in her clinic now, both wounded and suffering. She had removed a bullet from Carlos’s shoulder. He would live. The other boy, Aluino, wouldn’t survive until morning. His body had been ripped apart. He had been beyond saving when he’d been brought to the clinic.
The entire town worked together, friends and families with a common goal. By morning there wouldn’t be a Palmira citizen not involved in the effort to bring in the wounded, care for them, bury the dead or even go to the front lines to fight with the government soldiers. And there was not one person, if the time came, who would not lay down his or her life to protect Señorita Lockhart. These people were like a second family to Victoria. And as her own family, they were loyal and supportive. And they needed her far more than the rich and powerful Fortunes ever would.
Victoria stepped outside, slumped onto the steps and leaned her head against the wall. She hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours. She was bone-weary. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t had a bite to eat since breakfast yesterday. Glancing into the sky, she sighed when she saw dawn spreading across the horizon, illuminating the world with a soft crimson glow. A red sky at dawn often meant rain. As she rested alone on the steps, she prayed for rain. Soon. This morning. Torrents of rain that would cleanse the earth and hinder the rebel troop’s movements.
The sound of a ragged Jeep coming up the street caught Victoria’s attention. More wounded, she thought. Men were piled into the back of the Jeep, their bodies mutilated beyond repair. Dear God, how much longer could she endure this horror?
As she stood she speared her fingers through her short hair, combing the tousled strands. When the Jeep approached the clinic, she noticed a foreigner—el extranjero—riding in the front seat. The man wasn’t from Santo Bonisto. Although his skin was dark, it was tinted by a deep suntan. His brown hair was cut short, only a bit longer than a crew cut. He wore rumpled khaki pants, mud-splattered boots and his short-sleeved khaki shirt was open enough to reveal a tuft of dark chest hair. He was big, broad-shouldered and had the look of a desperado.
The man jumped from the Jeep the moment the driver stopped. An M-16 draped across his shoulder. Within seconds he was issuing orders, organizing the men who rushed out of the clinic to carry the wounded inside. Victoria wondered who this man was and what he was doing in Palmira, helping the soldiers. Had the Santo Bonisto Nationalists hired mercenaries to aid them in their fight? Or was this man some U.S. government agent sent to assist? Everyone knew that the recent discovery of oil in this small island nation had made its welfare of prime interest to the U.S. It was the oil find that had instigated the current civil war.
“Señorita, where will we put these men?” Ernesto asked as he watched the helpers carrying the men inside to the crowded clinic hallway. “There are no more beds and the hall is covered with pallets.”
“What about the basement?” Victoria suggested. “We’ll move around whatever we can down there, light some lamps and then make pallets on the dirt floor for the less seriously wounded. We’ll have to move some of the other patients out to make room for those who need immediate attention.”
Dolores emerged from the clinic, wringing her hands. “How many this time?”
“There are six wounded men,” the stranger said. “We left behind two that were dead.”
Dolores glared at the big Anglo. “Who are you?” she asked in her heavily accented English.
“Quinn McCoy, ma’am.” He responded to Dolores’s question, but his gaze was riveted on Victoria.
“You’re an American.” Victoria had suspected as much, but the man’s deep, throaty Southwestern drawl identified his nationality.
“So are you.” He looked her square in the eye and smiled.
A shiver raced up Victoria’s spine. She didn’t like his smile. It was too cocky, too self-assured. And the way his gaze moved over her, languidly, appraisingly, almost seductively, unnerved her.
“What are you doing with these men?” she asked as she motioned to Dolores to go inside, not wait for her. “Has the United States sent down some military help for the Nationalists?”
“I’m not with the U.S. government. I’m self-employed.”
When he moved closer to her, she instinctively inched backward, taking a couple of steps up the stairs toward the clinic entrance. “Does that mean you’re a mercenary?”
“Yeah, I suppose that could be one of my job descriptions.”
She nodded, then turned and hurriedly raced up the stairs, leaving the stranger behind, escaping from the odd sensation his searching stare created in her stomach. There was something dangerously unnerving about the man.
Just as she entered the clinic, she heard her name called out from somewhere behind her. Victoria. The voice that spoke her name was deep and dark and decidedly American. She whipped around and came face-to-face with the stranger. Sucking in her breath, she eased backward and lost her balance. He reached out and grabbed her shoulders to steady her.
“How do you know my name?” Her heart drummed madly in her ears. Was this man really a mercenary hired by the Nationalists or was he working for the rebels? Did he know who she really was, that her father was Ryan Fortune? Was he here to kidnap her?
“Don’t look so worried—” he lowered his voice to a whisper as he leaned over and placed his mouth near her ear “—Ms. Fortune.”
She gasped, then tried to pull out of his captive hold. “Who are you?”
“Quinn McCoy, mercenary, pilot, bodyguard. At your service, ma’am.”
Victoria clenched her teeth. She didn’t like that decided twinkle in his eye, as if he were playing a game with her and enjoying himself immensely. “I don’t know what you have in mind, Mr. McCoy, but I can assure you that all I have to do is scream and a dozen men will come to my aid immediately.”
“By all means, don’t scream.” A barely concealed chuckle underlaid his words.
“Then let go of me!” The moment she renewed her struggle, he released her.
Ernesto came up beside Victoria, taking a stance as her protector. “Is something wrong, Señorita Lockhart?”
Before she could reply, Quinn McCoy said, “Using your mother’s maiden name as a ruse? Not a bad idea. But not even a fake name will protect you for very long once the rebels take over Palmira.”
“How—how did you know that Lockhart… Just who are you, Mr. McCoy, and what are you doing here in Santo Bonisto?”
“I’ve told you who I am. And as for what I’m doing in Santo Bonisto…I was hired to come here to—”
“By whom?” Her heart lodged in her throat. She had the oddest notion that she knew who McCoy’s employer was.
“Your father,” he told her, locking his gaze with hers. “He sent me to get you out of the country and bring you home to Texas.”
“My father! I should have known.” Placing her hands on her hips, Victoria glowered at her rescuer. “You can leave right now—and without me. Go back to Texas and tell my father that I’m needed here.”
“I’m afraid you don’t understand,” Quinn said. “What you want or don’t want doesn’t enter into this equation. You’re leaving with me today, before the rebel troops take over Palmira.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not going anywhere. These people have no doctor. I’m the only trained medical staff here at the clinic. Now, with the war raging so close and all these wounded men being brought in, I can’t possibly leave.”
“Look, princess—” when Quinn took a step toward her, Ernesto blocked his path “—we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s up to you. But one way or the other, you’re coming with me. Today!”
“Then it’s going to be the hard way,” she told him, peering at him from around Ernesto’s shoulder.
“Damn,” Quinn mumbled under his breath. “I was afraid of that.”

Two
“I don’t have time to deal with you, Mr. McCoy! There are men dying all around us. They’re my top priority at the moment.” Victoria Fortune spun around and rushed into the clinic.
“Wait just a—” Quinn said as he bounded up the steps.
But Victoria’s protector, a thin, haggard young native, held up his hand, halting Quinn’s ascent. “If the señorita doesn’t wish to leave with you, then we will not allow you to take her.”
“You realize that her life is in danger, don’t you?” Quinn asked.
“Sí, señor. I know what could happen to her if it is discovered by the rebel forces that she is an American heiress. But remaining in Palmira or leaving here is her decision to make, not yours.”
“It’s nothing to me one way or the other.” Quinn shrugged. “But it matters a whole hell of a lot to her father. He wants his little princess home all safe and sound. And he’s paying me a small fortune to make that a reality.”
“You cannot take her against her will. We will not allow it.”
“If you care so damn much about her, then I’d think you’d want to help me get her off this island before—”
“We will make sure that her true identity isn’t discovered. We will keep her safe.”
“You can’t assure her safety and you know it. The only way she’ll be safe is if she leaves Santo Bonisto.” Quinn grunted when he noted the determined look in the man’s dark eyes. No way was this guy going to help him.
“Go away, señor. Go back to America and tell her father that she will not leave the people who so desperately need her.”
A frontal attack wasn’t working, Quinn thought. Time to change tactics. Use a more subtle approach. “Maybe I can help out around here. I know some basic first aid. I’ve treated knife and gunshot wounds. If I can’t get Ms. Fort—Ms. Lockhart to leave right now, then I could stay for a while and do what I can to help her.”
The man eyed Quinn suspiciously, then held out his hand. “I am Ernesto Hernando. Your help will be appreciated.”
Quinn shook the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Ernesto.”
“Do not think that by working alongside Señorita Victoria, you can talk her into leaving us. Her mind is made up. You won’t change it.”
Quinn gripped Ernesto’s scrawny shoulder. “I’m going to help you patch up the wounded the best I can, for now. But the honest truth is that somehow I plan to find a way to persuade Victoria to leave with me today.”
“I will be as equally honest with you, Señor McCoy—if you try to take her against her will, we will be forced to kill you.”
“Since we’re being so damn honest, Señor Hernando, you need to know that if any of you get in my way, I’ll be forced to retaliate.”
Ernesto nodded solemnly. “I thought as much.”
“Then we understand each other perfectly, don’t we?”
“Sí.”

Quinn knew what war and death looked like. Up close and personal. But it didn’t matter how many times he had experienced the senseless waste, he still wasn’t immune to the suffering. A part of him could understand why Victoria refused to abandon these people. He had watched her for hours now as she tirelessly tended to the wounded. Whatever else Victoria Fortune was, she was no spoiled, helpless rich girl playing at being a nurse.
The shapely, long-legged redhead was a tough-talking, hardworking professional totally unintimidated by the enormous task facing her. He hated to be the one to take her away from these people, but he’d been hired to do just that. A job was a job. He never let his personal feelings interfere with his assignments.
Quinn had one more card to play and if that didn’t sway Victoria, he’d be forced to take drastic actions. When Ernesto’s wife Dolores insisted that Victoria take a break and eat something, Quinn took the opportunity to follow her into the small, makeshift office that doubled as her bedroom.
“We have enough food for you, too, Señor McCoy,” Dolores told him as he entered the office.
“No, thanks. But a cup of coffee would be great.”
“I’ll be right back with your coffee,” she said in Spanish. “I hope you like it black. We have no cream or sugar.”
“Black is fine.”
He had learned the Spanish language gradually over the years, finding it useful in his line of work to know how to speak more than just English. He was fluent in Spanish and French, knew enough German and Italian to get by, and had gained a smattering of various other languages.
Victoria slumped down in the tattered swivel chair at her desk. She leaned her head back against the plaster wall behind her and closed her eyes momentarily. After breathing a deep, heaving sigh, she opened her eyes and stared directly at Quinn.
“Thanks for your help,” she said. “You make a pretty good medic. Dare I ask how you gained your knowledge?”
Quinn sat on the edge of her desk. “In my line of work a guy needs to know how to keep himself and his associates alive.”
Quinn took a long, hard look at Ryan Fortune’s daughter. Her tan pants and white shirt were filthy, stained with a combination of blood, mud and unidentifiable substances. Her short-cropped red hair was damp with perspiration. Her thick bangs clung to her forehead. Without a smidgen of makeup, she looked about eighteen instead of the twenty-five he knew her to be. The sprinkling of freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks added to the wholesomeness she projected.
Bone-weary, dirty and disheveled, Victoria Fortune shouldn’t have appealed to him, but she did. And for the life of him, he wasn’t sure why. She was cute, in a clean-cut tomboy sort of way, but definitely not his type. He wasn’t usually attracted to the cute type or the filthy rich. Victoria was both.
He’d had a few dalliances with the debutante sort, and had found most of those ladies a little cool for his liking. He preferred the more earthy types, the ones who knew how to give as well as take. Maybe that’s what appealed to him about Victoria. Despite her heiress status, she was obviously a giver and not a taker.
“What are you staring at?” When she frowned, her small, perfect nose crinkled slightly.
“At you, princess.”
Squaring her shoulders, she sat upright in the chair and glared disapprovingly at him. “I appreciate all you’ve done here today, but if you think hanging around helping out will change my mind about leaving Palmira—”
“Here’s your coffee.” Dolores entered the office, then handed Quinn a cracked mug filled with steaming black liquid. She glanced at Quinn and then at Victoria. “Stay in here and rest for a while, señorita. We have things under control for the time being.” She left the office and closed the door behind her.
“I’ve got something for you.” Quinn reached inside his shirt pocket, pulled out a letter and handed it to Victoria.
“What’s this?”
“A letter from your father.”
She made no move to open the envelope, just sat there for several minutes staring at it. “I’m not sure I want to read this. My father can be a very persuasive man.”
“Don’t you think you owe him that much? The man has already paid me a quarter of a million dollars to come after you. That tells me your safety is worth more to him than anything.”
“Of course, you’re right. I have to read it.” She ripped open the envelope, removed the one-page missive and unfolded the handwritten letter.
My dearest Victoria,
I know you do not want to leave Santo Bonisto, that you feel you will be abandoning the people of Palmira when they need you the most. But you must know that your life is in danger from the rebel forces. Being an American puts you at risk. Being my daughter is a death sentence.
I have hired a man, Quinn McCoy, whom my security chief, Sam Waterman, assures me is the best there is at what he does. Please, go with Mr. McCoy. Let him bring you safely home to me. To your family.
You may think we don’t need you, but we do. Now more than ever. Lily’s trial date has been set. I cannot believe that she was ever arrested for murder, not my sweet, gentle Lily. I try to hide my worry from her and from the family, but the situation doesn’t look good. The media is having a heyday with the situation saying horrible things about my lover murdering my wife. If these vultures had known your stepmother the way we did, they wouldn’t make her out to be the wronged wife.
Even Matthew and Claudia have put aside their differences in order to lend their united support. Your brother and sister-in-law have suffered greatly since their precious little Bryan was kidnapped and I pray that, despite everything, they can save their marriage. After all that your family has endured during these past months, don’t you think we have all suffered enough? I cannot bear the thought of losing you. Don’t add to my torment. Come home where you belong. Home where you are needed.
I love you,
Daddy
Her father knew all the right buttons to push. He knew her weaknesses. More than anything, she wanted to be needed, to help those who suffered as her mother Janine had suffered during her long, agonized bout with cancer. Victoria had been a child—only twelve—when her mother had died, but she had vowed then and there that she would dedicate her life to alleviating the suffering of others. She hadn’t been able to save her mother, but her mission in life was to save as many lives as possible.
Now her family was suffering—not physical pain, but a mental torment that seemed to be spreading like wildfire, affecting one person after another. The kidnapping of her nephew Bryan. The breakup of her brother Matthew’s marriage. The death of her wicked stepmother Sophia. The arrest of Lily, the woman her father loved.
Her father was right. Her family did need her. Her father needed her. She should go home!
But how could she leave Palmira? She had made a commitment to these people. They were counting on her. If she left with Quinn McCoy, there would be no medically trained person at the clinic. People would surely die without her.
But if I stay here, I could very well end up dead, she reminded herself.
Quinn watched the play of emotions on Victoria’s face and knew she was torn between doing what her father asked and fulfilling her duty to the people of Palmira. If she agreed to her father’s request, it sure as hell would make his job a lot easier. He didn’t like the idea of having to force the woman to go with him. But if kidnapping her was the only way to get the job done, then that’s what he’d do.
“Do you know what the letter says?” Victoria asked.
“No,” Quinn said. “Sam Waterman gave me the letter sealed. But I figure your father asked you to come home and told you that your family needed you right now.”
“He wants me to go along nicely with you, to put my life and the needs of my family first.” Victoria tossed the letter on the scarred, wobbly desk as she shoved back her chair. She stood, then began pacing back and forth in the 10’ x 10’ room.
“His request doesn’t sound unreasonable to me.” Quinn’s gut instinct told him that she was in the process of talking herself out of leaving Palmira, despite her father’s pleas. “You’ve got to know that by staying here, you’re signing your own death warrant.”
“Possibly,” she agreed. “But if I leave with you today, how many people will die because I’m not here to save them? Is my life worth the lives of countless others?”
Quinn released a loud huff, then rubbed his forehead as he chuckled. Damn stupid do-gooder! Out to save the world! The woman had a martyr complex! She was willing to die for the people of Palmira. Noble sentiments. But did she really have any idea what the rebel troops might do to her? Before and after they collected a sizable ransom from her father. And Ryan Fortune would pay whatever they asked. But he’d never see his daughter alive again.
“Your life is priceless to your father,” Quinn said.
“I wish I could do as my father asked, but…I can’t.”
“Is that it? You’ve made your decision? You’re definitely not leaving with me today.”
She nodded.
“What do I tell your father?”
“Tell him— No, don’t tell him anything.” Victoria sat, then opened a desk drawer and withdrew a pen and paper. “I’ll write a letter to him and you can deliver it when you return to Texas.”
“Your last will and testament?”
She cut her eyes in Quinn’s direction, the look one of pure disdain. “Haven’t you ever cared enough about anything or anyone to risk your life?”
“Nope, can’t say that I have.” He eased up off the desk. “I’ve risked my life more than once, but it wasn’t for any ideal or for anyone I cared about. It was always for money. That’s the only thing worth risking your life for.”
“Money is meaningless without integrity and self-respect and genuine—”
“Spoken like a woman born with a silver spoon in her mouth.” Quinn leaned over the desk, putting his face only inches from hers. “I grew up a poor, motherless kid in Houston. I just barely managed to stay on the right side of the law. I can relate to these Santo Bonisto peasants a lot better than you can, princess.”
Her gaze locked with his. She clenched her teeth tightly. Her cheeks flushed. Aha! His remarks had hit a nerve!
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Do you feel guilty that you and your family are so rich and these poor people don’t have a pot to piss in? Do you really think sacrificing your life is going to change one damn thing for them?”
“You’re heartless, aren’t you, Mr. McCoy?”
“Got that right!” He withdrew from her. “Somebody mentioned a cantina not far from here. I need a good stiff drink. I’ll be back in about an hour to pick up that letter you’re going to write to your father.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll have Ernesto bring the letter to you. I assume you’re going to Cantina Caesar. It’s the only one in town.”
Quinn opened the door, then paused to look back at her. “See you around, princess.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You never know.”

Segundo laid his meaty hand on the bar, placing his palm up as his mouth curved into a toothless smile. The massively built owner of the Cantina Caesar reminded Quinn of a Sumo wrestler.
“To arrange passage for two on the Evita, the only boat going down the Rio Blanco this evening, costs more than I anticipated.” Segundo sighed. “Now that the rebel troops are within striking distance of Palmira, any form of escape has doubled in price.”
“I understand.” Quinn retrieved the money from a pouch in his backpack, then counted it out on the bar. “Did you make the other arrangements?”
“Sí. That, too, will cost—”
“Twice as much.” Quinn added the extra cash atop the other bills on the bar. “When Julio told me that I could rely on your assistance, he forgot to mention how expensive your services are.”
“You know how it is, señor. A man such as myself must make a living as best he can.”
Quinn grunted. “Yeah, sure.” He knew Segundo’s type. He’d dealt with men like him many times in the past. They could be trusted—for the right price. “What’s the latest news on the rebel troops? Will I have enough time to put this plan into action and get out of Palmira before they take over?”
“Maybe,” Segundo replied truthfully. “My sources say it’s a matter of hours before Captain Esteban and his regiment arrive in our little town. The Nationalist soldiers have already retreated and are moving out of Palmira as we speak.”
“You’d better take down that flag.” Quinn nodded to the gold, red and green flag displayed over the bar.
“I’ll replace it with a rebel flag the minute their troops enter the town. By then, you and your friend should be headed downriver.”
“Let’s just hope your man is convincing enough to persuade Señorita Victoria to leave the clinic. There’s no way I can go there and get her, without having to kill a few of her protectors. And I’d rather not take that route.”
“Pablo will convince her,” Segundo assured Quinn. “By the time you arrive at the warehouse, he should be on his way there with the señorita.”
“I’m surprised you found someone in Palmira who would betray Victoria. Everyone seems totally devoted to her.”
“I convinced Pablo that by tricking the señorita, he will be saving her life. He does this not as a favor to me and not even for your money. He does it because he does not want to see the señorita raped and killed by the rebel soldiers.”
Quinn’s stomach knotted painfully at the image Segundo’s words created in his mind. From what he had found out about Captain Esteban’s regiment, Quinn didn’t doubt for a minute that they would rape Victoria, as they would any of the Palmira women they singled out to pleasure them. Only if and when the captain discovered Victoria’s true identity would he send her to General Xavier to use as a hostage. The rebel forces as a whole were no more brutal or immoral than the Nationalists, except for Esteban’s men, who were known for their inhuman treatment of captives. But General Xavier would no doubt use Victoria and any other Americans as examples of his hatred and disdain for the United States government. Even if Ryan Fortune paid the ransom money the general would undoubtedly request, Victoria would never leave Santo Bonisto alive.
Quinn knew he had to get her out of Palmira before nightfall—before Captain Esteban took over the town. He sure as hell hoped Segundo’s plan worked. If it didn’t, he’d have no choice but to storm the clinic and take Victoria, even if it meant disposing of her protectors.
Reaching into his shirt pocket, he removed the letter Ernesto had delivered more than two hours ago. Victoria’s letter to her father. The one explaining why she couldn’t abandon her duty, why she was willing to sacrifice her own life for the people of one little, godforsaken town whose residents were expendable to both the rebels and the Nationalists.
Rage ignited inside Quinn. He had known some stubborn females in his time, but Victoria Fortune took first prize. He tore the letter in two, then ripped it to shreds. He didn’t give a damn what she wanted, he wasn’t leaving this island without her. Whatever message she wanted to give her father, she could deliver in person. Just as soon as Quinn took her home to the Double Crown Ranch.

“Please, Pablo, calm down.” Victoria clasped the man’s trembling hands as he babbled incoherently. “I can’t understand what you’re saying.”
In the distance, artillery fire echoed through the jungle that surrounded the little town. With each passing hour, the sounds of war drew closer and closer. She knew that, before nightfall, the rebel troops would invade Palmira.
“My sister-in-law’s baby is trying to be born. Now. But something is wrong,” Pablo explained, his speech slower and plainer. “We tried to bring her into town, to the clinic, but we had to stop because her pain is so great. She has been in labor since early morning and my wife says the baby will not come. You must take the baby from her belly, señorita. It is the only way to save both mother and child.”
Victoria rubbed the back of her neck. She wished she could divide herself into a dozen nurses, all capable of doing a doctor’s job. She had lost seven patients since early morning and two more were at death’s door. But there was nothing she could do for either man. If she went with Pablo, perhaps she could save two lives by performing a Caesarean section. Although she had never performed a C-section back in the U.S., she had, because of her specialty in obstetrics, assisted on several occasions. Since arriving in Palmira, she had done one successful C-section, so she felt reasonably confident that she could help Pablo’s sister-in-law.
“I hate to leave the clinic.” Victoria turned to Dolores. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time until more wounded soldiers are brought in.”
“You go with Pablo and save the mother and her child,” Dolores said. “Ernesto and I can handle things here for a while. If you are needed, I will send for you.” She turned to Pablo and asked him where he had left his sister-in-law.
Pablo stuttered, obviously still quite nervous. “In the old…old warehouse at…at the end of town.”
Victoria hesitated, but when Pablo squeezed her hands and pleaded with her, she relented. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She pulled her hands from Pablo’s. “I need to get my medical bag.”
“Bless you, señorita. Bless you.” Pablo, tears streaming down his face, bowed several times. “You do not know how important this is to me. To save a life is a very good thing.”
Fifteen minutes later Pablo led Victoria into a ramshackle building on the outskirts of town. The interior was dark and dank. The aroma of whiskey permeated the air. The moment the door closed behind her, Victoria’s sense of self-preservation kicked in. Something wasn’t right about this.
“Where’s your sister-in-law, Pablo? Is she in a back room somewhere?”
“No, señorita, my sister-in-law is not here.”
Victoria turned to leave, but found Pablo blocking the doorway. Her heart raced maddeningly. Her stomach churned with fear. Dear God, she had walked straight into a trap. But the question was, whose trap?
She couldn’t believe Pablo had betrayed her. She had treated his mother’s arthritis, had vaccinated his children from disease, had treated his wife when she’d severely burned her hand, and had even set Pablo’s broken leg. She would have staked her life on Pablo’s loyalty. How could she have been so wrong about a person?
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. She 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.
After only a few sips the man stiffened, then went limp. Victoria checked his pulse. He was dead. She gently closed his eyes, then eased his head onto the deck.
“Do you need any help?” she called to Quinn.
He looked up from his examination of Chico’s wound. “Bring the whiskey with you,” was all he said.
“Is Franco dead?” Chico asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid he is,” Victoria told him as she handed Quinn the whiskey bottle.

Victoria leaned against the railing, letting the night breeze cool her face and body. A full moon illuminated the murky water beneath them and the dense jungle that surrounded them. Vine-covered trees lined the banks of the winding Rio Blanco. Cascades of greenery swayed gently, their silhouettes dark and foreboding.
A pair of screeching macaws, their long tails drooping behind them, flew from one bank to the other. An ant shrike cried out from the jungle.
“Time to go to our cabin.” Quinn slipped her hand into his. “We both need some sleep before the captain puts us ashore near Delicias early in the morning.”
“How early?” she asked.
“Probably around two-thirty or three,” he said. “We go from Delicias up Mt. Simona to El Prado, where my plane is waiting for us.”
“If all goes as planned, you should have me back in Texas by tomorrow night, shouldn’t you?” She fought the urge to jerk her hand free of his, but knew that if she hoped to escape, it was best to cooperate with her kidnapper.
“If all goes as planned.” He tugged on her hand. “Come on. After the day we’ve had, we could both use some rest.”
She allowed him to lead her down the stairs, below deck and straight to the smallest of the three tiny cabins. Inside the closet-size room, stacked bunks hugged one wall, leaving an open space of only a few feet on the other side.
“Sorry that there’s no facilities in the cabin for a bath,” Quinn said.
“I can take a bath when I get home to the Double Crown.”
“Your old man’s ranch is really something,” Quinn said. “It’s like a small kingdom.”

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