Page 18 of Duty Devoted
“I should check on things,” Ty said eventually. “Make sure Jace hasn’t hacked into any government satellites for fun.”
He headed for the ladder, then paused. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing good. The job, the mission…all of it.”
Before I could respond, he was gone, leaving me alone with the sunrise and the weight of unspoken words. Below, the clinic began stirring to life. The generator coughed to a start, doors opened, voices called morning greetings.
Lauren emerged from the building carrying her own cup of coffee, hair still mussed from sleep. She moved to a bench in the small garden area, facing the jungle, and just sat. No phone, no book, just her and the morning and whatever thoughts occupied that brilliant mind.
I wanted to climb down and join her. Wanted to sit on that bench and share the peaceful morning, maybe apologize for calling her naive. Tell her I understood why this place meant everything to her.
But that wasn’t why I was here. I wasn’t here to make friends or share coffee or wonder what it would be like to be the kind of man who could fit into her world of healing and hope. I was here to extract her safely, whether she appreciated it or not.
Still, I watched her for longer than I should have, memorizing the relaxed set of her shoulders, the way the early light caught in her hair. In a week or so, she’d be back in Chicago, safe in her parents’ penthouse, and this would all be a memory.
The thought shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did.
Lauren lifted her cup to her lips, and I forced myself to look away, scanning the perimeter like I should have been doing all along. No threats visible, no unusual movement in the village. Just another quiet morning in a place that wouldn’t stay quiet much longer.
I had a job to do. Everything else—the what-ifs and the might-have-beens—was just noise.
Even if that noise was starting to sound a lot like regret.
Chapter 6
Lauren
The predawn aircarried 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?—”
