Page 28 of Duty Devoted
“Lauren.” Logan’s voice cut through the chaos in my head. “Talk to me.”
I looked up to find him studying my face with that intensity of his. “I keep thinking about what happened to Carlos. If I could’ve stopped it.”
“Don’t.” The word came out harder than I’d expected. “Don’t let Silva’s psychological manipulation work. That’s exactly what he wanted—for you to replay that moment until it destroys you.”
“Easy for you to say. You didn’t get someone killed today.”
Logan’s expression darkened. “Neither did you. Don’t forget what I said before.”
Before I could respond, Ty appeared in the doorway. “Doc Yang finished with the medication protocols. Martinez and Williams are ready to roll. Just waiting on the word.”
“Copy that.” Logan turned back to me. “Final preparations. If you want to double-check everything, now’s the time. We’re wheels up in seventy-three minutes.”
I moved toward the supply area, each step feeling like I was walking away from everything that mattered. Six months of building trust with these people, of becoming part of their community, reduced to a single bag and a helicopter ride.
The guilt sat in my chest like broken glass.
But Logan was right about one thing—staying would endanger everyone. As long as I remained in Corazón, I was a target that painted everyone around me.
I was organizing more antibiotics when the sound of running feet echoed outside.
“Everyone down. Now.” Logan’s voice carried sharp authority.
I dropped to the floor, heart hammering. Through the window, I could see a small figure racing toward the clinic—not a cartel vehicle, but something almost worse. A child in distress.
“Dr. Lauren! Dr. Lauren!” Elena Vasquez burst through the door, her face streaked with tears. The ten-year-old, the one who had suggested I marry Logan yesterday, was one of my regulars, always bringing her younger siblings for checkups—less because they needed it and more because she liked to practice her English with me.
I liked practicing it with her too. She was so smart. So witty. If she lived in the United States, she would be in advanced classes and no doubt would go on to college. Here? There was no telling.
Logan’s hand stayed near his weapon as he assessed the threat level, but he stepped aside when he realized it was just a frightened child.
“Elena, what’s wrong?” I dropped to her level, automatically switching to Spanish.
“It’s my aunt Lucia—the baby’s coming wrong. There’s blood everywhere, and Abuela says she’s dying. Please, doctora, you have to help her.”
Lucia Vasquez. Nineteen years old, first pregnancy. I’d seen her two weeks ago for what should have been a routine prenatal visit. Everything had looked normal.
“How long has she been in labor?”
“Since this morning. But the bleeding just started, and the baby won’t come out.” Elena’s small hands clutched my shirt. “Abuela sent me because you’re the only one who can save her.”
The words felt like a stab to my heart.You’re the only one who can save her.This was exactly why leaving felt like abandonment—these people had no alternatives, no backup plan when medical emergencies struck.
“Sixty-eight minutes to the helicopter departure,” Logan said quietly, but his tone carried unmistakable warning.
I stood slowly, medical training warring with the dangerous reality. Prolonged labor with bleeding could mean anything from simple positioning issues to life-threatening complications like placental abruption or uterine rupture.
I looked at Logan. “I have to go.”
“Absolutely not.” He moved between me and the door. “The risk?—”
“This is a nineteen-year-old girl hemorrhaging to death while I choose my own safety over my medical oath.” I reached for my obstetric kit. “I can’t live with that.”
“The van is scheduled to leave in just under an hour.”
“Take the others and leave without me. I’ll meet you at the landing spot.”
“On foot? There’s no way you’ll make it in time through unfamiliar jungle. It’s a five-minute van ride, but probably thirty minutes on foot.”
