Читать книгу In the Arms of a Hero - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 13

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.”