Halfway through the next inning, as Angelique struck out her second batter, Shepherd’s walkie-talkie squawked. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the game was over. Shepherd pointed at her. “You and Able, scrub in.”
“Toss your gear over here, guys,” Acosta said. “Seth and I will hump it back up the hill before we head out.”
* * * *
There were two serious cases waiting for them when they arrived. One, a femoral compound fracture caused from a fall from a height; the other a woman who had been severely beaten. Shepherd and Able did their best to stabilize the leg while Angelique focused on treating the patient’s other injuries. In addition to the femoral fracture, the young man had a fractured cheekbone disrupting the orbit and causing the eye to sink.
“We’re gonna need medevac to Quito, Shep,” Angelique told the chief surgeon. “He’s gonna need screws and plates to fix this fracture, and neither of us are plastic surgeons. Hell, you’ve got me doing more surgery than I did on my surgical rotation.”
Shepherd acknowledged her with a grunt. “Let’s get him into recovery and treat the woman; then we’ll make arrangements.” He glanced over at Carla. “Get her prepped while I close, Able, and we’ll see what we can learn from her injuries.”
What they learned was how blunt force trauma, the result of severe domestic violence, can tear the spleen, producing a veritable lake of internal bleeding, as well as a miscarriage. The patient couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. Dr. Shepherd did an admirable job of repairing the damage; however, the woman’s condition remained critical.
Angelique tossed her gloves in the biohazard container and pushed through the door to the surgical waiting area. “Where is the husband of Amelita García?” she asked in Spanish.
An old woman frowned and spat on the dirt floor. “In la cantina, Doctor. Where he always is if one is available. My daughter?”
“In recovery. Dr. Shepherd will be out in a moment to talk to you.” A little boy hid behind the woman’s skirt, clutching a baseball bat. Angelique squatted down and smiled at the child. “May I see your bat, pequeño?” The boy held it out to her, and as she expected, there was blood on it.
Angelique’s mouth tightened as she shoved the door open and stalked toward the cantina. Beat a helpless woman with a bat, would he?
* * * *
Acosta looked up as Angelique stormed into the cantina wearing blood-spattered scrubs. The light of vengeance lit her eyes, and he hoped like hell it wasn’t him she was coming after with that damned baseball bat.
“Which of you is the husband of Amelita García?” Angelique shouted.
Acosta’s eyes widened with dismay. Oh shit, Angel, don’t do that.
A small, wiry man slid off a bar stool. “I am, Doctor. She will be all right?”
“That depends on what you mean by all right. She may live; she may not.” Angelique snarled as she swung the bat, hitting the man just below his rib cage, using just enough force to make an impression but not cause any real damage. Well, maybe a cracked rib. “You like beating women, amigo?” She took another swing at him, the bat connecting with his thigh. The man crumpled to the dirt floor. “She was pregnant, you asshole! Did you know and beat her anyway? Is that why you did it?”
Acosta leaped to his feet and crossed the room in an instant. He had to stop her before she killed the bastard, even if the scumbag deserved what she was giving him. Benito García was connected. His death would demand retribution. He reached out and caught the bat in midswing.
“Steady now, babe. You don’t wanna kill him, just show him the error of his ways.”
Teeth bared, she gave him a ferocious look as he pried the bat from her grip. She looked down at the man.
“Your lucky day, amigo. Next time you hurt a woman, I’ll take your fucking head off.”
The man struggled to his feet, gesturing to her. “Next time I see you, puta, you will pay for what you have done, eh?” He grabbed his crotch, thrusting his hips at her.
Mitch gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching. “Oh now, that was just rude.” He thrust the bat at Angelique. “Hold this, Angel.”
He swung at the man, his big fist connecting with the smaller man’s face. There was a crunching sound, and blood spurted from the smaller man’s nose as he fell to the floor once more. Mitch reached down and hauled him to his feet by the front of his bloody shirt, speaking in low, deadly Spanish.
“Anything happens to my woman, amigo, I come looking for you first, and when I find you, what happened here today will seem like a school-yard fight.” He released the man, giving him a little shove.
Mitch turned, took Angelique by her upper arm, and practically dragged her to her quarters. When the flimsy door slammed behind them, he released her.
“Do you have any idea who that was?” He forked his fingers through his hair in a gesture of frustration.
“I don’t give a damn who he was,” she shouted. “He’s a fucking savage, Mitch.”
He took a deep breath to calm himself down. “Just relax, honey. She’s safe now, right? Everything’s gonna be okay.”
“Like hell everything’s going to be okay.” She jerked her bloody scrub shirt over her head, wadded it up, and threw it at him. “Nothing’s ever going to be all right. Men like that, they’re all alike. Doesn’t matter where they come from or the color of their skin. They’re fucking savages. It’s like it’s the law of the land no matter where you go. Is your neighbor’s land better than yours? Well, just kill him and take his land. Any excuse will do—the color of his skin, his religion. Kosovo, Somalia, Rwanda, Darfur. Hell, we even did it in the United States with the Indians.” Her hand shook as she flung out her arm and pointed in the direction of the cantina. “He nearly killed his wife! The blood on my shirt? That’s hers. I was up to my elbows in it, helping Shepherd repair her spleen! She lost her child, for Christ’s sake!”
His nostrils flared as he took in the sight of her full breasts pushing at the restraint of a silky green bra. She was going to be the death of him, standing there, her blue eyes flashing with pain and fury, those marvelous breasts heaving with the passion of her anger. He’d give anything to make it better, to wipe out the memories of the atrocities she’d witnessed. Shit, he’d happily go and end Benito García right now if it wouldn’t bring the whole of FARC down on the hospital. Well, there was one thing he could give her. A physical release for the anger she wrapped around her like a shield.
“Strip.” It wasn’t a request, and the set of her lips told him she knew it. He yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
“Go to hell.”
She bared her teeth at him the way she did when she was pissed, but her nipples had hardened with his rough command.
“Do it, Doc, or I’ll rip them to shreds.”
“Damn it, Mitch, don’t you da—”
She all but snarled at him when he spun her around and shoved her against her makeshift dressing table. “We keep having this same conversation over and over again. I’m going to dare—that and a lot more, as you know. Might as well get that through that pretty little head, honey, because it’s not gonna change.” He untied the drawstring and yanked her scrubs down, panties and all. With a flick of his fingers, he dropped his shorts and kicked them aside. It was practically an instant replay of the night she’d punched him at the cantina, and she was still fighting the inevitable. He supposed that was what made her a good doctor…the refusal to give up the fight.
His eyes met hers in the mirror. “I’m gonna fuck you, good and hard. I ought to bust your ass for what you did to García, but I’ll give you a pass on that, this time.” He watched her eyes follow the track of his hand as he moved it between her legs. She licked her lips, and he thrust a finger into her. He sucked in a breath, then settled his lips at the pulse on her neck. “That’s some, juicy pussy, honey. Hand me one of those condoms.” He pumped her a few times, then covered himself with a condom. “You want my cock in there? You wanna fuck so
me of that pissed off away?”
Her lips were parted, her breath coming hard and shallow in anticipation of his first thrust. “Yes. Yes, fuck me, Acosta. Fuck me hard.”
The words were uttered in a sultry growl. Jesus, he’d be lucky to last thirty seconds with the way she was talking to him.
He filled her in a single thrust, burying himself to the hilt as she hissed at him. He grabbed her hips and held her in place, working her hard as she gripped the edge of her dressing table, ignoring the tinkling sounds of perfume bottles toppling over.
Jesus, her pussy was hot and tight, gripping him like a vise. She was watching him. Was there anything hotter than a woman watching as her man fucked her? Most women closed their eyes when they were being fucked, but not Angelique. He reached around and pinched her clit between his thumb and forefinger. She gasped, uttering a sound of unmitigated approval.
“That’s right, pretty girl, come for me.” He worked faster, slamming into her as he tweaked her clit. “Come on, give it up.”
He nipped the spot on the curve of her neck that always drove her wild, and she stiffened beneath him, howling her release. He followed moments later, slamming into her one last time as her pussy contracted around him again. She straightened, sagging against him. “Just the first one, little girl,” he warned her. “I’m gonna fuck you all night long.”
She turned in his arms and shoved him against the bed. “I thought you and Seth were heading out.”
“‘Was’ being the operative word,” he said. “In my line of work, I’m pretty much free to set my own schedule.” He sat down on the bed and opened his legs. “I’ll head out in the morning. Now, how about you put that pretty mouth to good use.”
* * * *
“So who was he?” Angelique asked hours later. Her head rested on Mitch’s chest as she lay nestled between his thighs. “Amelita’s man?”
“Benito García, guerilla fighter for Alejandro Medina.” He stroked her hair, lifting it away from her neck. “Pretty as a field of ripe wheat.” He continued to pet her, caressing her back, occasionally kneading a tense spot between her shoulders, loving the softness of her skin. “Vicious little bastard. Gets off on rape. His specialty is providing fresh women for the fighters hiding in the remote villages of Colombia. It’s not a good thing he’s here, Angel, or that you got his attention. He’ll probably leave and find himself another woman and we won’t see him again.”
“Story of my life. Wherever there are human rights violations, I’m up to my ass in the Benito Garcías of the world.” Angelique sighed. “I know it was foolish. She’d just been beaten so badly, Mitch, and there was so much blood. I’ve seen so many abused women. The easiest way to demoralize a society is to prey on its woman. God, I’m so sick of it.” She rested her chin on his sternum and looked up at him. “Then she had the miscarriage in the middle of surgery. I guess I just snapped.”
“Probably a blessing she did lose the child,” he said softly. “In fact, you probably didn’t do her any favor saving her life. She’ll have to go back with him now, and he’ll blame her for the beating he took.”
Angelique gaped at him. “How could he possibly blame her for that?” She shook her head. “Never mind. Stupid question.” She sighed as his strong fingers massaged her tense muscles.
“A man like that, he’s not rational, comprende? It’s always the woman’s fault he beats her. I don’t need to tell you this; you saw plenty when you worked in Darfur, and at Charity, I’d bet.”
“Yes, I did, and I’m not going to sit by and watch it happen again.” She pushed herself to her knees. “I have to get her out of here. I can’t let him take her back to Colombia.” She scrambled off the bed, searching for her clothes, found the bloody scrubs, and tossed them aside with a curse.
“How are you going do that?” He rolled to his side, watching as she pulled on a pair of lacy white panties and matching bra, an appreciative smile on his face. “You’ve got the prettiest underwear I ever did see. Come back to bed and let me take those off you.”
She snorted, tucking a T-shirt into a pair of scrub pants. “Hold that thought. I’m going to do my rounds and call Emilio. Maybe he can arrange something.”
“Like what? Are you going tell that man his wife died in your care and smuggle her out of the country?” When her eyes lit up, he knew he’d just given her the solution she was looking for.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do…if I can manage it.”
Acosta came up off the bed with an exaggerated sigh. “All right, you go do your rounds. I’ll call Emilio. If you’re dead set on doing this, you’re gonna need help.” He tugged on his shorts, then stepped up behind her, wrapping her in his arms. “Besides, I like the idea of you owing me one.” He released her, swatting her backside. “Go check on your girl. Make sure this is what she wants before you commit to it.”
“My hero.” She laughed as she opened the door and peeked outside. The compound was deserted.
“Damn right.” He swatted her ass again, laughing when she squealed. “God, I do love a sassy woman. Go on now. I’ll meet you back here.”
* * * *
Mitch hung up the phone and went in search of Angelique. She was in the intensive care unit, a chair drawn up next to a young woman connected to all manner of tubes and wires. Christ! The girl was so young and was in sorry shape. No wonder Angelique wanted to spirit her out of the camp and away from Benito García.
His heart melted as he observed Angelique holding the girl’s hand, stroking her hair as she talked softly to her. Drowsy eyes looked at her, an occasional nod showing she understood what Angelique was saying.
Angelique stood, brushing a wisp of hair from the girl’s forehead, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to the spot. “It will be all right,” she murmured. She moved to the foot of the bed and pulled the chart from the rack, reading the most recent nursing notes.
When she saw him, she went to stand beside him. “What did Emilio say?”
“He’ll do it. Says the minute we send word, he’ll get someone to work on providing the girl a new identity. He and Marina will stay in Rio and take her back to New Orleans with them.”
“I’ll talk to Shep in the morning.”
* * * *
“Damn it, Angelique, I can’t do that.” Shepherd stared across the Ping-Pong table at her, paddle hovering in the air, a shocked look on his face. “You’re asking me to falsify medical records.”
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm.
“Yes, I am. Garret, that girl has nowhere to turn, no one to protect her. Her family has turned their back on her because she was raped. García will come back for her, and he’ll probably kill her.”
Shep gave her a scornful look. “Which is likely a direct result of your assault on him.”
“Possibly.” She shrugged. “But we both know that will just be the excuse he uses. If he hadn’t been near the hospital, she’d have died; you know that. Are you going to condemn her to a life in the guerilla camps? She’s sixteen years old, Garret. My friends are offering her a chance at a real life.”
He dropped his paddle on the table and folded his arms over his chest, looking away. “Is she stable yet?”
“She’s getting there. I just checked on her, and she was able to speak with me.”
“Able and I are going to Guayaquil tomorrow on a supply run. We’ll be back day after tomorrow, so I won’t be here to determine if she’s even well enough to be moved. You’ll have to hold down the fort. Fontaine will be filling in for surgical emergencies while I’m gone.”
She had to force herself not to smile. He’d given her the window she needed to get the girl out of here. Evidently, Able had made her move, bless her little pixie heart. Angelique had spoken to her nurse friend, explaining what she wanted to do, and the woman had acted to remove the intractable Dr. Shepherd from the equation. And assured herself a rollicking good roll in the hay to boot.
“All right, Shep. I understand. I
shouldn’t have asked you to compromise your ethics.”
“No, you shouldn’t have, but I admire your dedication to the welfare of your patients, Angelique. Just remember, you can do things here you’d lose your license for in the States. Don’t get too used to blurring the boundaries between ethical medical behavior and emotion. And for God’s sake, get your boyfriend to make sure that man is long gone. I don’t want to come back and find out any of my staff has been hurt because of him.”
Angelique nodded. “I’ll do that, and thank you, Garret.”
García hadn’t hung around to see if Amelita lived or died, and after Garret Shepherd’s departure, Mitch called Emilio to arrange for transport on Emilio’s helicopter. The girl was stable enough to fly out in a medevac chopper, and after some discussion, they decided to tell anyone who asked that Amelita’s injuries required treatment the tiny camp hospital was unable to provide, and transport had been arranged to move her to a hospital in Rio. Amelita García would cease to exist. Emilio would bribe the local medical examiner to provide a death certificate and paperwork would show the girl had been buried in a pauper’s grave. No marker would show where she’d been interred. Once she was able to travel, Emilio and Marina would return to the States with their charge and help her begin a new life.
Angelique had formed an attachment to the tiny Ecuadorian beauty, and tears filled her eyes as she kissed the girl’s pale cheek. “Rest and get well, chica,” she whispered. “You are in good hands. I’ll see you the next time I’m in New Orleans.”
“Thank you, señorita. For your kindness. I will never forget you.”
“Nor I you.” Angelique stepped away so the stretcher could be loaded into the chopper.
She stood beside Mitch and Seth, watching as the rotor began to spin. Mitch held one hand aloft and signaled to the pilot that it was safe to take off, pointing at the sky as he twirled his index finger. The pilot gave a little salute, and the rotor sped up as the engine revved. The big red copter lifted off, the rotor wash stirring up dust and whipping Angelique’s hair around her face. They stood there and watched until it disappeared into the horizon line.
Beyond Redemption Page 7