* * *
Fury pumped through Diego’s veins. He slammed his phone against the stucco wall outside the small hospital, not caring when the handset shattered.
If Noche Blanca were going to act like cavemen they could resort to smoke signals if they wanted his help.
But as quickly as the urge to tell them where to stick their call for help launched his blood pressure through the stratosphere, it crashed back down to earth.
A patient was a patient. Even if that patient was a class-A idiot. And this particular idiot was the son of Noche Blanca’s take-no-prisoners head honcho Axl Cruz. If he died there was no telling the extremes Axl would take to exact revenge.
Diego picked up the pieces of his phone and shoved them into his pocket, shaking his head in utter disbelief. It was the third burner he’d obliterated in a week. Just yesterday, as he’d been stitching up one of Axl’s pandilleros who’d lacerated his arm after putting his meaty fist through a window, he’d thought he’d made it crystal clear. The help would continue so long as they left the sanctuary alone.
Transition periods took time. And, sure, it depleted everyone’s pocket money—which he knew was rich, coming from him—but the ultimate reward was peace. A steady economy for all the islanders. That was priceless. And it was why he’d instructed his family’s company to gift the land to the sanctuary.
He swore as he strode into the hospital, not caring who heard.
“Amigo! Hold up.”
He whirled round as the small hospital’s head surgeon caught up to him.
“Que paso? I didn’t think you were on tonight.”
The thunderous expression on Diego’s face told Dr. Antonio Aguillera all he needed to know.
He raised his hands and backed off. “I’ll call in back-up.”
“I’ve got it,” Diego growled, grabbing a fresh pair of scrubs and a pair of surgical scrubs from a porter passing with a supplies trolley. “I’ll bring them back to the clinic.”
They both knew what that meant. These patients weren’t on the right side of the law. The hospital was stretched to the limit as it was, and Diego knew more than most what happened when blood was shed and Noche Blanca were involved.
“Just a bit short on supplies.” He’d ordered some in from the States, but, as often happened in developing countries, things went missing.
“Okay, brother. Good luck.”
Anton disappeared into a nearby supplies cupboard and moments later handed Diego a jute coffee sack he knew would be stuffed full of supplies. Supplies that the hospital’s administration would never officially hand over to him, despite the number of lives he’d saved that hadn’t been linked to Noche Blanca.
Diego gave his colleague a slap on the back. One that communicated all the things he couldn’t say.
No one will ever be able to replace my brother, but thank you for treating me like one. We both know luck counts for nothing when dealing with Noche Blanca.
“See you in the morning.”
With any luck.
“Dr. Vasquez! Momentito, por favor!”
Irritation crackled through him. He didn’t need to wriggle out of another administrative hoop. He wasn’t on shift tonight.
He turned around.
Maria del Mar.
The woman was half siren, half business mogul. It was a shame she’d picked healthcare as her means of expressing the two sides of her personality.
Running the hospital was akin to a hot night in the sack for her. The life and death decisions... The status... The ability to play God... Or goddess, in her case.
The only reason he worked at the hospital was because he’d vowed not to hold the rest of the islanders accountable for one woman’s idiot decision.
Sure. It sent a message to Noche Blanca. You wield guns? Your problem.
The only thing was, when it was your kid brother lines got blurred.
“No time, Maria.” He tapped the face of his non-existent watch.
It was a ten-minute boat run to the turtle sanctuary. He’d thought with Professor MacLeay’s plans to turn the turtle eggs into a legitimate commodity Noche Blanca might back off. That Axl would move on to another island, just as he had moved to theirs some fifteen years ago.
Maria wobbled toward him on her ridiculous high heels. Why the woman was even at the clinic after-hours was beyond him.
He snorted.
She has no life. Just like you.
No. That was exactly the point. He did have a life. Unlike his brother, who’d died just a few miles away from this very hospital.
Nico hadn’t been a criminal. Wayward? Absolutely. But his heart had been pure gold. When some bandilleros from a neighboring island had tried to move in on El Valderon Nico had thrown himself between a bullet and the eldest son of Axl Cruz. On nights when he let himself think about it, Diego guessed his brother had thought Better the devil they knew...
In Maria’s eyes the life-saving gesture had painted Diego’s kid brother with the Noche Blanca brush, and Nico had bled out a handful of miles away as an ambulance idled in the hospital’s parking lot.
Would going there have been scary? Sure. But that was what bullet proof vests and the police were for. And most of Noche Blanca weren’t true criminals. They were weak men, intimidated and bullied into a life of crime by someone who promised them untold riches. Riches he had no right to promise them.
The only good thing about Axl Cruz was that he liked a clean shop. Not one other gang had ever gained a foothold on their small island nation.
Better the devil they knew...
“Diego Vasquez! Where are you off to with a bag of El Valderon coffee beans?”
She knew as well as he did that the sack he was holding wasn’t full of premium roast.
He slung it over his shoulder and pasted on his version of a good-boy smile. “Off to help a citizen of this fair isle, Maria. Where else?”
He never saw the point in lying.
“That citizen had better not be inked up and wearing knuckle dusters.”
He gave a careless shrug. “Won’t know till I get there.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who made the call?”
“A concerned citizen.”
He knew the drill now. Keep it vague, then she couldn’t say no. Theirs was an unwritten agreement, but to all intents and purposes it was written in stone. So long as he could use hospital supplies to treat patients on-scene he’d continue to work at the poorly staffed hospital. The second she turned off the supply room tap it would be Hasta luego, mamacita.
“Meet up after for a drink? Maybe we can talk about putting you on the roster for a few more shifts?”
He laughed. He had to hand it to her. If she wanted something she went for it. Her husband must have one helluva spine. Diego was civil to her. Polite, even. But there wasn’t a chance on God’s green earth that he would be her friend.
“I’ve got to go, Maria.” He swung the bag back round. “Duty calls.”
He pulled the keys to his motorboat from his pocket and set off at a jog. He wasn’t going to let Maria stand in the way of yet another life being lost.
Not