Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
E l Centro Médico , read the sign above the glass-fronted brick building.
Finally.
Ghost pulled over and surveyed it. As the girl had said, it was dark. Hiding the rifle under the seat, he got out of the car and banged on the door.
No answer.
He craned his neck to look up at the apartment above. No lights were on. He turned back to the front door. There was no emergency after-hours number listed, but a side panel with buzzers—presumably for the apartments upstairs—caught his eye.
He rang them all. Eventually, a groggy female voice answered.
“Doctor?” Ghost asked. “It’s an emergency.”
“Number 3,” the voice said, then hung up.
Ghost pressed the button for number 3 and kept his finger on the buzzer until someone answered.
“Sí?” came an annoyed voice.
Ghost repeated his request for a doctor and added that he’d pay in dollars.
There was a pause, then the voice said, “I’m coming.”
The clinic lights flickered on, and a few moments later, a disheveled, middle-aged man wearing pajamas pulled back the blind. He studied Ghost, then pursed his lips as if debating whether to let him in or not. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of man he was.
Ghost shifted his hand toward the Glock behind his back, ready to use it if necessary. Luckily, it wasn’t. The doctor unlocked the door.
“You’re hurt?” His eyes fixed on Ghost’s knife wound.
“Not me.” Ghost pointed to the car. “Her.”
The doctor’s eyebrows raised, and he waited as Ghost extracted Becca from the back seat and carried her into the clinic.
“Come.”
The doctor led them through a door behind the reception desk into a small consulting room that smelled faintly of antiseptic. He switched on a fluorescent overhead light and pulled back a plastic curtain. Behind it was a metal bed with a pillow and a strip of paper toweling over it.
“Put her there.”
Ghost gently lowered Becca onto the bed. She groaned but didn’t wake up.
The doctor’s eyes widened as he took in the bruises on her face and arms, the cracked lip, the swelling on her temple. “What happened?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “Someone beat her up,” Ghost replied.
“You from the hacienda?” The doctor bent down to examine Becca’s head wound.
When Ghost didn’t answer immediately, the doctor glanced up. “I don’t want any trouble.”
Ghost spread his hands. “I’m not here to cause trouble. Can you help her?”
The doctor went back to inspecting Becca, gently feeling along her shoulder blade. She winced, and he nodded. “She’s got a concussion and a broken collarbone, but aside from that, I think she’ll be okay. The bruises on her face will heal.”
Ghost exhaled.
Thank God.
“So, she’s going to be okay?”
“I think so. She needs a head scan, but I’ll do what I can for now.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
Ghost watched as the doctor cleaned and treated Becca’s head wound, then moved on to her split lip, gently wiping away the blood and disinfecting the cut. “I need to reset her collarbone. It’s best to do it now while she’s still unconscious.”
Ghost nodded. “Do what you have to.”
The doctor took Becca’s arm and gently pulled it outward, rotating it externally. There was a loud pop as the bone relocated back into place.
Becca murmured but didn’t wake.
“You sure she’s going to be okay?” Ghost asked, worried. That was a painful procedure, yet she barely reacted.
“As sure as I can be without a brain scan,” the doctor replied. “You need to get her to a hospital as soon as she can be moved. The nearest one is twelve miles from here, east of the city.”
Ghost nodded. Whatever it took to make sure she was okay. In the background, sirens screamed down the road toward the hacienda.
The doctor looked up. “Are those for you?”
“Not us. We just worked there. They’re after the bad guys.”
The doctor gave him a curt nod and continued his work.
After tending to Becca, he cleaned and stitched Ghost’s knife wound. “You get this saving her?”
Ghost nodded. “You should see the other guy.”
The doctor chuckled. It was the first time he’d relaxed since they walked in.
“Thanks for patching us up,” Ghost said as the doctor finished tying a bandage around his upper arm. He handed him a wad of U.S. dollars. “Will a hundred cover it?”
The doctor nodded and pocketed the money. “You can’t move her yet. She needs rest.”
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Ghost said, not wanting to go into too much detail. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the doctor, but he knew that if push came to shove, the man would do what was necessary to protect himself and his family.
“You can go, but she has to stay,” the doctor insisted.
Ghost could have easily taken Becca and walked out, but he knew the doctor was right. Rest was the best thing for her.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” He needed to ditch the SUV before the authorities traced it here or someone spotted it outside the clinic.
The doctor nodded. “Sí, go ahead. She’ll be fine. I will check on her.”
Ghost shook his hand. “Thanks. Turn off the lights in reception so no one knows you’re here.” He didn’t mention that people would be looking for him.
“Okay.”
The doctor walked him to the door and let him out into the dark street. A moment later, he saw the clinic lights go out and heard the bolt slide into place behind the door.
He heaved a sigh of relief. Becca was safe, for now.
Ghost drove the SUV around the corner, out of sight from the main road. It was the same road that led to the hacienda, hence the sudden rush of police vehicles. He made it just in time before two more police cars sped past, lights flashing.
They’d be disappointed. There was nothing left to find except a bunch of hired thugs. Most of them would probably scatter the moment they heard the sirens. He doubted the guards at the gate would even try to stop the police.
Without Markov there to give orders, they’d melt into the jungle or slip down to the beach. No one wanted to get arrested—not for a boss who didn’t even know their names.
He continued driving until the road steepened and turned into a dirt track. Pulling over under some trees, he rummaged in the glove box and found what he was looking for—a map.
Bingo. Thanks, Carlos.
He switched on the overhead light and studied it.
As expected, there was a small body of water a couple of miles ahead. One thing you could always find in a tropical country was a lake.
He shifted the SUV into four-wheel drive and veered off the dirt road onto a barely visible trail. After ten minutes of bumping uphill, the trail ended, and he found himself facing the dark, glassy surface of a lake.
He grabbed the map, the rifle, and a spare cartridge from the glove compartment, then drove the SUV as close to the water’s edge as he dared. The lake looked deep and uninviting—the perfect burial site for the SUV.
Leaving the car in neutral, he released the brake and pushed it into the water. It gained momentum thanks to the slight slope, and soon it was gone. A few loud glugs and the black vehicle disappeared into the depths.
Good luck finding that one.
Ghost turned and began hiking back to the main road. The night air was cool against his skin, although technically, it was almost morning. The sky was starting to glow faintly in the east, signaling daybreak was about an hour away.
He picked up the pace, settling into a gentle jog. It reminded him of rucking through Afghanistan or Iran during ops, hours spent moving out of enemy territory. This wasn’t much different—he had to make it back to the clinic before the sun fully rose.
By the time he reached the village, dawn had broken. The streets were light enough that anyone passing by would notice him, but so far, the village seemed still asleep. Thankfully, the locals weren’t early risers.
He rang the buzzer, and the doctor’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Coming.”
A few moments later, Ghost stood in the clinic reception while the doctor eyed the rifle warily.
"It's just for protection." He ejected the magazine and checked the chamber before setting the gun down, well out of reach.
He must’ve looked like hell. The shirt he'd thrown on a few hours ago was now covered in dust, dried sweat, and blood seeping through his bandage. The doctor, now dressed and no longer in pajamas, gave him a quick once-over.
“How is she?” Ghost asked.
“Sleeping,” the doctor replied with a nod, as if confirming it was the right thing. Ghost agreed.
“Good.”
An awkward pause followed.
“Mind if I use your bathroom to freshen up?”
“Sí.” He pointed down a sterile corridor. “There’s one for the patients. You can use that.” His eyes lingered on Ghost’s dirty, blood-stained shirt. “I’ll find you some clean clothes. They might be a little small, but I’ll see what I have.”
“Appreciate it.”
In the small bathroom, Ghost scrubbed every inch of his body, even washing his hair. The tiny space didn’t allow much room, but it felt good to get clean. Water pooled on the floor, so he used paper towels to dry himself and tidied the bathroom until it was spotless.
God, it felt good to be clean.
His body ached from exhaustion, and his bicep was sore around the wound. The doc had slathered it with antibiotic ointment, so he hoped it would heal without further trouble.
When he emerged, he saw a pile of clothes on one of the waiting room chairs. The doctor, a tall man—probably about five-ten or five-eleven—was much slimmer than Ghost. The sweatpants fit, but were tight across his thighs, and the T-shirt clung to his chest and biceps, pressing against his wound. Ghost ripped the sleeve at the back to loosen it. That was better. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.
He checked on Becca. She lay motionless on the steel table, a blanket draped over her. She seemed to be resting peacefully.
Ghost gently touched her pale face. “You’re okay now,” he whispered.
A wave of exhaustion swept over him, and he glanced around for somewhere to sit. The doc had a comfortable-looking leather chair tucked under his desk. He pulled it out, stretched his legs, and sat down. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, his body was ready to shut down. As the village began to stir, Ghost drifted off into a deep sleep.