Page 70 of Rebel Protector

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.”