Книга - Aftershock

Aftershock
Jill Sorenson


THERE’S A FINE LINE As an emergency paramedic, Lauren Boyer is dedicated and highly capable. Until an earthquake strikes, trapping her beneath the freeway with a group of strangers—including Iraq war veteran Garrett Wright…BETWEEN PERIL AND PASSION Handsome and take-charge, Garrett aids Lauren in her rescue efforts, even as the steely look in his eyes seems to hide dark secrets. When a gang of escaped convicts goes on the attack, Garrett's bravery makes him more than a courageous bystander to Lauren.If they can save the others before time runs out, maybe, just maybe, they can explore the fire igniting between them. If the truth about who he really is doesn't pull them apart forever…."(A) high tension romantic thriller…culminating in a page-turning climax." – Publishers Weekly on Crash Into Me







THERE’S A FINE LINE

As an emergency paramedic, Lauren Boyer is dedicated and highly capable. Until an earthquake strikes, trapping her beneath the freeway with a group of strangers—including Iraq war veteran Garrett Wright…

BETWEEN PERIL AND PASSION

Handsome and take-charge Garrett aids Lauren in her rescue efforts, even as the steely look in his eyes seems to hide dark secrets. When a gang of escaped convicts goes on the attack, Garrett’s bravery makes him more than a courageous bystander to Lauren. If they can save the others before time runs out, maybe, just maybe, they can explore the fire igniting between them—if the truth about who he really is doesn’t pull them apart forever….


Selected Praise for






“Carnal scenes that wouldn’t be out of place in Penthouse Forum litter the pages. Sorenson makes her characters realistic, flawed, and appealing. Deftly handled violent action and red herrings rush this thriller to a believable ending.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Edge of Night

“Taut with emotion, suspense and danger. Sorenson expertly weaves the two stories into a heart-wrenching conclusion.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Edge of Night

“One of the best books of the year…nonstop, heart-pounding excitement.”

—RT Book Reviews on Stranded with Her Ex, Top Pick! 4.5 stars

“(A) high-tension romantic thriller...culminating in a page-turning climax. Despite the mystery, the real tension comes from the emotional relationships, full of explosive sex and terrible secrets.”

—Publishers Weekly on Crash into Me

“It was definitely hot. Sooo hot. Jill Sorenson is my new favorite romantic-suspense author!”

—USA TODAY bestselling author Victoria Dahl on Crash into Me


Aftershock

Jill Sorenson




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Many wonderful people helped to make this book possible.

I’d like to thank Stacy Boyd, my editor. Your insights are amazing and you give great advice. Working with you has been a dream come true.

Special thanks to Shana Smith, assistant editor, for tweeting that you wanted to read an earthquake story. I thought, “I could do that!”

Thanks to Laurie McLean, my agent, for always believing in me.

Heartfelt thanks to Andria Dreyer, paramedic, for patiently answering my research questions. It was great to speak with a smart, experienced professional.

Thanks to Jessica Scott, fellow romance author and Iraq war veteran, for your extraordinary service and military expertise. Any mistakes I made are my own.

Thanks to my readers. I couldn’t do this (and wouldn’t want to) without you. Thanks to reviewers and bloggers for talking about my books. I really appreciate it.

Last but not least, thanks to my mom—my favorite nurse.


Contents

Chapter One (#ufed87d2b-d7c4-5663-90db-39aa43a4fc7d)

Chapter Two (#ud801760a-e0c6-5830-8cd2-a7ba0495ce59)

Chapter Three (#u9e408e51-dc74-5bc8-b042-fd1decb71b47)

Chapter Four (#ud0727944-6bb5-59dd-b00d-cfb5c292635b)

Chapter Five (#u2bca49d5-66cb-5862-9a0e-e5c580b0d806)

Chapter Six (#u1ba80f45-0391-5145-9a05-026f43c7c8f9)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

LAUREN BOYER CLIMBED into the passenger seat of the ambulance, nodding hello to the EMT behind the wheel.

Joe arched a brow. “I thought Alanis was working.”

“We switched a couple of shifts,” she said, stashing her purse and extra uniform. “I didn’t feel like staying home.”

“You should’ve gone to Vegas.”

“Why would I do that?”

He fiddled with the switches on the console, avoiding her gaze. “With your girlfriends. You know. For fun.”

“The bachelorette party got canceled, Joe. Just like the wedding.”

That shut him up.

She didn’t want to talk—or think—about her broken engagement, which was why she’d offered to cover for Alanis. Michael had called it off six months ago, before the invitations were sent but after the announcement had been made. Although she hadn’t discussed most of the details with Joe, he knew they’d set the date for this weekend.

“We’ve got chest pain in North Park,” he said, pulling out of the parking lot and heading toward the freeway on-ramp. Lauren glanced at the digital clock on the console. It was 8:01 a.m. The April sky was already so blue and bright it hurt her eyes.

Joe’s lucky dash-ornament, a hula girl with a grass skirt, swayed her hips gently as they drove over a bump.

North Park was one of San Diego’s rougher neighborhoods. Their ambulance station responded to emergencies there on a regular basis. Michael had encouraged her to transfer to a quieter location, away from the heart of the city. Lauren had refused. She loved the energy and diversity of the downtown area.

Joe gave her a sideways glance. “It’s his loss, you know.”

She forced a smile, touched by his words. Joe had been her partner for three years and they got along well. Maybe he was right about Michael. She wished she could say that their breakup was his fault and she was better off without him. The only thing she knew for sure was that he planned to spend the weekend with his new girlfriend in Bermuda, while she rode in an ambulance next to Joe.

At least he’d come clean with her before they’d made the worst mistake of their lives.

The ambulance continued down the crowded freeway, sirens blaring. Traffic was backed up near the interchange, as usual. Joe weaved around cars with brisk efficiency. When a man in a silver Mercedes refused to move aside, they had to squeeze by on the left shoulder.

“Jerk,” she said under her breath as they passed him. Every day they encountered motorists who were too busy to pull over.

Two freeways converged at the 163 interchange, creating a chaotic tangle. Joe and Lauren were on the middle level, with roads above and below them, and multiple exit ramps on both sides. As they headed into the sea of traffic, Joe’s hula girl began to do a frenetic dance on the dash.

Lauren tensed as the road stuttered beneath them.

Earthquake.

The ambulance jumped up and crashed down hard enough to rattle her teeth. It felt as if they’d been rear-ended, but the impact had come from below.

And it kept coming. Their vehicle bounced like a Ping-Pong ball on the shuddering concrete.

Joe slammed on his brakes in an attempt to avoid a collision. There was no way for him to maintain control of the ambulance. It scraped along the inner wall of the underpass, sending sparks into the air.

He cranked the wheel to the right. “Shit!”

She braced herself for disaster, hanging on to the handgrip for dear life. The ambulance continued to jackhammer violently. Beneath them, the road undulated like a sheet in the wind. It was difficult to see clearly because of the jolting motions. When a blur of yellow sailed by, she realized it was a car falling from the upper level.

“Watch out,” she yelled, as if he could avoid the danger.

More vehicles careened off the top section, raining on the traffic below. The sound of crashing metal rang in her ears, accompanied by a low, ominous rumble. A tow truck landed on a minivan, crushing the inhabitants. Its gas tank exploded in a giant ball of fire.

People were dying. Right before her eyes.

Joe held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. Through his window, she watched a sports car hit the guardrail and flip in the air. She looked to her right, anticipating an impact on her side of the ambulance.

Then the road shifted, sending several nearby cars spinning off the edge. A second later, the entire freeway just...collapsed. With a stomach-curling groan, the middle section fell away. It buckled in half, folding across the lower levels and blocking the lanes. Vehicles smashed into each other, meeting a wall of concrete head-on.

The ambulance slid sideways and landed at the bottom of a pileup with a bone-jarring crash. Her head hit the window, cracking the glass. The seat belt caught hard against her right shoulder, and the vehicle’s twin air bags deployed. Rather than a soft cushion, the safety device felt like a punch in the face.

She tasted blood and saw a blur of black lines, like the end of a film reel.

The air bags deflated quickly. Joe called her name, nudging her shoulder. His voice sounded sluggish to her ears, but she knew the situation was dire. With some difficulty, she opened her eyes and tried to focus.

It was dark. The smell of gasoline and fire overwhelmed her senses. Suppressing a gag, she blinked to clear her vision.

When she saw what was coming, she wished she hadn’t.

The ambulance was trapped at the base of a large slab of concrete amidst a pile of other cars. Through Joe’s window, she watched a large black SUV teeter at the top of the structure, directly above them.

There was no time to get out of the way, no hope to reverse gravity.

“Joe,” she cried out, her throat raw.

But it was too late. The juggernaut rocketed toward them, smashing into the driver’s side. Again, Lauren’s seat belt slammed against her chest. Joe was struck full force, pinned behind the steering wheel. His door was crushed by the SUV’s front grille. Blood erupted from his lips and his eyes bulged wide with pain. He slumped over, his gaze going blank as he exhaled a ragged breath.

Lauren reached out to him, choking back a sob. Safety glass crumbled inward, clinging to her uniform shirt. Having responded to a number of fatal vehicle accidents, she knew that Joe had been killed on impact. His chest wasn’t moving, and he smelled like death. With trembling fingers, she felt for the pulse in his neck.

Nothing.

Her life didn’t flash before her eyes, but his did. Joe was a beloved husband and father. His daughter was less than a year old. Just the other day, he’d shown Lauren a picture of the baby with the koalas at the zoo.

A helpless whimper escaped her as the earth continued to rumble. Debris rained down around them. The air was thick with gas fumes. She knew she couldn’t stay in the ambulance. If she passed out here, she would die.

“Daddy,” she croaked, though he’d been gone five years now.

At some point, the sound of grinding metal and falling concrete quieted. The shaking stopped.

Lauren didn’t know what to do next. Normally crash victims were advised to stay put, and it was difficult to see through the cloud of smoke. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t concentrate. Her heart thumped weakly in her chest.

The hula girl on the dash was gone, having toppled into places unknown, and the clock wasn’t working. She checked her watch. It read 8:09. Less than ten minutes had passed since the earthquake started.

The temptation to cower in the passenger seat was hard to resist. She was afraid to face the destruction outside. Paramedics were trained to exercise caution and not risk their lives. Maybe all the people in the surrounding vehicles were dead.

There were no screams for help.

What got her moving wasn’t her professional duty, or her moral code, or any urgent need to save others. It was the odor of burning flesh. She could accept dying of smoke inhalation, which would certainly come first, but the thought of her hair and skin going up in flames was too horrifying to fathom.

Along with the will to survive, she found a spark of logic. The ambulance was equipped with oxygen and fire extinguishers. Releasing her seat belt, she climbed over Joe’s slumped body, into the back of the van. Pieces of equipment were hanging askew and first-aid supplies littered the space. After a moment of disorientation, she found the oxygen masks. Donning one, she sucked in a lungful of clean air.

She felt stronger. She took another breath.

There. That was better.

With a clearer head, but a heavy heart, she looked for the fire extinguisher. It had become dislodged and rolled across the floor. She also located her paramedic bag, which would be useful in the event that she found other survivors. As soon as she grasped the bag’s handle, the earth started shaking again.

Oh God.

There was a moment of weightlessness. She felt like Alice in Wonderland, falling through the looking glass. What was up went down and what was down went up. The world seemed to be hurtling toward a steep precipice. Rather than regaining equilibrium, it toppled end over end, into chaos.

A massive wall of concrete crashed down, halving the ambulance violently. Joe, and the entire cab, was gone. Crushed.

Had Lauren stayed in her seat, she’d have been obliterated. Like Joe.

The quake ended a moment later, but she couldn’t control the trembling of her own body. Back-to-back near-death experiences were more than she could handle. She curled up in the fetal position and covered her head with her arms, waiting to die.

The blow she was expecting didn’t come. No more chunks of debris hit the ambulance. Against all odds, she was alive.

And...she wasn’t alone.

A man shouted in the distance. “Hello! Can anyone hear me?”

Lauren tore the oxygen mask off her face and sat up, her pulse racing. Was she imagining things?

He spoke again. “Does anyone need help?”

To her amazement, he sounded strong. Good lung capacity. Instead of asking for assistance, he was offering it.

This man was unharmed.

Lauren took another quick breath from the oxygen tank and scrambled to her feet. The back door of the ambulance had an emergency hand release. She pulled the lever and climbed out onto the uneven pavement.

Through the haze of ash and debris, she studied her surroundings. It was worse than she’d imagined. Twisted metal, chunks of concrete and pieces of cars were scattered across the dark cavern. Several of the vehicles had no front ends, like the ambulance. Others had been bisected lengthwise. Some were upside down, wheels still spinning.

The man called out again.

“Here,” she yelled, framing her mouth with her hands and turning toward his voice. “Over here!”

He walked out of the smoke like an apparition. Lauren had never been so relieved to see another human being in her life. Not only did he sound healthy, he looked it. His dusty T-shirt clung to a broad, well-muscled chest. He was wearing dark jeans and scuffed work boots. As he got closer, she assessed his height at six feet and his weight at two hundred. Even with ashes in his hair and dirt on his face, he was handsome.

“You’re an EMT,” he said, seeming amazed to see her in one piece.

“Paramedic.”

“Even better.” His gaze moved past her, to the contents of the overturned ambulance. Perhaps he knew that emergency personnel usually traveled in teams, but he didn’t ask where her partner was.

“I’m Lauren.”

“Garrett,” he replied, returning his attention to her. He gave her body a detached study. “Are you hurt?”

Although her head ached, she said no. She was afraid he’d think her useless, despite her medical training. The navy-blue uniform she was wearing couldn’t disguise her slender frame. Men had often underestimated her on the job.

He coughed into the crook of his arm, trying to clear his lungs.

She handed him the oxygen mask, which he accepted without question. While he took a few deep breaths, she grabbed her supplies. “Anyone alive that way?” she asked, indicating the path he’d taken.

His eyes watered, either from smoke irritation or the sights he’d seen. “I don’t know. It’s almost impassable.”

They donned respirators and hard hats from the ambulance, making a tacit agreement to go the opposite direction. She adjusted her backpack. He picked up a heavy-duty flashlight. Together, they headed into the mayhem.

“Stay close,” he said. “Step where I step.”

Lauren let him take the lead. She wouldn’t be much good to anyone if she broke her leg in the rubble. At the nearest car, Garrett bent down to check the interior. He straightened, shaking his head to indicate there were no survivors.

As they moved forward, they found more bodies. Some were trapped inside vehicles; others had been thrown clear.

Stomach churning with anxiety, she trailed behind Garrett, letting his big body guide her through the debris. He was built like a football player, wide-shouldered and fit. She felt safer with him than inside the ambulance, although she didn’t trust the collapsed structure. Large, frequent aftershocks were likely.

More concrete slabs might fall and crush them yet.

They skirted around a tall pile of rubble. On the other side, a silver sedan rested upside down, its engine running. Gasoline gushed from a ruptured tank. It traveled in rivulets along the ground and trickled down into the open windows of the vehicle.

The driver appeared dead or unconscious. Her dark hair clung to her bloody forehead and her eyes were closed. Any moment, the car could go up in flames.

“Help!” a voice cried from inside.

Garrett shoved the flashlight at Lauren. “Stay back,” he said, rushing toward the vehicle. He had to turn off the ignition before they could execute a safe rescue. Dropping to his belly, he reached into the closest window, which was on the driver’s side. Unfortunately, the slumped-over woman was blocking his access. Cursing, he pushed himself upright and raced around the rear of the vehicle.

Lauren went with him, holding the light steady but keeping her distance in case the engine blew up. When she saw a woman trying to squeeze through the passenger window, her jaw dropped.

“Help me,” the woman panted, her hair wet with gasoline.

She was just a teenager, Lauren realized. She was also pregnant, near full-term. Her protruding belly wouldn’t fit through the narrow space.

Showing no concern for his own life, Garrett got down on the ground and reached past her, through the passenger window. He turned off the ignition, but that didn’t secure the scene. Lauren watched in horror as liquid fuel streamed toward another burning vehicle.

If she didn’t act fast, everything would blow sky-high.

She pulled the fire extinguisher out of her backpack. Jogging forward, she pointed the nozzle at the burning car and pulled the pin, spraying white foam over the interior. The vehicle’s single inhabitant didn’t complain. He was charred beyond recognition, hands melted to the steering wheel.

Dousing one fire was a temporary fix. There were several more in the recesses of the collapsed structure. She couldn’t get to all of them, and they didn’t have another extinguisher. Eventually the gasoline trail would ignite.

Trying to stay calm, she returned her attention to Garrett and the girl. Although the air was thick with smoke, and visibility was low, her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness. Garrett tried to wrench open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Motioning for the girl to stay back, he picked up a softball-size piece of concrete and hammered it against the front windshield. When the safety glass shattered, he knocked most of it loose with his fist.

Lauren winced, aware that the small shards would leave shallow lacerations all over his knuckles.

In her panicked state, the teenager wouldn’t listen to Garrett’s instructions. Either she didn’t understand him, or she was frozen with fear. He went in for her with no hesitation, intent on physically pulling her out of the car. About halfway through, she came to her senses and worked with him instead of against him.

He was gentle with her, taking care that she didn’t scrape her belly or come into direct contact with broken glass.

At last, they made it through the front window. Lauren released the breath she’d been holding, her knees almost buckling with relief. Yanking a safety blanket from her pack, she rushed forward and wrapped the girl in it. Her eyes were unfocused and her breathing shallow. She needed immediate medical attention.

“Get down,” Garrett shouted, placing a firm hand on Lauren’s shoulder. She complied instantly, helping the teenager assume a crouched position on the hard cement. He put his arms around them both, making a shield with his body.

Seconds later, the car exploded.

The smell of gasoline burned her nostrils and heat crackled behind her back. Even with Garrett’s protection, they weren’t safe here. This was definitely a hot zone. There were multiple injury hazards. Then again, the whole area was a death trap, and she hadn’t seen a way out yet.

“Tía,” the girl sobbed, looking back at the blaze. If the woman inside had been alive a moment ago, she wasn’t now.

“We have to go,” Garrett said, lifting both women to their feet. Although the girl appeared distraught and disoriented, she stumbled forward at his urging.

Lauren saw a white beacon in the distance. A small recreational vehicle appeared whole and undamaged, with no fires nearby. Assuming the RV had a shower or sink, she could wash the gasoline off her patient.

“There,” she said, pointing it out to Garrett. “The RV will have water.”

He let go of Lauren’s arm and scooped up the teenager, who was struggling to walk. A pregnant woman was an awkward load, but he bore her weight easily. Lauren suspected that he had military training. He carried himself like a soldier.

The girl clung to his shoulders, dazed.

“What’s your name?” Lauren asked, tugging down her respirator mask.

“Penny,” she rasped.

“When are you due?”

“Next week.”

Garrett’s eyes met Lauren’s over the top of the girl’s head. This wasn’t good. Lauren hurried toward the camper, banging on the side door. “Emergency services,” she yelled. “I need to bring a patient in for treatment.”

A man in his sixties opened the door, his glasses reflecting flames. He didn’t appear to be injured, and she felt a surge of hope. There were other survivors. “Come in,” the man said, stepping aside. Garrett couldn’t fit through the narrow doorway with Penny, so he set her down and helped her ascend the short steps.

There was another girl inside, also unharmed. She looked about twelve.

“Do you have a shower?” Lauren asked.

“In the bathroom.” The man gestured toward a small door. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

She glanced at Garrett, who appeared poised to go back outside. What she needed was a safe space to treat Penny, and the interior of the motor home looked adequate. There was a small table and a twin bed in back. “Can you bring me the oxygen tank and mask from the ambulance?”

Garrett nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll go with you,” the man said to Garrett. “My granddaughter can stay here.”

Lauren gave the grandfather her hard hat and respirator.

“How much water is there?” Garrett asked.

“About ten gallons,” he replied.

Garrett turned to Lauren. “Try not to use too much.”

She understood why. They needed to conserve water. If the earthquake’s epicenter was in downtown San Diego, there might be thousands of casualties. Tens of thousands. Disaster response teams would have their hands full.

They could be here awhile.


CHAPTER TWO

AS SOON AS THE MEN WERE GONE, Lauren helped Penny remove her gasoline-stained dress.

The little girl, who introduced herself as Cadence, put the soiled fabric in a trash bag. Penny’s undergarments were dry, so Lauren left them alone. She ushered her patient into the cramped shower stall and turned on the spray.

“Any contractions?”

“No.”

Lauren’s top priority was Penny, not the fetus, so she evaluated her overall condition. She didn’t appear to be bleeding or have any broken bones. Her breathing and pulse rate were accelerated, but that was to be expected.

After they washed the gasoline off her hair and skin, Lauren placed a stethoscope over her rounded abdomen. She was all baby, with slim legs and arms. Her belly looked stretched to the limit, her breasts full.

The fetal heart rate was also slightly quicker than normal. Lauren would have to monitor mother and child very closely. They were lucky the traumatic series of events hadn’t caused her to go into labor; Lauren had a feeling she’d be busy with other patients. “You’re doing great,” she said, and meant it. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

There was something familiar about Penny, but Lauren couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it was just that a face like hers invited closer attention. With her flawless features and above-average height, she could have been a model. The dress she’d been wearing looked designer, and her undergarments, while demure, appeared high-quality.

Cadence, who had a suitcase full of clothes, found a roomy T-shirt and a pair of baggy pajama pants for Penny to wear. Lauren helped her get dressed and encouraged her to sit down on the bed. After Garrett brought in the oxygen tank, Lauren put the mask on Penny’s face and instructed her to take deep breaths.

“We have more wounded,” Garrett said.

A chill traveled up Lauren’s spine. “I’ll be right there.” She gave Penny a tremulous smile. “You just sit tight and rest, okay?”

Penny curled up on the bed and closed her eyes, exhausted.

Lauren turned to Cadence. She was a pretty girl with dark eyes and curly black hair. Biracial, she estimated, although the grandfather was Caucasian. “Can you give her some water and a snack, if she’s hungry?”

Cadence nodded solemnly. “I’ll take good care of her.”

Outside, it looked like a war zone. Garrett and his new helper were carrying a body on the stretcher they’d found inside the ambulance. The patient, an older woman, was unconscious and appeared to have a broken femur.

Lauren steeled herself as they approached.

“There are others,” Garrett said, his face contorted as he bore most of the patient’s weight. “We need the stretcher back.”

“Okay,” she said, studying their surroundings. There was an open space in front of the RV where she could do triage. “Set her down there and bring me something to cover the ground. Blankets, floor mats, whatever you can find.”

“I have a cot in the RV,” Cadence’s grandfather said.

“That would be great.”

“I’m Don, by the way.”

“I’m Lauren,” she said, kneeling to examine the woman. “Can you turn on your headlights?”

“Be glad to.”

A moment later, the area in front of the motor home brightened. She got an IV started while Don put up the cot and Garrett searched for the requested items. He delivered a pile of floor mats, along with most of the equipment from the ambulance, setting it down near the front of the motor home.

As the morning wore on, Garrett and Don brought two more patients, both bloody. Lauren tried not to panic when she saw the extent of their injuries. She had plenty of experience in clearing airways and giving injections, but she wasn’t a doctor. As a paramedic, her job was to stabilize patients for transport. These people needed the E.R., not a Band-Aid.

When Garrett and Don carried in a fourth victim with serious injuries, she couldn’t hide her dismay. They transferred the unconscious man from the stretcher to the last available space in front of the RV.

Mopping his forehead with a handkerchief, Don went inside to check on Cadence. He was finding it difficult to keep up with Garrett, too.

Garrett sat down beside Lauren, watching her work.

“Are there more?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Yes.”

“My God.”

“Some I can’t get to. Others...don’t look like they’ll survive the move.”

She struggled to remain numb. This was no time to break down. The victims were counting on her. “What about rescue?”

“Cell phones aren’t working,” he said. “Most of the radio stations are down. I caught the end of a short broadcast in Spanish.”

“And?”

“The only words I understood were San Diego and ocho punto cinco.”

Eight point five. Jesus. The city had never been hit by a quake this size. She closed her eyes, feeling a tiny amount of moisture seep through her lashes. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get dehydrated and have no tears to shed. “We might be in here for days.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Have you seen a way out?”

“Not yet. I’ll keep searching.”

His steady gaze met hers and she held it, studying him. His eyes were a cool, dark green, framed by spiky lashes. In this light, she could see that his hair was dusty-brown, and a little longer than military allowed. With his square jaw and strong nose, he was rugged looking. Handsome, but not a pretty boy.

He wasn’t a fresh recruit, either. She guessed his age was at least twenty-five, probably closer to thirty.

Like Don, he was showing signs of wear. There were crease lines in the dirt on his face. His T-shirt was bloodstained, and damp with perspiration. He hadn’t stopped doing heavy labor since this nightmare had started.

When she realized that she was staring at his powerful build, her mouth went dry and heat rose to her cheeks. She hadn’t felt a twinge of sexual chemistry with anyone since her breakup with Michael. Experiencing it now was awkward, to say the least. If she’d met Garrett under different circumstances, she might have tried to flirt with him. He was hot and fearless. Why couldn’t she find guys like this in non-life-threatening situations?

Lauren concentrated on taking her new patient’s vital signs. As she removed the stethoscope from her ears, a telltale rumble echoed through the chamber.

Aftershock.

“Get down,” Garrett ordered, yanking her away from the victim.

Heart racing, she did what he said, pressing herself flat on the ground and folding her arms around her head.

Apparently, she was still capable of terror. It coursed through her like a sickness, robbing her ability to think. Chunks of concrete fell from above, smashing the ground near them. She coughed as the air thickened with dust. Moving quickly, Garrett leapt on top of her, protecting her from the debris.

She was aware of the earth shuddering beneath them and the structure groaning overhead. A car alarm went off in the distance, filling the cavern with rhythmic honking. The scene was too disturbing to process. Perhaps that was why her focus shifted from grim reality and tooth-and-nail survival to the more pleasurable sensation of Garrett’s hard body covering hers.

His chest was molded to her back, his strong thighs bracing hers. He had a taut, well-muscled physique. His stomach was flat and tight, his crotch nestled against her bottom. That, and the feel of his biceps framing her upper arms, made her shiver.

He even smelled manly, like motor oil and hard work.

Eventually the shaking stopped. The car alarm went quiet. They stayed still, making sure it was safe. His breath fanned the hair at the nape of her neck and his heartbeat thudded between her shoulder blades.

This was one of her favorite positions.

She shifted beneath him, embarrassed. What an inappropriate time to think about sex! Too late, she realized that the way she’d lifted her bottom against his fly could be interpreted as an invitation.

He rolled away from her and she scrambled upright. His gaze scanned her flushed face. She wiped the dirt off her cheek, swallowing hard.

A muscle in his jaw flexed and he looked away. “Sorry,” he muttered. “If you get hurt, we’re all screwed.”

It took her a few seconds to understand what he meant. He was apologizing for jumping on her. As if she’d be offended by his gallant attempt to keep her safe. “It’s okay,” she said, moistening her lips. Her voice sounded husky.

“Everyone all right out there?” Don called from the RV.

Garrett answered with an affirmative, and Lauren pulled herself together. She should be worrying about her patients, not her libido. Thankfully, none of the debris had tumbled their way. A few IV bags had been knocked loose. She was already running low on supplies, but she worked with what she had, and cared for the victims as well as she could.

Around noon, one of her patients began to experience severe respiratory distress. Lauren was aware that he had broken ribs. When she listened to his chest sounds again, it became clear that one of the splinters had punctured his lung.

“Oh no,” she breathed, noting his rapid pulse and low blood pressure. He’d been semiconscious; now he was completely out, his skin turning blue. His carotid artery and jugular vein were distended, screaming for oxygen.

“What is it?” Garrett asked.

“His lung collapsed,” she said, trying to stay calm. This was a life-threatening emergency. Placing the oxygen mask over his face, she increased the output levels. Then she searched her supplies for a large needle and a syringe. Cutting away the front of his shirt, she found the intercostal space above his third rib.

She tore an alcohol swab open and wiped the spot. Working quickly, she stabbed the needle straight down into his chest.

It was a clean strike, sinking into his pleural cavity. She drew back the plunger and watched the syringe fill up with blood.

Damn.

A collapsed lung failed to function properly because of excess air or fluid in the cavity. If the problem was too much air, the lung couldn’t contract on its own, but she could do needle decompressions to release tension. Although excess blood could also be removed, she wouldn’t be able to stanch the flow.

Dealing with severe internal bleeding was beyond her capabilities. Beyond the abilities of any paramedic under these circumstances. A patient with this kind of chest trauma was doomed unless he made it to a surgeon’s table.

But Lauren couldn’t just stand there and watch the man die, so she extracted as much blood from the lung cavity as possible. It was like trying to put her finger on the dam. Her patient expired within minutes.

Shaken, she set the syringe aside and picked up her stethoscope, listening for a heartbeat. Nothing. She pronounced him dead at 12:22 p.m.

He wasn’t the first person she’d lost, and he wouldn’t be the last. Emergency services personnel couldn’t afford to dwell on disappointments like this; they had to move on quickly. Lauren was good at that. Paramedics and EMTs didn’t do follow-up. Their focus was safe transport, not long-term care.

Despite her vast experience with death, this one wasn’t easy. They were trapped under several layers of freeway, so safe transport was out. She didn’t have the resources or the expertise for ongoing critical care.

Although Garrett had jumped to protect her during the aftershock, he made no attempt to comfort her now. He stayed back and gave her space. She appreciated his reserve; if he’d shown a hint of compassion, she might have fallen apart.

Letting out a slow breath, she covered the dead man with a towel. Her remaining patients were unconscious, but stable.

“Can you come with me to check on the others?” Garrett asked quietly.

“Sure,” she said, rising to her feet.

She donned her hard hat and accompanied Garrett on a final sweep of the cavern. He couldn’t evaluate the wounded as well as she could. Several people were suffering, but as he’d said, they probably wouldn’t survive being moved.

Lauren had never witnessed so much devastation. She prayed for her friends and colleagues, many of whom had families in San Diego. All Lauren’s relatives, including her mother, lived far away.

After six years as a paramedic, she knew how to hold herself at an emotional distance, but she wasn’t made of stone. Her heart ached for the victims. Thankfully, most of them were already dead, not writhing in agony.

She trudged alongside Garrett like an automaton, her eyes dry.

Lauren assumed that the destruction outside was far worse. The freeway sections had collapsed in layers, blocking all sides. During the short interim between the first quake and the initial aftershock, many motorists had been able to escape. Some on foot, perhaps. The massive pileups of cars were beyond the concrete walls, not within them.

“You need something to eat and drink,” Garrett said.

If anyone required sustenance, it was him. He’d been searching through the rubble and lifting heavy objects for hours. She took two bottles of vitamin water out of her pack, giving him one and drinking the other.

“Is there food in the RV?” she asked.

“Yes, but it won’t last more than a few days.”

She didn’t want to consider the implication of those words. Surely they wouldn’t be trapped here long enough to worry about starvation. Humans could survive for weeks without food. If they weren’t rescued within twenty-four hours, however, those with the most critical injuries would pass away.

Water was the larger concern for the survivors. It was hot and dusty inside the cavern. They needed a lot of fluids to stay hydrated. Ten gallons wouldn’t go far.

“We should search the cars.”

“I plan to,” he said.

As they reached the northeast corner of the structure, where she’d first met Garrett, she was struck by grief. The mangled half ambulance lay on its side, contents gutted. Joe’s body was buried beneath the broken wall. He’d been her partner for three years, but she hadn’t paused to mourn him. Guilt and sadness overwhelmed her.

She struggled to control her emotions, but it was a losing battle. After inhaling several ragged breaths, she burst into tears.

Garrett kept his gaze averted and his hands to himself. He didn’t offer her any comfort or tell her not to cry. She knew she wasn’t a dignified weeper. There was nothing pretty about a red face and runny nose.

He offered her a tissue from a box he found in the back of the ambulance. She thanked him in a strangled voice, drying her eyes.

“I’m wasting water,” she said. “The Fremen would be appalled.”

“Good thing we’re not on Dune.”

She smiled through her tears, pleased that he’d understood the literary reference. Joe had been a hardcore sci-fi fan. They’d discussed the Frank Herbert novel, and its classic movie adaptation, to exhaustion.

“My coworker...didn’t make it,” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

Choking back another sob, she searched his face. He’d seemed upset when they’d first met, but anyone would be in this situation. If he was grieving the loss of a loved one, it didn’t show. “Were you with someone you cared about?”

“No,” he said curtly, his expression closed.

His brusque response made her feel foolish. He didn’t want to have a heart-to-heart discussion when there was work to be done.

She shoved the tissue into her pocket and searched the back of the ambulance for any useful supplies. After she gathered a few stray items, they headed back. The acrid stench of cigarette smoke gave her pause.

“Do you smell that?” she asked, frowning.

He froze, placing his hand on her shoulder. The sound of men’s voices carried across the dark cavern.

“Hello?” she called out, turning the beam of the flashlight that direction.

Behind a large pile of rubble, there were two men sitting in the back of a pickup truck. One had a cigarette clenched between his lips. The other was drinking from a silver can. They both waved.

Lauren waved back and started walking toward them. Garrett proceeded with caution, which she found strange, considering how gung ho he’d been earlier. He’d shown more enthusiasm while investigating burning cars.

As they neared the pickup, she saw a third man stretched out in the back of the truck. His eyes were closed, and bruises darkened the sockets underneath, but he was alive. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths.

“How’s it going?” Garrett asked, his voice flat.

She realized that he had good reason to be wary of these men. There was an open case of beer between them. A half dozen empty cans littered the space, and a large bag of chips rested against the wheel well.

While they’d been working hard, doing search and rescue, this pair of jokers had been getting drunk.

“It’s perking up,” the cigarette smoker said, glancing at Lauren. He was about forty, with bad teeth and pewter-colored hair. Tattoos snaked along his forearms, and he had the weathered skin of a drug user.

His friend was younger, in his mid-twenties, a big man with a shaved head. He had a doughy face and small, dark eyes. He studied Lauren also, moistening his fleshy lips. From the way they protruded, she figured he had an overbite.

Both men gave the impression that they were glad to see a woman, not a paramedic. Although she’d met a few guys who’d sought to take her down a peg, ignoring her uniform in favor of ogling her breasts, she hadn’t expected it from trauma survivors.

Then again, everyone reacted to stress in a different way. It didn’t bring out the best in most people.

“I’m Lauren,” she ventured, “and this is Garrett.”

Garrett had positioned himself very close to her, like a bodyguard. Or a boyfriend.

The tattooed man took another drag on his smoke, looking back and forth between them. “Jeb,” he said. “It’s a real pleasure.”

“Mickey,” his companion added. His soft, high-pitched voice made a sharp contrast to Jeb’s raspy southern drawl.

Lauren found it strange that they addressed her, not Garrett. They made no move to stand and shake hands.

“Who’s this?” she asked, gesturing to the prostrate man. He was young, like Mickey, with short blond hair and a thick goatee.

“That’s Owen,” Jeb said. “He’ll be all right.”

Lauren didn’t want to climb into the back of the pickup to evaluate his condition. She’d learned to trust her instincts, and they warned her not to get any closer. “I have other patients to attend to, but you’re welcome to bring him in. We’ve got some medical equipment set up in front of a motor home.”

“We take care of our own,” Jeb said, squinting at Garrett.

It sounded like a threat.

“Doesn’t appear to be any way out of here,” Garrett remarked.

Jeb sucked on his cigarette. “Nope.”

“Might be days, even weeks, before we escape.”

“Is that so?”

“We should ration our supplies.”

Jeb reached into the cardboard case of beer, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light. “You want one, pretty lady?”

“No,” she said tightly.

Cracking it open, he took a long pull. “Well, that’s a real good idea, hero. But you’ll be prying this beer out of my cold, dead hand.”

Mickey crushed an empty can in his fist, punctuating the statement.

“It’s every man for himself, the way I see it.”

Lauren’s stomach tightened with tension. Jeb and Mickey were spoiling for a fight, and Garrett might be angry enough to oblige. These men were playing with their lives by drinking an entire case of beer. They were wasting limited resources.

“Okay,” he said, grasping Lauren’s elbow. “Let’s go.”

She allowed him to lead her away, but she didn’t like it. When they were at a safe distance, she tugged her arm from his grip.

Cursing, he apologized. “I should have stood my ground.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“They deserved a beating.”

“Yes, but why make enemies? We have other things to worry about.”

“Now they think I won’t step up.”

“They’re not worth it,” she argued.

He was visibly upset, his jaw clenched and his shoulders stiff. Lauren hoped he wouldn’t go back to settle the score without her. Those guys were pretty tough looking. If either one of them alone challenged Garrett, she’d put her money on Garrett. But she didn’t think he could take them both on.

“Stay with me,” she said, putting her hand on the crook of his arm. It felt hard and hot beneath her fingertips. “Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, frowning. He seemed surprised that she needed reassurance. Or maybe he was just reacting to her touch. His gaze dropped to her hand, which appeared pale and slender on his dirt-streaked skin. Then it returned to her face, settling on her trembling lips.

Lauren stared at him for a moment, her heart racing. She wasn’t in the habit of getting so familiar with strangers. Her strong attachment to him made sense, under these circumstances, but it still disturbed her. She liked being independent.

A vehicle horn sounded in the distance. It was Don, not an automatic alarm. One of the patients needed her.

She started jogging back to the RV, Garrett at her side.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Aftershocks rattled the cavern at semiregular intervals. Garrett rigged a set of construction lights to illuminate her workspace. They were able to see a large portion of the cavern. It was a blessing and a curse.

They were trapped under an impenetrable pile of concrete. A freeway underpass marked the south side, which had sustained the least damage. Its high ceiling had prevented the freeway sections from falling flat on top of each other and crushing everything underneath. Instead, the pieces had settled like a house of cards.

A broken, bumpy roadway stretched across the lower level. Massive walls of concrete blocked all sides. The largest wall was on the north end, where Lauren’s ambulance had been crushed. A mountain of rubble loomed in the west. The motor home sat near the middle of the south section, somewhat protected by the underpass.

The surrounding area resembled a parking garage from a dystopian nightmare. Blackened skeletons sat behind the wheels of smoldering cars. Broken bodies, blood spatter and safety glass littered the ground.

Looking up offered no respite. The ceiling was as high as fifty feet in some places. Daylight peeked through a couple of hairline cracks along the east wall. None appeared wider than Lauren’s wrist. Garrett had searched every inch of the perimeter, paying special attention to the chunks of concrete at the west end. Even if they had a bulldozer, and room to maneuver, he said, they couldn’t get through.

Lauren didn’t have time to despair their entrapment. She was too busy trying to keep her patients alive.

Penny was recovering well under Cadence’s care. Don helped Lauren with the others. She felt like a Civil War sawbones with her bloody apron and rudimentary techniques. Surgery was way beyond her scope, and she managed a few minor miracles with first-aid supplies and local anesthetics.

The first woman, Beverly Engle, drifted in and out of consciousness. Lauren gave her as much morphine as she could spare before immobilizing her broken leg. She secured the limb to a two-by-four.

Her second patient was a young, athletic-looking man. He had a serious head injury and didn’t respond to any stimuli. There wasn’t much she could do for him, besides administer IV fluids and monitor his condition.

Her third patient, an older man, had multiple internal injuries. She wasn’t surprised when he went into cardiac arrest, but she fought hard to save him.

Working frantically, she gave him oxygen through a tube, used a defibrillator and performed CPR for as long as she could. Exhausted, she let Garrett take over, to no avail. The man passed away just before midnight.

She was too drained to cry.

After Lauren cleaned herself up with medical wipes, she accepted a peanut butter sandwich that Cadence had made earlier. To her surprise, she ate with a ravenous appetite, finishing the meal quickly.

“You should get some rest,” Garrett suggested.

She nodded. Mrs. Engle and the coma patient were stable, and she wasn’t having any luck saving people. He turned off the construction lights, switching on a small camp lantern he’d found in one of the cars.

“Don said there’s space in the RV.”

She wasn’t sure about that. Penny and Cadence were sleeping on the only bed; Don was slumped in the front seat. She didn’t want to disturb them. “I’d rather stay close,” she murmured, “in case someone needs help during the night.”

He lifted his chin toward a quiet corner. “I put some blankets over there.”

“Where will you sleep?”

His gaze shifted to the dark recesses of the cavern. The men in the pickup had been listening to the radio earlier. Now it was silent. “I won’t.”

She studied him from beneath lowered lashes, her pulse accelerating. He needed rest, too. If she invited him to lie down with her, he might think she wanted something more. She didn’t—she was exhausted. But she couldn’t deny her attraction to him. From the way his eyes traveled over her, she suspected the feeling was mutual.

She also sensed that he wouldn’t act on it. The time and place were wrong. He seemed uncomfortable with her proximity, reluctant to share personal details. Maybe he wasn’t interested. Maybe he wasn’t available.

Did he have a girlfriend he was worried about? A wife and children?

She was reluctant to ask such weighted questions. So she said good-night, and went to sleep alone.


CHAPTER THREE

LAUREN DREAMT NOT OF GARRETT, but of Michael.

They were in Bermuda on their honeymoon. She was wading through the gentle surf, holding his hand, taking Rebecca’s place. Sleeping in his bed. Everything was perfect. Except...him.

His touch was too rough. He tore the buttons at the front of her uniform shirt and squeezed her breasts painfully.

Wait. Why was she wearing her uniform?

Lauren jolted awake. She wasn’t in Bermuda with Michael. She was lying on a blanket on the hard ground, trapped under a freeway collapse. It was dark, almost pitch-black in the cavern. A large, wide-shouldered man loomed before her. When she drew a breath to scream, he crushed his palm over her mouth.

He was strong. His weight held her captive as his other hand continued to fumble at her shirtfront, ripping the fabric.

Perhaps because his face was the last one she’d seen before falling asleep, she pictured Garrett as her attacker. The idea that a man she’d trusted would do this horrified her. Tasting the salt of a fleshy palm, she bit down.

He grunted in pain and readjusted his grip, digging his fingernails into her jaw.

A few scattered details emerged. The man on top of her smelled like beer, and he had a rounded gut. Garrett’s was as flat as a drum. Also, his head was bald. A dim light in the distance reflected off his shiny pate.

This wasn’t Garrett! Thank God.

Maybe he would hear them scuffling and come to help. Her heart surged with hope and adrenaline. She bucked beneath her assailant and kicked her legs, making guttural sounds of distress in the back of her throat. He was smothering her mouth and nose. She couldn’t breathe. His palm was slippery with sweat and blood.

She managed to dislodge his hand long enough to let out a hoarse scream. Cursing, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and tried to slam her head against the concrete. The tangled blanket underneath her impeded the maneuver.

And then there was a streak of light, followed by a heavy thunk.

Her attacker slumped forward, the air whooshing out of his lungs. His grip on her hair loosened. Someone shoved him aside and began whaling on him.

Lauren sat upright, trying to make sense of the situation. A flashlight rolled toward her, resting against the bunched blanket. The edge of its beam revealed Garrett on top of Mickey, pounding the hell out of him.

He’d saved her.

Tears filled her eyes. She clapped a hand over her mouth, sobbing. Garrett’s fist connected with Mickey’s nose, breaking the cartilage. Blood gushed from his nostrils. Lauren shrank away from the sight, horrified.

“Motherfucker,” Garrett muttered, turning Mickey over on his stomach and wrenching his arms behind his back.

An ominous click in the distance brought the action to a halt.

“Let him go,” a voice drawled.

Lauren searched the dark edges of the cavern, her shoulders trembling. Jeb was leaning against a burned vehicle, smoking a cigarette. Although he stood in the shadows, she could see a glowing ember, along with the hard glint of metal.

Did he have a gun?

Garrett kept his hold on Mickey, noncompliant. Both men were panting from exertion, steam rising from their bodies.

Lauren snaked her hand toward the flashlight.

Jeb released the safety on his weapon. This time, the sound was unmistakable. “I wouldn’t do that, honey.”

She froze, her fingertips tingling. Garrett didn’t move.

“You don’t want to see her brains splattered all over that blanket,” he said in a cool tone. “Let Mickey get up and walk.”

It was clear that Garrett didn’t want to follow Jeb’s orders, but he had no choice. After a short hesitation, he released Mickey. As soon as he was free, Mickey scrambled to his feet and, holding his ravaged nose, lumbered toward Jeb.

The pair dissolved into the black abyss.

Lauren and Garrett didn’t speak for a few seconds. She struggled to catch her breath and calm her racing thoughts.

Mickey had almost raped her.

If Garrett hadn’t intervened, she might have been assaulted and beaten and dragged back to the pickup.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, touching her face. Her cheek bore the marks of Mickey’s fingernails and her jaw ached.

Garrett picked up the flashlight and inspected her injuries. “That motherfucker,” he repeated through clenched teeth, glancing toward the north corner of the cavern. Then he continued his examination, shining the light down the center of her body. He seemed relieved to find her pants intact.

Lauren pulled the edges of her shirt together with trembling hands. The lace cups of her bra barely covered her breasts. “I thought it was you.”

His gaze rose to her face. “What?”

“It was dark. I didn’t know who was attacking me at first.”

He gaped at her in dismay, unable to formulate a response.

“That was the scariest part. Thinking it was you.”

“Jesus,” he said in a hushed voice. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is.” He looked like he wanted to punch himself a few times. “I told you I was going to keep watch and I fell asleep.”

She couldn’t blame him for drifting off. They’d had an exhausting day.

“Fuck,” he yelled, raking his fingers through his hair. “This is so fucked up!”

“Do you think they’ll come back?”

“Yes. Maybe not tonight, but eventually.”

Her stomach twisted with dread.

“There’s something I should tell you.”

“What?” she asked, warning bells sounding in her head.

His throat worked as he swallowed. “One of the vehicles in the north corner is a prisoner transport van. It got smashed to hell, like your ambulance.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Those men are escaped convicts.”

It took a few seconds for his words to sink in. They were trapped in rubble with critical victims, dead bodies and armed criminals. According to a couple of Spanish-language broadcasts, which Penny had translated, disaster crews were dealing with mass casualties. The freeways were impassable and several large buildings had collapsed.

A quick rescue was unlikely.

“They must have taken the gun from a guard.”

She glanced away, fresh terror coursing through her veins.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I thought they’d be sleeping off the alcohol, not coming over here to attack you. I had no idea they were this dangerous.”

Lauren took a deep, calming breath. The only way to get through this was to move forward. Garrett could beat himself up all he wanted, but she had to focus on the next step. There wasn’t time to get emotional.

She checked her watch: 5:04 a.m. The last aftershock had hit at 1:30. She’d gotten at least three hours of sleep.

Her shirt was torn, and the temperature had cooled significantly. Rising to her feet, she found a jacket in the pile of clothes Garrett had collected earlier, and she shrugged into it. “I have to check on the patients.”

He followed her with the flashlight, pointing the beam where she needed it. Mrs. Engle moaned in pain. Lauren gave her as much morphine as she could spare. Her other patient, the man with the head injury, was still unconscious.

Lauren was glad they were both alive.

She gathered a handful of medical supplies and a small mirror, checking the scratches on her cheek. Although the marks were barely noticeable, she scrubbed at them with antiseptic wipes. Her face was filthy. After cleaning every inch of exposed skin above her neck, she went to work on her chest, determined to remove the stain of Mickey’s touch.

Garrett stayed silent, and kept his eyes averted, but she noticed his concerned expression. Her hands stilled. If she scrubbed any harder, she’d bleed.

Clearing her throat, she trashed the soiled wipes and zipped up her jacket. More comfortable treating patients other than herself, she turned to Garrett. He didn’t appear injured. Mickey must not have landed any blows.

Maybe he only hit women.

“Let me see your knuckles,” she said.

With obvious reluctance, Garrett sat down across from her and showed her his bloody fists. They looked awful. She hadn’t ever treated the cuts from the safety glass. Old wounds mixed with new ones, creating a crosshatch of dark slashes.

They needed to be soaked, but she couldn’t waste water. After cleaning his hands with antibacterial foam, she placed them on a surgical towel and took out her suture kit. One of the lacerations was long and deep.

“I can give you a local anesthetic.”

“Just do it,” he replied.

The first time the needle punctured his skin, he sucked in a sharp breath. After that, he endured the short procedure in silence, showing no reaction. She made five neat stitches and bandaged his knuckles.

His skin was darkly tanned, as if he worked outdoors, and his palms were callused. Ropey veins stood out on the backs of his hands in harsh relief. He had good blood pressure, like an endurance athlete.

“Are you in the military?” she asked when she was finished.

He thanked her, flexing his hand. “I was.”

“Which branch?”

“The Marines.”

“Did you go to Iraq?”

“Twice.”

“How was it?”

“Kind of like this.”

His answers were curt and honest, which suited her fine. The fact that he had combat experience was a plus, given Jeb and Mickey’s presence.

“I’m going to stay right beside you today,” he announced. “I’ll carry a tire iron, and see if I can find any other weapons. Cadence and Penny should hang out inside the RV. No one goes anywhere alone.”

“Agreed.”

“We should do something with the bodies before it heats up.”

Her stomach did a queasy flip-flop. He was right. The corpses would begin to smell and attract flies.

Lauren wasn’t squeamish about death, but she didn’t usually have to deal with decomposition. Transporting bodies wasn’t part of her job. The coroner’s office or the police department took care of the dead. Emergency services focused on the living.

Taking a flashlight, they looked for a place to stack the corpses, avoiding the north edge, where Jeb and Mickey were holed up. The rubble at the southwest corner offered the best possible burial site. In addition to car-size chunks of concrete, there were a lot of small, loose rocks to work with.

The corner also had the lowest elevation in the cavern, another plus. Decomposition fluids would not creep uphill.

When she pointed this out to Garrett, he dragged a hand down his face, deliberating. “Let’s eat breakfast first.”

She murmured her assent. They might not have an appetite after.

* * *

GARRETT FOLLOWED LAUREN back to the RV, surveying the edges of the cavern with dark anticipation.

He’d love to take another crack at Mickey. If Jeb hadn’t shown up, Garrett wouldn’t have let him off so easy. He’d wanted to keep hitting him, and hitting him, and hitting him. Maybe even until Mickey stopped breathing.

Garrett had killed a man with his bare hands before.

The monster inside him had been chained too long. Garrett thought he’d conquered his anger issues, and he didn’t want to repeat the mistakes of his past. But he’d been enraged by the attempted rape. He was furious with Lauren’s attackers, and with himself.

Don had risen early, like them. He made instant coffee and scrambled eggs. Garrett helped himself to both and took a seat in a folded camp chair.

“How are the girls?” Lauren asked Don.

“Sleeping,” he said, with a tense smile. “Cadence had a rough night. She kept calling out for her parents.”

“Are they here in San Diego?”

“No, they live up north. She was visiting me and my wife for spring break. We live in La Mesa.”

“I have an apartment near there. Balboa Park.” Sipping her coffee, she turned to Garrett. “How about you?”

“What about me?”

“Where do you live?”

“Santee,” he said, shoveling eggs into his mouth. He didn’t want to continue this conversation.

To his relief, Penny came outside to join them, and Lauren’s attention was diverted. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Okay,” the pregnant girl mumbled.

“Did you sleep?”

“A little.”

Shuffling forward, Penny lowered herself into a lawn chair. Her long hair was tangled, her stomach huge and her eyes puffy. She looked miserable, but unharmed, her skin free from any serious cuts or burns.

Garrett moved his gaze back to Lauren, noting that the mark of Mickey’s hand on her cheek had already begun to fade. Like Penny, she wasn’t badly injured. Garrett felt some of his tension ease. In order to assist her, he had to control his emotions. Going on a murderous rampage wouldn’t be helpful.

Protecting her was his number one mission, and he couldn’t fail. Not this time.

After he finished his breakfast, he took Don aside for a man-to-man. He’d learned yesterday that Don was a Vietnam vet. He had the stoicism and work ethic of career military. Though retired, he was fit and strong.

“Something happened last night,” Garrett said.

“What’s that?”

He’d already told Don about the busted-up convict van. He should have notified Lauren, but she’d been busy with her patients. He hadn’t wanted to worry her.

That was his mistake—and she’d paid for it.

“One of the convicts tried to rape Lauren,” Garrett said.

Don’s brow furrowed with concern. “Did he get to her?”

“No. I woke up and...interrupted. Then his buddy showed up and pulled a gun on me. They both got away.”

Don let out a low whistle. “What should we do?”

“What can we do?”

“I don’t know, son.”

Garrett understood that Don was using the expression in an offhand way, but it had been years since anyone had called him “son.” He cleared his throat, awash with memories. “I’m just telling you what went down.”

“Do you think they’ll come back?”

“They might.”

“We have to be careful.”

“Yes.”

Don glanced down at the crowbar Garrett held, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t ask what Garrett’s intentions were, and didn’t seem to disapprove of the weapon. Even so, Garrett felt uneasy. They’d spent most of the previous day together, working side by side. Don didn’t talk much, but he struck Garrett as a deep thinker.

Lauren was focused on her patients. Penny and Cadence were too young and too traumatized to be making canny observations. Don, on the other hand, had been around the block more than once. He’d gone to war and witnessed the evils that men did. If anyone was going to take a long, hard look at Garrett, it was him.

“I need help clearing away the dead bodies,” Garrett said, tightening his grip on the crowbar.

“Sure,” Don said. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

He went inside the RV, probably to say goodbye to Cadence. He walked back out with a baseball bat, as if he was ready to knock a few heads together. Garrett smothered a grin, admiring the older man’s gumption. He slid the crowbar through his belt loop while Don attached the bat to a string on his wrist.

Garrett asked Lauren for some latex gloves, and she let him borrow the stretcher. Moving the dead was filthy, awful work. They smelled, not of decomposition, but of human waste and charred flesh. He didn’t think he’d ever get the stink of it off his clothes. For the hundredth time since the quake hit, he was reminded of the horrors in Iraq.

After caring for her patients, Lauren joined them. She pulled her weight and then some. He’d been deployed with some very tough women, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. Although slim and feminine, she was strong.

Avoiding the north side, where Jeb and Mickey were, they cleared the bodies from the other areas. The last victim was a boy, about thirteen years old.

Lauren helped load him onto the stretcher. The wounds he’d sustained appeared major. Death had probably been instantaneous. They laid him to rest atop the others, in an ungodly stack of twisted limbs. When Lauren crossed his thin arms over his chest, Garrett turned away, blinking the moisture from his eyes.

He covered the mound of bodies with a tarp, and they all piled rocks over the surface. It wasn’t a proper burial, not by a long shot, but it was the best they could manage.

“We should say something,” Lauren said.

Garrett glanced at Don, who shook his head. Garrett couldn’t find the words, either. He’d stopped believing in God years ago.

There was a spring bouquet on the front seat of a nearby car. Retrieving it, she placed the flowers among the rocks and stepped back, reaching for Garrett’s hand. He took it. At her urging, he grasped Don’s hand as well.

“Moment of silence?”

He nodded.

They stood quietly, paying their respects. Garrett stared at the bouquet against the rocks. The blooms were a bit bruised, but still pretty and fresh. They were starkly beautiful in contrast to the ravaged surroundings.

He stayed still, aware of Lauren’s slender hand in his, her head bent close to his shoulder. If he turned, he could touch his lips to her mussed blond hair. His chest tightened with longing at the thought.

When she released him, he stepped back in haste, fighting the urge to rub his palm against his jeans.

As if he could remove his desire for her.

* * *

BACK AT THE RV, Lauren checked on Penny.

The teenager seemed to be recovering well enough. Her eyes were swollen from crying and she looked groggy. The signs of grief were normal and healthy; Lauren would be more concerned if she acted unaffected.

Cadence appeared to be in good health, as well. She was a bundle of nervous energy, bouncing around the RV and asking for her mother often. Lauren gave her the responsibility of calling emergency services. Every hour or so, the girl dialed 911 on a handful of cell phones. So far, none of the calls had connected.

“Burying” the dead had made an impact on how Lauren felt about their entrapment. The cavern wasn’t as macabre. It was still dirty, and bloody, and dangerous, but at least there weren’t corpses scattered all over the ground.

She tried not to replay last night’s attack, or worry too much about getting out. Garrett had collected a small cache of sodas and sports drinks, but it wasn’t enough to keep five people hydrated indefinitely.

They’d have to take it one day at a time.

She fretted over her patients, both of whom might die without proper care. The situation was a paramedic’s worst nightmare. She didn’t have the expertise or the equipment to save them. They needed to be hospitalized.

While she was changing a bag of IV fluids, another aftershock rocked the structure.

Heart racing, she held the bag steady and glanced upward, hoping the ceiling wouldn’t come tumbling down. It didn’t, but the malfunctioning car alarm started going off again.

Don and Garrett went to see if they could dismantle it. Lauren still had her hands full when a man staggered out of the dark, startling her.

It was one of the convicts. Not Jeb or Mickey, but the young man with blond hair and blackened eyes. He’d regained consciousness.

He was taller than she’d figured, over six feet. Even without the bruises, he’d have looked intimidating. His hands and neck were covered with tattoos. He wore a bleak expression, as if he couldn’t believe the devastation around him.

Cadence burst through the side door of the motor home. When she saw him, she stopped and stared, her eyes wide.

“Water,” he rasped.

Penny appeared at the door also. She told Cadence to get back inside.

The man did a double take when he saw Penny. Lauren wasn’t sure if he was reacting to her late-stage pregnancy or her uncommon beauty, but he appeared dumbfounded. “Do you have any water?” he repeated.

Lauren hurried to change the IV bag.

Cadence reached into a box beside the RV for a bottle of water. She unscrewed the cap and stepped forward with the simple offering. As he accepted the plastic bottle, the girl saw the bold black swastika on his hand.

Her face changed from cautious to stricken. She recognized the symbol, and knew what it meant.

Lauren’s heart broke for her.

Cadence backed away, retreating to the safety of the RV. Penny put her arm around Cadence’s shoulders and gave the man a cold look.

He drank all the water, his throat working in long gulps. Although he seemed disoriented, he also appeared apologetic, as if he regretted offending them with his presence. Thirst overruled shame, however, and he drank every drop.

Garrett returned with Don, holding a crowbar at his side. He studied the newcomer in an openly adversarial manner.

Lauren finished with the IV and came forward. She remembered the young man’s name: Owen. Did he know what his comrades had been up to last night? Was he a sexual predator, as well as a convict and a racist?

Unfortunately, those questions went unanswered.

Jeb’s voice rang out from the back of the cavern. “Get some food, Owen.” He flicked on a flashlight to reveal his location. He was standing next to an empty car, gun shoved in the waistband of his pants.

Owen flinched at the command, as if he didn’t like being ordered around. But Jeb had the gun, so he was in charge. The younger man scanned the group he’d been told to steal from, and found no sympathizers. His gaze settled on Garrett, their obvious leader.

“We’ll share on one condition,” Garrett said, speaking directly to Jeb.

Jeb smirked. “What’s that?”

“Keep your boys in line. No more...visits.”

Lauren frowned at the innocuous-sounding characterization. Mickey had sexually assaulted her, not dropped in uninvited for tea.

Jeb seemed insulted by Garrett’s suggestion that he didn’t have control over his cronies. “I don’t think Mickey’s up for another visit, thanks to you. But we’ll stay out of your hair.” He winked at Lauren. “Ma’am.”

When Garrett nodded, Don packed up a box of their much-needed supplies.

She wondered if Owen was cut from the same cloth as Mickey and Jeb. Maybe he didn’t want to do this. Clearly, he had no choice. When Don handed him the box, Owen fumbled for a moment, almost spilling the contents on the ground. With a terse thank-you, and one last glance at Penny, he returned to his crew.

Lauren moved to stand beside Garrett, her hands clenched into fists. The lines between factions had been drawn. Their side had a lot more to lose.

Feeling helpless, she looked up at Garrett. Yesterday, Jeb had been spoiling for a fight. They might try to isolate Garrett and take him out. Without him in the picture, Jeb would have free rein. Lauren and Don couldn’t stand up to three men with a gun.

“What’s to stop him from shooting at you?” she asked.

“Common sense.”

“I don’t trust him.”

He deliberated for a moment. “I’ll clear more space around the RV so there’s nothing to hide behind. Don and I will take turns keeping watch.”

She nibbled her lip, worried.

“He’s not going to shoot at me, Lauren.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the best chance they have of escaping. I’m collecting all the resources, doing all the work.”

Lauren didn’t have to ask what would happen when their resources were gone. She already knew. If they ran out of water, they wouldn’t have to worry about getting shot. They’d die of thirst in three days.


CHAPTER FOUR

GARRETT NEEDED A gun.

He’d already looked near the northeast corner, where the prisoner transport vehicle had been. Jeb must have taken the 9mm from the guard, but Garrett couldn’t find him. He’d probably been crushed under the wall of concrete during the first aftershock.

Lauren accompanied Garrett to search the cars for supplies. He hoped one of the glove compartments would yield a weapon. He should have thought of this yesterday. Then he would have been able to prevent the attack.

“Did you see the way Owen stared at Penny?” she asked.

Garrett kept the RV in sight as he attempted to pry open a trunk with his crowbar. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Penny was easy on the eyes. Owen had taken a good look. “What about it?”

“I’m worried that the convicts won’t stay away like they promised. Especially now that they’ve seen her.”

He continued to wrestle with the trunk, sweat dampening his forehead. The vehicle was half-crushed, which made it difficult to open.

“Maybe they’ll come after her next.”

“I hope not,” he said. “But if they do, I’ll be more prepared.”

Garrett knew he had his work cut out for him. He was trapped in a collapsed structure with two beautiful women, and a group of men who hadn’t touched one in years. Jeb and Mickey apparently had no qualms about rape. They’d probably have gone after anything female, but Lauren’s sexy figure didn’t help matters. Garrett had tried not to notice her as a woman, and failed. His mouth went dry whenever she got close to him.

Penny was too young and too...pregnant...for his tastes. She had a full-grown baby inside her. He couldn’t be certain how the other men felt, but he hoped her condition would be a powerful deterrent against assault.

“What about Cadence?”

The crowbar almost slipped from his grip. “No,” he said, sickened by the thought. “They wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

He stopped messing around with the trunk and leveled with her. “There’s a code against hurting kids in prison. Pedophiles get the same done to them—or worse.”

She didn’t ask how he knew that. “We’re not in prison. Whatever rules they follow in there don’t apply.”

Garrett didn’t necessarily agree. This was very much like prison. They’d already established a hierarchy and formed alliances. After living the same routine day by day, rules and structures weren’t easily shed. “You’re the most desirable target,” he said flatly. “If anything, they’ll make another move on you.”

Her cheeks paled. He suspected that she felt more comfortable focusing on the well-being of others. So did he, but he’d learned the hard way to put himself first. Dead men couldn’t save anyone else.

She stared at the RV, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, I should warn them anyway.”

“Good idea. Tell them exactly what happened to you.”

Her soft mouth twisted into a frown.

Garrett turned his attention back to the crumpled trunk, concentrating on creating a wedge for the crowbar. He didn’t want to replay the events from last night in his head. Seeing her in a state of dishabille had disturbed him on many levels. He had to admit that not all his feelings toward her were protective.

How different was he from Jeb and Mickey?

He’d been in dark places and done terrible things. Situations like this turned good men into animals. Maybe there was a reason she’d thought it was him attacking her. He was certainly capable of violence. And—he wanted her. A primitive part of him had been excited by her torn clothes and exposed flesh.

Putting all his frustrations into the task at hand, he wrenched the trunk open with a grunt of exertion.

Jackpot.

The owner of this vehicle was Lauren’s coma patient. He’d been wearing hiking boots, and he had a national parks pass. His truck was full of climbing gear.

“What’s that?” Lauren asked.

He removed a backpack loaded with carabiners, ropes and pulleys. “It might be our way out of here,” he said, glancing at the narrow crack that snaked along the easternmost wall of the structure. A few stories up, near the top, there was a crevice that appeared wide enough to stick his arm through.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, following his gaze.

“We can fit an SOS flag through there. If the roads are blocked, our best chance of being seen is from the air.”

“Are you an experienced climber?”

“No, but I’ve done some parachuting.”

“Well, that’s practically the same thing,” she said with false brightness. “Collapsed freeway, open sky. We’re saved!”

He smiled at her sarcasm, taking no offense. “I meant that I’m familiar with heights and safety gear. Pararescue is all about rope work. But there’s no guarantee anyone will notice our flag, even if I can get up there.”

She moistened her lips, glancing from the cracked concrete to the dark corner where their opponents resided. He knew what she was thinking. They’d be vulnerable to an attack while he attempted an ascent.

He rifled through the contents of the trunk, shelving the climbing plan for later. “First we need to find a CB radio.”

“What about cell phones?”

“We can’t count on service coming back. Power might be out indefinitely.”

Garrett found a duffel bag with the climber’s personal belongings, a change of clothes and identification. “Sam Rutherford,” he read on the driver’s license. Inside the duffel there was a strange object, like a dusky-gold vase.

Lauren reached out to touch it. “That’s an urn.”

He noted a woman’s name was engraved on the side before he put it back. “Maybe he was going somewhere to spread the ashes.”

The climber also had a canvas tent and some camping supplies, along with a desert-style camel pack. Garrett slung the pack over his shoulder and released the drinking tube, filling his mouth with fresh water. It was amazing how thirsty one could get when fluids were scarce. He wanted to drink and drink and drink.

Instead he offered the tube to Lauren. She stood on tiptoe to reach, placing her hand on his shoulder. Her breasts pressed against his arm. While he watched, entranced, her lips closed around the tube, her cheeks hollowing slightly as she sucked.

Only a horny bastard would continue to stare, and think dirty thoughts, at a time like this. He dragged his gaze away from her pretty mouth and slender throat, but even the sound of her swallowing struck him as erotic.

Focus on something else, Garrett. He grappled for a new topic and found only a random Dune quote: “‘Your water shall mingle with our water.’”

She laughed, patting his shoulder. “Thanks, Fremen.”

Shaking his head at himself, he added the climbing gear to the supplies he’d stockpiled yesterday. They had crates, blankets, first-aid kits, empty containers, rope, tools and a number of other items that might prove useful.

But what they needed most, other than water—and a weapon—was a way to communicate with the outside world.

“Where should we search next? Use your Bene Gesserit powers.”

She smiled at the idea. “If I’m Lady Jessica, who are you?”

“Duke Leto,” he said, naming her lover.

“He dies.”

“Oh. Right. That’s okay.” Totally worth it.

Giving him a weird look, she pointed to the west side of the structure. “I think I saw a semitruck over there. Just the cab.”

Now that she mentioned it, he remembered walking by the Kenworth. Stress and lack of sleep, or maybe sensory overload, had caused the semi to slip from his mind. “Perfect,” he said. “Truckers always have radios.”

She had to check on her patients again, so he went to a far corner and unzipped his pants. The women had been using the bathroom in the RV, and flushing infrequently to save water. He preferred this, more primitive method, though neither was ideal.

When he was finished, he rejoined Lauren in front of the motor home. The temperature inside the collapsed freeway had been comfortable all morning, but now it was heating up. Her cheeks were flushed, her forehead shiny with perspiration.

“I need something else to wear,” she said, taking off her jacket.

He waited while she found a clean tank top in the pile of supplies. Rather than going inside the RV to change clothes, she ducked behind it, shrugging out of the torn uniform shirt. Garrett caught a glimpse of her naked shoulders, bisected by thin bra straps. He averted his gaze, feeling heat creep up his neck. When she put on the top and turned around, he tried not to notice the soft white cotton molded to her breasts.

She didn’t match his mental picture of the regal, dark-haired Lady Jessica. With her sun-streaked blond ponytail, ocean-blue eyes and perky figure, she looked more like a bikini model. Or a sexy lifeguard. She was lovely.

The Kenworth cab was sitting near the south edge of the structure, unoccupied. Perhaps that was why it hadn’t tripped his radar. Over the past twenty-four hours, he’d been focused on bodies, dead or alive.

“Where do you think the driver went?” Lauren asked.

Garrett shrugged. There were several empty cars beneath the structure. He assumed that some of the inhabitants had abandoned their vehicles, only to be crushed by debris during the first aftershock. If Garrett had gone the opposite direction, he’d have been buried alive himself. “Maybe he escaped.”

The Kenworth appeared no worse for the wear. Many of the other vehicles inside the structure had been smashed beyond recognition. He opened the driver’s-side door of the semi and climbed inside. The interior was clean and organized. It had a sleeper cab, with a narrow bed in the back, and a shiny black CB radio under the dash.

The keys dangled from the ignition.

Flashing a grin at Lauren, he sat down and fired it up. The engine roared to life. Garrett realized that they’d found a pot of gold. The truck could be used for communication, shelter, even transportation.

He rose to check the glove compartment, his pulse accelerating with hope. Unfortunately, it didn’t contain any weapons.

Lauren came in to investigate. Brushing by him, she scanned the sleeping area. Their eyes connected for a moment. She glanced away quickly, clearing her throat. While he turned on the radio, she searched the contents of the cab for any supplies they could use.

Garrett didn’t find a clean channel. There was nothing but static and interference. He picked up the receiver anyway, handing it to Lauren.

After a short hesitation, she sat down in the passenger seat and pressed the talk button. “This is Lauren Boyer of San Diego, California. We have an emergency situation and need immediate help.” She paused. “Over.”

“Tell them where we are,” he said.

“We’re trapped in a freeway collapse at the Interstate 8 and Highway 163 connection. There are ten survivors, some critically wounded. Please respond, over.”

Her plea was met with the flat crackle of white noise. They waited a few minutes, and she repeated the message, with no success.

“Morse code might work better,” he said. “It can be heard at long distances when voice communication isn’t viable.”

She set aside the receiver, her hands trembling. Garrett understood how she felt. They were on an emotional roller coaster. The ups and downs were more difficult to stomach than a steady barrage of bad news.

“Want to go for a ride?” he asked.

She looked startled. “In this?”

“Sure. Let’s take her back to camp. We need the radio nearby in case someone answers. If she feels up to it, Penny can send out a call in Spanish.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said. Some of the despair drained from her eyes. “Let’s do it.”

He put the truck into gear, released the hand brake and stepped on the gas. They took a serpentine route back to the RV because there were so many obstacles. He parked next to the triage area, facing the north corner.

Jeb and Mickey would have a hard time sneaking up on this baby. Tonight, Lauren could sleep in the back while Garrett stayed up front.

When he hazarded a glance at her, he realized that she also understood the benefits. Her lips curved into an appreciative smile, as if he’d done something special. She seemed grateful, and he didn’t know what to say.

She was the one who’d fought hard all night, trying to save lives. He’d just thrown a few punches after falling asleep on the job.

He scolded himself for being flattered by her attention. There wasn’t anyone else she could count on. It didn’t take any skill to tap out an SOS code, or do the heavy lifting. But he loved the way she looked at him, as if he were smart and honorable and strong. He wanted to be that man, the superhero she thought he was.

“You must have been a good soldier.”

He’d been a Marine, not a soldier, but he didn’t bother to correct her. “I was okay,” he said, shrugging. Off duty, he’d been pretty dishonorable.

“How many years did you serve?”

“In the Marine Corps?”

A crease formed between her brows. “Were you in another branch of the military?”

“No,” he said, tightening his hands on the steering wheel. “I served four years, two overseas.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“I had PTSD.” It was the truth, but such a small part of the truth that it felt like a lie. “After my second tour ended, I was discharged.”

“Did you get treatment?”

“Not really. I refused to see a psychologist.”

She made a sympathetic face.

“I was kind of screwed up.”

“How’d you get better?”

“I met some other war veterans. They were like a support group. I also read a lot. I read Dune while I was recovering.”

“Really? That’s amazing.”

He didn’t see how, but it wasn’t polite to argue with a lady.

“What else did you read?”

“Lots of things.” He tried to remember some titles. Science fiction and fantasy were his favorites. He also enjoyed travel stories, wilderness adventures...anything to take him away from cold, hard reality. “Watership Down, The Stand, Lord of the Rings, White Fang.”

She smiled. “I’ve read some of those.”

That didn’t surprise him. Her eyes were alight with intelligence and compassion. She reminded him of some of the teachers he’d had in college. “It’s kind of ironic, but the last book I read was about a guy who got his arm stuck in a rock.”

“Aron Ralston? I read that, too.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. It wasn’t my usual type of story, but I enjoyed it. I’ll read anything.”

“If I find any books in the cars, I’ll bring them to you.”

She glanced out the window, falling silent. They hadn’t been able to sit down for more than a few moments at a time. Leisure reading wasn’t on the schedule. “Hopefully we won’t have to cut any limbs off to get free.”

He shouldn’t have brought up that Ralston book. It was a little grisly. “Do you want to lie down and rest?”

“No,” she said. “I have to check on Mrs. Engle again. I’ll see if Penny can come over here to monitor the radio.”

He had to get going also. “Let me show you how to do a basic SOS.” Turning the CB back on, he tapped three short beats, followed by three longer beats, and then three more short beats. “It just repeats. You can try different channels and frequencies.”

Before he climbed out of the truck, she reached between them, covering his hand with hers. The bandage, which had been snowy-white in the predawn darkness, was now dingy. Like everything else he touched.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve done a lot.”

Her hand looked small compared to his. Slender and capable, while his were clumsy, blunt fingered, brutish. She squeezed his palm gently, her fingertips sweeping over his thumb. The caress was innocent; his reaction, anything but.

He had to go now, before she noticed. “Can I have my hand back?”

She released it with a frown, confused by his rudeness. If she only knew. He muttered a terse goodbye and left the semi, walking away in discomfort. After putting several car lengths of distance between them, he slowed his pace, taking a deep breath.

That was close.

He really had to get ahold of himself. If he couldn’t control his thoughts, or his body’s response to her, he might not be able to control his actions. Lauren had placed her trust in him. He was supposed to guard her from the other men.

Who would guard her from him?


CHAPTER FIVE

AFTER LAUREN SAW to her patients, she checked on Penny again.

The teenager was having her hair done at Cadence’s “beauty shop” inside the RV. Penny was sitting on the floor in front of the bed, her hands cupped under her swollen belly, legs crossed at the ankle. Cadence was perched on the mattress behind her, mouth pursed in concentration. With her dark brown hair braided into two neat sections, Penny looked like Mary Ann from Gilligan’s Island.

Penny had styled Cadence’s hair also. The girl’s thick curls were tamed into two puffy pom-poms.

Lauren waited for Cadence to finish, her heart warmed by the scene. She’d always wanted a sister. Her mother hadn’t fussed with her hair much. But Lauren had been a tomboy, more interested in playing sports than dressing up.

“I wanted my hair out of the way,” Penny said, fingering the braids.

“In case the baby comes,” Cadence added.

“Are you having contractions?” Lauren asked, concerned.

“No. Just lower-back pain.”

Lauren checked her vital signs and palpated her abdomen. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You’ve had medical care throughout the pregnancy?”

“Yes. I’ve been taking my prenatal vitamins and going to the doctor every few weeks.”

“No complications?”

She shook her head.

“Any complaints?”

“I have to pee every five minutes.”

Lauren smiled, removing her stethoscope. “The baby’s head is putting pressure on your bladder,” she explained. “That’s normal. It’s the right position for delivery. We don’t want the baby to come out feet first.”

Cadence seemed excited by the idea of a new addition to their group. Penny appeared sick with worry, which was understandable. Going into labor under these circumstances could be disastrous.

“Drink plenty of water, even though it makes you pee. You’ll lose a lot of fluids when the baby is born.”

Lauren didn’t want to take Penny away from Cadence, or the safety of the RV, but she needed her help with the radio. If she didn’t join Garrett on the search for supplies, he’d go alone and possibly endanger himself.

She didn’t know what to think of him. Sometimes she caught him staring at her in a caged-animal sort of way. Hungry, but unable to hunt. He also seemed tense and distant, as if her presence set his nerves on edge.

Maybe she was imagining things. They were all stressed out.

“We found a CB radio,” she said to Penny. “We haven’t had any luck with responses, but we need to keep trying. If you’re feeling up to it, I’d like for you to send out a message in Spanish.”

“Sure,” Penny said, rising to her feet. The huge belly didn’t hamper her movements as much as Lauren expected. She was young and spry and eager to leave the claustrophobic confines of the RV.

Cadence stood also. “What can I do?”

Lauren squeezed her shoulder. “Stay inside for now. Garrett and I are going to search the cars some more. We’ll come back for lunch.”

She didn’t like being cooped up any more than Penny. Eyes watering, she curled up on the bed and hugged a pillow to her chest.

When they were outside the RV, Penny said, “She misses her mom. They were talking on the phone when the earthquake hit.”

Lauren thought of her own mother and felt a stab of guilt. Their relationship had been strained since her father’s death, but she knew her mother loved her. Right now, she was probably worried out of her mind.

“I hope the rest of my family is okay,” Penny said.

“Do they live nearby?”

Penny shook her head. “L.A.”

“Maybe that’s best. Farther from the epicenter.”

They passed Don, who was helping Garrett make an SOS flag, and climbed into the truck. Lauren showed her how the radio worked. Penny voiced a tremulous message into the receiver. Although Lauren didn’t understand Spanish perfectly, she admired Penny’s delivery. The teen sounded sweet and innocent and distressed.

If Lauren could telegraph a picture of her fine features and luminous skin, men from all over the country might come running.

Unfortunately, the only response they heard was static.

Lauren demonstrated the SOS signal that Garrett had taught her. Penny picked it up easily. She seemed to have a quick mind and a nice personality. Lauren assumed that her pregnancy was unplanned, and wondered if Penny would keep the baby. Being a young mother was always a struggle.

“I wanted to talk to you about the other men,” Lauren said, tackling an even more difficult subject.

Penny brought her attention back to Lauren. “The convicts?”

“Did Don tell you what happened?”

“He just said they were dangerous, and that they attacked you and Garrett.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “The heavy one, Mickey, woke me up last night. He tore my shirt and held his hand over my mouth. When I started struggling, he tried to slam my head into the concrete.”

Her mouth thinned. “What did Garrett do?”

“He hit him with a flashlight and broke his nose.”

“Good.”

“But Jeb threatened to shoot, so Garrett let him go.”

“You think they’ll try again?”

“Maybe not,” Lauren replied. “But I wanted you to know...what they’re capable of.”

“I already knew what they were capable of.”

“How?”

“They’re men.”

Lauren wasn’t sure how to respond to this logic. Extreme caution seemed appropriate in a survival situation. Maybe Lauren had been too reckless. She shouldn’t have been sleeping out in the open, where she was vulnerable.

“I’m glad you warned me, though. I’ll talk to Cadence.” Penny paused, studying her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.” Tears sprang into her eyes, but she blinked them away. “Garrett hurt his knuckles.”

“I hope Mickey’s face hurts more.”

Lauren took a deep breath, pushing aside the disturbing memories. “If they do come back, be careful. I wouldn’t put it past them to attack you. You’re a beautiful girl. I could tell that Owen noticed.”

“Owen?”

“The blond guy with the bruises.”

She squinted out the driver’s-side window, surveying the space where Owen had stood. “I’ll throw rocks at him if he comes back.”

Antagonizing the convicts wasn’t a good idea, but it couldn’t hurt to be prepared. Garrett was carrying a crowbar. Don had been keeping a baseball bat next to his lawn chair. Lauren wouldn’t mind having a blunt object at the ready. The women needed to be able to defend themselves, too.

“This is a cool crash pad,” Penny said. She sat down on the bunk, testing the mattress. “It’s like a tiny apartment.”

Lauren was distracted by the local radio, which she’d kept on at a low volume. A series of beeps indicated an emergency broadcast, so she turned it up.

“The president has declared San Diego a disaster zone. Yesterday the city experienced a powerful eight-point-five earthquake and a series of strong aftershocks. Rescue teams are in the process of evacuating the entire county. If you are located near the epicenter, emergency personnel may not be able to reach you. The greater downtown area has sustained considerable damage and many roadways have been destroyed.

“Those who cannot evacuate are urged to take shelter. Air support will be delivering supplies to strategic urban locations.”

The broadcast went on to give advice about tap water, warning that pipelines had been contaminated. Power wasn’t expected to be returned to the area soon. Most residents had no electricity and no means of communication.

It was a mess. The death-toll estimates were astronomical.

When the announcement ended, Lauren exchanged a glance with Penny. Disaster teams were focused on evacuation. It could be days before they launched a concerted rescue effort. When she considered the specialized equipment and manpower necessary to sort through a freeway collapse, she anticipated a much longer wait.

Penny placed her hand on the top of her belly. “The baby’s kicking,” she murmured, her eyes flat.

“Will you stay here and tap the SOS code every few minutes?”

“Sure,” she said, sighing. “I don’t have anything else to do.”

Lauren left Penny to it and returned to Don and Garrett, relaying the latest information. “We might not get rescued until evacuations are complete.”

Garrett made a noise of agreement. “If they’re doing airdrops, putting out the flag is crucial. They’ll prioritize searches by areas where they know there are survivors. Even then, they’ll do the easy jobs first.”

Lauren couldn’t imagine how many small-scale rescues the disaster teams would perform in the next few days. Crews would start on the outer edge of the most affected areas and work their way toward the epicenter.

Which they were smack-dab in the middle of, as far as she knew.

“I need the mirror you were using last night,” Garrett said.

“Why?”

“I’m going to stick it through the crevice in the concrete and try to look around. Assuming I make it that far.”

Lauren retrieved the mirror, watching while he taped it to a wire clothes hanger, which he’d bent and doubled. He was a regular MacGyver. Although she admired his ingenuity, she worried about his safety. She knew he worked well under pressure and had courage to spare. But he seemed a little too willing to put his life on the line.

“We should search the rest of the cars first,” he said. “It might take all day for me to climb the wall.”

Before they set out again, Lauren strapped a pair of scissors to her belt. It wasn’t an ideal weapon for stabbing, but the blades were sharp and handy. For Penny she found an even better tool: landscape clippers in a leather sheath. She attached them to a strip of gauze that Penny tied around her waist, under her belly.

The teen looked like a pregnant pirate. With Mary Ann braids.

Lauren exchanged a smile with Garrett as they walked away. Although his face was streaked with dirt, his teeth appeared very strong and white. Her breath caught at the sight. Then she remembered how he’d reacted to her touch.

She looked down, focusing on navigating through the debris. He might like her as a friend, or be attracted to her as a woman, but he wasn’t comfortable with intimacy. She should keep her smiles—and her hands—to herself.

* * *

PENNY WATCHED LAUREN and Garrett fade into the dark edges of the cavern.

They were cute together. Total opposites, in looks. Lauren was light haired and small; Garrett was dark haired and big. Both were save-the-world types. Penny’s soccer coach had been that way. Miss Alisos had cried when Penny quit the team.

Penny had cried, too. Just not in front of everyone.

She didn’t consider Garrett as much of a threat as the other men. He’d saved her life, which counted for a lot. He’d also protected Lauren from a rapist. Although Penny had caught him checking Lauren out when he thought no one else was looking, he seemed like a good guy. Penny didn’t think he’d hurt anyone.

She did the Morse code thing again and listened for a response. Nothing.

Bored and restless, she rifled through the trucker’s sleeper cabin. There was a stack of dirty magazines and a box of condoms in a drawer under the bed. Curious, she selected the most shocking cover and returned to the driver’s seat to peruse it.

The images were pretty gross. She’d only seen one men’s magazine before, which featured glamorous women in sexy shoes and expensive lingerie. These shots depicted worn-out hookers with mussed hair and weird grimaces.

They weren’t just posing, either.

Shuddering, she closed the pages. If getting pregnant by a stupid jerk hadn’t already put her off sex for life, this would have done the job. While she was placing the magazine back in the drawer, the semi started shaking.

Letting out a cry of distress, she covered her head with her arms and stayed still, waiting for the tremor to pass. The latest aftershocks weren’t as bad as the first ones. Those had been almost as strong as the original quake.

Maybe her father was right; God punished sinners. Especially female ones.

When it was over, she lifted her head, listening. That annoying car alarm sounded again, but only for a few seconds. Penny rose to her feet and looked toward the RV. Cadence had rushed outside to hug Don, her face crumpled in fear.

Penny felt a tiny stab of envy at the sight of their embrace. She missed her aunt, who’d been her only remaining supporter. She missed her parents, even her father, who thought she’d sullied the family name. Before she left home, he’d issued a stern warning about her pregnancy. If anyone found out, he would disown her. She was supposed to deliver the baby and quietly give it up for adoption. Either that, or get married.

Those were her only options.

Although she feared her father’s wrath, she was more afraid of dying in childbirth. If she got through to someone on the radio, she’d tell them who she was. She’d be honest about her family name and her condition, no matter what the cost.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and climbed out of the truck. Maybe Cadence would enjoy learning the SOS signal and hanging out inside the semi. Distracting the traumatized girl was the least Penny could do.

Before she reached Cadence and Don, one of the convicts stepped out of the shadows. It was the youngest, Owen. He came forward hesitantly, looking up at the ceiling of the cavern as if worried about falling debris. He held a brown paper bag against his chest.

When he saw Penny standing by the semi, he froze.

She didn’t even think of brandishing the pruning shears. Lifting her chin, she stared back at him. He looked awful. There were shiny black crescents under both eyes. The tattooed script along his neck and arms reminded her of newspaper.

He was a walking advertisement for hate.

His demeanor didn’t quite match the outside. He was tall and scary, but he didn’t appear comfortable in his skin. There was no hint of derision or arrogance. If anything, he seemed uncertain. Or...fascinated.

With what—her hideously misshapen form?

Don picked up his baseball bat in a challenging manner.

Owen tore his gaze away from Penny, blinking a few times, as if he’d seen a bright light. “I found a bag of toys and stuff in one of the cars,” he said, setting the package down. “It’s nothing we can use.”

They were all silent for several beats.

“What kind of toys?” Cadence asked.

He looked from Don to her, the corner of his mouth quirking. “The Nintendo DS might interest you. It’s got ‘Mario Kart.’”

“I’ve never played that game,” she said shyly.

“You haven’t? It’s pretty fun.”

Penny couldn’t imagine why he’d brought the device to Cadence. Most young men enjoyed video games just as much as kids. Under these circumstances, anything that could be used to pass the time was invaluable.

“There’s some baby blankets, too,” he said, glancing at Penny again. “They look new.”

Don didn’t thank him or set aside his bat. He kept his hand on Cadence’s shoulder, preventing her from moving forward.

For some reason, the baby items sent Penny over the edge. She was terrified of going into labor before they were rescued. Owen’s “gift” reminded her of her worst nightmare. How dare he waltz into this side of the cavern and stir up her fears? How dare he flash his white-power tats in front of a proud Mexicana and a mixed-race girl?

“Get out of here,” she said, her fingers closing over the handle of the pruning shears. If he tried anything, she’d snip his face.

He flinched at the harsh words, a flush creeping up his neck. Either from shame or anger, she couldn’t tell. But he didn’t step closer or talk back to her. Nodding politely, he turned away, limping into the dark.

As soon as he was gone, Don retrieved the paper bag. He found the game player and a purple-haired doll with black button eyes for Cadence. “Go back inside now,” he said, passing her the items.

Cradling both in her arms, she returned to the RV.

Don rifled through the remaining contents, as if making sure they were safe, before he handed the bag to Penny.

Her throat tightened when she saw the soft blankets inside. Her aunt had taken her shopping for baby items last week. It seemed like a year ago. She’d purchased some unisex clothes and accessories, along with a big box of newborn diapers. Tyler hadn’t bought her anything, of course. He hadn’t sent a single gift.

She resented Owen for doing more than the baby’s father.

Not that she took his gesture at face value. He might be planning to steal the rest of their food. One of his buddies had tried to rape Lauren last night. She didn’t know why those men had been in jail, and she wasn’t going to let her guard down.

Garrett and Lauren returned from their supply run, arms filled with miscellaneous items. Nothing Penny was interested in. She would have killed for an orange. The only fruit they had left was a spotted banana.

“Is it okay if I take Cadence back to the semi with me?” she asked Don. “I can show her how to do Morse code.”

He agreed, perhaps intending to speak with the others about Owen. Penny was torn between staying and going. She wanted to be treated like an adult, but the responsibility was overwhelming. Being pregnant, in itself, was a chore.

Cadence brought her doll and game device with her. Penny, who had played “Super Mario Kart” once before, gave her some tips. To Penny’s surprise, the girl set the device aside after a few minutes.

“Why’d you tell that man to go away?” she asked.

“Because I’m afraid of him. You should be, too.”

She shrugged. “He seems nice.”

“Do you know what that tattoo on his hand means?”

Cadence’s face became troubled. “Yeah. My mom told me to stay away from people like him. They hate us.”

Penny was relieved that she didn’t need to explain, but she felt sad for Cadence. A girl her age shouldn’t have to deal with ignorance and hate.

“What if he made a mistake?” Cadence asked. “Some people get tattoos and feel sorry about it later. I saw a girl on MTV who had her name spelled wrong on the back of her neck. That was pretty dumb.”

“He’s got a lot of tattoos. They can’t all be mistakes.”

“I think he likes you,” she said.

Penny recoiled from the notion. Smoothing a hand over her watermelon-size stomach, she glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. If Owen found her deformed figure attractive, he had really bad taste. But they’d already established that.

“One of the other men attacked Lauren,” Penny warned, frowning at herself.

“I know. My grandpa told me. He doesn’t want us to get hurt.”

Don had been kind to Penny, and for that, she was grateful. She hoped he didn’t consider her a bad influence on Cadence. Some people—like her parents—disapproved of pregnant teenagers. They ignored her or gave her dirty looks.

Since she’d started showing, she’d felt like a pariah.

“Don’t worry,” Cadence said, putting her arms around Penny. “We won’t let anyone attack you. I’m pretty sure Owen wouldn’t do that, but the rest of us will be watching out. You’re safe here.”

She’d meant to comfort Cadence, not be comforted by her. But the girl’s embrace felt warm and sweet, and Penny didn’t have the heart to pull away.


CHAPTER SIX

GARRETT SPENT MOST of the morning searching the vehicles.

He found a blowtorch and some welding tools, along with a crateful of aerosol cans. The spray paint and lacquer could be used like mace.

There were no concealed firearms in the vehicles, as far as he could tell. That was unfortunate. He collected an arsenal of blunt objects and chemical irritants, but those weapons were useless at a distance. Jeb wasn’t going to put down his gun and engage in hand-to-hand combat. Not by choice, anyway.

He needed to climb the wall before sundown or he wouldn’t be able to see anything with the mirror. So they gave up the search and went back to the RV for a lunch of beef jerky and rice with baby carrots.

The carrots were the last of the fresh food. They still had some dry goods, a dozen cans of soup and a large jug of apple juice. Lauren found a jar of raspberry jam and a tub of peanut butter in one of the cars. Those items would go a long way. Supplies of everything else, especially water, were dwindling.

Garrett tried to limit his consumption of liquids, but he was doing thirsty work and he couldn’t afford to get dehydrated. They all needed water to stay alive. Penny was drinking for two. He didn’t even bother to warn Don about using water. It wasn’t as if anyone in their group was washing clothes or taking showers.

They couldn’t even wash their hands. Garrett had used Lauren’s hospital wipes once or twice when he’d gotten really filthy, but otherwise he ignored the grit. He assumed that he looked and smelled like a vagrant.

Don was in charge of rationing the food, and he took the job very seriously. He’d been giving them just enough to keep going. The water would run out first, so there was no reason to starve themselves.

As he studied the climbing gear, Garrett realized he’d been overly optimistic about his abilities. He had no experience with the sport. He’d done a few HALO jumps, and navigated some treacherous terrain, but he wasn’t a paratrooper or a rescue expert. His knowledge of rope systems and safety equipment was limited.

He winced, looking at the wall in front of him. It wasn’t just sheer; it sloped inward. There were no hand or footholds, just flat concrete. A hairline crack started about six feet up and zigzagged into a narrow crevice near the top corner. The distance between the crevice and the floor was at least thirty feet. If he fell, and his gear didn’t hold, he might not die, but a broken leg was a fate worse than death in here.

Garrett wavered for a moment, mulling over the consequences. Lauren and the others needed him to stay healthy. But if they failed to communicate with the outside world, they might not be rescued for weeks. Their water supply would last another day or two at the most. He had to try to hang that flag.

Decision made, he donned the safety harness, adjusting it to fit his larger frame. The owner of the equipment had a lean build, which was probably ideal for rock climbing. Garrett didn’t carry any excess weight, but he was heavier than Sam Rutherford. He hoped he wouldn’t snap the lines.

The bag was full of square-shaped metal pieces, wire loops and aluminum clips. There were also some round wedge-type things. He couldn’t use those until he got up higher, as the crack wasn’t wide enough for them at the bottom.

He’d thought about getting started up the wall by standing on the roof of a car, or stacking a few crates on top of each other, but he wanted to get the hang of climbing before he was too high up.

The kit included a small pickax, which he used to notch a space about three feet under the crack on the wall. He stuck one of the squares into it. When it felt secure, he did the same thing a few feet up, at the base of the crack.

“So far, so good,” he said under his breath, glancing back at Lauren. She and Don were working on a pop-up tent for the triage space. Her patients would be better protected inside the canvas shelter.

He turned back to his task. The metal squares had wire loops connected to them. He put his right foot in the lower loop and grabbed the higher one with his left hand, pulling himself up. He felt more like a gorilla than a monkey. His oversize boot scraped against the concrete as he fought for balance.

Christ, this wasn’t easy. And he was only three feet up.

When he felt confident that he wasn’t going to fall backward and crack his head open, he clipped his belt to the higher loop. He was reluctant to let go, but he needed both hands to make another notch. Using extreme caution, he released the loop and leaned back, testing the security of the harness.

The metal square snapped out of the concrete and he stumbled, putting his left foot down. His knee buckled and he tried to jerk his right leg out of the loop. He got tripped up and landed on his ass, one leg in the air.

Thankfully, his skull didn’t hit the concrete.

He unhooked his boot and glanced around, feeling sheepish. Lauren was striding toward him with a protective helmet under one arm. She looked upset. He scrambled to his feet, smiling to let her know he wasn’t hurt.

“Just like skydiving?” she said, shoving the helmet at him. It hit him in the stomach like a not-so-playful punch.

“Once I’m up there, it will be more like skydiving.”

She followed his gaze to the top. “Except, no parachute.”

“Right.”

When her eyes reconnected with his, he read the fear and anger in them. She was mad at him for scaring her. He hadn’t experienced female concern in so long, he almost couldn’t recognize it. This level of emotion was foreign to him. He marveled for a moment, soaking it in. “I’ll be okay,” he said.

She crossed her arms over her chest, frowning at the ground where he’d just fallen.

“I think I’m doing it wrong.”

“Then why risk getting injured?”

“If I can’t get the hang of it this afternoon, I won’t keep going.”

She let out a ragged breath and walked away, her hands clenched into tight fists. He stared at her retreating form for a few seconds too long. She had a cute little butt. In another life, he might have tried to get lucky with her.

In this life, he wasn’t free to pursue female company, and the only person he got lucky with was himself.

Flushing, he turned his attention back to the wall. Taking a quick drink from his camel pack, he stuck the helmet on his head and reevaluated the gear. The lower square had stayed secure because it was lodged against a piece of rebar.

He glanced up at the crevice, where the crosshatch of rebar was more exposed. The structural component helped reinforce the concrete. Not enough to prevent it from buckling, in this case, but well enough to keep them trapped. Even if he could chisel his way through the concrete layer, the bands of rebar created an effective metal prison.

He repositioned the higher square against a piece of rebar, putting his weight on the loop to test its strength. This time, it held. Using the loops as footholds was awkward and unfeasible. He needed to attach clips to the loops, secure a lead rope to the wall and thread it through the clips as he progressed.

Frowning, he took a fifty-foot rope from his pack and attached it to his harness. He’d have to ascend the wall, little by little. The only problem was that he couldn’t anchor the other end of the rope.

This was a two-man job.

Don had greater upper-body strength than Lauren. Garrett called him over. “Can you hold the line and give me slack when I need it?”

“Be glad to,” he said, picking it up.

Garrett realized that Don couldn’t handle his full weight for more than a few seconds. He’d have to use another line for climbing. He attached a clip to the upper loop and threaded a shorter rope through it, gripping one end in his hands and attaching the other to his belt. This way, Don’s line was just for safety.

Leaning back, he braced his boots against the wall. At the same time, he pulled on the shorter rope, climbing fist over fist. He made slow progress, walking up the wall carefully. It was a hell of an upper-body workout. He wished he wasn’t so goddamned heavy. Finally, his harness was even with the upper loop. Grasping the rope with his left hand, he used his right to clip the loop directly to his belt.

“Hold the line steady, but don’t pull on it unless this breaks,” he said to Don.

“Got it,” Don replied.

When he let go of the rope, his harness held tight, anchored to the wall by a well-placed metal square.

He exhaled a pent-up breath.

Don gave him a nod of encouragement. They both knew he had a long haul ahead of him. The safety line was no guarantee against injury. But, unlike Lauren, Don didn’t belabor those details. He understood what needed to be done.

Working quickly, Garrett placed another metal square higher in the crevice. He attached a clip, threaded the short rope through and pulled himself up.

His biceps were already burning, and he’d have to repeat this process about ten times, or every three feet. Instead of focusing on the pain and difficulty, he concentrated on the task and let his mind go blank.

It was just like running ten miles or humping ninety pounds of gear through the desert. You did it one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. Unpleasant tasks were accomplished inch by inch, end over end.

As the crevice widened, each metal square was more easily placed. The climbing became increasingly difficult, however. By the time he reached the top, he was shaking from exertion and dripping sweat.

He couldn’t celebrate his victory, or even take the flag out of his pack. Hanging from the ceiling, suspended by his harness, he rested for a moment, waiting for the feeling to come back into his hands.

Glancing over his left shoulder, he saw that Jeb’s corner was still and quiet. He hoped it would stay that way.

Lauren had joined Don at the end of the rope. That was good. If he fell, they would both have to bear his weight.

Although she didn’t say anything, he could read the concern on her face. Garrett didn’t blame her. He’d made it all the way up here, and now he didn’t know if he could hang the damned flag, let along climb back down.

He took a drink of tepid water and tried to reenergize. At boot camp, one of his instructors had stressed the importance of a healthy imagination. He’d claimed that Marines who could visualize a happy place during their downtime were better able to deal with the trials and tribulations of deployment.

Garrett’s favorite coping mechanism was fantasizing about sex. There was no happier place than between a woman’s legs.

He pictured Lauren writhing underneath him, her lips parted in ecstasy.

Then he took a deep breath and flexed his hands, focusing on reality. Directly above him, a strip of smoky-blue sky peeked through the crevice. The glimpse of the outside world bolstered his spirits further.

Garrett understood the benefits of sunlight better than most people. Fresh air was a precious commodity to humans in confinement. Without it, men became monsters. He knew that from experience.

He reached into his pack for the mirror. His movements were clumsy from fatigue and he fumbled, almost dropping it. The fact that he was suspended in a reclining position didn’t help. He kept his grip on the wire hanger but leaned back too far. His helmet slipped off and tumbled through the air before smashing on the ground.

Fuck.

Lauren stared at the cracked helmet in horror, as if it was his head. Even Don appeared distressed.

Garrett couldn’t afford to panic, and looking down made him feel queasy, so he returned his attention to the crevice. The rebar barrier left open spaces that were almost large enough to accommodate his hand. He slipped the mirror past the barrier and squinted at the too-bright reflection.

The sun was out. That was all he could see, and it was enough.

He didn’t want to expend too much effort looking around when his top priority was hanging the flag. Instead of removing the mirror, he pointed it upward and bent the wire around the rebar. Reflective flashes could be seen for miles. Then he took the flag from his pack and passed it through the crevice.

Don had attached the fabric to a wooden pole with a tie on one end. Garrett tied the pole to the rebar and hoped the flag wouldn’t fly away in the wind.

He had one more task to complete, which was checking for cell phone service. It was worth a shot, even though power was down all over the county. As he wrestled the phone from his pocket, he started swaying in midair.

Uh-oh.

An aftershock rumbled through the structure, ripping the phone from his hand. Concrete bits rained on his face and several metal squares popped simultaneously. He fell about ten feet, gritting his teeth as the harness caught. The force of motion sent him swinging like a kamikaze trapeze toward the far wall.

He slammed into it at full speed, cracking the side of his head. Pain radiated from his shoulder to his hip, which had taken the brunt of the impact. The last thing he heard before darkness descended was Lauren’s terrified scream.

* * *

IT TOOK EVERY OUNCE of strength she possessed to keep her grip on the rope.

Don was working just as hard as she was, if not harder, but they couldn’t hold on much longer. Garrett was so heavy. His body was slack and lifeless, head thrown back, arms and legs dangling at his sides.

What if he didn’t wake up?

Lauren shouted for Penny. They needed all the help they could get. The teenager was at her side in a split second, Cadence in tow. Both girls grabbed a section of the rope, easing the tension slightly.

It was just enough to buy them another minute.

“We have to lower him slowly,” Don said.

Lauren followed his lead. He showed her how to let out the slack in gradual measures so they wouldn’t lose control of the rope. She mimicked his motions, hand over hand. Working together, the four of them brought Garrett closer to the ground.

“Cadence, go hold his head,” she ordered. “Don’t let it hit the concrete.”

The girl released the rope and ran to Garrett, cradling both arms under his head. They lowered him the last few feet until he lay sprawled on his back.

Safe.

Lauren rushed to his side, checking his wrist for a pulse. It hammered against her fingertips, strong and steady.

He moaned, listing his head to one side.

She was so relieved to see signs of consciousness that tears sprang to her eyes. Cadence held up her hands, showing Lauren the blood on them. Lauren reached into her medical bag for moist wipes and gauze. She passed the wipe to Cadence and pressed the gauze to the wound on Garrett’s scalp, stanching the blood flow.

“Can you hear me?” she asked in a hoarse voice.

“Yeah.”

“Who are you?”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “Garrett Wright.”

“Remember what you were doing?”

“Something stupid.”

She choked out a laugh that was half sob and continued to put pressure on the wound. Tears spilled down her cheeks, unbidden. One of them splashed on his face, leaving a clean mark on his skin.

Your water shall mingle with our water.

He opened his eyes to stare at her, his pupils normal size. She realized she was making a fool of herself, and didn’t give a damn. Although she was the only one bawling, she knew the others shared her concern.

Penny and Cadence exchanged a smile. When Penny elbowed her, Cadence giggled behind her hand.

While Don escorted them back to the RV, Lauren took the cloth away from Garrett’s head to check the size of the wound. It was less than an inch long, and could be sealed easily with tissue glue.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“My shoulder.”

“Can you move your arm?”

He did so with a wince. Lauren didn’t think his shoulder had been dislocated, but she’d give it a closer examination.

“Just rest for now,” she said. “I’ll check it out after your head stops bleeding.”

He swallowed again, grimacing.

“Are you nauseous?”

“A little. I’ll try to warn you before I hurl.”

She let out another shaky laugh, wiping her weepy eyes with the hem of her shirt. When his gaze followed the motion, she realized that she’d exposed her bare stomach and the undersides of her breasts.

“Why are you crying?” he demanded.

She took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together. “I’m glad you’re alive.”





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