Aftershock (3 page)

“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

L
AUREN
DREAMT
NOT
OF
G
ARRETT
,
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.

* * *

G
ARRETT
FOLLOWED
L
AUREN
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.”