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  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 cl
ose 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.