Aftershock Page 8

  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.”

  “Did you help Don get me down?”

  “Yes.”

  He scanned her torso once more. “I’m sorry. That was dangerous. You could have been injured.”

  “I could have been injured?”

  �
�By the rope.”

  Her tears dried up, and annoyance settled in. “You shouldn’t have gone up there in the first place.”

  Too tired to argue, he closed his eyes, surrendering to her ministrations. Once the bleeding stopped, she helped him shrug out of the camel pack and climbing harness. Then she put a towel under his head and washed the cut with a bit of water. After patting his hair dry, she applied the tissue glue.

  “What did you see outside?” she asked.

  “Smoke. Blue sky.”

  She palpated his shoulder socket and the bones in his arm. He endured the exam without complaint, and everything seemed to be in its proper place. There was a nasty scrape on his elbow that needed to be cleaned. She pushed up the hem of his T-shirt and found another raw mark on his hip.

  When her fingertips touched his bare skin, he flinched.

  “Does that hurt?”

  “No.”

  Frowning, she explored the area around the scrape, applying pressure here and there. His ribs were striated with muscle, his abdomen taut.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Looking for broken bones.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  She slipped her fingertips into the waistband of his jeans, pressing harder.

  With a low growl, he sat upright and grasped her wrist, removing her hand from his pelvis. “I’m fine,” he said between clenched teeth. Then his face paled, as if he was light-headed from moving too fast.

  “You don’t look fine.”

  He brought his knees up and put his head between them, sucking in air.

  She rubbed his back in sympathy. “Let me take you to the triage tent and give you some medicine.”

  “No.”

  “You have a concussion. I need to monitor you for twelve hours.”

  “I’ll rest in the semi.”

  When he tried to rise on his own, she grasped his elbow, helping him up. Crankiness and nausea were classic symptoms of head injuries, so she ignored his resistance. Many strong, capable men were poor patients. He’d admitted to refusing to see a psychologist, and he seemed very guarded. Self-critical.

  After he staggered to his feet, she put her arm around his lean waist and guided him toward the semi.

  Over the past few hours, she’d been terrified that Garrett would fall. She’d also worried that Jeb would use him for target practice, or that Mickey would materialize from the depths of the cavern with new demands. Don had told her about Owen’s second visit. Now that Garrett was injured, who would stand up to the convicts?

  She didn’t mention these concerns as she helped him into the Kenworth truck, but they weighed heavily on her mind.

  He went straight to the sleeper section and stretched out on his stomach. The single bed could barely accommodate him. It was too short and too narrow. Groaning, he let his injured arm hang over the edge.

  Lauren sat cross-legged next to him and started treating his elbow. His skin was streaked with dirt, so she scrubbed a large area before applying the bandage. When she was finished, he grunted his thanks.

  “I need to do the same thing to your hip,” she warned. His other scrape was the more painful one, judging by his reaction to her initial exam.

  “Go ahead.”

  She raised the hem of his T-shirt and pulled his jeans down a few inches, exposing the area above and below the contusion. It was difficult to ignore the muscles that bunched across his powerful back. She’d already noted his hard biceps, and the ropey veins in his forearms. Even his hip was taut and firmly delineated.

  Below the waist, his skin was several shades paler. When she dabbed the scrape with an alcohol swab, he let out a hissing breath.

  “Sorry,” she said, resisting the urge to blow on the wound. She never did that. It was unsanitary.

  Moistening her lips, she moved her gaze from his naked hip to his tense face. He was staring at her mouth, as if he could read her mind. She fumbled for a large, square bandage, heat blossoming up her neck.

  “I’ll try to hurry.”

  “Take your time.”

  Flustered, she covered the wound with the bandage and pulled his T-shirt back down, leaving his jeans alone. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “Stiff.”

  She suspected that a combination of overuse and blunt-force trauma had caused the problem. He needed to rest for the head injury, but immobilizing his arm might do more harm than good.

  “I’ll massage it,” she offered.

  With an almost imperceptible nod, he closed his eyes.

  Rising to her knees, she leaned over him, trying not to bump his injured hip against hers. She started with his left shoulder, kneading the tense muscles she found there. Then she moved on to his neck, which was also tight.

  “You must lift weights,” she commented.

  He murmured something unintelligible, putty in her hands.

  By the time she reached his injured shoulder, he was relaxed enough to tolerate a deep tissue massage. It was clear that the sore muscles hurt, however. After the first few seconds, he was no longer drowsy. The discomfort kept him alert.

  “How’s that?” she asked.

  He tested his arm, rotating the socket. “Good,” he said, sounding surprised. “You’re a miracle worker.”

  She flushed with pleasure. “Hardly.”

  “Thank you,” he said, holding her gaze.

  With a little shrug, she sat back on her heels. “I have to visit the other patients. You should try to sleep.”

  “After a concussion?”

  “Yes. I’ll wake you up every few hours.”

  He straightened to a sitting position. She could tell by the way he moved that he had a headache. “I can’t.”

  “You have to rest.”

  “I will. In the front seat, where I can keep an eye on things.”

  “I don’t need you to watch over me every second.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Instead of arguing with him, she gathered up the medical supplies, shoving them into her bag with more force than was necessary. He was going to drive himself into the ground from exhaustion. He was going to drive her crazy.

  When she stood to leave, he grasped her wrist. “I have to be on guard while you’re out there working. It’s not safe.”

  “How can you be on guard? You can’t even walk.”

  He seemed insulted by the suggestion that he couldn’t protect her. Scowling, he struggled to his feet without help. She reached out to steady him, but he skirted around her. Seconds later, he paid the price for his stubbornness, losing his balance.

  She grabbed the front of his shirt to break his fall and ended up on top of him in the passenger seat.

  His hands landed on her backside. He splayed his fingers wide, squeezing her soft flesh. She looked up at his face, startled. With a low groan, he let go, but he didn’t try to dislodge her. His hard body was pressed full-length against hers, her legs tangled with his. She could feel his heartbeat where her breasts were smashed against his chest.

  Maybe if she held him down for a few hours, he would actually rest.

  Or...maybe not. The swelling against the apex of her thighs was unmistakable. If she kept squirming in his lap, he’d stay up.

  “Who’s right?” she asked, watching his eyes darken.

  “You are,” he rasped.

  “About what?”

  “Everything. To infinity.”

  Laughter bubbled up inside her, s
pilling over. She rested her forehead against his shoulder and surrendered to it. Maybe she was a little delirious from lack of sleep, because her giggles quickly dissolved into tears.

  She didn’t like getting emotional, or showing any weakness. She hadn’t cried at her father’s funeral. She’d never broken down in front of Michael, but she’d done it with Garrett several times now.

  Wiping her face, she pushed herself off him.

  “Hey,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know,” she interrupted, avoiding his gaze. She picked up her paramedic bag and left the truck without another word.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LAUREN’S BODY TINGLED from the contact with Garrett’s.

  For several moments after she walked away, she felt the imprint of his large hands on her bottom, burning through the fabric of her uniform trousers. He probably hadn’t meant to grope her, but he’d seemed reluctant to stop. Not that she was complaining; she’d enjoyed his touch. His arousal excited her.

  What bothered her was his carelessness.

  She’d lost a friend and coworker. Several patients had died in her care. She wasn’t sure Mrs. Engle or Sam would pull through.

  The traumatic events she’d experienced over the past two days were too disturbing to process. One convict had sexually assaulted her. Another had threatened to shoot her in the head. Garrett had almost plummeted to his death. While he was climbing, she’d been sick with worry, her nerves frayed to a ragged edge.

  The least he could do, after risking his life, was listen to her medical advice. Instead, he’d disregarded her instructions, and run roughshod over her emotions.

  She tried to convince herself that her tears weren’t for Garrett. It wasn’t that she couldn’t stand the thought of him getting hurt. It was more about self-protection. If he did something stupid and got killed, Lauren would be at the convicts’ mercy.

  She entered the triage area, aggravated and...turned on. The tent she and Don had set up was a big improvement for the patients. It would stay warm when the temperature dropped. There was a generator for the equipment, and decent lighting. She had a canvas cot and a stretcher so both patients were protected from the hard ground.