Aftershock

by Jill Sorenson

  A tentative knock sounded at the door. Penny turned and stared in that direction, her heart still racing from exertion.

  “It’s Owen.”

  She was torn between screaming at him to go away, and rushing over to let him in. Any distraction from her current predicament was welcome, and she needed help. But—not from him. Owen couldn’t deliver her baby. No way.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Where’s Lauren?” she asked. Her voice was loud, but shaky.

  “She’s busy with Don.”

  Selfishly, Penny resented Don for getting injured. And Owen, for whatever role he’d played in that fiasco. She went to unlock the door because she wanted to know what had happened to the other men. Owen could keep her company, and fetch Lauren for her before the baby came.

  “Thanks,” he said, letting himself in.

  She backed up a few steps, frowning at his bare chest. He’d been shirtless outside, but she hadn’t noticed any specific details. Now she did.

  The racist tattoos on his hand and neck were nothing compared to the sweeping insignias all over his torso. She was offended by the sight. Hate and ignorance disgusted her. But what really caught her attention, to her chagrin, was his muscle definition. She’d had no idea he was packing washboard abs and rock-hard pecs.

  Her gaze lifted to his face, which startled her further. His deep-set blue eyes gave him a poetic edge. Underneath that bristly goatee, he was handsome. If he cleaned himself up a little, he might be as pretty as Tyler.

  Penny recoiled in horror. She wasn’t sure what disturbed her more; his repellant tattoos, or the fact that she found him attractive.

  Had she lost her mind? He was trash. Redneck, neo-Nazi, poor white trash. And she was in labor.

  “You look like a serial killer,” she blurted, keeping her distance.

  Those lovely eyes darkened with hurt, or maybe just resignation. “Sorry,” he muttered, glancing around the RV. “Does Don have any extra shirts?”

  Penny pointed to a drawer.

  He found a wife-beater undershirt, which was fitting. It was the only thing in there besides some old-man suspenders. The sleeveless garment covered up the worst of his ink but didn’t hide his sculpted physique. Apparently men in prison had nothing better to do than lift weights. Maybe he wasn’t that different from Tyler.

  “What happened to Don?” she asked.

  “He got shot in the leg.”

  She glanced down at his blood-smeared jeans, smothering another wave of nausea. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What about Garrett?”

  “He’s back. Helping Lauren, I think.”

  “Did you get the water?”

  He shook his head.

  “Wow,” she said. “That didn’t go well.”

  “No,” he agreed.

  They stared at each other for an awkward moment.

  “Do you need anything?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said pointedly. “Water.”

  There were a few bottles in the cabinet, along with several cans of soda and a sports drink. She would have helped herself, but she didn’t know how much they could spare. Owen grabbed a bottle, unscrewing the cap for her. She drank in thirsty gulps. His throat worked as he watched her swallow. She didn’t share.

  Seconds later, another contraction hit, robbing her breath. Shoving the water at him, she grasped the edge of the cabinet and tried not to scream.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he said, capping the bottle and setting it aside. “What should I do?”

  She’d have told him to shut up, but words were beyond her. His hand hovered near her arm, as if he wanted to help her sit down. She grabbed it and squeezed as hard as she could, her fingernails digging into his palm.

  When the pain faded, she eased her grip, letting out a slow breath.

  “Okay now?” he asked.

  She nodded and pulled her hand away. Although she must have hurt him, he seemed reluctant to break the contact.

  His gaze darted south. “Is the baby coming out?”

  She laughed at his panicked expression, on the edge of hysteria. “No. Lauren said that first labors usually last around twelve hours.”

  “When did it start?”

  Penny’s water had broken around noon. Maybe the baby would come at midnight. She looked at the clock. “Five or six hours ago, I guess.”

  Owen relaxed his shoulders. “We have time, then.”

  They didn’t have anything. Penny had been pacing the RV for what seemed like days, and now she wanted to rest. As she made her way toward the bed, she placed her hand on her spine, trying to ease the ache.

  “Does your back hurt?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, lying down on her side.

  “Can I help?”

  She wished he’d go away. She wished he’d stay. She wished for another earthquake to bury them all. He started massaging her back with tender, tentative motions. It was annoying and embarrassing, only a slight improvement over nothing.

  “You fail at massages,” she mumbled.

  His hands stilled. “How do you want me to do it?”

  “Rub harder. With your thumbs.”

  He did it. Not hard enough, and in the wrong place, but better.

  “Lower,” she said.

  After a short pause, he moved lower, where she really ached. He still wasn’t using enough pressure, and the sore spot seemed to move around. He couldn’t quite get to it. Satisfaction was elusive.

  “To the right,” she growled.

  He went too far.

  She pressed her fingertips on the side of her spine. “Here.”

  When he kneaded the general area, instead of a specific place, she wanted to scream. “Just forget it,” she said, swatting his hands away. She buried her face in the pillow, fighting tears of anxiety and frustration.

  It reminded her of the time Tyler had tried to bring her to orgasm. He kept slowing down, or missing the mark just slightly. When she offered a few gentle instructions, he got mad and gave up.

  Owen hadn’t given up. Although she’d been mean to him, he’d followed her directions and made a more genuine attempt at pleasing her than the father of her child.

  “I hate you,” she cried into her pillow.

  He didn’t say anything. When another contraction came, he offered her his hand. She gripped it like a lifeline, her fingernails leaving red crescents in his skin. Tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes.

  After it was over, he started rubbing her back again. This time, she didn’t complain.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CADENCE CRIED HERSELF TO SLEEP in his arms.

  After she’d been out a few minutes, Garrett transferred the girl to Don’s side, and Lauren put a blanket over them.

  “Do you think he’ll live?” he murmured.

  “I don’t know,” she said. Her mouth made a serious line as she adjusted Don’s IV drip and checked Garrett’s.

  She’d been amazing tonight. He couldn’t believe she’d been able to stop the bleeding, and administer an emergency transfusion. Her hands had stayed rock steady during the procedure. She’d performed like an experienced war medic, decisive and indefatigable. He was in awe of her abilities.

  “What happened back there?” she asked.

  “I approached from the west side,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Don and Owen stayed on the east. But my crowbar got caught on the bumper of a
car, and Jeb heard the scrape. He started shooting blindly. We ran.”

  “In opposite directions?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why’d it take you so long to get back?”

  “Jeb and Mickey followed me. I had to...evade them.”

  She knew exactly what he’d done. Where he’d hidden. Removing an antibacterial wipe from her bag, she gave him a questioning look. When he nodded his permission, she began to clean the layers of grime from his face. It was uncomfortably intimate.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

  He closed his eyes, lest she see the tears swimming in them. “No.”

  In debates about women in combat, a lot of attention was paid to physical performance. Most females couldn’t carry as much weight as their male counterparts, and they couldn’t hump it for as long. What these training exercises failed to measure was mental and emotional strength. Garrett had noticed, time and again, that women were better at dealing with loss. Female Marines allowed themselves to feel.

  Although he didn’t want to recount the horrific experience of lying among the corpses, he longed to hear Lauren’s voice. She’d piqued his interest earlier by avoiding the conversation about fathers. “Is your dad still alive?”

  Her brows rose with surprise. “No.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  She set the soiled square of cloth aside. “He was an airline pilot. Handsome, outgoing. A good father, when he was around. I adored him.”

  “How did he die?”

  “He...had a heart attack. Five years ago.” She hesitated for a moment. “It was a terrible shock.”

  “Sudden?”

  “Sudden, and under tragic circumstances.”

  “He was flying?”

  “No,” she said, her mouth twisting. “He was at his girlfriend’s house.”

  Garrett could read the pain on her face. “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, it was incredibly awkward. My mother had no idea. Neither did I. They’d been seeing each other for years. He had a secret life.” She looked up at the ceiling of the tent, taking a deep breath. “It made me feel like our entire family was a lie. But I couldn’t call him on it. I couldn’t ask him why.”

  He understood her frustration. If he found out his dad had cheated on his mom, Garrett would want to punch him first and demand answers second.

  Lauren’s revelation also had some disturbing ramifications, considering that Garrett was currently deceiving her. She wouldn’t forgive him for it. Watching her work, he’d come to another important realization. Even if he was available, and free to pursue her, they could never be together. She saved lives. He took them.

  There was no place for a man like him in her world.

  She turned the subject back to him. “Do you have kids?”

  “No,” he said, unnerved by the question.

  “None that you know of, you mean?”

  He wasn’t sure how to respond. Even in his drunkest, darkest days, he’d worn condoms. The idea that one of his after-hours bar hookups had resulted in a pregnancy seemed unlikely. “I’ve always used protection.”

  Her shoulders relaxed a little. “What about your dad?”

  “What about him?”

  “Why don’t you see each other?”

  “We had a falling-out.”

  “Over what?”

  “I disappointed him.”

  She looked curious and skeptical, which told him he’d been far too successful in carrying out this ruse. “How?”

  He stared at the tube draining blood from his arm. Soon, he’d begin to feel light-headed. “When I got back from my second tour in Iraq, I was pretty disillusioned. I didn’t know if I wanted to continue my career in the military.”

  “That sounds like a normal reaction.”

  “It wasn’t unusual,” he agreed. “At the time I was battling insomnia, and self-medicating with alcohol. Like a lot of young Marines, I spent too many nights in bars. I told myself I was relaxing and having fun.”

  “You weren’t?”

  He shrugged. “I was always spoiling for a fight. Or trying to pick up women. If I had any fun with them, I didn’t remember it the next morning.”

  “Maybe they had fun.”

  He doubted it, but pride kept him silent. Some men went to war and came back heroes. Garrett hadn’t fared so well. He’d left all of his good qualities in Iraq, and returned an empty shell. Serving alongside women hadn’t taught him to respect them, either. When he got back, he’d slept around indiscriminately and treated them like sex objects. More often than not, he’d taken his pleasure and left before the sheets were cold.

  “There was one girl...I shouldn’t have even been talking to her. She had a jealous boyfriend, and I knew he was drunk. So I kept giving her attention just to make him mad. He got between us and pushed her. That really set me off.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I took him outside.”

  “He went willingly?”

  “Yes, but I threw the first punch. He hit me back in self-defense.” That was an important distinction. “I wish I could say I’d blacked out after that, and I didn’t know what I was doing. But I did. I was totally out of control, but lucid, if that makes sense. I kept hitting him, even after he was down.” He struggled to continue, because the last part was the hardest to face. “I lifted him up by the shirt and punched him one last time. I think he was unconscious when the back of his head hit the concrete.”

  “No,” she breathed, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Yes,” he insisted. “They took him away in an ambulance, but the doctors couldn’t do anything. He died at the hospital.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “I killed him.”

  “Did you mean to?”

  “Does it matter? He’s dead.”

  She fell silent, her expression troubled. Garrett held his breath, waiting for her to connect the dots. He wasn’t sure the truth would make a difference at this point. Until they were rescued, she had no choice but to trust him. Maybe that was why she didn’t shrink away in horror, or ask any more questions. His misdeeds were too hard to swallow.

  He knew he should come completely clean with her. But she’d decided he was a hero, and holding on to this ideal of him was helping her cope. Later, she’d hate him for keeping up the charade. Right now, it felt too good to let go.

  For a little while, they could both pretend.

  “My dad hasn’t spoken to me since,” he said.

  “How long has it been?”

  “Five years.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Yes.”

  “What have you been doing for work?”

  “Manual labor,” he said sardonically, staring at his callused palms.

  She accepted his words at face value, and seemed to sympathize with his plight. “What are we going to do about Jeb?”

  Garrett pushed away the painful memories, considering a new plan of attack. “He’ll probably try to shoot me if I climb the wall again. He threatened to do it, and I assume he’ll follow through.”

  “He’ll sabotage his own chances of survival?”

  “No, he’ll ensure his escape. I won’t help them climb, so the best they can hope for right now is a rescue. But if they kill me, they’ll have total control. Jeb can force Owen to continue working at gunpoint. They can get out.”

  “What if we try to negotiate?”

  “You ca
n’t negotiate with a lunatic.”

  “We could tell Jeb that we’ll let them out first. In exchange for some water.”

  Although it was a good idea, they weren’t dealing with a rational person. “He wouldn’t believe it. Even if he did, what would stop him from firing down at me from the crevice as soon as he got free?”

  She sighed, closing off his IV tube. Before attaching the bag to Don, she drew a solution from a bottle with a syringe and injected it into the blood. Anticoagulant, she’d explained. “What do you propose, another ambush?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because the last one worked so well?”

  Garrett smiled at her sarcasm. She might have mistaken him for a good guy, but she didn’t think he knew best. “I underestimated Jeb,” he admitted. “I won’t do it again. We need to draw him out.”

  “How?”

  “I’d like to make him think I’m climbing. I’m almost certain he’ll try to get close enough to take a shot. Maybe I can make some sort of...decoy.”

  “There’s a CPR dummy in the back of the ambulance.”

  He’d seen the head and torso. It had fake-looking hair, and no limbs. But if he put on the cracked helmet, and attached some stuffed clothes, the dummy might fool someone. In the dark, and from a distance.

  “I have to set it up tonight,” Garrett said, straightening. It wasn’t as simple as rigging a dummy to the climbing ropes and waiting for Jeb to strike. He had to construct a series of traps for them to fall victim to. He envisioned a fortress of snares and pitfalls.

  “Not so fast,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “You have to rest after giving that much blood.”

  He reclined on the mat, listless. She leaned forward to remove the IV from his arm. He hated needles, and this one was a monster, so he focused on her bent head, the fine tendrils of hair against her cheek. The stink on his clothes had faded, enabling him to smell the rubbing alcohol and hospital soap she’d used. He inhaled deeper, detecting a heady concoction of warm fabric and flushed female skin.