Damn it. That quickie hadn’t even taken the edge off. She wanted to make love for hours and cuddle all day.
Groaning, she put on the only clean clothes she had: a sports bra, fresh socks and yoga pants from a stranger’s gym bag. Throwing her hooded sweatshirt over the outfit, she abandoned the cozy interior of the car and padded outside. She blushed when she saw her bra and panties on the hood. Stashing the items, she put on her shoes and performed a quick toilette. The toothpaste and hairbrush were also borrowed—from a dead person, she imagined.
The grim thought calmed her raging hormones a bit. Taking a deep breath, she returned to the motor home. She wasn’t surprised to see Garrett awake. He was sipping a cup of coffee while Owen tied rungs on a rope.
“Is that a ladder?” she asked.
“It will be,” Owen replied.
Feeling self-conscious, she went to check on Sam and Don. Garrett wouldn’t have told Owen about their hookup. But the encounter hadn’t exactly been discreet. They’d had sex in the backseat of a car.
Although the waterspout wasn’t in direct view of the others, Owen could’ve stumbled upon them. Or Cadence. Good Lord.
Cringing, she ducked into the triage tent. “How are you?” she asked Don.
“Hanging in there,” he said.
She handed him a container to empty his bladder, feeling guilty. She’d thought of her own pleasure while this man was suffering. There wasn’t any more morphine, so she gave him four pain pills and some water. “Are you hungry?”
“Only a little.”
“I’ll bring you a few bites of rice.”
Both patients caused Lauren a lot of anxiety. Although she was used to death and dying, her main responsibility was safe transport. Sometimes her passengers died before arrival. Sometimes they died en route, or at the hospital.
This situation was a nightmare. These men needed critical care, but she couldn’t take them anywhere. She couldn’t keep them comfortable with no supplies. They were counting on her, and she felt helpless.
“Let’s take a look at your leg,” she said to Don in a bright voice.
He nodded his permission, stoic as ever. She studied his graying skin tone and noted the cool temperature, her heart sinking.
“Am I going to lose it?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, her throat tight. “I think you are.”
He grasped her hand. “It’s not your fault.”
“I did my best,” she choked.
“You saved my life.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Who needs a damned leg? I’ve got another.”
She stopped fighting the tears and let them fall. How ironic, that he was comforting her. When she calmed down, she gave him a grateful hug. “I’ll send Cady in to see you after breakfast, okay?”
“Sure,” he said.
She turned to Sam, wiping her cheeks. To her surprise, his face wasn’t quite as slack, and the position of his body seemed different from when she’d left him last night. One arm was thrown across his chest.
“He moved,” she said, glancing at Don.
Don perked up. “Well, I’ll be damned. I thought I heard him say something in his sleep, but then I decided it was the rain.”
Lauren took his hand. “Sam?”
His eyelids fluttered in reaction.
“Can you hear me?” she asked, squeezing his heavily calloused palm. He moaned a little, turning his head to one side. Encouraged, she continued to talk to him, chatting about the recent rain and imminent rescue.
“Melissa,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Lauren’s heart leapt with hope. “Let me give you some water.” She filled a medicine cup and brought it to his lips.
He lifted his head, very gingerly, and drank. “Melissa,” he said again.
She took his hand. “I’m here, Sam.”
He opened his eyes, startling her. They were dark brown, almost black. A blood spot marred the white.
Lauren didn’t think he could see her. “My name is Lauren Boyer. I’m a paramedic for the City of San Diego.”
After a moment of staring up at her in confusion, he closed his eyes, unresponsive. She tried to rouse him with more soft words and comforting touches, to no avail. Even so, she was delighted with his progress. Coma survivors didn’t jump out of bed after four days. They recovered in slow stages.
Lauren left the triage tent, feeling more upbeat. She relayed the news to Owen and Garrett before she went inside the RV. Penny and the baby were also doing well. Her milk had come in early, and she wasn’t in pain.
“Any problems?” Lauren asked after examining them.
“Why am I still so fat?”
She smiled at the question. Other than the rounded tummy, Penny was model slim. “It takes six weeks for your uterus to shrink back to normal size.”
“Six weeks?”
“At least.”
They had a small breakfast of rice and jam. Thankfully, there was plenty of water for cocoa and hot coffee. Cadence was excited about the escape plan. After visiting Don, she started helping Owen with the rope.
Garrett managed to avoid Lauren’s gaze all morning.
Determined to ignore him, in return, she wandered over to see Mickey. He was conscious, and alert. When he noticed her approach, he scrambled to his feet. Just as Garrett warned, he’d bitten through his duct-tape bonds.
She kept her distance.
“Water,” he begged. “Please.”
They had plenty, so she filled up a small bottle and tossed it to him. He caught it and drank greedily, downing half the contents. “Thank you,” he said, making a prayer sign. As if he thought she was his guardian angel.
Lauren turned to leave.
“Wait!”
She paused, listening.
“I’m sorry for what I did to you. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I’ve never done anything like that before.”
She didn’t believe he was sorry, or care what he’d done before. If she stayed another minute, he’d probably ask her to unlock the chains. So she continued forward, her skin crawling as she walked away.
Garrett met her at the back of the RV. “What are you doing?”
“I gave Mickey some water.”
“You handed it to him?”
“No, I threw it.”
He glanced toward the car Mickey was chained to, his shoulders tense. “What did he say to you?”
“He apologized.”
Scowling, Garrett returned his attention to her. “Let me deal with him. I don’t want you over here.”
“You’re going to bring him water?”
“I’ll give him whatever he deserves.”
Lauren’s lips twitched at the promise. She crossed her arms over her chest, studying his appearance. Last night’s dousing had done wonders for him. He looked like a new man. Still scruffy, but clean. “I need to check your bandage.”
When his gaze darkened, she knew he was thinking about their erotic interlude. “Okay,” he said, clearing his throat.
He followed her to the triage tent and sat down inside. Exchanging a friendly greeting with Don, he unbuttoned his coveralls to the waist, exposing his left biceps. Now that his hair wasn’t darkened with grime, she could see its true color, a rich chestnut-brown. He smelled like hot coffee and warm male skin.
Pulse racing, she removed the bandage from his upper arm. The wound appeared to be healing well, which surprised her. Even after giving blood
and fighting dehydration, he had a strong immune system.
Pleased by his progress, she applied a clean dressing and taped the edges securely. “You should wear a sling.”
“I need to keep my hands free.”
“Speaking of hands...” She examined the stitches over his knuckles, nodding in satisfaction. “Looks good.”
Thanking her, he fumbled with the buttons of his coveralls. She finished the task for him, her eyes rising to meet his. It was a wifely gesture, like tightening a necktie. Anyone watching would know they’d been intimate.
He made his excuses and left the tent. She stared after him, her cheeks flushed with the memory of the pleasure he’d given her.
Sam groaned, throwing his arm over the side of the cot. Lauren stepped closer and took his hand. When she touched him, he opened his eyes. He blinked rapidly, frowning at her face. “Melissa,” he said.
“I’m Lauren.”
He seemed confused, which was typical after a traumatic brain injury. Coma patients often experienced slurred speech, loss of motor function and other language issues. He might not understand a word she said. “Where am I?”
“You’re in San Diego. There’s been an earthquake.”
“Where’s Melissa?”
She wasn’t sure if Sam had been with a passenger. Garrett hadn’t mentioned it. She glanced at Don, who shook his head. “Do you remember the quake?”
“No.”
“What’s your name?”
“Sam,” he said. “I’m Sam Rutherford.”
She smiled with relief. “Good. Some memory loss is normal after a head injury.”
“I don’t know why...I was in San Diego.”
“You don’t?”
“Melissa’s parents live there.”
“Who’s Melissa?”
“My girlfriend.”
Lauren remembered the urn in Sam’s duffel bag, and was struck by the alarming suspicion that Melissa’s ashes were inside it. “She must be pretty special. You’ve said her name over and over again.”
“I have to talk to her.” He tried to sit up, and then winced in discomfort. “I think...she needs my help.”
“Phones aren’t working,” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder to keep him still. “Just try to rest.”
He closed his eyes, breathing heavily. The short conversation had exhausted him. Lauren gave him some water and pain medication. Like Don, he had a full bladder, and seemed embarrassed to use the container. But he managed on his own. She emptied the container and returned to his side.
“Is that mine?” he asked, gesturing to his bag of personal belongings.
“Yes.”
“Will you...look for a picture?”
“Of course,” she said, kneeling to check the contents. Anything she could do to ease his suffering, she would do. As she opened the bag, she made sure he didn’t have a direct view of the urn. It was obvious that he didn’t remember who had died. Pulse racing, she took a quick peek at the engraving.
Melissa Sorrento.
Oh God.
She dug around in the bag until she found his wallet. In it, there was a photo of Sam with a lovely, dark-haired woman. They were in climbing gear, on a snowy mountaintop. Lauren slid the picture out of the plastic casing.
On the back, there was a carefree scribble: “Love you! —Melissa”
Heart breaking, she handed it to Sam.
He stared at the photo for several moments. Lauren held her breath, hoping he didn’t regain his memory of Melissa’s death. He might lose his will to live, and Lauren wasn’t equipped to deal with a complicated psychological trauma.
“You make a beautiful couple,” she said.
Placing the photo on the center of his chest, he held it there, drifting back into semiconsciousness.
* * *
OWEN FINISHED THE ladder by midmorning.
Garrett attached the ladder to the rope that was still hanging from the wall, and then pulled until the top rung reached the crevice. It was a long way up. Bees swarmed in Owen’s stomach as he studied the distance. He hoped he’d tied the knots tight enough.
He’d have to climb with the gear strapped to his back. Once he broke through, assuming he was successful, and Jeb didn’t shoot him out of the sky like a duck, he’d rappel down the outside of the structure.
Garrett passed him the camel pack. The torches and stake were strapped to the outside. His hammer was hooked to his belt. “Good luck,” he said, squeezing Owen’s shoulder. The gesture filled him with warmth, which was embarrassing. Despite being in the constant company of men, he wasn’t comfortable with their touch.
While Garrett went to stand watch for Jeb, Lauren held the end of the rope steady. He gripped the edges and put his boot in the first rung. The cut on his leg didn’t bother him much as he ascended. He was more concerned about falling to his death. When he was about halfway up, he attached a clip from the shorter rope on his harness to one of the upper rungs. It would catch him if he missed a step.
The rope ladder made the climb easier, but he was panting from exertion—and a healthy dose of fear—by the time he finished. Hands shaking, he clipped his harness to the wall and peered through the crevice.
One day after the rain, and it was sunny again.
He gave Lauren a thumbs-up signal. She flashed a pretty smile at him, reaffirming his preference for women. Not that he’d been in doubt. Taking a deep breath, and a sip of water, he removed the torch from his pack. The oxygen and acetylene tanks were below, attached by a fifty-foot hose. He dug a cigarette lighter out of his pocket, turned on the valve and sparked it. Donning a pair of safety glasses, and leather gloves, he got to work.
Lauren moved to stand at a safe distance as he directed the open flame toward the edge of the crevice. Water evaporated from the wet concrete with an audible hiss.
The type of spall he was familiar with resulted from water applied after heat. But Owen figured this would work the same way. He torched the hell out of the crevice, because the chipping process was a real bitch.
His first strike with the hammer and stake broke off several sizable chunks. They crumbled inward and fell to the ground. Success!
Owen chipped away as much concrete as possible before using the torch again. His arms started aching almost immediately, but that didn’t surprise him. Lifting weights in the exercise yard and doing manual labor hadn’t given him superhuman strength. He wasn’t built like Garrett, bulging with muscle.
Within an hour, he’d made enough room for his skinny ass to squeeze through. He cut through the rebar easily. It melted like butter. A hot drip rolled into the cuff of his sweatshirt, burning a path down to his elbow.
“Fuck,” he muttered, shaking it out of his sleeve. That was going to leave a mark.
Ignoring the pain, he gritted his teeth and continued cutting, gripping the rebar with his free hand. When the thick crosshatch of metal finally came loose, he let it drop to the side. It hit the ground with a muted clatter.
His final task was to smooth the jagged edges. He melted down the remaining bits of rebar so they wouldn’t impale him on the way out. If Jeb was going to shoot him, now would be a good time. He’d already done all the work.
For whatever reason, no bullets struck him as he descended the rope ladder. Lauren threw her arms around him the instant his feet touched the ground. “You did it!” she said, hugging him as if they’d won the damned lottery.
It felt good
. Soft and female and not quite motherly. He was torn between liking her breasts and getting choked up. Then she made it even more confusing by kissing him smack on the mouth.
He laughed, wiping his stinging eyes. “Garrett’s going to kick my ass.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, laying her palm against his cheek. “Go say goodbye to Penny.”
Oh, man. If he couldn’t hide his emotions from Lauren, how was he going to manage with Penny? He’d survived the past few years by burying his feelings. In prison, sensitivity was crushed and tenderness preyed upon.
It was cowardice, he realized. Emotions caused pain.
Although avoiding a sentimental scene would be easier, he squared his shoulders and strode to the RV. Penny opened the door before he got there. She must have been watching him from the front seat of the motor home.
Her eyes were wet.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, stepping inside.
“I’m not,” she said, but her lips trembled with dismay. Clapping a hand over her eyes, she turned her back on him.
He reached out to touch her shoulder. After a short hesitation, she whirled around, pressing her face to his chest.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” he said, astounded.
“I know. It’s just...post-baby hormones. And...I don’t want you to go.”
He put his arms around her, unsure how to react. Two women had hugged him in the space of two minutes. It was sensory overload. When Cruz started crying, Penny slipped out of his embrace. Her instinctive choice to put the baby first felt reassuring. Too often, Owen had been surrounded by people who did the wrong thing.
Cradling the baby in her arms, she returned to Owen’s side.
“I have to go,” he said, although it broke his heart to leave. His attachment wasn’t just to Penny, either. It extended to Cruz. Owen was proud to have helped bring an innocent child into the world. On his short list of positive accomplishments, it ranked number one. So he leaned down to kiss the baby’s forehead gently. When he tried to do the same to Penny, she lifted her lips to his.
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