Quinn didn’t know what magic was at work, but suddenly he transferred his weapon to his left hand and thrust out his right hand to enclose hers. Kerry Chelton looked utterly worn-out. He saw the dark smudges beneath her incredibly beautiful eyes, which now sparkled with unshed tears. Something inside him made him want to open his arms, pull her into them and hold her. The relief in her gaze, the sudden emotion revealed in her dirt-smudged face, got to him. She was melting his armor with her unsure smile and sparkling tears, Quinn thought as he saw her swallow convulsively, struggling to hold back her emotions. Because he’d been so hurt by a woman, Quinn struggled to remain wary. Somehow this woman was opening him up and he had no control over it. The last thing Quinn wanted was to allow himself to get emotionally close to her.
Her hand was warm and firm in his, though he was careful of how much pressure he exerted on her long, slender fingers. Shocked by how dirty she was, he reminded himself that none of these people had water to wash or bathe. Her hair was mussed, in dire need of a comb, shampoo and water.
“I’m Corporal Grayson,” he told her, speaking loudly in order to be heard over the shriek of the helicopters.
“Pleased to meet you. Come on, let’s go to my ‘office.’” She grinned and pointed toward the shopping center. Wild, fleeting tingles ran up her fingers and arm and cascaded into her heart, which was thumping without pause. Grayson’s stony persona, combined with the fact that he was a marine, gave her such hope. If the truth was known, Kerry wanted to simply fall into his arms to be held. She knew that wasn’t possible—that it was only her knee-jerk reaction in the midst of the shock and trauma—but there was something wonderfully secure about this marine. She’d seen his icy blue eyes turn warm as their hands met in welcome. And the way he’d wrapped his long, strong fingers around hers had made Kerry feel protected and…something else. She couldn’t identify the emotion right now, with all the activity going on around her.
Quinn raised his hand in a silent order for his team to follow him as Kerry took the lead. On his left shoulder, a radio was attached to the epaulet of the camouflage jacket he wore over his flak vest. Pressing the button and turning his head to speak into it, he told the helicopter pilots of both birds to lift off, that contact had been made.
The Huey helicopters, flown by Lieutenants Galway and McGregor, had off-loaded the water. The helo’s engine changed pitch and, within a minute, lifted off to head back to Camp Reed. Quinn walked with his men spread out behind him like a V of geese following their leader. They each remained on guard, their rifles locked and loaded. Quinn wasn’t taking any chances. They were in enemy territory as far as he was concerned. Ahead of them, Kerry walked quickly toward a makeshift structure with a roof that was nothing more than a piece of corrugated tin laid awkwardly on top. The “house” had been painstakingly put together with wire, broken blocks and other material obviously retrieved from the destroyed shopping center. The entire three-story mall, which was at least a quarter mile long, had collapsed. Quinn had not seen this level of destruction yet, and he felt stunned by what the powerful quake had done. It was unimaginable to him. Unthinkable. Horrifying.
Kerry halted in front of the small shack in the midst of the rubble. “This is it, Corporal Grayson.” She gestured toward the hovel. “My home.” It hurt to say those words. Her real home, a block away from the sheriff’s facility, was now nothing but broken brick, shattered glass and a twisted roof.
Quinn halted near Kerry and looked at the structure. There were several yellow wool blankets strung across the front, one serving as a door. Looking around, he saw the team of volunteers trundling the boxes of bottled water toward the other end of the shopping center.
Kerry followed his gaze. “They’re taking the water to our distribution center,” she told him.
“There’s no fighting about who gets what?”
Shaking her head, Kerry said, “Not yet…but people are real desperate, Corporal. Real desperate.”
At that moment, a little black-haired girl around seven years old stumbled sleepily from behind the blanketed door. She was dressed in a grungy pink flannel nightgown that showed off her toothpick legs and the red socks on her feet. As the little girl rubbed her sleepy eyes, Kerry instantly moved forward and scooped her up in her arms.
Turning, she said to Grayson, “This is Petula. Her parents are…well, in heaven….” She sent Quinn a pleading look, obviously asking him to play along with her. “I found her trapped in her home and we dug her out ten days ago. Petula stays with me now….”
Mouth turning downward, Quinn watched as Petula, who had shining brown eyes and long black hair, wrapped her thin arms around Kerry’s neck and rested her head on her shoulder.
“I’m hungry, Kerry,” she whimpered.
“I know, Pet, I know,” Kerry soothed, moving her hand gently across the child’s tiny shoulders. “I’ll see what I can find, okay?”
Quinn’s scowl deepened. Like each of his men, he had on an eighty-pound pack filled with food. “I’ve got an MRE—meal ready to eat—with eggs, bacon and hash browns. How about if I get that warmed up for her?”
Heart expanding, Kerry bit back her tears. “Oh…that would be wonderful!” Relief washed over her as she stood there holding Petula in her arms. Since Kerry had found her, the little girl had cried often, wanting her parents, and Kerry had told her they’d gone to heaven and would watch over her from there. There was no way she would tell Petula that her parents were trapped inside their house, dead. Each day Kerry tried to keep the child busy with small activities, and she slept with her each night after she finished her patrol of the area, keeping her arms wrapped around the little girl to give her a sense of safety in a world gone mad.
Turning, Grayson gave his men orders to spread out, reconnoiter the entire shopping center area. His fire team consisted of three privates and a lance corporal. He assigned Private Orvil Perkins, a Virginia hill boy, to guard the center against fighting or stealing, and make sure the distribution of water went quickly and quietly. Then he gave LCPL Beau Parish orders to check out the rest of the shopping center with Privates Cliff Ludlow and Lewis Worth. Parish was a North Carolina Eastern Cherokee Indian, and a damn fine tracker and hunter. Right now, Quinn was grateful that his men had been with him nearly two years and could be trusted. They each carried a radio on their left shoulder, so could stay in touch no matter where they were. At the first sign of trouble, Quinn would be notified.
He turned to Kerry. “Do members of the Diablo gang wear any kind of special clothing or symbols so my men might see them coming?”
She nodded. “Yes, they wear white headbands.” Grimacing, she whispered, “But they aren’t always so obvious. When one or two infiltrate a neighborhood, they look like us.” She glanced down at herself and gave a wry grimace. “Unclean and smelly. They only put the headband on after they’ve taken a hostage.”
“I hear you,” Quinn muttered with a scowl. “Okay, men, spread out. Be eyes and ears at this stage. Anything odd, call me immediately. I’ll be here with Deputy Chelton trying to come up to speed on what we’re up against. When you’re done with your reconnoiter, come back here. Understand?”
The four marines nodded.
“All except you, Perkins,” Grayson ordered. “You stay at the distribution center. Look like you mean business.”
Once his men headed off to follow his orders, Quinn glanced over at Kerry, who was gently kissing Petula’s smudged forehead. A sudden, unexpected ache built in him as he watched her full, soft lips caress the child’s wrinkled brow. What would it be like to be caressed like that? To capture her mouth beneath his?
His thoughts were so startling, coming as they did during the present situation, that they rocked Quinn completely. On the way here, he’d been mentally trying to shut out Sheriff Deputy Chelton. Well, that was going to be impossible. She was more attractive in real life, even if she was dirty and unkempt. And her natural, womanly warmth reached out and touched him on this cold, windy
January morning.
His scowl deepened as he watched her gently rock Petula. The child had her arms around Kerry’s neck, her eyes closed as she snuggled tightly beneath her chin. Kerry seemed so very maternal to Quinn in that moment. And when she lifted her dark, thick lashes to look at him, he growled, “Come on. Let’s get this girl and you something decent to eat in there.”
He pointed toward the hovel Kerry called home. The idea that this pile of bricks, broken boards and drywall could be called a shelter left a bad taste in Quinn’s mouth. But such were the living conditions for many Americans on this fourteenth day after the killer quake. Thinning his lips, Quinn pulled back the blanket to allow Kerry and the child to enter.
Inside, Grayson locked his rifle and set it down. Under no circumstances did he want Petula fingering the trigger mechanism and firing it off by accident. That would be unthinkable, so he made certain the safety mechanism was secure.
“Have a seat,” Kerry invited softly, kneeling down on the floor, which she’d covered with some Oriental rugs she’d found at the shopping center. At least they didn’t have to sleep on dirt like a lot of other people had to do.
Quinn grunted and went to a corner where he saw a hole dug in the ground, charred bits of wood and ash around it. Shrugging out of his pack, he set it on the floor, careful not to lean it against the rickety wall, which probably wouldn’t take its full weight.
“Helluva place you live in,” he muttered, opening the pack with quick, sure movements.
Kerry raised one eyebrow. “Corporal? Could you watch your language? This little girl here doesn’t need to hear cursing.”
Biting back a reply, he nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry,” he replied, glancing uneasily at Kerry, who was sitting cross-legged on the rug, the child in her arms, the girl’s head resting against her breast as she sucked her thumb. Kerry was smiling down at Petula and gently threading her fingers through the child’s tangled black hair.
“Is this your first time in the basin?” she asked Quinn.
“First time,” he answered. He pulled out some food packets. In all, he had twenty. Lining them up in order of breakfast, lunch and dinner, he opened the first one and put a heating tab beneath it to warm it up.
Kerry’s mouth watered as the odor of bacon and eggs filled the space. Her stomach clenched in hunger as she watched the marine handle the MRE with deft, sure movements. There was nothing soft or vulnerable about Corporal Grayson. No, he was all-business. The dark look on his face told Kerry a lot. Shock was written in his eyes, even though he tried to hide it from her as he worked quietly.
Taking utensils from his pack, he readied the plate of eggs and bacon. The look on Kerry’s face as he handed it to her made him flinch inwardly.
“How long since you ate last?”
Shrugging, Kerry said, “I don’t know. I’m so busy, so tired most of the time, that I forget about things like that.”
Quinn watched with fascination as she sat Petula in front of her, gave her the warmed tray and placed the fork in her hand. Immediately, the child began stuffing the eggs into her mouth, hot or not.
“Take it easy….” Kerry whispered to Petula. “If you eat too fast, you’ll throw it up, honey. And you want to keep down what you’re eating. Okay?”
Petula didn’t understand how sensitive her hungry, fatigued body could be, so Kerry monitored the amount of food the child took in. Halfway through the unexpected feast, Petula yawned, rubbed her eyes and murmured, “I feel sleepy….”
Setting the plate aside, Kerry smiled gently and eased the girl onto a blanket, beside a stuffed purple dinosaur near her pillow. Getting up on her hands and knees, Kerry drew a second blanket around her and tucked it in.
“Go to sleep, honey. Your stomach is full for the first time in a long time, and all your energy is going there to digest it.” She ran her hand soothingly across Petula’s thin back, and very soon the child fell asleep, her arms around Barney.
Quinn motioned to the MRE. “Why don’t you eat the rest?”
Kerry frowned. “There are so many people out there starving. If I ate it, I’d feel guilty.”
“Eat,” he ordered, studying the way her blouse hung on her frame. She’d probably dropped a good ten pounds or more in the last two weeks. Seeing the hungry glint in her eyes, Quinn added, “Look, I need you strong, awake and healthy. So dig in, will you?”
Casting him a glance, she picked up the plate and sat down opposite him. “You’re a pragmatic person, Corporal Grayson.”
“When you’re in a war, reality is the name of the game. You’re a cop. You must understand that,” he said gruffly, then regretted his harsh tone. He watched as she carefully spooned up a mouthful of eggs and started chewing. The look on her face was one of pure pleasure. She closed her eyes.
“Mmm…I never thought eggs could taste so good….”
If someone felt guilty right now, it was Quinn. The hollowness in Kerry’s cheeks told him more than he wanted to know.
“How long, really, since you ate last?”
Sighing, Kerry opened her eyes. “Probably twenty-four hours or more.”
Quinn reached down and pulled out a canteen filled with water.
“Here. You’re probably thirsty, too.”
As she took the dark green canteen, her fingers met his briefly. Kerry absorbed his touch. The look in his eyes was predatory and assessing. “You don’t miss much, do you?” There was a wry note in her voice as she set the MRE aside, unscrewed the lid of the canteen and drank deeply of the proffered gift of water.
After a moment, Kerry forced herself to stop drinking. She had to think of others, too. Reluctantly, she put down the canteen, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and then started to replace the cap.
“You’re not finished.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not. Drink up.” Quinn hooked a thumb toward his pack. “I’ve got a gallon of water in there. More than enough for the three of us.”
Kerry hesitated. She remembered once more those who were thirsty outside her hovel. She had heard too many squalls of infants dying of thirst. Seen too many desperate parents looking for water for their children. Her fingers tightened around the canteen, which rested on her knee.
When Kerry hung her head, her knuckles white as she gripped the canteen, understanding hit Quinn like a steamroller. Frowning, he lowered his voice.
“Listen to me, Kerry. I was in the Gulf War. I was over there in the worst of it. I saw a lot of people die of thirst—men, women and children. It wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t right. But the first thing you have to do is take care of yourself. You’re the only one here who has the information we need. You can’t short yourself just because people out there need water, too. Without you, this whole operation in Area Five would fall apart. I need you strong. Thinking. Not weak and unable to put two thoughts together.”
His voice was gentle with understanding. Kerry lifted her head and drowned in his lambent blue gaze, which was fraught with emotion. Slowly, she picked up the canteen again. Taking off the top, she lifted it to her lips and drank deeply. For the first time in two weeks, she was able to drink all the water she really wanted. What a luxury!
Wiping her mouth, she gave him a sad look. “I still feel guilty.”
“That’s okay,” Quinn rumbled. “Life isn’t fair. It isn’t ever gonna be. You’ve earned the right to the water, and—” he gestured toward the half-eaten MRE “—the rest of this food.”
Grimacing, Kerry handed the canteen back to him. “Thanks,” she whispered.
“Eat.”
“I can’t….”
“Why not?”
Rubbing her stomach, she gave him a helpless look. “I’ve been so long without good food that if I ate that, I’d throw up, Corporal. I’d be better off eating a crust of bread, or some crackers….”
Wincing internally, Quinn said nothing. He pulled one of the lunch MREs toward him, tore it open and took out a handful of crac
kers. “Here, start with these. We’ll slowly build you up in the next day or two so you can eat regular food.”
Kerry took the crackers and peeled off the plastic with shaky fingers. Her stomach growled, embarrassingly loud.
“I guess my belly knows it’s going to get fed.”
Moodily, Quinn watched as she daintily ate each cracker as if it were a priceless gift. A look of pleasure suffused her face once again as she tasted the morsels. It hurt to watch her. This was America, the richest nation on earth, and people were starving to death. The terrible reality of that slammed into him. Kerry Chelton was gaunt looking. So was Petula. And so were the men who had taken the bottled water off the Huey earlier. Everyone had obviously dropped weight. Alarmingly so. As Quinn sat there listening to Petula breathing softly in her sleep, cuddling her purple dinosaur, and watching Kerry eat each cracker as if it were a feast, rage rose in him.
It was a rage of frustration. Flying in, he’d seen how every road in the basin, large and small, had been ripped up and torn apart by the massive earthquake. No vehicle, no convoy could possibly get through to give the people a consistent supply line of food. Now, as he sat here with Kerry and the little girl, the human side of the disaster was brought home to him in a way he’d never thought he’d see in the United States.
“You know,” he said, his voice rough with sudden feeling, “things like this happen overseas. You see it on television. You see the destruction. Yeah, you feel bad, but it doesn’t reach you or grab your heart and gut.” Looking around the hut she’d fashioned as a strong wind blew in through the many cracks in the walls, he said, “But now it’s happening here. In America. Our home.” With a shake of his head, he held her darkened eyes. “God, it’s just sinking in…this disaster….”
The Will to Love Page 3
