Authors: Jill Sorenson
Penny fidgeted with her skirt. “Do you want to go to bed
now?”
“Sure.”
They lay side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Cruz was
snuggled in one corner tonight, instead of between them. Penny was tired but she
didn’t feel like turning her back on Owen. Not because she didn’t trust him. She
just wasn’t ready to sleep.
“What’s Salton City really like?” she asked.
“It’s hot, and dry, and full of tweakers.”
“Tweakers?”
“You don’t know what a tweaker is?”
She moistened her lips, nervous. “Should I?”
“Where are you from?”
“L.A.”
“East L.A.?”
“No,” she said, offended. “Palos Verdes.”
“Did you go to public school?”
“I went to Sacred Heart. It’s a private Catholic school.”
“No wonder,” he said, shaking his head. “A tweaker is a meth
user. You know what crystal meth is, right?”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“My brother got hooked on it. That’s why he robbed the liquor
store.”
“Are your parents on drugs also?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
“Two sons, both in jail.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Is that normal in Salton City?”
“Probably more normal than in Palos Verdes.” He used the
general mispronunciation, Palace Verdays, which emphasized its swanky
reputation. “My mom was clean for a long time. She fell off the wagon when Shane
and I got arrested.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Me, too.”
“That must have been awful for her.”
A cord in his neck twitched. “Yes.”
“What about your dad?”
“What about him?”
“Did he fall off the wagon?”
“He was never on it.”
She studied his face for a moment, silent.
“What do your parents do?” he asked.
“My mom works for a charity, and my dad is...in politics.”
“What kind of politics?”
“‘Conservative Family Values,’” she quoted.
“As in, marriage and abstinence and stuff like that?”
“Yes.”
He winced in sympathy.
“Sometimes it felt like jail, growing up. I suppose that sounds
silly to you.”
“No.”
“Will you get out soon?”
“In another year.”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know. I like the outdoor work program at the prison. I
can do any kind of labor, or welding.” He looked at her. “What about you?”
“I wanted to go to school.”
“To study what?”
“I’m not sure yet. I thought I’d take some general-education
courses and figure it out.”
“You should.”
She didn’t know how she’d manage without her aunt, without a
place to live. If she spent her money on rent, there wouldn’t be any left for
classes and child care. Had she made the wrong decision? Before her aunt Bernice
stepped in, she’d considered adoption. Her parents said she would “ruin her
life” with single motherhood. She couldn’t imagine giving up Cruz, but she
wanted what was best for him.
Maybe she wasn’t it.
“Don’t worry,” he said, wrapping his arm around her.
“Everything will be fine.”
She rested her head on his shoulder, only half comforted by the
lie.
* * *
A
FTER
L
AUREN
FELL
asleep, Garrett eased his arm out from underneath her.
He wanted to stay with her all night, but he had to get back to
camp. The others were about a hundred feet away, and Cadence was inside the semi
by herself. They wouldn’t be prepared if Jeb showed up.
Reluctant to leave, nonetheless, he watched Lauren sleep for
another few minutes. Although he regretted deceiving her, he wasn’t sorry he’d
touched her.
It wasn’t as if he’d gone out of his way to seduce her. If
anything, she’d come on to him. He’d understood what he was getting himself into
when she asked him to wash up. But how could he resist? Call him weak, but when
a beautiful woman wanted to get naked with him, he had a hard time saying
no.
When that woman was Lauren...he melted at her feet.
Her nude body was the most erotic sight he’d ever seen.
Tendrils of wet hair had clung to her shoulders, and tiny droplets glistened on
her skin. Her breasts were full and round, her nipples tight and pink. She was
so sweet, from the curve of her waist to the shadow of her belly button. And
between her legs... Jesus. The instant he’d felt her against his fingertips,
he’d lost it. Without the cold dousing, he might have gone off right then and
there. The contrast between her chilled skin and her steamy sex had undone
him.
His performance had left a lot to be desired, and he wasn’t
satisfied in the least, but he couldn’t reverse the clock. He didn’t want to
take it back. If he could do it all over again...damn. He’d love to do it all
over again.
A twinge of conscience prevented him from trying. She was
exhausted, and not necessarily clearheaded. Cheating was a deal breaker for them
both. Lauren wouldn’t have slept with him under normal circumstances. She hadn’t
fallen into his arms because he was irresistible; she’d desperately needed
escape and release.
He’d caught her in a moment of vulnerability, and he knew
better than to hope for a long-distance relationship. But he’d savored every
inch of her. Being inside her was the most pleasurable sensation of his life. He
hadn’t touched a woman in five years. For the next five, he’d replay this
encounter.
How could he be sorry? He was ecstatic. He was...in love with
her.
His heart twisted in his chest, pained by the realization. He
tucked the wool blanket around her slim body and climbed out of the car. The
rain had abated, but runoff was still streaming down the wall, trickling in
rivulets along the cracked asphalt. He stared at the water, tears burning behind
his eyes.
Falling for a woman he couldn’t have was an epic mistake.
What the hell was wrong with him? He was a criminal, a killer,
a womanizer. He’d been dishonorably discharged from the military. He had a
shoddy education and no future prospects.
Christ, he had nothing to offer her. He worked hard labor for
piss pay, and was allotted one phone call a week.
He was a damned fool.
Laughing harshly at himself, he blinked the moisture from his
eyes. He couldn’t win her over with scribbled poetry, or send her a ring from a
box of Cracker Jack. The only women who wanted to date violent offenders—and
there were some—had a few screws loose. Garrett didn’t respond to letters from
lonely hearts anymore. He wasn’t the type of man to take advantage of mentally
unstable females.
Until now.
Lauren wasn’t lonely or desperate. She was smart and beautiful
and talented. She could have anyone she wanted. He couldn’t expect a woman like
her to waste her time on a dead-end loser like him.
Instead of wallowing in self-pity, or fantasizing about
touching her again, he returned to the supplies by the RV. Tomorrow, Owen would
have to climb with limited help. Garrett’s left arm felt like a limp noodle.
What they needed was a ladder. Inspired, he gathered all the rope before
realizing he couldn’t tie knots without two good hands.
Someone else would have to complete the task.
Crowbar at his side, he settled down in the most comfortable
lawn chair. Mickey snored in sleep, chains rattling as he rolled over. Garrett
doubted Jeb could slither into their camp without making noise, but he stayed
vigilant.
The night was interminable. Penny’s baby cried every few hours.
Garrett had seen Cruz earlier this afternoon. She’d brought the baby to the door
to show him off. He was scrawny and dark-haired, not chubby and bald. But
Garrett’s chest had tightened with emotion upon seeing the warm, protective look
on Penny’s face.
He wondered what it was like to be a parent, and if his father
had felt that instant connection. If he still felt it. Or if the bond between
them had disintegrated under the weight of shame and disappointment.
In the wee hours of the morning, Owen stumbled out of the
camper. He took the chair next to Garrett, rubbing his eyes.
“Baby keeping you awake?”
“No,” he grumbled, shifting in his seat. “Something else.”
Garrett didn’t have any trouble guessing his problem. After
being with Lauren once, he was in the same predicament. He could smell her on
his fingers, and he knew what she felt like. Now he was more acutely aware of
what he’d been missing.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Owen said.
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Garrett replied.
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “She’s a
mother.”
“She’s not
your
mother.”
“You don’t think it’s...twisted?”
“To be attracted to a pretty girl, when you haven’t gotten laid
in years? No. I don’t think it’s twisted. If you’re imagining pushing the baby
aside and stealing a drink of milk, that’s a little weird.”
Owen laughed, shaking his head. “No.”
Chains scraped against concrete in the distance. “Water,”
Mickey moaned weakly. “Give me water.”
They both ignored him.
“You building a ladder?” Owen asked.
“I was trying to.” Garrett picked up the rope and showed him
which kind of knot to use. While Owen worked on the rungs, Garrett consulted the
map. “When you get out, you’re going to have to find a bike.”
“What kind of bike?”
“A mountain bike with sturdy tires would be best. But use
whatever you can find. I don’t know what the roads will be like. If they aren’t
too badly damaged, you could drive a motorcycle.”
“I’d have to steal one first.”
“Yeah. That might be a bad idea.” He tapped his finger on the
map. “It’s twenty miles to the National Guard station, heading east on the
8.”
Owen squinted at the route, committing it to memory.
Garrett worried about Owen’s chances for success. There might
be outlaws and looters along the way that made his Aryan brothers look like
sweethearts. The highway also ran along the U.S.–Mexico border. If Owen decided
to cut through the desert and make a break for it, no one could stop him. “Can I
trust you?”
“Of course,” he said, affronted.
“I wish there was another option.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make it.”
Garrett hoped so, because his hands were tied. Even if he could
climb with one arm, he had to stay to protect the others. Lauren wouldn’t leave
the patients behind. Penny had a newborn baby to take care of.
“Why don’t you get some rest?” Owen said, securing another
knot. “I’ll finish the rope ladder by morning.”
Garrett leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs.
Images of Lauren danced in his head, filling him with a mixture of euphoria and
anxiety. Even so, he drifted off quickly, surrendering to exhaustion.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
L
AUREN
WOKE
UP
ALONE
in the backseat.
She straightened, pushing her hair off her forehead. Garrett
must have left after she’d fallen asleep. Although she figured he’d gone back to
the RV to stand guard, and hadn’t wanted to wake her, his absence disturbed
her.
It felt cheap. Like he’d sneaked away without leaving his
number.
She kicked the blanket off her bare legs. The tenderness
between her thighs was a reminder of their coupling. Her body ached in a
pleasant way, yearning for more. Last night, she’d been too tired for a repeat
session. This morning, she’d like a longer ride.
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.
* * *
O
WEN
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.