His story wrapped around her, sinking into her pores and transporting her to the world beyond this murky gray hell, a world with leafy green trees and fuzzy kittens.
“I’ll bet the neighbor girl was glad to have her pet back.”
“Oh, I didn’t save her Siamese. The cat climbed down on its own.” He chuckled softly. “I got stuck when my jacket snagged a branch and the fire department had to rescue me.”
She laughed with him—how could she not?—until her eyes stung with tears and she choked on the thick air. “You’re making that up to distract me.”
“Not a chance. I was scared to death up there. Cried like a baby, when I got to solid ground again.” A half smile dug a crease into the dirt on his rugged face. “The little kid had her cat back and looked at the firefighter like he was a god.”
“Ahhh,” she smiled, realizing. “You had a crush on the neighbor girl.”
He didn’t answer right away, the dull throb of distant engines filled the void.
“Yeah.” His voice went flat, the smooth bourbon tones turning gravelly.
The leafy world in her mind faded, landing her back in the drab fissure. She rubbed circles over Joshua’s head to soothe the child and keep the circulation going in her increasingly numbing hand. Closing her eyes, she struggled to will herself back to the brief escape from this place.
The sound of jackhammers intensified along with the growl of trucks and maybe even the occasional voice. But her mind could be playing tricks on her. The only thing she knew for sure, her only reality, was this man in front of her. “I hate feeling helpless, dependent.”
“Hey… Hey,” he repeated forcefully. “You’re anything but helpless, and there’s nothing wrong with needing me. It’s my job. You’ve stayed calm. Believe me, from where I’m sitting, that’s huge. A whacked-out victim is a danger to herself, to me, and to everyone around us. You’re doing good, Amelia.”
She forced dank air in through her nose, out through her mouth, rubbing Joshua’s back in time with each breath. “What’s your last name? You never told me.”
“Franco. My name’s Hugh Franco.”
“And you’re a PJ…” She traced the insignia on his uniform sleeve.
“Master sergeant.”
Yeah, she could sink into the comfort of questioning him, like a lawyer finding out as much as possible about the man sent down here to rescue her. The more she knew, the more she controlled her world. Or so she hoped. “Where are you from, Hugh Franco?”
“I’m stationed in Florida.” He shifted beside her, extending a leg. To get more comfortable?
“I’m from Alabama. I was looking forward to helping my brother, Aiden, then hanging out at the beach here with his wife and their son.”
Debris showered on her head. She stifled a scream.
She bit her lip until she tasted blood. Once the dust settled, she scrunched her nose. “Sorry. I should be used to it by now, huh? People call me a bulldog in the courtroom, but inside, I’m a total wimp. I can’t stand mice or snakes. I cover my eyes during scary movies or gory scenes. I don’t feel brave at all.”
Especially not in comparison to him. She studied his big muscled body, the way he seemed so relaxed and prepped for action all at once. He listened to her, checked her pulse, all while periodically pressing a couple of fingers to his helmet in a way she’d realized meant he was listening in on his headset. He managed a million tasks at once while she wrestled with just lying around waiting to be rescued.
She swallowed hard, scared as hell and unable to stop herself from asking for even more from this seemingly invulnerable man. “Do you think you could hold my hand?”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure can.” His broad palm slid against her, callused fingers wrapping around her.>Wade “Brick” Rocha edged around the tractor. “I’m going in after him, boss. I’ll follow the cable, dig through, and—”
Reason filtered through the rage. He needed to level out, stay in command.
“Hold steady. Not yet. I don’t need two of the team missing.” He refused to believe Franco was dead. Only his voice was gone. Just the radio connection fading. “Let’s check in with the cleanup crew, maybe nab one of the search dogs again to confirm the exact location, since things have shifted.”
Scrubbing along his jaw, he scanned the crews returning to business as if nothing had happened. Training kicked into overdrive at times like these. The cold-sweat stage would set in later, once there wasn’t anything to do but sit and think about how very wrong the day could have gone.
How badly it could still go, as they all hung out together in an active seismic zone.
Guards formed a circle around the perimeter. American soldiers armed with M4 carbines stood alongside multinational troops carrying Uzis, all on the watch for looters targeting more than just store goods. Food and clean water were at a premium, which made them a target, since they had both, thanks to the air force’s RED HORSE unit: Rapid Engineer Deployable Heavy Operational Repair Squadron Engineers. Whether in a war zone or natural disaster, they responded within twenty-four hours with food and water-purification units filling up water trailers called water buffalos.
Liam scanned the outskirts. Everyone from starving survivors to rapists trolling for a defenseless victim.
His M9 pistol stayed strapped to his hip, loaded. Ready.