A harsh shout echoed in the distance a second before she heard—
Gunfire.
Staccato shots popped in the distance. Her heart echoed in horror. Her every muscle screamed run, run, run! But she couldn’t move.
The stretcher thumped to the ground. Hugh threw himself over her, covering her with the bulk she’d been learning only seconds earlier.
The hard wall of his chest shielded her. His body curved around her and she realized that even in the pandemonium, with bullets flying, he still thought to keep his weight off her in case she was injured.
She stared up at him, his piercing green eyes close to hers, as they’d been when he first found her. Her mouth dried up. She wanted to tell him she was okay, that she could take care of herself. He should look out for his own safety.
As a prosecutor, she stared down criminals on a regular basis in prison interrogation rooms, on the witness stand. She’d even been confronted once by a drug dealer out on bail who’d hoped to intimidate her. She’d thumbed her car alarm and kneed him in the balls—then almost passed out when a rat ran across the alley.
But hey, she’d taken care of herself then and she could do it now—if someone would free her hands. Yes, she was a wimp on the inside, but she could deal when she had to.
And she’d always had to.
Being protected felt… foreign, strangely frightening in how easily she gave over control and simply absorbed the feel of this toned man on top of her. Her pulse hammered in her ears. Her blood burned through her veins as her senses went into hyperdrive. The sliver of air between their gazes fizzed with awareness, danger, and some sort of world-stopping connection. Which was so ridiculous, given that they were both filthy, beyond disgusting, after being all but buried alive—and yet somehow that didn’t matter. And she could swear she saw a whisper of matching emotion in his eyes as well.
It had to be from what they’d experienced together. She knew that intellectually. Her body, however, clung to the feel of him.
Then he looked away. Air whooshed from her lungs.
He glanced over his shoulder a second before he eased himself off her. “Just some looters. They come out in droves at times like this. Security personnel have it under control.”
How could she have forgotten for a second how dangerous it must be out here in the aftermath of such a catastrophic earthquake? How vulnerable Joshua would be without his newly adoptive mom and dad. And until Aiden and Lisabeth were located, Amelia was Joshua’s guardian, his protector. She couldn’t lose sight of that for even a second.
“Hugh, please be sure your buddy Cuervo and the medics know who Joshua is when he’s checked over, just until I can get to him.” She pleaded with her eyes, her voice. Hell yes, she was shamelessly using that connection, that thread she’d sensed between them. Something shifted in his eyes when she mentioned Joshua, and damn it, she would use whatever she could to keep that baby safe. “It’s too easy for a child to get lost in this confusion. You know I’m right, and I realize you have to be exhausted. But he’s a helpless baby.”
Hugh’s throat moved in a long swallow.
She clung to his sleeve as two medics lifted her stretcher again. “I know you’ve already done so much for me.” She spoke faster, time running out. “I don’t have the right to ask for more, and I wouldn’t, except there’s no one else for me to turn to. Please, can you stay to be sure?”
He shook his head slowly. “Amelia, you have to accept that the boy is d—”
“No! I realize you don’t believe he’s alive but—”
A cry cut through the mayhem, a lone piercing wail so different from the jaded horror all around them. The gasping sob of a child.
Joshua.
She squeezed her eyes closed in relief. He was alive. She wasn’t crazy. Thank you, God, her nephew was alive. She blinked back tears and stared back up at Hugh.
Her hulking rescuer turned paler than any corpse.
***
Hugh fought the urge to punch out.
The major wouldn’t question him. He’d pulled his weight today. But it wasn’t exhaustion nailing his ass.
Right now, he was scared shitless of the squirming kid being thrust toward him. Instinctively, Hugh took him with the sure hands of a father who’d cradled his own baby girl through colic, teething, night terrors, and scraped knees.
He forced his focus on the present. On this child. A boy, a toddler, just as Amelia had said.
Her nephew was really alive, in spite of the odds.
His chocolate brown skin had lost some elasticity due to dehydration. The kid was covered in dirt and his own feces. But his eyes were wide, alert, and staring straight up at him. The boy—Joshua—reached a shaking little fist toward him. His dry, cracked cherub mouth moved with a raspy whisper of garbled baby talk.