Hot Zone (3 page)

His work glove lay on the ground beside him and she realized how he’d been forced to take off that bit of protective gear to tend her. She’d been selfish, asking for him to stay even a second longer.

She squeezed hard then let go. “Okay, I’m good. I want you to leave now.”

“Not a chance.” He rolled to his back as if settling in for a nap. “I lose my Superman status if I check out on you.”

Right now, he sure looked as ripped and invincible as a superhero. Was he as tall as he appeared? Or was the confined space distorting her perception? Not that it mattered. What he was doing for her now… Superman material, no doubt.

Still, why would he risk staying here with her when he really couldn’t do anything more for her? Her brain raced to the only logical conclusion. “The exit closed off during the aftershock, didn’t it?”

He stuffed his pack under his head. “Can’t get anything past you, can I? Yeah, you’re stuck with me for the duration.”

***

She was too perceptive, and Hugh needed to keep her from rooting around in his brain for answers. While he
could
still leave here, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure she was as uninjured as she claimed.

And the kid on the other side of her? Once she realized that baby was dead, she would lose her shit and possibly injure herself. Give up. Die.

Not a fucking chance. Not as long as he was still breathing.

Logic said he should get his ass out of here, but with thoughts of Marissa still clanking around inside his thick skull, he wasn’t thinking so straight. What the hell had led him to spill his guts about the cat story, the one about when he’d first met his wife?

Had to be something to do with Amelia’s job training. Lawyers. Always digging around in people’s lives. “So why did you become a prosecutor? Why not some hotshot corporate attorney making the big bucks?”

“You sound like my ex.”

“Damn.” He laughed softly. “That’s harsh for the guy risking his ass for you here.”

She paused. “Maybe my ex was a great guy.”

Not if the tone of her voice was anything to go by. “Don’t think so. Rotten breakup?”

“Train wreck as bad as anything on a reality show.” She rubbed her thumb over her ring finger absently. “Still, for all you know it could have been my fault.”

Could be. But his purpose here was to distract her with happy thoughts. “If he lost you, he must be flawed.”

She rewarded him with a smile. “Ah, where were you when I was drowning my sorrows in pints of Ben and Jerry’s?”

“Chunky Monkey?

“Cherry Garcia.” She groaned.

He tensed. “What’s wrong?”

“I so didn’t need to think of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream at the moment.”

His muscles melted back onto the concrete slab. “So your smarmy ex didn’t like your job choice.”

Ex-boyfriend or ex-husband?

“He put me through law school and expected we would lead a more comfortable life once I graduated. When he found out otherwise, we got one of those ‘irreconcilable differences’ divorces. No kids. Little money. It was quick and far from painless.”

“Sounds like he was a jackass.” What kind of dumb shit threw away a family?

“Jackass… jerk… cheating scumbag. But he knows what he wants. He’s happily married to one of my law-school classmates. Apparently he’d been sleeping with her for months before we split, something he felt compelled to confess—after he’d gotten his fifty-fifty, irreconcilable-differences divorce. From what I hear, they never see each other but they have a crap ton of money to spend on themselves and their two-point-two children. Not that I’m bitter or anything.”

“Regrets bite.”

“You said it.” She finger-doodled small circles in the dirt. “I should probably forgive him in case I don’t make it. But then that would be kinda hypocritical, since if I knew for sure I was going to make it, I would kick the rat bastard in the gonads.”

A laugh burst out of him. “Lady, if we could harness your spirit, we could lift this building right off you in a heartbeat.”

“Yeah, he said I was emasculating.”

Hugh was thinking maybe he might like to look this guy up, use him for a refresher course on martial arts skills. After missions like this one, he needed to blow off steam.

She sighed. “The rat bastard was good in bed though. I do miss that.”

What
the—?

Shock zipped through him, along with an adrenaline surge and a passel of distracting images of this take-no-prisoners woman putting her everything into all-night, sweaty sex.

Not professional thoughts.

He cleared his throat. “You know you’re going to live, right? And you’re going to be sorry you told me so much.”

She stayed quiet so long, he thought for a minute she wouldn’t answer. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I’ll never see you again, so it doesn’t matter. Although I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”

“Surprised, maybe.”

For a few seconds there, he’d even managed to stop thinking about Marissa stuck in the wreckage of a plane, stop wondering how long she’d lived, knowing that their child had died instantly. Had anyone else on the craft been alive in her final seconds to offer a distraction from the fear, to give her comfort?

Although one thing was damn certain. Marissa wouldn’t have been talking like this. She’d been shy and fragile, and it killed him five times over every single day that he couldn’t have been on that airplane instead of her and their daughter.

Amelia kept drawing circles in the sand with a ragged nail, her swirls growing like one of Tilly’s scribble-art pieces he still kept on his refrigerator even though the paper had long ago yellowed with age.

“Hugh, it’s tough not to think about regrets right now. Especially the huge one. Like thinking about never seeing Alaska or having sex again… Never becoming a mother.”

He looked from the ground to her face sharply. “You want kids?”

“Joshua just wriggled his fingers.” She smiled softly. “He’s really alive.”

He didn’t want her thinking about the child.

Hell, he didn’t want to think about the toddler a few feet away who was likely dead, and if the kid lived in some kind of coma state, not being able to do a damn thing for him… Yeah, that dropped Dante’s inferno to a new rock-bottom level.

Time to discuss something else. “I’ve lived in Alaska. It’s incredible. You should take a cruise up there when you get out of here, give yourself a chance to decompress.”

She laughed hoarsely. “Maybe you could join me, and we’ll have lots of great sex in our stateroom so I can erase both of my regrets at once.”

Again, he chuckled along with her and even wondered what it would be like to “decompress” with her. He hadn’t lived like a monk since his wife died. The thought of getting married again made him sick to his stomach. So he’d settled into a life of one-night hookups and casual relationships. Some called him a serial dater.

His only commitment? Throwing himself into high-risk rescues while crossing days off the calendar until he could see his wife and kid again in the afterlife.

Right now, though, the thought of marking time with Amelia Bailey sounded… intriguing. “I may not be able to live up to the rat bastard’s tantric reputation.”

“He wasn’t
that
good in bed.” She rolled her pretty blue eyes.

“Glad to know you’re willing to lower the bar for regular saps like me.” He smiled, really smiled.

And she grinned back, the kind of grin that lit up a person’s face, the last sort of reaction he expected to get from her here, today. Maybe she was getting punch-drunk on insanity and exhaustion. Could be that he was too. Regardless, right now he could envision one mind-blowing decompression session with this woman he’d barely met. Hell, he didn’t even really know what she looked like under all the grime, just that she had piercingly blue eyes, an upturned nose, and a hundred-watt smile.

A smile that faded.

“Hugh, this is all too silly. I’m not usually so blunt.”

“This isn’t a usual sort of situation.”

“True enough. Real life is very different. You probably have a lovely wife and family back home, and here I am flirting with you.”

And just that fast, his smile faded too. He had a mission to complete here, a woman to save. Time to quit thinking with his dick and do his job.

“No family.” He reached for his gear bag. “Let me have your hand again. I need to check your vitals.”

***

The Guardian gripped the walkie-talkie in one hand while steering the Jeep around a fallen palm tree. The Motorola transceiver was top-of-the-line, not some two-tin-can kid stuff. Very few unofficial personnel had access to vehicles and reliable lines of communication. Those with better equipment—like the radio and the Jeep—would have an edge.

The four-wheel drive jostled over the uneven road that lay in pieces like a jarred puzzle. A catastrophe like this called for special people, with specific skills and equipment to keep others from being victimized. Above all, the children had to be protected. The Guardian considered it a life’s calling to remove babies from inadequate homes and provide them with better futures.

Never had that mission been more important than now.

Red tape meant nothing in the aftermath of the earthquake. Two decades of experience circumventing official channels would come in handy. Guardian troops already trained and in place would carry out orders without hesitation and with ease in the country’s current lawless state. Babies wouldn’t have to languish in an understaffed orphanage in this earthquake-ravaged hell while waiting for rubber-stamped paperwork.

Rows of sheet-covered dead filled a concrete parking lot outside a crumpled grocery store. The smaller forms carried the biggest punch, reminders of another lost child, a little girl whose face was still painfully clear even after so many years of grieving. The past would not repeat itself.

Anyone who interfered with the Guardian would become a casualty of war. Sad, but unavoidable. Nothing else mattered but gathering the children.

Liam McCabe squinted at the setting sun. They would search into the night, but even with work lights, the operation would be tougher, slower.

The looters would grow bolder.

His eyes shifted to two security cops handcuffing the latest trash pickers. The seventh attempt today, mostly by starving displaced families. They would be escorted to one of the tent camps. The hungrier they got, the more desperate they would become.

They needed more aid—ASAP.

But for now, he would have to content himself with the one fresh set of hands and paws. He charged across the debris, determined to intercept the newest search and rescue dog handler and shout dibs. He’d informed everyone on headset that his mission was top priority, but that wouldn’t keep somebody from trying to scoop her up first.

She was wiry, with a hint of dark hair peeking from beneath her helmet. She seemed too small to stand up under the weight of her gear, but she showed no signs of swaying. Her steel-shanked boots were planted firmly on the uneven ground.

Shouldering past two E3s setting up new stadium lights, Liam thrust his hand toward the woman. “Major McCabe, pararescue out of Florida,” he introduced himself abruptly. “You’re with me. Hope you’re ready to roll.”

“Rachel Flores.” She stroked the neck of her black Labrador retriever. “This is Disco. We’re not newbies. Been at this for over ten years. So give it to me short and sweet.”

“I’ve got men on the pile now. One under the debris. He went in to stabilize a survivor.” He pointed to the German shepherd about fifty yards away having his front paw taped. “The dog there—Zorro, I think they called him—found the scent, but he’s worn out and has an injured paw.”

Her deep brown eyes assessed the scene. “My dog only does live searches. Not cadavers.”

“My guy is not dead.”

She looked back fast, pinning him with a no-bullshit stare. “I’m not trying to get up in your grill, but you need to keep your objectivity. We have limited resources. If I spend hours searching here, then someone else goes unfound. I can’t have you using me for your personal agenda, Major.”

“My guy is not dead,” he repeated through clenched teeth. “And my objectivity is rock solid. He’s down there with a female victim and a male toddler.”

“Okay”—she nodded curtly—“I’m just making it clear. Ready to roll.”

He shifted into work mode, rattling off details and answering her questions as he escorted her to the dig site. Disco trotted alongside, looking like any regular house pet out for a daily walk. Until a person looked closer and realized how finely in tune the canine was to every minute gesture of his handler. How they were both on edge and prepared for anything they might face.

The death they likely
would
face.

God, he hated missions like this most of all. He’d seen so much death back during his days as an Army Ranger. Once the PJs accepted officers on their teams, he knew without a doubt where he had to be. He’d swapped from army to air force. From
hoo-uh
to
ooh-rah
. He wasn’t ready to hang up his uniform, but he’d needed to shift to the saving end of the job before he burned out.

Life by life, he gained back pieces of his sanity. Cause for rejoicing. Except he’d left the wreckage of three divorces behind him. He’d liked being married, having someone to come home to, a soft woman in his life. He fell in love too easily and unwisely.

But here, on the job, he didn’t doubt his instincts for a second. And his gut told him Rachel Flores would find Hugh Franco. She had to.

The alternative was unacceptable.

***

Every bone in Amelia’s body ached as huge hands under her armpits hauled her from the crevice. Loose rocks and stones scraped along her back through her shredded silk blouse, but oh God, finally, she was free.

Lights flooded her cave, a larger space now that the rescue workers had hacked away enough concrete to pull her out. She landed on a canvas stretcher, the IV tube slapping her arm. She twisted to check Joshua—

Hands bracketed her head a second before a strap stretched across her forehead, securing her. She didn’t even have to look to see who had hold of her. The past hours had even her breaths synced up with Hugh Franco.

She grabbed his sleeve and squeezed hard so he couldn’t walk away. “Hugh, please, get Joshua… don’t give up on Joshua.”

“They’re on it.” His fingers slid from her hair. “I promise.”

“
You.
I want
you
to be the one. I know you’ve already done so much for me, but I trust you—”

His face creased with one of those half smiles that had carried her through hell. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. And all Superman claims aside, I’m a worn-out, exhausted piece of crap right now. You want someone fresh freeing the little guy. My buddy Cuervo’s already going in, and he will take the best care of him. Trust me on
that
.” He squeezed her shoulder. “No freaking on me now. I don’t want to have to knock you out with a Vulcan nerve pinch. Okay?”

Nodding, Amelia slumped back onto the stretcher. Finally, finally daring to let herself relax as they made a jostling journey through a tunnel in the rubble so lengthy she was overwhelmed by what Hugh had done for her.

And because of him, she was actually going to get out of here. Alive. In one piece. Granted, every piece of her ached from a combination of bruises, scrapes, and immobility. But she welcomed every twinge, stab, burn that let her know she was alive. Somehow, she’d survived. She had the chance to breathe regular air again.

The end of the tunnel waited ahead, glowing. A breeze gusted inside, dank but free of grit. Strapped to the stretcher, she slid free into her second chance, like a rebirth.

Blazing lights pierced her eyes. From the sun? She’d lost track of time. But no. It was night now, with halogen spots placed all around, illuminating…
Hell.

The beautiful tourist town was gone. So much devastation. Hotels and brightly painted shops were either broken in half or covered in a film of gray grime.

Noises, no longer muffled, assaulted her ears. The growl of machinery. Engines straining in tractors, trucks, and cranes. Shouts. Barking dogs.

And moaning masses of injured humanity.

Her gaze scanned to… oh God, a tarp on the ground with sheet-draped bodies on top. The dead. Horror and bile filled her mouth. She winged a prayer for all those lost souls, all too aware of how easily her lifeless remains could have been there, unclaimed, unknown.

If not for Hugh Franco.

Her eyes tracked back to him as he towered over her. He held one side of the jostling gurney. He’d been through a horrific ordeal himself and yet he still had the energy to haul her out, waving aside a uniformed medic trying to take his place.

Hugh shrugged off the man’s hand on his shoulder. “I’m fine, Major. Surely there’s somebody in this godforsaken mess who needs you more.”

The major backed away, out of Amelia’s limited sight line. All the same, she wondered if Hugh was hiding an injury. Why hadn’t she thought to worry more about him belowground?

For the first time, she could really see him. Before now, he’d been a deep voice and shadowy savior under the hard hat. She tried to turn her head for a better view, but the strap held her secure.

Gravel crunched under Hugh’s boots, his broad-shouldered body looming. He was taller than two men jogging past. In fact, he was every bit as tall as she’d thought in their cavern. The outside world and circle of lights only accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, the hard lines of his face.

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.

The weight and wriggle of him in Hugh’s hands felt too familiar. Too painful.

He thrust the child at Cuervo. “Make sure they stay together. He’s hers.” Stuffing his fists into his pockets, he nodded to the gurney disappearing into a medical tent. “Amelia Bailey. She’s his aunt, adoption completed just before the earthquake.”

“Right.” Cuervo secured the kid against his chest. “Will follow through. You should go back to the hooch, clean up, and sleep. You look like hell, by the way.”

“Thanks. I’m outta here.” He pivoted on his heel. Away from the woman.

Away from the kid smiling at him with six tiny teeth.

His throat closed up.

Major McCabe clapped him on the back. “You had us worried there for a while.”

“When have I ever not come out okay?” He scanned the ruins for someplace to help, another mission to take on, the crazier the better, because sleep suddenly didn’t sound like a good idea, with nightmares sure to haunt him. Better to work himself unconscious instead. A good plan. It had carried him through the past five years just fine.

“Hey.” McCabe snapped his fingers in front of Hugh’s face, drawing his attention back. “You can’t count on that kind of logic to carry you through forever. I should have your ass for not coming out after you stabilized your patient.”

“Staying kept her stable.” He frowned, his jaw jutting. “Write me up if you need to, but I wouldn’t change a thing.”

McCabe sighed like a weary parent. “Let Rocha check you over.
Now.
We need to make sure you’re not hiding any injuries.”

He grinned, forcing a smile through caked-on grime so the major wouldn’t realize how blown to shit his insides were. He refused to be benched. “Would I do that?”