her eyes.
“I’m wasting water,” she said. “The Fremen would be appalled.”
“Good thing we’re not on Dune.”
She smiled through her tears, pleased that he’d understood the literary reference. Joe had been a hardcore sci-fi fan. They’d discussed the Frank Herbert novel, and its classic movie adaptation, to exhaustion.
“My coworker...didn’t make it,” she said.
“I’m sorry.”
Choking back another sob, she searched his face. He’d seemed upset when they’d first met, but anyone would be in this situation. If he was grieving the loss of a loved one, it didn’t show. “Were you with someone you cared about?”
“No,” he said curtly, his expression closed.
His brusque response made her feel foolish. He didn’t want to have a heart-to-heart discussion when there was work to be done.
She shoved the tissue into her pocket and searched the back of the ambulance for any useful supplies. After she gathered a few stray items, they headed back. The acrid stench of cigarette smoke gave her pause.
“Do you smell that?” she asked, frowning.
He froze, placing his hand on her shoulder. The sound of men’s voices carried across the dark cavern.
“Hello?” she called out, turning the beam of the flashlight that direction.
Behind a large pile of rubble, there were two men sitting in the back of a pickup truck. One had a cigarette clenched between his lips. The other was drinking from a silver can. They both waved.
Lauren waved back and started walking toward them. Garrett proceeded with caution, which she found strange, considering how gung ho he’d been earlier. He’d shown more enthusiasm while investigating burning cars.
As they neared the pickup, she saw a third man stretched out in the back of the truck. His eyes were closed, and bruises darkened the sockets underneath, but he was alive. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths.
“How’s it going?” Garrett asked, his voice flat.
She realized that he had good reason to be wary of these men. There was an open case of beer between them. A half dozen empty cans littered the space, and a large bag of chips rested against the wheel well.
While they’d been working hard, doing search and rescue, this pair of jokers had been getting drunk.
“It’s perking up,” the cigarette smoker said, glancing at Lauren. He was about forty, with bad teeth and pewter-colored hair. Tattoos snaked along his forearms, and he had the weathered skin of a drug user.
His friend was younger, in his mid-twenties, a big man with a shaved head. He had a doughy face and small, dark eyes. He studied Lauren also, moistening his fleshy lips. From the way they protruded, she figured he had an overbite.
Both men gave the impression that they were glad to see a woman, not a paramedic. Although she’d met a few guys who’d sought to take her down a peg, ignoring her uniform in favor of ogling her breasts, she hadn’t expected it from trauma survivors.
Then again, everyone reacted to stress in a different way. It didn’t bring out the best in most people.
“I’m Lauren,” she ventured, “and this is Garrett.”
Garrett had positioned himself very close to her, like a bodyguard. Or a boyfriend.
The tattooed man took another drag on his smoke, looking back and forth between them. “Jeb,” he said. “It’s a real pleasure.”
“Mickey,” his companion added. His soft, high-pitched voice made a sharp contrast to Jeb’s raspy southern drawl.
Lauren found it strange that they addressed her, not Garrett. They made no move to stand and shake hands.
“Who’s this?” she asked, gesturing to the prostrate man. He was young, like Mickey, with short blond hair and a thick goatee.
“That’s Owen,” Jeb said. “He’ll be all right.”
Lauren didn’t want to climb into the back of the pickup to evaluate his condition. She’d learned to trust her instincts, and they warned her not to get any closer. “I have other patients to attend to, but you’re welcome to bring him in. We’ve got some medical equipment set up in front of a motor home.”
“We take care of our own,” Jeb said, squinting at Garrett.
It sounded like a threat.
“Doesn’t appear to be any way out of here,” Garrett remarked.
Jeb sucked on his cigarette. “Nope.”
“Might be days, even weeks, before we escape.”
“Is that so?”
“We should ration our supplies.”
Jeb reached into the cardboard case of beer, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light. “You want one, pretty lady?”
“No,” she said tightly.
Cracking it open, he took a long pull. “Well, that’s a real good idea, hero. But you’ll be prying this beer out of my cold, dead hand.”
Mickey crushed an empty can in his fist, punctuating the statement.
“It’s every man for himself, the way I see it.”
Lauren’s stomach tightened with tension. Jeb and Mickey were spoiling for a fight, and Garrett might be angry enough to oblige. These men were playing with their lives by drinking an entire case of beer. They were wasting limited resources.
“Okay,” he said, grasping Lauren’s elbow. “Let’s go.”
She allowed him to lead her away, but she didn’t like it. When they were at a safe distance, she tugged her arm from his grip.
Cursing, he apologized. “I should have stood my ground.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“They deserved a beating.”
“Yes, but why make enemies? We have other things to worry about.”
“Now they think I won’t step up.”
“They’re not worth it,” she argued.
He was visibly upset, his jaw clenched and his shoulders stiff. Lauren hoped he wouldn’t go back to settle the score without her. Those guys were pretty tough looking. If either one of them alone challenged Garrett, she’d put her money on Garrett. But she didn’t think he could take them both on.
“Stay with me,” she said, putting her hand on the crook of his arm. It felt hard and hot beneath her fingertips. “Please.”
“I’m
