that she needed reassurance. Or maybe he was just reacting to her touch. His gaze dropped to her hand, which appeared pale and slender on his dirt-streaked skin. Then it returned to her face, settling on her trembling lips.
Lauren stared at him for a moment, her heart racing. She wasn’t in the habit of getting so familiar with strangers. Her strong attachment to him made sense, under these circumstances, but it still disturbed her. She liked being independent.
A vehicle horn sounded in the distance. It was Don, not an automatic alarm. One of the patients needed her.
She started jogging back to the RV, Garrett at her side.
The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Aftershocks rattled the cavern at semiregular intervals. Garrett rigged a set of construction lights to illuminate her workspace. They were able to see a large portion of the cavern. It was a blessing and a curse.
They were trapped under an impenetrable pile of concrete. A freeway underpass marked the south side, which had sustained the least damage. Its high ceiling had prevented the freeway sections from falling flat on top of each other and crushing everything underneath. Instead, the pieces had settled like a house of cards.
A broken, bumpy roadway stretched across the lower level. Massive walls of concrete blocked all sides. The largest wall was on the north end, where Lauren’s ambulance had been crushed. A mountain of rubble loomed in the west. The motor home sat near the middle of the south section, somewhat protected by the underpass.
The surrounding area resembled a parking garage from a dystopian nightmare. Blackened skeletons sat behind the wheels of smoldering cars. Broken bodies, blood spatter and safety glass littered the ground.
Looking up offered no respite. The ceiling was as high as fifty feet in some places. Daylight peeked through a couple of hairline cracks along the east wall. None appeared wider than Lauren’s wrist. Garrett had searched every inch of the perimeter, paying special attention to the chunks of concrete at the west end. Even if they had a bulldozer, and room to maneuver, he said, they couldn’t get through.
Lauren didn’t have time to despair their entrapment. She was too busy trying to keep her patients alive.
Penny was recovering well under Cadence’s care. Don helped Lauren with the others. She felt like a Civil War sawbones with her bloody apron and rudimentary techniques. Surgery was way beyond her scope, and she managed a few minor miracles with first-aid supplies and local anesthetics.
The first woman, Beverly Engle, drifted in and out of consciousness. Lauren gave her as much morphine as she could spare before immobilizing her broken leg. She secured the limb to a two-by-four.
Her second patient was a young, athletic-looking man. He had a serious head injury and didn’t respond to any stimuli. There wasn’t much she could do for him, besides administer IV fluids and monitor his condition.
Her third patient, an older man, had multiple internal injuries. She wasn’t surprised when he went into cardiac arrest, but she fought hard to save him.
Working frantically, she gave him oxygen through a tube, used a defibrillator and performed CPR for as long as she could. Exhausted, she let Garrett take over, to no avail. The man passed away just before midnight.
She was too drained to cry.
After Lauren cleaned herself up with medical wipes, she accepted a peanut butter sandwich that Cadence had made earlier. To her surprise, she ate with a ravenous appetite, finishing the meal quickly.
“You should get some rest,” Garrett suggested.
She nodded. Mrs. Engle and the coma patient were stable, and she wasn’t having any luck saving people. He turned off the construction lights, switching on a small camp lantern he’d found in one of the cars.
“Don said there’s space in the RV.”
She wasn’t sure about that. Penny and Cadence were sleeping on the only bed; Don was slumped in the front seat. She didn’t want to disturb them. “I’d rather stay close,” she murmured, “in case someone needs help during the night.”
He lifted his chin toward a quiet corner. “I put some blankets over there.”
“Where will you sleep?”
His gaze shifted to the dark recesses of the cavern. The men in the pickup had been listening to the radio earlier. Now it was silent. “I won’t.”
She studied him from beneath lowered lashes, her pulse accelerating. He needed rest, too. If she invited him to lie down with her, he might think she wanted something more. She didn’t—she was exhausted. But she couldn’t deny her attraction to him. From the way his eyes traveled over her, she suspected the feeling was mutual.
She also sensed that he wouldn’t act on it. The time and place were wrong. He seemed uncomfortable with her proximity, reluctant to share personal details. Maybe he wasn’t interested. Maybe he wasn’t available.
Did he have a girlfriend he was worried about? A wife and children?
She was reluctant to ask such weighted questions. So she said good-night, and went to sleep alone.
CHAPTER THREE
LAUREN DREAMT NOT OF GARRETT, but of Michael.
They were in Bermuda on their honeymoon. She was wading through the gentle surf, holding his hand, taking Rebecca’s place. Sleeping in his bed. Everything was perfect. Except...him.
His touch was too rough. He tore the buttons at the front of her uniform shirt and squeezed her breasts painfully.
Wait. Why was she wearing her uniform?
Lauren jolted awake. She wasn’t in Bermuda with Michael. She was lying on a blanket on the hard ground, trapped under a freeway collapse. It was dark, almost pitch-black in the cavern. A large, wide-shouldered man loomed before her. When she drew a breath to scream, he crushed his palm over her mouth.
He was strong. His weight held her captive as his other hand continued to fumble at her shirtfront, ripping the fabric.
Perhaps because his face was the last one she’d seen before falling asleep, she pictured Garrett as her attacker. The idea that a man she’d trusted would do this horrified her. Tasting the salt of a fleshy palm, she bit down.
He grunted in pain and readjusted his grip, digging his fingernails into her jaw.
A few scattered details emerged. The man on top of her smelled like beer, and he had a rounded gut. Garrett’s was as flat as a drum. Also, his head was bald. A dim light in the distance reflected off his shiny pate.
This wasn’t Garrett! Thank God.
Maybe he would hear them scuffling and come to help. Her heart surged with hope and adrenaline. She bucked beneath her assailant and kicked her legs, making guttural sounds of distress in the back of her throat. He was smothering her mouth and nose. She couldn’t breathe. His palm was slippery with sweat and blood.
She managed to dislodge his hand long enough to let out a hoarse scream. Cursing, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and tried to slam her head against the concrete. The tangled blanket underneath her impeded the maneuver.
