way. She couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t look forward to being a mother more than anything. But a California quake had shaken her life, leaving that dream in ruins.
Had it not happened, though, she might not have considered adopting a child. She could do that without a man and spare herself from heartbreak.
A concussive thump broke into her thoughts and ear-piercing whistles accompanied by dozens of gold and silver shooting stars that completed the show caught her attention.
When frenzied cheers and clapping subsided, a cocoa-skinned girl with dark, curly tresses whom Amber had seen around school stepped boldly to the microphone.
Palms to hearts and hats in hand, servicemen and parents stood to honor three students as they marched respectfully across the lawn with homemade flags bearing the words, Freedom, Liberty, and Just Us Four All, in glittery paint.
A laugh flew from Amber’s throat.
Joel, hands pocketed, leaned over and bumped her shoulder with his. “The children mean well.” Baritone laughter rumbled from his chest.
From an open side door, fifty students emerged, each waving a small American flag. T-shirts choreographed in order—one red, then white, the next blue, and so on all the way to the end. Well, almost to the end. Amber giggled. Two children must have gotten out of order, disrupting the color sequence.
Her heart melted as Joel and his rough-and-tumble cohorts’ expressions turned tender as they watched two students run back to help a lagging third with Down syndrome catch up. So the sequence went red, white, blue, red, white, blue, darting red, tugging blue…toddling white.
In a soulful alto, the little girl sang, and every voice became her chorus. On her ending note, the principal stepped to the podium and adjusted the microphone back to his level. He patted the little girl’s back as she stepped into the lawn of applause amid a standing ovation.
Just then, a dozen different beepers went off like cicadas all over the school yard. Silence dropped like a bomb.
A platoon of quiet murmurs and confused glances rippled as students, parents and teachers studied the serviceman closest to them. Palpable tension swarmed the air as each uniformed man pulled beepers from various places and peered at numbers.
Concern floated across faces one by one as numbers and codes registered, before they quickly recovered, controlling facial reactions. She doubted anyone else noticed. She probably wouldn’t have, either, had she not known sign language which attuned her to lipreading and nonverbal communication.
The military personnel met each other’s eyes, passing invisible signals like some sort of ominous code. Dread slithered up Amber’s spine. Thoughts spun like the twin chopper blades. Reason scrambled like the spotted men.
This many beepers. Not one silent. Every branch of the military. Every available soldier. All Special Forces. This is no coincidence. Fear entrenched itself in her chest and burrowed deep. Something major. Something global. Something terrible had just happened in the world.
What? Her mind screamed.
What?
Chapter Three
“Yo, Montgomery!”
Amber stepped aside as a man in desert camouflage sprinted over with a cell phone in hand. “CO Petrowski’s callin’ you back on this phone in twenty.”
A flurry of activity erupted as military personnel packed up display items and loaded gear into the choppers, which roared to life. Their blades swooshed her hair like monstrous fans, and ended conversation. Despite that, Amber picked up on a few words passed between Joel and the other officer. Unprecedented magnitude. Tragic destruction. Thousands trapped.
Something about a large rescue, relief and recovery operation, and their team being on standby for deployment.
“Let’s be ready to roll just in case.” Joel bent as Bradley neared—to hear over the thwumping helicopters, she supposed. Clay-colored dust clouds turned the air into a sandstorm.
Bradley looked like a poster child for despair. “Am I ever gonna see you again?”
Amber wanted to ask the same thing.
“I sure hope so, lil’buddy.” Joel circled Bradley’s waist with one arm.
“I sure hope so, too.” Bradley’s chin quivered. Amber drew closer, hand to Bradley’s back.
“You promised I could be a hairy PJ for the day.” Bradley fingered an emblem on Joel’s uniform.
Honorary, Amber corrected mentally.
Joel tilted his face and coughed into his hand and pulled Bradley closer. Amber wasn’t fooled. Moisture sheened Joel’s eyes before he’d blinked it away.
Hands sidling Joel’s face, Bradley leaned nose to nose. “You promised, and PJs don’t break promises, right? That means you’ll be back. You only rescue people. No one really ever shoots at you, right?”
Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he regarded Bradley. “Let’s make a pact. You promise to fight this cancer as hard as you can and hang on till I get back, and I promise to be the best rescuer and bullet-dodger in the world. Deal?”
Bradley’s smile reached his eyes. “Deal.”
Chills danced up Amber’s scalp as Bradley transformed before her. Hope. She hadn’t seen it on his face since his diagnosis. Bradley hugged Joel hard. Joel held Bradley tighter. He pulled a maroon beret from his side pack and placed it on Bradley’s head. After swiping tears at the gesture, Bradley made Joel pinkie-shake on their special deal.
At the last bell, a horn sounded in the parking lot.
Amber brushed Bradley’s arm. “Your ride is waiting, tater.”
A frown beset by a flash of irritation drew Joel’s face tight as he glared at the car, a dilapidated source of incessant honking which Amber deemed Bradley’s ride.
Bradley stole one last hug, then shuffled off like a slug in the slow lane. Joel watched him, looking coiled and ready to pounce should Bradley stumble.
The car door swung open and a barrage of female screeching tumbled out. Compassion settled on Joel’s face.
“What makes his gait unsteady?” Joel asked.
“His illness,” Amber replied.
He eyed the car and its driver with what she interpreted as disdain as it jolted forward. It sped from the lot, leaving twin tire trails and poufs of silvery-white dust. “Car muffler’s obviously MIA. That his mom?”
“No. Bradley’s birth mother abandoned him.”
Joel twisted to peer at her. Had his skin blanched a shade lighter with her words?
He flicked a glance down the road. “Who picked him up just then?”
“His foster mom.”
“That the best they can do for him?”
“There
