LITMIR.BIZ

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your headlights?”

      “Be glad to.”

      A moment later, the area in front of the motor home brightened. She got an IV started while Don put up the cot and Garrett searched for the requested items. He delivered a pile of floor mats, along with most of the equipment from the ambulance, setting it down near the front of the motor home.

      As the morning wore on, Garrett and Don brought two more patients, both bloody. Lauren tried not to panic when she saw the extent of their injuries. She had plenty of experience in clearing airways and giving injections, but she wasn’t a doctor. As a paramedic, her job was to stabilize patients for transport. These people needed the E.R., not a Band-Aid.

      When Garrett and Don carried in a fourth victim with serious injuries, she couldn’t hide her dismay. They transferred the unconscious man from the stretcher to the last available space in front of the RV.

      Mopping his forehead with a handkerchief, Don went inside to check on Cadence. He was finding it difficult to keep up with Garrett, too.

      Garrett sat down beside Lauren, watching her work.

      “Are there more?” she asked, her voice trembling.

      “Yes.”

      “My God.”

      “Some I can’t get to. Others...don’t look like they’ll survive the move.”

      She struggled to remain numb. This was no time to break down. The victims were counting on her. “What about rescue?”

      “Cell phones aren’t working,” he said. “Most of the radio stations are down. I caught the end of a short broadcast in Spanish.”

      “And?”

      “The only words I understood were San Diego and ocho punto cinco.”

      Eight point five. Jesus. The city had never been hit by a quake this size. She closed her eyes, feeling a tiny amount of moisture seep through her lashes. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get dehydrated and have no tears to shed. “We might be in here for days.”

      “Yes,” he agreed.

      “Have you seen a way out?”

      “Not yet. I’ll keep searching.”

      His steady gaze met hers and she held it, studying him. His eyes were a cool, dark green, framed by spiky lashes. In this light, she could see that his hair was dusty-brown, and a little longer than military allowed. With his square jaw and strong nose, he was rugged looking. Handsome, but not a pretty boy.

      He wasn’t a fresh recruit, either. She guessed his age was at least twenty-five, probably closer to thirty.

      Like Don, he was showing signs of wear. There were crease lines in the dirt on his face. His T-shirt was bloodstained, and damp with perspiration. He hadn’t stopped doing heavy labor since this nightmare had started.

      When she realized that she was staring at his powerful build, her mouth went dry and heat rose to her cheeks. She hadn’t felt a twinge of sexual chemistry with anyone since her breakup with Michael. Experiencing it now was awkward, to say the least. If she’d met Garrett under different circumstances, she might have tried to flirt with him. He was hot and fearless. Why couldn’t she find guys like this in non-life-threatening situations?

      Lauren concentrated on taking her new patient’s vital signs. As she removed the stethoscope from her ears, a telltale rumble echoed through the chamber.

      Aftershock.

      “Get down,” Garrett ordered, yanking her away from the victim.

      Heart racing, she did what he said, pressing herself flat on the ground and folding her arms around her head.

      Apparently, she was still capable of terror. It coursed through her like a sickness, robbing her ability to think. Chunks of concrete fell from above, smashing the ground near them. She coughed as the air thickened with dust. Moving quickly, Garrett leapt on top of her, protecting her from the debris.

      She was aware of the earth shuddering beneath them and the structure groaning overhead. A car alarm went off in the distance, filling the cavern with rhythmic honking. The scene was too disturbing to process. Perhaps that was why her focus shifted from grim reality and tooth-and-nail survival to the more pleasurable sensation of Garrett’s hard body covering hers.

      His chest was molded to her back, his strong thighs bracing hers. He had a taut, well-muscled physique. His stomach was flat and tight, his crotch nestled against her bottom. That, and the feel of his biceps framing her upper arms, made her shiver.

      He even smelled manly, like motor oil and hard work.

      Eventually the shaking stopped. The car alarm went quiet. They stayed still, making sure it was safe. His breath fanned the hair at the nape of her neck and his heartbeat thudded between her shoulder blades.

      This was one of her favorite positions.

      She shifted beneath him, embarrassed. What an inappropriate time to think about sex! Too late, she realized that the way she’d lifted her bottom against his fly could be interpreted as an invitation.

      He rolled away from her and she scrambled upright. His gaze scanned her flushed face. She wiped the dirt off her cheek, swallowing hard.

      A muscle in his jaw flexed and he looked away. “Sorry,” he muttered. “If you get hurt, we’re all screwed.”

      It took her a few seconds to understand what he meant. He was apologizing for jumping on her. As if she’d be offended by his gallant attempt to keep her safe. “It’s okay,” she said, moistening her lips. Her voice sounded husky.

      “Everyone all right out there?” Don called from the RV.

      Garrett answered with an affirmative, and Lauren pulled herself together. She should be worrying about her patients, not her libido. Thankfully, none of the debris had tumbled their way. A few IV bags had been knocked loose. She was already running low on supplies, but she worked with what she had, and cared for the victims as well as she could.

      Around noon, one of her patients began to experience severe respiratory distress. Lauren was aware that he had broken ribs. When she listened to his chest sounds again, it became clear that one of the splinters had punctured his lung.

      “Oh no,” she breathed, noting his rapid pulse and low blood pressure. He’d been semiconscious; now he was completely out, his skin turning blue. His carotid artery and jugular vein were distended, screaming for oxygen.

      “What is it?” Garrett asked.

      “His lung collapsed,” she said, trying to stay calm. This was a life-threatening emergency. Placing the oxygen mask over his face, she increased the output levels. Then she searched her supplies for a large needle and a syringe. Cutting away the front of his shirt, she found the intercostal space above his third rib.

      She tore an alcohol swab open and wiped the spot. Working quickly, she stabbed the needle straight down into his chest.

      It was a clean strike, sinking into his pleural cavity. She drew back the plunger and watched the syringe fill up with blood.

      Damn.

      A collapsed lung failed to function properly because of excess air or fluid in the cavity. If the problem was too much air, the lung couldn’t contract on its own, but she could do needle decompressions to release tension. Although excess blood could also be removed, she wouldn’t be able to stanch the flow.

      Dealing with severe internal bleeding was beyond her capabilities. Beyond the abilities of any paramedic under these circumstances. A patient with this kind of chest trauma was doomed unless he made it to a surgeon’s table.

      But Lauren couldn’t just stand there and watch the man die, so she extracted as much blood from the lung cavity as possible. It was like trying to put her finger on the dam. Her patient expired within minutes.

      Shaken, she set the syringe

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