Jill Sorenson: Aftershock

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.

And then there was a streak of light, followed by a heavy thunk.

Her attacker slumped forward, the air whooshing out of his lungs. His grip on her hair loosened. Someone shoved him aside and began whaling on him.

Lauren sat upright, trying to make sense of the situation. A flashlight rolled toward her, resting against the bunched blanket. The edge of its beam revealed Garrett on top of Mickey, pounding the hell out of him.

He’d saved her.

Tears filled her eyes. She clapped a hand over her mouth, sobbing. Garrett’s fist connected with Mickey’s nose, breaking the cartilage. Blood gushed from his nostrils. Lauren shrank away from the sight, horrified.

“Motherfucker,” Garrett muttered, turning Mickey over on his stomach and wrenching his arms behind his back.

An ominous click in the distance brought the action to a halt.

“Let him go,” a voice drawled.

Lauren searched the dark edges of the cavern, her shoulders trembling. Jeb was leaning against a burned vehicle, smoking a cigarette. Although he stood in the shadows, she could see a glowing ember, along with the hard glint of metal.

Did he have a gun?

Garrett kept his hold on Mickey, noncompliant. Both men were panting from exertion, steam rising from their bodies.

Lauren snaked her hand toward the flashlight.

Jeb released the safety on his weapon. This time, the sound was unmistakable. “I wouldn’t do that, honey.”

She froze, her fingertips tingling. Garrett didn’t move.

“You don’t want to see her brains splattered all over that blanket,” he said in a cool tone. “Let Mickey get up and walk.”

It was clear that Garrett didn’t want to follow Jeb’s orders, but he had no choice. After a short hesitation, he released Mickey. As soon as he was free, Mickey scrambled to his feet and, holding his ravaged nose, lumbered toward Jeb.

The pair dissolved into the black abyss.

Lauren and Garrett didn’t speak for a few seconds. She struggled to catch her breath and calm her racing thoughts.

Mickey had almost raped her.

If Garrett hadn’t intervened, she might have been assaulted and beaten and dragged back to the pickup.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, touching her face. Her cheek bore the marks of Mickey’s fingernails and her jaw ached.

Garrett picked up the flashlight and inspected her injuries. “That motherfucker,” he repeated through clenched teeth, glancing toward the north corner of the cavern. Then he continued his examination, shining the light down the center of her body. He seemed relieved to find her pants intact.

Lauren pulled the edges of her shirt together with trembling hands. The lace cups of her bra barely covered her breasts. “I thought it was you.”

His gaze rose to her face. “What?”

“It was dark. I didn’t know who was attacking me at first.”