CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CADENCE CRIED HERSELF TO SLEEP in his arms.
After she’d been out a few minutes, Garrett transferred the girl to Don’s side, and Lauren put a blanket over them.
“Do you think he’ll live?” he murmured.
“I don’t know,” she said. Her mouth made a serious line as she adjusted Don’s IV drip and checked Garrett’s.
She’d been amazing tonight. He couldn’t believe she’d been able to stop the bleeding, and administer an emergency transfusion. Her hands had stayed rock steady during the procedure. She’d performed like an experienced war medic, decisive and indefatigable. He was in awe of her abilities.
“What happened back there?” she asked.
“I approached from the west side,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Don and Owen stayed on the east. But my crowbar got caught on the bumper of a car, and Jeb heard the scrape. He started shooting blindly. We ran.”
“In opposite directions?”
“Of course.”
“Why’d it take you so long to get back?”
“Jeb and Mickey followed me. I had to...evade them.”
She knew exactly what he’d done. Where he’d hidden. Removing an antibacterial wipe from her bag, she gave him a questioning look. When he nodded his permission, she began to clean the layers of grime from his face. It was uncomfortably intimate.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
He closed his eyes, lest she see the tears swimming in them. “No.”
In debates about women in combat, a lot of attention was paid to physical performance. Most females couldn’t carry as much weight as their male counterparts, and they couldn’t hump it for as long. What these training exercises failed to measure was mental and emotional strength. Garrett had noticed, time and again, that women were better at dealing with loss. Female Marines allowed themselves to feel.
Although he didn’t want to recount the horrific experience of lying among the corpses, he longed to hear Lauren’s voice. She’d piqued his interest earlier by avoiding the conversation about fathers. “Is your dad still alive?”
Her brows rose with surprise. “No.”
“Tell me about him.”
She set the soiled square of cloth aside. “He was an airline pilot. Handsome, outgoing. A good father, when he was around. I adored him.”
“How did he die?”
“He...had a heart attack. Five years ago.” She hesitated for a moment. “It was a terrible shock.”
“Sudden?”
“Sudden, and under tragic circumstances.”
“He was flying?”
“No,” she said, her mouth twisting. “He was at his girlfriend’s house.”
Garrett could read the pain on her face. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, it was incredibly awkward. My mother had no idea. Neither did I. They’d been seeing each other for years. He had a secret life.” She looked up at the ceiling of the tent, taking a deep breath. “It made me feel like our entire family was a lie. But I couldn’t call him on it. I couldn’t ask him why.”
He understood her frustration. If he found out his dad had cheated on his mom, Garrett would want to punch him first and demand answers second.
Lauren’s revelation also had some disturbing ramifications, considering that Garrett was currently deceiving her. She wouldn’t forgive him for it. Watching her work, he’d come to another important realization. Even if he was available, and free to pursue her, they could never be together. She saved lives. He took them.
There was no place for a man like him in her world.
She turned the subject back to him. “Do you have kids?”
“No,” he said, unnerved by the question.
“None that you know of, you mean?”
He wasn’t sure how to respond. Even in his drunkest, darkest days, he’d worn condoms. The idea that one of his after-hours bar hookups had resulted in a pregnancy seemed unlikely. “I’ve always used protection.”
Her shoulders relaxed a little. “What about your dad?”
“What about him?”
“Why don’t you see each other?”
“We had a falling-out.”
“Over what?”
“I disappointed him.”
She looked curious and skeptical, which told him he’d been far too successful in carrying out this ruse. “How?”
He stared at the tube draining blood from his arm. Soon, he’d begin to feel light-headed. “When I got back from my second tour in Iraq, I was pretty disillusioned. I didn’t know if I wanted to continue my career in the military.”
“That sounds like a normal reaction.”
“It wasn’t unusual,” he agreed. “At the time I was battling insomnia, and self-medicating with alcohol. Like a lot of young Marines, I spent too many nights in bars. I told myself I was relaxing and having fun.”
“You weren’t?”
He shrugged. “I was always spoiling for a fight. Or trying to pick up women. If I had any fun with them, I didn’t remember it the next morning.”
“Maybe they had fun.”
He doubted it, but pride kept him silent. Some men went to war and came back heroes. Garrett hadn’t fared so well. He’d left all of his good qualities in Iraq, and returned an empty shell. Serving alongside women hadn’t taught him to respect them, either. When he got back, he’d slept around indiscriminately and treated them like sex objects. More often than not, he’d taken his pleasure and left before the sheets were cold.
“There was one girl...I shouldn’t have even been talking to her. She had a jealous boyfriend, and I knew he was drunk. So I kept giving her attention just to make him mad. He got between us and pushed her. That really set me off.”
“What did you do?”
“I took him outside.”
“He went willingly?”
“Yes, but I threw the first punch. He hit me back in self-defense.” That was an important distinction. “I wish I could say I’d blacked out after that, and I didn’t know what I was doing. But I did. I was totally out of control, but lucid, if that makes sense. I kept hitting him, even after he was down.” He struggled to continue, because the last part was the hardest to face. “I lifted him up by the shirt and punched him one last time. I think he was unconscious when the back of his head hit the concrete.”
“No,” she breathed, her eyes filling with tears.
“Yes,” he insisted. “They took him away in an ambulance, but the doctors couldn’t do anything. He died at the hospital.”
“It was an accident.”
“I killed him.”
“Did you mean to?”
“Does it matter? He’s dead.”
She fell silent, her expression troubled. Garrett held his breath, waiting for her to connect the dots. He wasn’t sure the truth would make a difference at this point. Until they were rescued, she had no choice but to trust him. Maybe that was why she didn’t shrink away in horror, or ask any more questions. His misdeeds were too hard to swallow.
He knew he should come completely clean with her. But she’d decided he was a hero, and holding on to this ideal of him was helping her cope. Later, she’d hate him for keeping up the charade. Right now, it felt too good to let go.
For a little while, they could both pretend.
“My dad hasn’t spoken to me since,” he said.
“How long has it been?”
“Five years.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yes.”
“What have you been doing for work?”
“Manual labor,” he said sardonically, staring at his callused palms.
She accepted his words at face value, and seemed to sympathize with his plight. “What are we going to do about Jeb?”
Garrett pushed away the painful memories, considering a new plan of attack. “He’ll probably try to shoot me if I climb the wall again. He threatened to do it, and I assume he’ll follow through.”
“He’ll sabotage his own chances of survival?”
“No, he’ll ensure his escape. I won’t help them climb, so the best they can hope for right now is a rescue. But if they kill me, they’ll have total control. Jeb can force Owen to continue working at gunpoint. They can get out.”
“What if we try to negotiate?”
“You can’t negotiate with a lunatic.”
“We could tell Jeb that we’ll let them out first. In exchange for some water.”
Although it was a good idea, they weren’t dealing with a rational person. “He wouldn’t believe it. Even if he did, what would stop him from firing down at me from the crevice as soon as he got free?”
She sighed, closing off his IV tube. Before attaching the bag to Don, she drew a solution from a bottle with a syringe and injected it into the blood. Anticoagulant, she’d explained. “What do you propose, another ambush?”
“Yes.”
“Because the last one worked so well?”
Garrett smiled at her sarcasm. She might have mistaken him for a good guy, but she didn’t think he knew best. “I underestimated Jeb,” he admitted. “I won’t do it again. We need to draw him out.”
“How?”
“I’d like to make him think I’m climbing. I’m almost certain he’ll try to get close enough to take a shot. Maybe I can make some sort of...decoy.”
“There’s a CPR dummy in the back of the ambulance.”
He’d seen the head and torso. It had fake-looking hair, and no limbs. But if he put on the cracked helmet, and attached some stuffed clothes, the dummy might fool someone. In the dark, and from a distance.
“I have to set it up tonight,” Garrett said, straightening. It wasn’t as simple as rigging a dummy to the climbing ropes and waiting for Jeb to strike. He had to construct a series of traps for them to fall victim to. He envisioned a fortress of snares and pitfalls.
“Not so fast,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “You have to rest after giving that much blood.”
He reclined on the mat, listless. She leaned forward to remove the IV from his arm. He hated needles, and this one was a monster, so he focused on her bent head, the fine tendrils of hair against her cheek. The stink on his clothes had faded, enabling him to smell the rubbing alcohol and hospital soap she’d used. He inhaled deeper, detecting a heady concoction of warm fabric and flushed female skin.
As she placed pressure on the crook of his arm, she bit down on her lower lip, reminding him of the kiss he’d stolen earlier. He wanted to taste her mouth again, to fill his hands with her breasts and bury his face in her hair.
But she’d told him not to touch her, and he planned to honor that request. Now that she knew about his past, she wouldn’t change her mind. The fact that he was covered in filth was another powerful deterrent.
He tore his gaze away, determined to resist temptation.
* * *
OWEN’S PALM ACHED from Penny digging her nails into it.
He didn’t complain about the discomfort. Next to her pain, it was nothing. And, in a sick, sad little way, he enjoyed it. Any touch from a woman, even a woman in labor who hated him, felt like an illicit thrill.
He’d also enjoyed touching her. The massage had been fraught with tension, and she’d cried through most of it, but she seemed more at ease with him now. Maybe she was no longer afraid he’d hurt her.
“Tell me a story,” she said between contractions.
“About what?”
“Anything. Your life.”
Owen drew a blank. His mother hadn’t been the storytelling type, and his childhood memories might disturb Penny.
“Why’d you get this tattoo?” she asked, indicating the swastika on his hand.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do.”
He pulled away from her slowly. She rolled onto her other side to face him. Even with flushed cheeks and anxious eyes, she was beautiful. “I asked for it.”
“At a tattoo parlor?”
“No. There aren’t any tattoo parlors in prison.”
“Then how do you get them?”
“We smuggle in the parts. All you need is ink, a motor, some tape and a needle.”
“Pen ink?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds gross.”
“We use clean needles.”
“It doesn’t look professional.”
He just shrugged. His tats weren’t pieces of artwork. They were body armor, used for protection.
“Why do you hate Jews?”
“I don’t hate Jews.”
“That’s what the symbol means,” she said, rolling her eyes. She thought he was ignorant. “Do you hate black and brown people?”
“Only if they’re in prison with me. And I don’t hate them because of their skin color. I hate them because they’re my enemies.”
Her mouth thinned. “What if I was in prison with you?”
“You’re a girl.”
“So, you only hate guys who aren’t white? Girls get a pass?”
For members of the Brotherhood, dating a nonwhite woman wasn’t allowed. Owen hadn’t needed to worry about that. He’d never had a girlfriend of any color. “These are prison rules. You can’t apply them to the outside world.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The Brotherhood is my team. My crew. In sports, you wear jerseys to show which team you’re on. My tattoos are like that. They let everyone know who I represent. It’s not about hating the other team. It’s about being down for your crew.”
“Why did you join?”
“Why not?”
“Did you have a choice?”
“Of course.” He could have been raped and beaten, instead.
“Were you jumped in?”
“No,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the ugly mark on his hand. “I had to prove my loyalty.”
“How?”
“By doing a favor for the gang or getting a visible tattoo.”
“What was the favor?”
“I can’t remember,” he evaded.
“And if you said no to both?”
“Then I’d be on my own. Unprotected.” For some prisoners, that was fine. Old guys didn’t get hassled much. Big, muscular men like Garrett could defend themselves. At eighteen, Owen had been skinny and weak, an ideal target.
“The guards don’t protect you?”
“Hell, no. They take bribes to look the other way.”
“Before you joined, did you get...attacked?”
“No,” he said, heat suffusing his neck. “I joined the gang because I felt like it, and I got the tattoos because I wanted to.”
Maybe he’d protested too much, because her mouth softened with sympathy. Then she sucked in a sharp breath and grabbed his hand again, crying out in pain. Each contraction seemed to last longer, and hurt more. Her fingernails cut into his palm.
When it was over, she opened her eyes to look at him. Her lashes were wet with tears, her lips trembling. “Your stories suck.”
He couldn’t argue there.
“I’m so miserable,” she moaned, rolling over again. Although her stomach was huge, she looked slim from the back. “Keep talking.”
Owen tried to think of a pleasant subject. He wasn’t used to having polite conversations with women. Even before he’d gotten locked up, his interactions with the opposite sex had been limited. Good girls ignored him. So did bad ones, unless they were drunk. And then...they hadn’t done much talking.
“My last name’s Jackson,” he said, opting for neutrality. “I have an older brother named Shane.”
“The murderer?”
“Yes. He’s in San Quentin. We grew up by the Salton Sea.”
“Where’s that?”
“East. In the desert.”
She curled her hands under her head, listening.
“My dad was born in Salton City, like us. His name is Christian. My mother is Sally. She’s from Palm Springs.”
“Describe the sea.”
Owen stared at the back of her head, memorizing the part in her hair, the graceful curve of her neck. “It’s dark blue, and full of fish. Feels like heaven to go swimming in the summer.” In reality, the sea was a vast wasteland. It stank to high heaven, and felt like brine. “My dad took us out in his boat every weekend when we were kids. We’d drink beer and fish all day. When we came home, my mom would fry up the fresh catch.”
“You drank beer?”
“Root beer,” he amended, moistening his lips. Damn, he was thirsty.
“What else?”
“We worked on old cars after school, or whenever we had spare time. For my sixteenth birthday, my dad and I fixed up a Chevy SS. It was midnight-black, with leather interior. Mint condition. Sweetest ride I’d ever seen.”
“Is that what you were driving when your brother robbed the liquor store?”
“No,” he said, backpedaling. “I was driving his car.”
“Did your dad really take you fishing every weekend?”
“Yes.” The Jacksons did whatever it took to make ends meet. Owen had eaten enough carp to last a lifetime.
“What’s your mom like?”
“Tough,” he said honestly, picturing the heavy lines in her face. “Protective. She favored me over Shane. My dad always complained when she told him to lay off of me. He said she was making me a sissy.”
She fell silent for a moment. “My dad said I’d shamed our family.”
“By getting pregnant?”
“Yes. He asked me to give the baby up.”
“What about the baby’s father?”
“He didn’t want us.”
Owen couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting Penny. It was beyond his comprehension.
“My aunt offered to take me in. But now she’s dead.”
When she started crying again, he didn’t know what to do. His real stories were depressing and his fake stories were stupid. He reached out to squeeze her shoulder, but his hands were clumsy. As soon as he touched her, she screamed.
It dawned on him that she was having another contraction. This one seemed to go on forever.
“I feel like pushing,” she gasped.
He stared at the apex of her thighs in horror. “Well, don’t!”
“I can’t help it.”
“I’ll get Lauren.”
“Hurry,” she said, her eyes wild.
Heart racing, he jumped to his feet and ran out the door. Inside the tent, Garrett was laid out next to Don. They both looked peaked. Lauren was giving Don blood through an IV line. Cadence had fallen asleep on the ground beside him.
“Penny thinks the baby’s coming,” he said in a rush.
“She feels the urge to push?”
He nodded, swallowing dryly.
“I can’t leave Don right now,” she said. “He’s still hanging by a thread. You’re going to have to help her.”
“What?”
“Wash your hands with the foam cleanser and go back to the RV. The last stage of labor usually takes about an hour. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just let her push and be supportive. Don’t reach in or pull on the baby.”
His jaw dropped. He turned to Garrett, incredulous.
“Garrett just gave two pints of blood, so he can’t move,” Lauren said. She gave Owen a few more instructions. “Try to stay calm, for Penny’s sake. She’s young and healthy, and the baby is in the head-down position. Everything should be fine.”
“What if it isn’t?”
“Then come and get me. Now go. She’s probably scared.”
He used the cleanser she indicated and hurried back to Penny, his stomach tied in knots. What if he did something wrong, and she died in labor? What if the baby died? He couldn’t handle this responsibility. It was too intense.
Selfless acts were not his style. His natural instinct was to follow the path of least resistance. He was tempted to steal something to drink, slink into the shadows and find a dark corner to hide in.
Owen had never been courageous. He hadn’t stood up to his dad, or refused to go along with his brother’s schemes. Instead of challenging a rival gang member, he’d marked his skin with racial epithets. He hadn’t told Penny the truth about why he’d joined the Brotherhood, or what he’d endured his first few weeks in prison.
Screw this. She hated him, anyway.
But when she screamed again, he wavered, thinking of the small kindness she’d paid him. She’d listened to him. She’d cared about what he said.
Cursing under his breath, he went to her.