Aftershock

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR



THE NEXT HOUR PASSED in a blur.

After Lauren examined Jeb and Mickey to make sure they were dead, Garrett dragged the bodies to the southwest corner. Then he visited Don and Sam to share the news. For the first time since Jeb’s reign of terror began, the survivors were able to move through the cavern freely. Cadence rode her scooter around the RV. Penny took Cruz out for a leisurely stroll.

Little by little, the finality began to sink in.

When Lauren recovered from the shock, she headed to the triage tent. Focusing on patients always calmed her nerves. To her surprise, Sam was awake again. He’d felt strong enough to roll off the cot and search through his duffel bag. Lauren wished she’d thought to remove the urn with Melissa’s ashes, because he’d found them.

“What is this?” he asked.

She didn’t know what to say.

“I couldn’t stop him,” Don said.

Sam’s dark eyes were tortured. “Tell me it’s not true.”

She crouched down beside him, touching a tentative hand to his short hair. He’d collapsed beside the urn, exhausted. Although he’d been strong and healthy before the earthquake hit, right now he looked brittle, like a bag of bones. “Why don’t you try to get some more rest?”

“She can’t be dead,” he said. “I’d remember....”

“Your memory might have gaps while you recover. It’s normal. You’ll get better.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “I don’t want to get better.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, biting her lip to keep it from trembling.

“How long was I out?”

“For almost a week.”

He exhaled a ragged breath. “What’s the date?”

“April fourteenth.”

“I thought it was January.”

She shook her head.

He still had the picture of his girlfriend clutched in his hand. Blinking rapidly, he pored over every detail, as if an intense examination would jog his memory. It didn’t, from what she could tell. He also seemed too exhausted to cry. She rubbed his thin shoulder as he made a strangled sound of agony in the back of his throat.

A few moments later, he was asleep again.

Lauren rose to her feet, her chest aching for him. Poor Sam. He’d lost the woman he loved, and several months’ worth of memories. He’d have to experience an intense period of grief all over again.

She couldn’t imagine how hard that would be.

Sam’s tragic situation made her realize how precious her time with Garrett was. They couldn’t leave things unresolved. Although she knew they had a tough road ahead, she wasn’t ready to walk away.

It could be worse. At least they weren’t dead.

She found him sitting inside the semi, tinkering with the shortwave radio. It had been damaged, either from bullets or the crash.

He’d hardly slept over the past few days and it showed. Weary lines creased his forehead and there were circles under his eyes. The neck of his coveralls was ripped, revealing a jagged laceration along his collarbone.

“Why don’t you let me fix you up?” she offered.

Now that the threat was gone, he could let down his guard and rest. There was nothing left to do but wait to be rescued.

Leaving the radio in pieces, he rose from the driver’s seat. She followed him back to the sleeper cab, her stomach quivering with awareness. They’d shared their first kiss here. Just last night, they’d been intimate.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

She gestured for him to sit down, resting her medical bag on the mattress. He eased the coveralls down to expose his left side. The cut on his chest was shallow. She cleaned it and applied a light bandage.

He’d overexerted himself during the fight, causing his gunshot wound to bleed. She changed the dressing around his biceps, adding fresh gauze. Again, she secured the binding with heavy white tape.

When she was finished, he flexed his arm, testing its comfort.

“Is it all right?” she asked.

“Yes. Feels better today.”

“You’re a good healer.”

“You’re a good medic.”

She shrugged, putting her supplies away.

“I’m sorry about...what you saw me do.”

“I saw you saving me.”

“It was ugly.”

She sat down next to him. “Death usually is.”

“I thought they were going to kill you.”

“I know.”

“How did it look outside?”

“Bleak,” she said, picturing the devastation. Her eyes hadn’t really adjusted to the light, so she was left with a surreal impression, like a photo negative. “The sun was blinding. I couldn’t see anything but cars and fire.”

“Maybe I should try to climb out.”

She placed her palm against his cheek. “Don’t. Please.”

Wearing a pained expression, he removed her hand from his face and held it. “You were right earlier.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

“To infinity?”

“I’m serious,” he said. “I should have come clean with you last night. I was afraid you’d hate me if you knew.”

“I don’t,” she said. Quite the opposite. “I’m afraid, too.”

“Of what?”

“My feelings for you.” This experience had caused her to take a deeper look at herself. She wasn’t perfect, either. “I’ve always been sort of...hard to reach, emotionally. Michael blamed me for our breakup.”

“Michael was an a*shole.”

She smiled, warmed by Garrett’s loyalty. “But he had a point. He claimed that I liked being a paramedic because I could move from scene to scene, patient to patient, and never make any meaningful connections.”

“He hopped from nurse to nurse. Is that better?”

“No,” she said, thinking of her father. He’d also been inconstant, flying from city to city. Living a double life. But, for all his flaws, she’d adored him. “Michael and I were both more focused on our careers than on the relationship. I held myself at a distance. I realize now that we didn’t have a deep, passionate bond.” She let go of his hand and twined her arms around his neck. “You showed me what I was missing.”

His eyes searched her face, darkening with emotion.

“I don’t care about tomorrow,” she said. “We’re here together now. If I don’t say this, I might regret it forever.”

“Say what?”

“I love you,” she said, lifting her lips to his.

* * *

GARRETT KNEW IT was wrong to touch Lauren again.

But, God, it felt so right.

He couldn’t believe she was letting him kiss her. Inviting him to. When he crushed his mouth over hers, she responded with a breathy little gasp, parting her lips for his tongue. He delved inside, tasting her thoroughly.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, moaning.

“Wait,” he said, breaking the kiss. He had to make sure he’d heard her correctly. “What did you say?”

“I love you,” she said against his lips. “Please, Garrett. Make love to me.”

She knew the truth about him, and she didn’t care? Maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly. He suspected that she had some kind of Stockholm syndrome. She’d mistaken fear for attraction, gratitude for affection.

He wasn’t thinking clearly, either. He kissed her again, sliding his hand around her slender waist. Although he wasn’t deceiving her anymore, he was still taking advantage. He was screwing himself over, too. Every time he touched her, he became more attached. Going back to prison would be torture.

The first five years had been hell. How would he survive the next five?

She tore her mouth from his, panting. Moving her hands from his hair, she unzipped her sweatshirt and let it drop. Then she kicked off her shoes, wrestled out of her pants and removed her sports bra. Within seconds, she was buck naked.

And Garrett was rock hard.

She had the most beautiful body he’d ever seen, smooth and sleek and feminine. He’d almost swallowed his tongue last night after catching a glimpse of her standing in the water, wet underwear clinging to her curves. In the back of the car, the light had been dim, but he’d studied every dip and valley.

Now he had an unfettered view. The bright overhead lamp left little to the imagination. She had pretty breasts, long legs and a sexy little stomach. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes glittering with anticipation.

This gorgeous woman...wanted him. She was begging him.

He rose to his feet, his pulse racing. Looking up at his face, she pulled his coveralls down to his knees. His cock bobbed up, demanding her attention.

Moistening her lips, she wrapped her slender hand around his shaft. Her mouth made a soft moue of approval. He didn’t know why she seemed so impressed with him, but it was damned flattering. Either she wasn’t very experienced, or her past boyfriends—including that doctor fiancé—had come up short.

Eyes half-lidded, she stroked him up and down a few times. He groaned, threading his fingers through her hair. When she bent her head to him, swirling her tongue around the tip, his knees almost buckled.

“Oh my God.”

She parted her lips and took him deeper. He fit nicely, halfway in her mouth. Moaning, she sucked harder, her cheeks hollow.

It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to pull away. Already on the edge of orgasm, he gripped the base of his shaft and squeezed his eyes shut. When he was under control again—barely—he looked at her.

She braced her hands on the mattress, staring up at him.

This was their last chance to be together, so he had to slow down. He’d been a selfish lover more times than he cared to remember. With Lauren, he wanted it to be special. Besides, all his fantasies centered on giving her pleasure.

Ignoring the ache in his balls, he sank to his knees before her and pushed apart her sleek thighs. Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed, allowing him to see all of her silky folds and furrows. She was wet and pink and perfect. He wanted to penetrate her with his tongue, his fingers, his throbbing cock.

“Please,” she said, arching her spine.

He trailed kisses along her quivering inner thigh. She fisted her hands in his hair and tugged him closer to her center. Head spinning with arousal, he dipped his tongue inside. She tasted so f*cking good, like salted honey. He reveled in her texture, her warmth, her womanly scent. Making a humming sound in the back of his throat, he pressed his lips to her *oris, sucking gently.

He couldn’t get enough of her, but she didn’t require much stimulation. When he circled her with his tongue, she bucked her hips and cried out, coming hard against his mouth.

She was so hot and wet and delicious, Garrett was half-afraid he’d follow her. When her tremors subsided, he searched the drawer beneath the bed for another condom. With shaking hands, he stretched it over himself. Still on his knees at the edge of the mattress, he placed himself at her opening.

“This is going to be quick,” he warned.

“Just do it,” she said.

He tried to enter her inch by inch, but the instant her slick channel surrounded him, his hips jerked forward. With a strangled groan, he plunged to the hilt. She clung to his shoulders, panting softly against his neck.

“You feel so good,” he said, holding very still. He was afraid he’d pound the hell out of her if he moved.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

His tongue mated with hers, branding her. She could probably taste herself on his lips. Excited by the thought, he pushed her back against the mattress and positioned himself over her, driven by a primal need to dominate. Withdrawing halfway, he sank back in, filling her mouth and her body.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, tilting her hips to meet each thrust. If not for the gunshot wound and the flimsy latex barrier, he’d have ejaculated after a few strokes.

“You’re killing me,” he said, trying not to come.

“More,” she demanded.

He pulled out completely, rubbing his shaft along her slippery cleft. She sobbed with pleasure, writhing against him. Then he reentered her, delving halfway in. It felt so good he did it again and again, driving them both crazy.

She dug her heels into his buttocks, urging him deeper.

“Garrett, please.”

“Please what?”

When she smoothed her hand down her belly, strumming her fingertips over her *, he lost it. She wanted all of him, so he gave it to her, thrusting as deep as he could get. Her inner muscles clenched around him and she screamed his name, her face contorted in ecstasy. He came right after her, clenching his jaw to muffle his shout.

He didn’t know how long he stayed hard inside her, feeling the aftershocks of her orgasm. The minutes ticked by with an unfair swiftness. He wished the hours in prison would pass half as quickly.

Although he never really softened, he withdrew from her to dispose of the condom. Then he gathered her in his arms, covering them both in a blanket. She felt soft and relaxed, practically purring with satisfaction.

Garrett stroked her back and breathed in the scent of her hair, his throat tight with emotion. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to let her go. With each moment, he grew more desperately in love with her.

“What’s it like in jail?” she asked.

“Jail isn’t so bad.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But I’m not in jail. I’m in prison.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Most of the men in jail are waiting for court dates or doing light sentences. Jail is for short time, usually less than a year.”

“So, if you have a longer sentence, you go to prison?”

“Yes.”

“What’s it like there?”

“It depends. I’ve heard that white-collar criminals have it easier. They enjoy small, privately owned, minimum-security facilities. Santee Lakes is a large prison. Maximum security for dangerous criminals.”

“Tell me about it,” she said, snuggling against his chest.

Garrett didn’t want to, but he couldn’t say no to her. After sex that hot, he was putty in her hands. “In some ways, it’s like being in Iraq. Close quarters. No privacy. Idiots yelling. Sudden breakouts of violence. You can’t leave.” He struggled to articulate impressions that had been internalized before now. His fellow inmates had no reason to talk to each other about what prison was like; they already knew. “It’s worse, though, because I was a Marine by choice. I got paid to serve my country, and that’s an honor. There’s no honor in prison.”

“Are you paid for your labor?”

“Sure,” he said sardonically. “Thirty cents an hour.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“Can you refuse?”

“Yeah, but why would I? Sitting inside a cramped cell is the real torture. There’s a mile-long waiting list for the manual-labor crew. It takes years to get on. We’ll kill each other for a chance to break our backs in the sun.”

“Do you have any free time?”

“God, yes. Way too much.”

“How do you spend it?”

“I go stir-crazy without exercise, so I work out as much as possible.”

“With weights?”

“Sometimes. We’re only allowed outside an hour a day, and it’s hard to get a turn at the weight bench. More often, I do push-ups and pull-ups in my cell.”

“What else?”

“I read whatever I can get my hands on. The library sucks, but we have access to newspapers and magazines. We can go on the internet. And they offer college classes in the evenings.”

“You’ve taken classes?”

“Yeah. I sign up for all of them. Art, math, creative writing. My favorite was psychology.”

She lifted her head to study him. A strange expression crossed over her face, as if she couldn’t picture him doing anything but shooting guns and choking people out. “What will you do for work after your release?”

He shrugged. “Convicts don’t exactly have their pick of careers. I’d be lucky to get a job doing manual labor.”

“And if you had your pick?”

She was asking him questions he’d rarely dared to consider. Dreaming of better opportunities and happy endings was dangerous for an inmate. That way led to madness, because survival depended on living for today. “If I could do anything, I’d be a military psychologist. When I had PTSD, I was sent to a female counselor. I think that was one of the reasons I refused help. It was hard for me to imagine opening up to her. Men, especially Marines, struggle with showing emotions. We’re taught that crying is weak.”

She kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’re not weak, Garrett.”

“No military base would hire me, even as a counselor,” he said, feeling self-conscious. “But if I finished my degree, I could teach.”

“Teach?”

He nodded. “There’s a shortage of professors who are willing to work with prisoners. It’s not an easy job, but I’d do it in a heartbeat. I think I’d enjoy it. I believe in rehabilitation. And I might not be welcome anywhere else, with my criminal record.”

Shifting into a more comfortable position, she curled her arms around his neck. “Will you look me up when you get out?”

His gut clenched at the question. Instead of answering it, he posed another. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“In five years, you’ll be thirty-one.”

“Over the hill?” she teased.

“Hardly,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’ll probably be married by then. Husband, babies, big house in the suburbs.”

“Would that bother you?”

Of course it would. She knew he was crazy about her. He didn’t want to picture her with another man, but he’d never ask her to wait for him. She hadn’t killed anyone. Why should she pay with him?

This f*ckup was his and his alone.

“If you were mine, I wouldn’t appreciate your exes showing up on our doorstep. Certainly not that needle-dick doctor.”

She giggled, pressing her face to his throat. “He wasn’t—”

“I don’t want to know.”

Sobering, she said, “I’d like to keep in touch.”

“No,” he said, pulling away from her. “I can’t.”

“You aren’t allowed phone calls?”

“That’s not it.” He adjusted his coveralls around his waist, making sure he wasn’t exposed. This conversation made him feel vulnerable enough. “Being locked up is difficult. Kidding myself about having a future with you would make it unbearable.”

“Why?”

“Because we’d both be miserable! I love you, Lauren. But I don’t want you to waste a single second of your life on me.”

Her blue eyes flashed with annoyance. “What I do with my time is my choice, not yours. I can spend it any way I please.”

“You can’t spend it with me. I’ll refuse to see you if you visit. I won’t accept your calls or read your letters.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, her mouth trembling.

“It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I’m sure you’d get tired of waiting and move on, but I’d hate myself for encouraging you. I know what it’s like to watch my best years pass me by. Jesus, I’ve been incarcerated for most of my twenties. Time means everything to me. I’d rather die than take yours away from you.”

“What if I can’t move on?”

“You can,” he said. “You have to.”

Her face crumpled with emotion. “I don’t want to.”

That made two of them. Chest aching, he pulled her into his arms again, comforting her while she cried.