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  Panic flooded her glittering blue eyes. “Are you planning to cut off my foot?” Her arm twitched harder, faster, until she flailed. “Are you going to put something else in that IV? Something to knock me out?”

  He covered her fingers with his before she dislodged the port in her hand. “There’s nothing in there but fluid. I’m being honest with you now, but if you panic, I’m going to have to start feeding you a line of bullshit to calm you down. Now, you said you wanted the unvarnished truth—”

  “I do. Okay. I’m breathing. Calming down. Give me the IV.”

  He patted her wrist a final time. “I already did.”

  Blinking fast, she looked at the tape along her hand. A smile pushed through the grime on her face. “You’re good. I was so busy trying not to freak out I didn’t even notice.”

  “Not bad for my first time.”

  “Your first time?”

  “I’m kidding.” And working to distract her again from the rattle overhead, the fear that at any second the whole damn place could collapse onto them.

  She laughed weakly, then stronger. “Thank you.”

  “It’s just an IV.”

  “For the laugh. I was afraid I would never get to do that again.” Her fingers relaxed slowly, tension seeping from them as surely as fluid dripped out of the bag. “The second they uncover us, you’ll make Joshua top priority. Forget about me until he’s taken care of.”

  “We’re going to get you both out of here. I swear it.”

  “Easy for you to claim that. If I die, it’s not like I can call you a liar.”

  A dead woman and child. He resisted the urge to tear through the rocks with his bare hands and to hell with waiting on the crews above. He stowed his gear, twisting to avoid that damn stone stabbing his side.

  “Hey,” Amelia whispered. “That was supposed to be a joke from me this time.”

  “Right, got it.” Admiration for her grit kicked through his own personal fog threatening to swallow him whole. “You’re a tough one. I think you’re going to be fine.”

  “I’m a county prosecutor. I chew up criminals for a living.”

  “’Atta girl.” He settled onto his back, watching the hypnotic drip, drip. His fingers rested on her wrist to monitor her pulse.

  “Girl?” She sniffed. “I prefer to be called a woman or a lady, thank you very much.”

  “Where I come from, it’s wise not to be nitpicky with the person who’s saving your ass.”

  “Score one for you.” She scraped a torn fingernail through the dust on the ground. Her sigh stirred the dust around that shaky line. “I’m good now. So you should go before this building collapses on top of you and keeps you from doing your job for other people.”

  “I don’t have anywhere else to be.” He ignored a call from McCabe through his headset that pretty much echoed the woman’s words. “The second they give the go-ahead, I’m hauling you out of here, Amelia Bailey.”

  “And Joshua. I want you to promise you’ll take care of him first.”

  “I will do what I can for him,” he answered evasively.

  Her wide eyes studied him for seven drips of the IV before she cleared her throat. “You don’t think he’s alive, do you? I can feel his pulse.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m not imagining it, damn it.” Her hand flipped and she grabbed his arm, her ragged nails digging deep with urgency. “I can feel his pulse in his wrist. He’s a little chilly, but he’s not cold. Just because he’s not screaming his head off doesn’t mean he’s dead. And sometimes, he moves. Only a little, but I feel it.” Her words tumbled over each other faster and faster until she dissolved into a coughing fit.

  Ah, to hell with it. He unhooked his canteen. “Wet your mouth. Just don’t gulp, okay? Or they’ll kick my butt up there.”

  He brought the jug to her lips and she sipped, her restraint Herculean when she must want to drain it dry. Sighing, she sagged again, her eyes closing as she hmmmed, her breathing evening out. He freaked. She needed to stay awake, alert.

  Alive.

  “Tell me about your son Joshua.” He recapped the canteen without wasting a swallow on himself.

  Her lashes fluttered open again. “Joshua’s my nephew. I came with my brother and his wife to help them with the paperwork for their adoption. They don’t want any legal loopholes. What happens to Joshua if they’re…?”

  She bit her lip.

  His brain raced as he swept the light along the rubble, searching for some signs of others—although there hadn’t been a helluva lot of survivors in the vicinity. All the same, he made sure they heard upstairs, by speaking straight into his mic as he asked her, “Where were your brother and sister-in-law when the earthquake hit?”

  “They were in the street, outside the hotel. They left to buy lunch. They waited until Joshua was asleep so he wouldn’t miss them.” Her voice hitched. “I promised I would take care of him.”

  “And you have.” He pinned her with his eyes, with his determination, the swath of light staying steady on her face. “Keep the faith. Hold steady and picture your family in one of the camps for survivors right now going nuts trying to find you.”

  “I’ve read stories about how babies do better because they have more fat stores and they don’t tense up or get claustrophobic.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “He’s just napping, you know.”

  The force of her need pummeled him harder than the spray of rocks from the jackhammered ceiling. The world closed in to just this woman and a kid he couldn’t see. Too clearly he could envision his wife and his daughter trapped in the wreckage of a crashed plane. Marissa would have held out hope for Tilly right to the end too, fighting for her until her nails and spirit were ragged.

  Shit.

  The vise on his brain clamped harder, the roar in his ears louder, threatening his focus. “I’m changing your IV bag now, so don’t wig out if you feel a little tug.”

  She clenched her fist. “You must get pretty jaded in this line of work.”

  “I’ve got a good success rate.” He didn’t walk away from tough odds. Every mission was do-or-die for him.

  “About my foot…” she started hesitantly. “Am I imagining that it’s okay? Be honest. I won’t panic. I need to be prepared.”

  “The mind does what it needs to in order to survive. That’s what you need to focus on. Surviving.”

  Not that any amount of determination had mattered in the end for Marissa or Tilly. They’d died in that plane crash, their broken bodies returned to him to bury along with his will to live. A trembling started deep inside him. His teeth chattered. He dug his fingers into the ground to anchor himself into the present. Amelia Bailey would not die on his watch, damn it.

  But the trembling increased inside him. Harder. Deeper. Until he realized… The shaking wasn’t inside, but outside.

  The ground shuddered with another earthquake.

  Chapter 2

  Major Liam McCabe lurched as the ground shook under his feet. He grabbed the tractor beside him for support. Debris shifted below his feet, rattling all the way to his teeth. Rescue workers scrambled down the piles, carrying the male victim he’d just stabilized and extricated—a businessman who’d been trapped in his office chair.

  Frantic wails filled the air from family members who’d been digging with shovels, even hands, in search of loved ones. A German shepherd jockeyed for balance on top of a shifting concrete slab.

  He had to get off this oscillating pyramid of debris. Now.

  His pulse ramped with adrenaline. Splaying his arms for balance, Liam tested for firmer ground. The structural triage report on this site had sucked, but Hugh Franco had been ready to tunnel in once Zorro barked a live find.

  Liam looked left fast to check on team member Wade Rocha. Combat boots planted, Rocha balanced with the feed line tight in his grip�� the other end attached to Hugh Franco somewhere underneath the trembling hell.

  Shit. Franco. Stuck below with his victim.

  And just that fast, the earth steadied.

  The demolished wasteland around him went eerily quiet. Sweat and filth plastered his uniform to his body, his heart hammering in his ears. Relief workers stood stock-still as if the world had stopped. But spirals of smoke affirmed the world hadn’t ended, just paused to catch a breath.

  He exhaled hard. Adrenaline stung his veins. The tremor hadn’t been an earthquake, just another aftershock. Four so far today. Nerves were ragged, especially with the locals.

  His headset blazed to life again with a frenzy of orders, questions, and curses from command center, along with check-ins from others on his team—Brick, Fang, Cuervo, Data, Bubbles—spread out at other potential rescues in the sector. But the most important voice was conspicuously missing.

  Hugh Franco.

  Dread knotted his gut. Liam had lived through hell on earth before, but it was always worse when his men’s lives were on the line. They were his family, no question. As his three ex-wives would attest, he was married to the job.

  “Franco? Franco?” Liam shouted into the mic. “Report in, damn it.”

  His headset continued to sputter, some voices coming through piecemeal. None of them Franco.

  Crappy headset… Liam’s hands fisted.

  “Shit.” He punched the tractor. Knuckles throbbing, he resisted the urge to pitch the mic to the ground.

  Wade “Brick” Rocha edged around the tractor. “I’m going in after him, boss. I’ll follow the cable, dig through, and—”

  Reason filtered through the rage. He needed to level out, stay in command.

  “Hold steady. Not yet. I don’t need two of the team missing.” He refused to believe Franco was dead. Only his voice was gone. Just the radio connection fading. “Let’s check in with the clean
up crew, maybe nab one of the search dogs again to confirm the exact location, since things have shifted.”

  Scrubbing along his jaw, he scanned the crews returning to business as if nothing had happened. Training kicked into overdrive at times like these. The cold-sweat stage would set in later, once there wasn’t anything to do but sit and think about how very wrong the day could have gone.

  How badly it could still go, as they all hung out together in an active seismic zone.

  Guards formed a circle around the perimeter. American soldiers armed with M4 carbines stood alongside multinational troops carrying Uzis, all on the watch for looters targeting more than just store goods. Food and clean water were at a premium, which made them a target, since they had both, thanks to the air force’s RED HORSE unit: Rapid Engineer Deployable Heavy Operational Repair Squadron Engineers. Whether in a war zone or natural disaster, they responded within twenty-four hours with food and water-purification units filling up water trailers called water buffalos.

  Liam scanned the outskirts. Everyone from starving survivors to rapists trolling for a defenseless victim.

  His M9 pistol stayed strapped to his hip, loaded. Ready.

  For now, he had to find Hugh. He steadied his voice and tried again. “Franco, check in.”

  “Roger… here…” the familiar voice cut through the chatter, sporadic, but alive.

  Thank God.

  “Am okay…” Franco continued, the connection crummy with broken interference. “We’re shaken… No exit. Would appreciate… dig us… soon.”

  “We’re on it. Not leaving until you’re clear,” Liam promised without hesitation.

  Franco was alive, and if anybody could scrap his way through, he could. The guy was the most fearless, the most tenacious on the team.

  All the same, Liam intended to bring as much help to the table as he could wrangle out of the already-overtasked people scurrying around the buckled piles of concrete and rebar. He scanned the construction crews—a mix from around the world—for a spare soul to help out.

  And came up empty.

  He scrubbed a gloved hand over his face. God, his people were maxed already, working alongside a rescue task force from Virginia for the past eighteen hours without sleep. He was running on the fumes left over from his catnap during the cargo plane ride over.

  More C-17s dotted the sky, a trio landing one after the other in the distance with more supplies and personnel. Much-needed help. Except it would be hours before they were in place here.

  But the helicopter hovering closer? The supplies and personnel that chopper contained would be available in minutes. His headset buzzed with news of a relief dog handler being sent from the Virginia USAR—Urban Search and Rescue—team.

  He zeroed in on the cable lowering from the craft. A wiry figure dangled from the end—appeared to be a female in rescue gear with a dog strapped to her chest.

  The helicopter was sending in a fresh search pair. A gold mine for a depleted team stretched to the max after over eighteen hours without sleep. These two were also closer than whatever troops or supplies might be loaded in the C-17 still circling in the sky.

  He clapped Rocha on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Keep talking to Franco.”

  Sure-footed, he jogged across the jagged debris toward the chopper, eyes homed in on the duo spinning on the end of the descending cable.

  He was a scavenger from way back, and intended to be first in line to claim her.

  ***

  Holding her breath, Amelia squeezed her eyes closed and lips shut tight as the dust settled from the aftershock. Dots sparked on the back of her eyelids. She grew light-headed from lack of oxygen. But if she gasped too soon, she would choke on pure grit.

  She cupped the back of Joshua’s head for protection. Precious little to offer, but the best she could offer. The top of her hand stung from something. Better her hand than his vulnerable skull. She was certain she felt him move, heard his tiny whimpers. Helplessness threatened to overwhelm her. How much more of this could she bear?

  Consciousness faded. Her lungs screamed for air. Peeking carefully, she exhaled hard. Dust puffed ahead of her.

  The thin light lancing through the dark reminded her she didn’t have to endure this alone. She had help.

  Or did she?

  Panic pierced her. “Are you here? Are you okay?” God, she didn’t even know his name. “Answer me, please. Let me know you’re alive.”

  The slim glow didn’t move. Her savior stared back at her with piercing green intensity. A death stare? She stifled a scream.

  He blinked.

  She whimpered with relief.

  “Hang tough,” he said slowly, shifting to pull a rock from under his side. “The worst is past. You okay?”

  He was alive. They were all still alive. But for how long? She’d assumed because help had made it through, rescue had arrived. She hadn’t prepared herself for another earthquake. Hours of more waiting. The possibility they wouldn’t get out at all.

  Concentrating on the positive seemed tougher and tougher. Hysteria frothed inside her all over again. She fought the urge to laugh like a lunatic. To sing a flipping chorus of “Tomorrow,” like Little Orphan Annie.

  She gritted her teeth. Do not freak out. She wasn’t alone. The people above knew she was here alive.

  “Hey,” her rescuer said, louder this time. “Are you okay? Need you to answer me.”

  “I’m all right. Just a little dustier.” She pushed the words up and out, even though each one felt like broken glass scraping up her raw throat. She studied the hulking figure behind the light. She clung to the only visible sign of life, of hope, in this hellish tomb. “Did you hear Joshua cry during the aftershock? He’s okay, and now you have to know.”

  He pressed two fingers to her wrist. Taking her pulse, no doubt.

  “Amelia,” he said with unbelievable calm, his fingers warm and steady against her skin, “we’re going to get you both out of here.”

  She noticed he didn’t agree to having heard her nephew. Her lawyerly ear that helped her ferret out nuances in witness testimony was a curse right now. “How much longer do you have on that battery?”

  “Long enough. Keep the faith. My guys are close.”

  “How can you be sure?” She hated the hysteria creeping into her voice.

  “I know,” he answered simply. “It’s what we do. I understand how we think.”

  She laughed hoarsely. “So they’re all as crazy as you are…? I don’t even know what to call you.”

  “My name is Hugh.” His large competent hands slid from her wrist to her IV, jiggling the needle, applying a new strip of tape.

  The enormity of what he was doing for her and for Joshua flooded through her.

  “Hugh…” She tested the lone syllable and accustomed herself to putting a name with the fuzzy blur who was risking his life to save hers. “Hugh, what makes you do something like this for a living? I can’t imagine anybody willingly coming down here.”

  “What can I say?” He settled onto his side, stowing his gear. “I was the kid who climbed trees to rescue stranded cats.”

  “No kidding?” She grasped at the piece of normalcy.

  “When I was seven, the neighbor’s Siamese got stuck in a big old oak. The family called the fire department, but it was going to take a while for them to get there because of a three-alarm blaze on the other side of town.”

  His smooth-as-bourbon bass voice filled the cave with an intoxicating calm. “The neighbor girl was bawling her eyes out. So I figured, why wait? I’d climbed that tree a hundred times.”

  His story wrapped around her, sinking into her pores and transporting her to the world beyond this murky gray hell, a world with leafy green trees and fuzzy kittens.

  “I’ll bet the neighbor girl was glad to have her pet back.”

  “Oh, I didn’t save her Siamese. The cat climbed down on its own.” He chuckled softly. “I got stuck when my jacket snagged a branch and the fire department had to rescue me.”

  She laughed with him—how could she not?—until her eyes stung with tears and she choked on the thick air. “You’re making that up to distract me.”

  “Not a chance. I was scared to death up there. Cried like a baby, when I got to solid ground again.” A half smile dug a crease into the dirt on his rugged face. “The little kid had her cat back and looked at the firefighter like he was a god.”