“Brandon,” she blurted before she even formed the thoughts, “would you have even seen me in high school?”
He looked genuinely stunned. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not asking if you would have dated me.” Of course he wouldn’t have. “I’m asking if you would have noticed I existed. I’m the kind of person who fades into the woodwork of life. If someone had to describe me to a police sketch artist, they would be hard-pressed. There’s nothing wrong with my features, but there’s nothing unique. I just… am.”
She held up a hand. “I’m not fishing for compliments here, simply stating facts. Essentially, I don’t want to be any man’s pity fuck.”
He choked on a gulp of water.
“Surprised you, did I?” And she took more than a little pleasure in that. She tugged the water bottle from him. “I may look timid, but I can stand up for myself.”
“Are you finished?”
“For now. But I reserve the right to climb up on my soapbox again without warning.” She tipped back the water, thirsty and nervous.
“Fine.” He took the bottle, set it aside and clasped her hands. “First off, I resent the assumptions you made about my character.”
“Your high school character, and was I wrong?” Why did she feel the need to push this?
“We’re not in high school.”
“Cop-out answer. I’ll take that as a yes to your being a part of the popular crowd back then.” The kind of people who’d walked past her as if she didn’t exist. She tugged her hands but he didn’t let go.
“If you want to know the God’s honest truth”—his thumbs worked along the inside of her wrists—“I’m starting to think you’re the one hung up on looks, because you sure do talk about appearances and popularity a lot.”
She stopped tugging and just let herself soak up the sensation of his caressing touch. “I’m just trying to make a point.”>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 has 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—Rocha, 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 Hugh 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.
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 gone. Only his voice, only the radio connection, had faded. “Let’s check in with the cleanup 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…
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, they were all 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 on the cargo plane ride over.