“I really think we should go. Now.” She leaned to pluck out a bottle.
“The time is well invested pulling together as much as we can in survival gear,” he said, his voice steely calm and cool, as if they hadn’t almost died a few minutes ago. “If the van wasn’t about to blow, I could set up a lot more.”
“So we stay here and wait for someone to follow the smoke signal to us?” She twisted off the cap, took a sip to check the drink—pineapple juice—then tipped the bottle to Joshua’s lips.
“Actually, that’s more of a worry than a help.” His head ducked back out. Blood stained his pants along a tear.
“Exactly who do you think will be looking for us?”
“They had time to call their boss—the ‘Guardian’ person—and that concerns me. But I’m armed. I’m ready.” He faced her full-on, his features and body still warrior-set. “And I’ll be damned if I’ll let us be sitting ducks.”
***
The early morning charged upward too fast, time slipping away. Liam didn’t have much longer to make use of Rachel’s expertise before they both went back for another grueling day searching for survivors in the rubble. He wanted to believe this was the right choice, snagging her resources, exhausting them both further, on the hope that he could locate Franco. Choices were damn near impossible when there were so many to save at times like this.
And God help Franco if they found him tucked away in some corner making out with his new girlfriend.
Rachel walked with Disco alongside her as they made fast tracks up the dusty road to the nearby school-turned-hospital. Rachel Flores had taken five minutes to put on her gear that she’d called her PPE: personal protective equipment. A safety helmet with a headlamp, glasses, gloves, steel-toed/steel-shanked boots, along with kneepads. Goggles dangled from the pocket of her dark blue pants.
The look worked for her, sexier than any froufrou pink lingerie and heels his third wife had collected as avidly as some collected stamps. There was something hot about the way Rachel charged ahead without hesitation rather than waiting for him to clear the way.
Still, he hitched his M4 more securely over his shoulder and kept his eyes trained for any threats. “I owe you for this.”
“Damn straight, you do.” Dust puffed from under her steps. “Don’t think this gives you the right to put me on speed dial for all your personal emergencies. I’m taking time out of my sleep only to get you and your guy back out there on the job. We need you. Every one of those trapped individuals needs you. Now walk faster.”
“I’ll buy you a five-star meal when we get back to the States. Where is it you live?”
She eyed him incredulously. “Are you actually hitting on me?”
He held his hands up with overplayed innocence. “Just asking where you’re from to narrow the restaurant choices.”
“You know full well my FEMA urban search and rescue task force is from Virginia.”
True enough, since the only USARs designated to work international missions with the air force were from California and Virginia. “I spend a fair amount of time in D.C. taking care of Pentagon BS. I could make good on that dinner.”
She stopped dead in her tracks, her black Lab halting in step. “Is your friend actually missing? Because if you’re wasting my time, I’m going to kick your ass with my steel-toed boots, then I’m going to go back to work helping people who actually need saving.”
“Whoa, whoa, hang on a second.” He reached for her arm, pausing when she cocked an eyebrow at him. “My guy is most definitely missing, since he left the hooch last night just after that last tremor. I forget sometimes that people don’t know what an irreverent bastard I am. I crack jokes at funerals and hit on women during earthquakes. Makes coping easier.”
“Fair enough.” She gestured forward. “Lead on and let’s find your missing airman.”
“Thanks, and I promise not to ask you out to dinner again.”
She clicked and her dog trotted alongside her. “That would be best. I hear the service isn’t so great around here right now.”
Without another word, she made tracks. He wasn’t big on silence. Left too much time to think, especially at times like this. “What made you get into this line of work?”
She veered off the path with Disco to let a family of four walk past, backpacks overflowing. So many people on the move, the masses became almost invisible. “I could ask the same of you.”
“You first.” He reclaimed his spot beside her.
“Fine. You want my life story? Okay, but it’s not bar pickup cutesy. My mother was a hoarder. She hoarded dogs.” Her pointy jaw jutted. “She died when the animal crates fell on top of her, and since then, I’ve had a mission to rescue.”
“Holy shit.” Her words knocked the stuffing right out of him, a damn rare occurrence. “That’s… uh…”
“The stuff reality shows are made of? Yep, it sure is.” She clapped a hand on her chest. “And in my case, it’s not true. I’m joking.”
And there she went, with a surprise second punch.