Hot Zone (Elite Force #2)(39)
Author: Catherine Mann

After Rachel’s dog got the hit on a live find around what must have once been the third floor, the crews had started digging—a laboriously slow process with everything from jackhammers to pry bars. The voices answering were high-pitched. Kids. A baby girl and her five-year-old brother. Stuck below with the dead bodies of their parents and another brother.

The little girl was in his arms, while Bubbles carried the boy.

An army nurse waited at the base of the rubble with a papoose board and actual transportation. As he neared he recognized her from when he’d gone to the hospital housed in the school. “Lieutenant Gable?”

“Hello, Major. Did you ever find your friends?”

So much for asking her if she’d seen them. He squashed down another disappointment on an already-crappy day. He passed over his charge. “Six-month-old girl, parents died along with one of her brothers. The kid there is the only other survivor in the family.”

Even saying it sliced him through with memories of seeing the dead mother’s body curled around her other son. The father had shielded the two living kids at the expense of his life. His eyes met the tiny girl’s heart-melting gaze that—thank God—could still focus. He forced himself to look away, to disengage.

Or at least try for now, because he knew the faces of this entire family would haunt his sleep later.

Lieutenant Gable took the bloodied infant gently. “I’ll make note of that in her files. We’ll do our best to keep the brother and sister close to each other.”

He stepped away, his body fried from exhaustion as well as the heat. “Thanks.”

Gable hesitated for a split instant. “Did you find your friends?” she asked again.

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Sorry, sir. I’ll let you know if I hear any more from them.” She pivoted away with her patient toward a waiting transport van.

In the distance, a shout went up. “Dog on the pile.”

The call carrying on the breeze made him think of Rachel. He glanced over quickly even though he already knew it wasn’t her. Rachel was sitting off fifty yards away on a tarp, her arm wrapped around her dog, Disco, as she stared off zombielike, not even noticing the water truck stuck in a mob scene so intense the vehicle couldn’t move farther.

Without another thought, he jogged toward Rachel, his jump-worn knees creaking with each step. The closer he got to her, the more he could see how zoned out she was. The Labrador’s ears perked up, twitching in his direction. But Rachel didn’t move.

He slowed, finally stopping alongside the edge of the tarp blanket on the ground. “Are you doing okay?”

Her eyes shifted up; she snorted, then looked down again silently.

“Of course you’re not all right. No way to be here, see all of—” He gestured around them, shaking his head. “This is war-zone material.”

“Got that right.” She tugged her hat off and pitched it on the ground, thick brown ponytail unfurling down her back. “Did you find your friend?”

He winced. “Not yet.”

She looked at him, sympathy in tired eyes. “I’m sorry. I should be comforting you rather than the other way around.”

And he should be doing something, anything, except he was out of ideas other than sitting with this woman and hydrating before cranking up for the next rescue.

He dropped down beside her, tarp crackling under him. “This isn’t a game of whose life sucks most right now, especially when I look at everything folks here have lost. And the lives lost…”

He uncapped his water and drank… and drank…

Rachel’s fingers worked along Disco’s neck. “That’s a very sensitive thing to say.”

“You don’t have to act so surprised. I can be a sensitive guy, when the situation calls for it.” He gestured toward Disco. “Is there some rule again me petting your working dog?”

“He’s off the clock right now.” She half smiled. “Knock yourself out.”

He passed Rachel the rest of his water bottle and held out a hand for the dog to sniff. “Disco? Hey fella, remember me? Just a friend of Rachel’s, so don’t go postal on me, pup.” The dog nosed his fingers, so he scratched behind the Labrador’s ear. “I gotta confess, I can’t take credit for the sensitivity. My first and third exes were both into marital counseling. I may have ended up divorced, but I came away with a ton of insights.”

“Why no therapist with wife number two?” She tipped back the bottle.

“Pictures changed my mind. Lots of pictures. Of her with a number of different guys.” He’d been an idiot marrying on the rebound, not wanting to stay in his crappy-ass apartment alone. “One of those guys had a wife pissed off enough to hire a private eye. I got a complimentary photo album. Didn’t see much point going to a therapist in light of their Kama Sutra pictorial.”

“Ouch, that’s, um…” She rolled the bottle between her palms.

“No worries about me.” He leaned closer conspiratorially. “I didn’t pick up any diseases from my ex.”

“This isn’t funny, and that wasn’t what I was thinking.” Her voice was tart, but her eyes were sweet.

He liked her. A lot. Like was more unsettling than love.

“Well, you can sure as hell know it’s exactly what I was thinking. Cheating isn’t just damn disrespectful. It’s dangerous.” Ex number two had blamed the infidelities on his long deployments, vowing she thought he’d stepped out too while away. She’d been wrong, and hell yeah, he was still bitter. “I may have been married three times, but when I’m with a woman, I am always, always monogamous.”

“Okay, so no therapy with wife number two. Still, therapy obviously wasn’t successful with number three either if you ended up divorced.”

Some of the tension left her face as she settled into the conversation, so he kept going with it. They both needed the distraction, even if only for a few minutes, to take their mind off what they’d seen since arriving in this nightmare.

“The counselor for marriage number three was especially savvy. He figured out I choose relationships destined to fail… He just talked me through to that revelation a little too late.”

“Hmmm…” She brushed the dirt off his shoulder. “And you feel the need to continue to affirm his diagnosis by picking me?”

“Sure”—he kept his tone light for her—“but it works better now since I don’t make the mistake of proposing. And if I’m crazy enough to pop the question, the woman—you—would be forewarned.”