Aftershock

THERE’S A FINE LINE

As an emergency paramedic, Lauren Boyer is dedicated and highly capable. Until an earthquake strikes, trapping her beneath the freeway with a group of strangers—including Iraq war veteran Garrett Wright…

BETWEEN PERIL AND PASSION

Handsome and take-charge Garrett aids Lauren in her rescue efforts, even as the steely look in his eyes seems to hide dark secrets. When a gang of escaped convicts goes on the attack, Garrett’s bravery makes him more than a courageous bystander to Lauren. If they can save the others before time runs out, maybe, just maybe, they can explore the fire igniting between them—if the truth about who he really is doesn’t pull them apart forever….

Selected Praise for

“Carnal scenes that wouldn’t be out of place in Penthouse Forum litter the pages. Sorenson makes her characters realistic, flawed, and appealing. Deftly handled violent action and red herrings rush this thriller to a believable ending.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Edge of Night

“Taut with emotion, suspense and danger. Sorenson expertly weaves the two stories into a heart-wrenching conclusion.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Edge of Night

“One of the best books of the year…nonstop, heart-pounding excitement.”

—RT Book Reviews on Stranded with Her Ex, Top Pick! 4.5 stars

“(A) high-tension romantic thriller...culminating in a page-turning climax. Despite the mystery, the real tension comes from the emotional relationships, full of explosive sex and terrible secrets.”

—Publishers Weekly on Crash into Me

“It was definitely hot. Sooo hot. Jill Sorenson is my new favorite romantic-suspense author!”

—USA TODAY bestselling author Victoria Dahl on Crash into Me

Aftershock

Jill Sorenson

Many wonderful people helped to make this book possible.

I’d like to thank Stacy Boyd, my editor. Your insights are amazing and you give great advice. Working with you has been a dream come true.

Special thanks to Shana Smith, assistant editor, for tweeting that you wanted to read an earthquake story. I thought, “I could do that!”

Thanks to Laurie McLean, my agent, for always believing in me.

Heartfelt thanks to Andria Dreyer, paramedic, for patiently answering my research questions. It was great to speak with a smart, experienced professional.

Thanks to Jessica Scott, fellow romance author and Iraq war veteran, for your extraordinary service and military expertise. Any mistakes I made are my own.

Thanks to my readers. I couldn’t do this (and wouldn’t want to) without you. Thanks to reviewers and bloggers for talking about my books. I really appreciate it.

Last but not least, thanks to my mom—my favorite nurse.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

LAUREN BOYER CLIMBED into the passenger seat of the ambulance, nodding hello to the EMT behind the wheel.

Joe arched a brow. “I thought Alanis was working.”

“We switched a couple of shifts,” she said, stashing her purse and extra uniform. “I didn’t feel like staying home.”

“You should’ve gone to Vegas.”

“Why would I do that?”

He fiddled with the switches on the console, avoiding her gaze. “With your girlfriends. You know. For fun.”

“The bachelorette party got canceled, Joe. Just like the wedding.”

That shut him up.

She didn’t want to talk—or think—about her broken engagement, which was why she’d offered to cover for Alanis. Michael had called it off six months ago, before the invitations were sent but after the announcement had been made. Although she hadn’t discussed most of the details with Joe, he knew they’d set the date for this weekend.

“We’ve got chest pain in North Park,” he said, pulling out of the parking lot and heading toward the freeway on-ramp. Lauren glanced at the digital clock on the console. It was 8:01 a.m. The April sky was already so blue and bright it hurt her eyes.

Joe’s lucky dash-ornament, a hula girl with a grass skirt, swayed her hips gently as they drove over a bump.

North Park was one of San Diego’s rougher neighborhoods. Their ambulance station responded to emergencies there on a regular basis. Michael had encouraged her to transfer to a quieter location, away from the heart of the city. Lauren had refused. She loved the energy and diversity of the downtown area.

Joe gave her a sideways glance. “It’s his loss, you know.”

She forced a smile, touched by his words. Joe had been her partner for three years and they got along well. Maybe he was right about Michael. She wished she could say that their breakup was his fault and she was better off without him. The only thing she knew for sure was that he planned to spend the weekend with his new girlfriend in Bermuda, while she rode in an ambulance next to Joe.

At least he’d come clean with her before they’d made the worst mistake of their lives.

The ambulance continued down the crowded freeway, sirens blaring. Traffic was backed up near the interchange, as usual. Joe weaved around cars with brisk efficiency. When a man in a silver Mercedes refused to move aside, they had to squeeze by on the left shoulder.

“Jerk,” she said under her breath as they passed him. Every day they encountered motorists who were too busy to pull over.

Two freeways converged at the 163 interchange, creating a chaotic tangle. Joe and Lauren were on the middle level, with roads above and below them, and multiple exit ramps on both sides. As they headed into the sea of traffic, Joe’s hula girl began to do a frenetic dance on the dash.

Lauren tensed as the road stuttered beneath them.

Earthquake.

The ambulance jumped up and crashed down hard enough to rattle her teeth. It felt as if they’d been rear-ended, but the impact had come from below.

And it kept coming. Their vehicle bounced like a Ping-Pong ball on the shuddering concrete.

Joe slammed on his brakes in an attempt to avoid a collision. There was no way for him to maintain control of the ambulance. It scraped along the inner wall of the underpass, sending sparks into the air.

He cranked the wheel to the right. “Shit!”

She braced herself for disaster, hanging on to the handgrip for dear life. The ambulance continued to jackhammer violently. Beneath them, the road undulated like a sheet in the wind. It was difficult to see clearly because of the jolting motions. When a blur of yellow sailed by, she realized it was a car falling from the upper level.

“Watch out,” she yelled, as if he could avoid the danger.

More vehicles careened off the top section, raining on the traffic below. The sound of crashing metal rang in her ears, accompanied by a low, ominous rumble. A tow truck landed on a minivan, crushing the inhabitants. Its gas tank exploded in a giant ball of fire.

People were dying. Right before her eyes.

Joe held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. Through his window, she watched a sports car hit the guardrail and flip in the air. She looked to her right, anticipating an impact on her side of the ambulance.

Then the road shifted, sending several nearby cars spinning off the edge. A second later, the entire freeway just...collapsed. With a stomach-curling groan, the middle section fell away. It buckled in half, folding across the lower levels and blocking the lanes. Vehicles smashed into each other, meeting a wall of concrete head-on.

The ambulance slid sideways and landed at the bottom of a pileup with a bone-jarring crash. Her head hit the window, cracking the glass. The seat belt caught hard against her right shoulder, and the vehicle’s twin air bags deployed. Rather than a soft cushion, the safety device felt like a punch in the face.

She tasted blood and saw a blur of black lines, like the end of a film reel.

The air bags deflated quickly. Joe called her name, nudging her shoulder. His voice sounded sluggish to her ears, but she knew the situation was dire. With some difficulty, she opened her eyes and tried to focus.

It was dark. The smell of gasoline and fire overwhelmed her senses. Suppressing a gag, she blinked to clear her vision.

When she saw what was coming, she wished she hadn’t.

The ambulance was trapped at the base of a large slab of concrete amidst a pile of other cars. Through Joe’s window, she watched a large black SUV teeter at the top of the structure, directly above them.

There was no time to get out of the way, no hope to reverse gravity.

“Joe,” she cried out, her throat raw.

But it was too late. The juggernaut rocketed toward them, smashing into the driver’s side. Again, Lauren’s seat belt slammed against her chest. Joe was struck full force, pinned behind the steering wheel. His door was crushed by the SUV’s front grille. Blood erupted from his lips and his eyes bulged wide with pain. He slumped over, his gaze going blank as he exhaled a ragged breath.

Lauren reached out to him, choking back a sob. Safety glass crumbled inward, clinging to her uniform shirt. Having responded to a number of fatal vehicle accidents, she knew that Joe had been killed on impact. His chest wasn’t moving, and he smelled like death. With trembling fingers, she felt for the pulse in his neck.

Nothing.

Her life didn’t flash before her eyes, but his did. Joe was a beloved husband and father. His daughter was less than a year old. Just the other day, he’d shown Lauren a picture of the baby with the koalas at the zoo.

A helpless whimper escaped her as the earth continued to rumble. Debris rained down around them. The air was thick with gas fumes. She knew she couldn’t stay in the ambulance. If she passed out here, she would die.

“Daddy,” she croaked, though he’d been gone five years now.

At some point, the sound of grinding metal and falling concrete quieted. The shaking stopped.

Lauren didn’t know what to do next. Normally crash victims were advised to stay put, and it was difficult to see through the cloud of smoke. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t concentrate. Her heart thumped weakly in her chest.

The hula girl on the dash was gone, having toppled into places unknown, and the clock wasn’t working. She checked her watch. It read 8:09. Less than ten minutes had passed since the earthquake started.

The temptation to cower in the passenger seat was hard to resist. She was afraid to face the destruction outside. Paramedics were trained to exercise caution and not risk their lives. Maybe all the people in the surrounding vehicles were dead.

There were no screams for help.

What got her moving wasn’t her professional duty, or her moral code, or any urgent need to save others. It was the odor of burning flesh. She could accept dying of smoke inhalation, which would certainly come first, but the thought of her hair and skin going up in flames was too horrifying to fathom.

Along with the will to survive, she found a spark of logic. The ambulance was equipped with oxygen and fire extinguishers. Releasing her seat belt, she climbed over Joe’s slumped body, into the back of the van. Pieces of equipment were hanging askew and first-aid supplies littered the space. After a moment of disorientation, she found the oxygen masks. Donning one, she sucked in a lungful of clean air.

She felt stronger. She took another breath.

There. That was better.

With a clearer head, but a heavy heart, she looked for the fire extinguisher. It had become dislodged and rolled across the floor. She also located her paramedic bag, which would be useful in the event that she found other survivors. As soon as she grasped the bag’s handle, the earth started shaking again.

Oh God.

There was a moment of weightlessness. She felt like Alice in Wonderland, falling through the looking glass. What was up went down and what was down went up. The world seemed to be hurtling toward a steep precipice. Rather than regaining equilibrium, it toppled end over end, into chaos.

A massive wall of concrete crashed down, halving the ambulance violently. Joe, and the entire cab, was gone. Crushed.

Had Lauren stayed in her seat, she’d have been obliterated. Like Joe.

The quake ended a moment later, but she couldn’t control the trembling of her own body. Back-to-back near-death experiences were more than she could handle. She curled up in the fetal position and covered her head with her arms, waiting to die.

The blow she was expecting didn’t come. No more chunks of debris hit the ambulance. Against all odds, she was alive.

And...she wasn’t alone.

A man shouted in the distance. “Hello! Can anyone hear me?”

Lauren tore the oxygen mask off her face and sat up, her pulse racing. Was she imagining things?

He spoke again. “Does anyone need help?”

To her amazement, he sounded strong. Good lung capacity. Instead of asking for assistance, he was offering it.

This man was unharmed.

Lauren took another quick breath from the oxygen tank and scrambled to her feet. The back door of the ambulance had an emergency hand release. She pulled the lever and climbed out onto the uneven pavement.

Through the haze of ash and debris, she studied her surroundings. It was worse than she’d imagined. Twisted metal, chunks of concrete and pieces of cars were scattered across the dark cavern. Several of the vehicles had no front ends, like the ambulance. Others had been bisected lengthwise. Some were upside down, wheels still spinning.

The man called out again.

“Here,” she yelled, framing her mouth with her hands and turning toward his voice. “Over here!”

He walked out of the smoke like an apparition. Lauren had never been so relieved to see another human being in her life. Not only did he sound healthy, he looked it. His dusty T-shirt clung to a broad, well-muscled chest. He was wearing dark jeans and scuffed work boots. As he got closer, she assessed his height at six feet and his weight at two hundred. Even with ashes in his hair and dirt on his face, he was handsome.

“You’re an EMT,” he said, seeming amazed to see her in one piece.

“Paramedic.”

“Even better.” His gaze moved past her, to the contents of the overturned ambulance. Perhaps he knew that emergency personnel usually traveled in teams, but he didn’t ask where her partner was.

“I’m Lauren.”

“Garrett,” he replied, returning his attention to her. He gave her body a detached study. “Are you hurt?”

Although her head ached, she said no. She was afraid he’d think her useless, despite her medical training. The navy-blue uniform she was wearing couldn’t disguise her slender frame. Men had often underestimated her on the job.

He coughed into the crook of his arm, trying to clear his lungs.

She handed him the oxygen mask, which he accepted without question. While he took a few deep breaths, she grabbed her supplies. “Anyone alive that way?” she asked, indicating the path he’d taken.

His eyes watered, either from smoke irritation or the sights he’d seen. “I don’t know. It’s almost impassable.”

They donned respirators and hard hats from the ambulance, making a tacit agreement to go the opposite direction. She adjusted her backpack. He picked up a heavy-duty flashlight. Together, they headed into the mayhem.

“Stay close,” he said. “Step where I step.”

Lauren let him take the lead. She wouldn’t be much good to anyone if she broke her leg in the rubble. At the nearest car, Garrett bent down to check the interior. He straightened, shaking his head to indicate there were no survivors.

As they moved forward, they found more bodies. Some were trapped inside vehicles; others had been thrown clear.

Stomach churning with anxiety, she trailed behind Garrett, letting his big body guide her through the debris. He was built like a football player, wide-shouldered and fit. She felt safer with him than inside the ambulance, although she didn’t trust the collapsed structure. Large, frequent aftershocks were likely.

More concrete slabs might fall and crush them yet.

They skirted around a tall pile of rubble. On the other side, a silver sedan rested upside down, its engine running. Gasoline gushed from a ruptured tank. It traveled in rivulets along the ground and trickled down into the open windows of the vehicle.

The driver appeared dead or unconscious. Her dark hair clung to her bloody forehead and her eyes were closed. Any moment, the car could go up in flames.

“Help!” a voice cried from inside.

Garrett shoved the flashlight at Lauren. “Stay back,” he said, rushing toward the vehicle. He had to turn off the ignition before they could execute a safe rescue. Dropping to his belly, he reached into the closest window, which was on the driver’s side. Unfortunately, the slumped-over woman was blocking his access. Cursing, he pushed himself upright and raced around the rear of the vehicle.

Lauren went with him, holding the light steady but keeping her distance in case the engine blew up. When she saw a woman trying to squeeze through the passenger window, her jaw dropped.

“Help me,” the woman panted, her hair wet with gasoline.

She was just a teenager, Lauren realized. She was also pregnant, near full-term. Her protruding belly wouldn’t fit through the narrow space.

Showing no concern for his own life, Garrett got down on the ground and reached past her, through the passenger window. He turned off the ignition, but that didn’t secure the scene. Lauren watched in horror as liquid fuel streamed toward another burning vehicle.

If she didn’t act fast, everything would blow sky-high.

She pulled the fire extinguisher out of her backpack. Jogging forward, she pointed the nozzle at the burning car and pulled the pin, spraying white foam over the interior. The vehicle’s single inhabitant didn’t complain. He was charred beyond recognition, hands melted to the steering wheel.

Dousing one fire was a temporary fix. There were several more in the recesses of the collapsed structure. She couldn’t get to all of them, and they didn’t have another extinguisher. Eventually the gasoline trail would ignite.

Trying to stay calm, she returned her attention to Garrett and the girl. Although the air was thick with smoke, and visibility was low, her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness. Garrett tried to wrench open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Motioning for the girl to stay back, he picked up a softball-size piece of concrete and hammered it against the front windshield. When the safety glass shattered, he knocked most of it loose with his fist.

Lauren winced, aware that the small shards would leave shallow lacerations all over his knuckles.

In her panicked state, the teenager wouldn’t listen to Garrett’s instructions. Either she didn’t understand him, or she was frozen with fear. He went in for her with no hesitation, intent on physically pulling her out of the car. About halfway through, she came to her senses and worked with him instead of against him.

He was gentle with her, taking care that she didn’t scrape her belly or come into direct contact with broken glass.

At last, they made it through the front window. Lauren released the breath she’d been holding, her knees almost buckling with relief. Yanking a safety blanket from her pack, she rushed forward and wrapped the girl in it. Her eyes were unfocused and her breathing shallow. She needed immediate medical attention.

“Get down,” Garrett shouted, placing a firm hand on Lauren’s shoulder. She complied instantly, helping the teenager assume a crouched position on the hard cement. He put his arms around them both, making a shield with his body.

Seconds later, the car exploded.

The smell of gasoline burned her nostrils and heat crackled behind her back. Even with Garrett’s protection, they weren’t safe here. This was definitely a hot zone. There were multiple injury hazards. Then again, the whole area was a death trap, and she hadn’t seen a way out yet.

“Tía,” the girl sobbed, looking back at the blaze. If the woman inside had been alive a moment ago, she wasn’t now.

“We have to go,” Garrett said, lifting both women to their feet. Although the girl appeared distraught and disoriented, she stumbled forward at his urging.

Lauren saw a white beacon in the distance. A small recreational vehicle appeared whole and undamaged, with no fires nearby. Assuming the RV had a shower or sink, she could wash the gasoline off her patient.

“There,” she said, pointing it out to Garrett. “The RV will have water.”

He let go of Lauren’s arm and scooped up the teenager, who was struggling to walk. A pregnant woman was an awkward load, but he bore her weight easily. Lauren suspected that he had military training. He carried himself like a soldier.

The girl clung to his shoulders, dazed.

“What’s your name?” Lauren asked, tugging down her respirator mask.

“Penny,” she rasped.

“When are you due?”

“Next week.”

Garrett’s eyes met Lauren’s over the top of the girl’s head. This wasn’t good. Lauren hurried toward the camper, banging on the side door. “Emergency services,” she yelled. “I need to bring a patient in for treatment.”

A man in his sixties opened the door, his glasses reflecting flames. He didn’t appear to be injured, and she felt a surge of hope. There were other survivors. “Come in,” the man said, stepping aside. Garrett couldn’t fit through the narrow doorway with Penny, so he set her down and helped her ascend the short steps.

There was another girl inside, also unharmed. She looked about twelve.

“Do you have a shower?” Lauren asked.

“In the bathroom.” The man gestured toward a small door. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

She glanced at Garrett, who appeared poised to go back outside. What she needed was a safe space to treat Penny, and the interior of the motor home looked adequate. There was a small table and a twin bed in back. “Can you bring me the oxygen tank and mask from the ambulance?”

Garrett nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll go with you,” the man said to Garrett. “My granddaughter can stay here.”

Lauren gave the grandfather her hard hat and respirator.

“How much water is there?” Garrett asked.

“About ten gallons,” he replied.

Garrett turned to Lauren. “Try not to use too much.”

She understood why. They needed to conserve water. If the earthquake’s epicenter was in downtown San Diego, there might be thousands of casualties. Tens of thousands. Disaster response teams would have their hands full.