Tremors

Internal Memo: Jefferson Avenue Firehouse, Courage Bay

From: Chief Dan Egan

To: Captain Joe Ripani

Re: Madison Avenue parking garage collapse

Joe,

I’ve just finished reading the reports on the collapse of the Madison Avenue parking garage. You and your squad have done it again.

I should have your head for going in there alone the way you did, except I would have done the same myself. Lisa Malloy is alive today because of you, but just think twice before putting your life on the line like that. This job comes with risks on a daily basis, and I can’t afford to lose any of my team.

We’ll be having a procedural review sometime down the road, when we’re not so damn busy with all these follow-up calls. I want all the guys who were on duty for the Madison Avenue collapse to be present. I also want to make sure they know I’m aware of what a great job they’ve done.

I know you’re not one to rest on your laurels, Joe, but a lot of people owe you and your squad a heap of gratitude, and it was your dedicated rescue of Lisa Malloy that stands above the rest.

I may not say it often enough, Joe, but you’re one of the best.

DEBRA WEBB

was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at age nine. Eventually she met and married the man of her dreams, and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners and working in a factory, a day-care center, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mysteries and movies for inspiration. In 1998 her dream of writing for Harlequin Books came true. You can write to Debra with your comments at P.O. Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345, or visit her Web site at www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

Tremors

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

The Code Red world is certainly an exciting one! I’m thrilled to be a part of it. I sure hope you’ll enjoy Joe and Lisa’s story.

Joe Ripani is my favorite kind of hero. A man who will plunge headlong into danger to save a life. A man who stares death in the face and defies the odds. There is only one thing that can strike pure terror in the heart of such a man, and that is love.

Lisa Malloy is a hero, too. She lives a quiet life and devotes her time to healing animals. Safe is all she has ever known. Can she possibly hope to hold her ground where a man like Joe Ripani is concerned?

Follow along on this bumpy road to true love. I think you’ll find the ride heartwarming.

Best,

Debra

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 ONE

THE GROUND TREMBLED.

Captain Joe Ripani of the Courage Bay Fire Department would recall later that it hadn’t felt like such a big deal. More like a Magic Fingers bed he remembered from a cheap motel on a family vacation when he’d been a kid. Just a little shimmy as the ancient plates far beneath the Earth’s surface groaned and complained and rubbed against each other.

Joe glanced from one member of his squad to the next. Everyone had stopped in the middle of his or her task and taken note of the slight vibration. But no one really looked worried. It was California, after all. A little earthly movement was expected from time to time.

Still, Joe had a bad feeling in his gut. That little tremble telegraphed a tension that crept up his spine, setting off a too-familiar flare of anticipation with each vertebra it climbed. Not good. Salvage, the firehouse’s big, black Labrador mascot, apparently had the same feeling. He went still, then whined fretfully.

A full fifteen minutes passed before the true disaster struck.

Jefferson Avenue Firehouse shook as the ground rumbled for an endless thirty seconds. Joe and his crew were already jumping into the necessary gear when the alarm sounded. By the time central dispatch passed on the location, the trucks were rolling out onto the street, sirens wailing.

Traffic on the streets of Courage Bay had come to an abrupt halt, with vehicles sitting haphazardly in the middle of intersections. Pedestrians were still running for cover, though the initial tremor had passed. They all knew that aftershocks could be every bit as lethal as the quake itself. And there would be aftershocks. For days, possibly even weeks, causing nothing more than minor distress, but all the while holding out potential for much, much more.

Joe’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel of the firehouse truck. So far, there didn’t appear to be too much physical damage. At least not that he could determine from the brief glances he afforded as he cut through the stalled traffic. No reports of fallen buildings, collapsed freeways or overpasses had rattled across the airwaves yet. But that assessment changed when he reached his destination.

The Madison Avenue parking garage had partially collapsed. Joe told himself that at two o’clock in the afternoon, most folks were likely safely tucked away in offices or the various shops that lined the downtown area. Lunch was long over. If he was lucky, the owners of the vehicles parked in the garage wouldn’t be anywhere near the collapsed structure.

The instant he skidded to a stop outside the damaged garage, he knew the situation wasn’t going to be that simple.

Dozens of pedestrians, co-workers and family members were crying out for help—loved ones or associates were trapped inside the building. A young woman, clearly pregnant, gripped several shopping bags as she frantically tried to explain to a police officer that her mother had gone for the car while she waited in a nearby boutique. Everyone seemed to be talking at once.

Blue lights throbbed and yellow tape fluttered in the breeze as a couple of cops worked to cordon off the area while half a dozen others struggled to hold back the panicked crowd of onlookers.

In the few minutes that had elapsed since the ground shook, Joe knew that a number of things had happened that the average person would not be aware of but would later be grateful for. Rescue resources had been dispatched in response to incoming calls. The first on the scene, whether paramedics, cops or firefighters, had assessed the situation and called for the additional resources needed. With this kind of disaster, the Incident Command System, or ICS, an emergency-management system used to coordinate personnel and equipment resources from multiple agencies, would be put in place.

But Joe had only one concern now. He tuned out the chaos and shouted instructions to his crew. “We’ll cover one level at a time.”

The parking garage stood four stories, the first of which was completely leveled. Dread pooled in his gut. Anyone on that level would likely be beyond his help. He said a quick prayer for them and headed into the garage.

“Cap’n, you know we can’t go in there until the engineers assess structural integrity.” Shannon O’Shea’s anticipatory tone belied her warning. “It’s not safe.”

Joe paused long enough to meet her gaze. “Is it your recommendation that we wait for that resource to arrive?” he demanded. He didn’t really need to hear her answer. Shannon, like any good firefighter, was every bit as determined to go in now as he was, but someone had to say the words…had to accept the responsibility for what could happen.

“No, sir,” she retorted without hesitation. “I’m prepared to go in now.” The other firefighters crowding behind her chimed in with their agreement.

“Let’s roll.” Joe gave the final authorization.

Conscious of the risk he’d given his squad permission to take, Joe led the way, climbing over the rubble to reach the second level. Slabs of concrete lay upended where T-bars had detached from the outside wall, allowing it to slowly collapse. Time would not be on their side.

“Looks like two and three could go at any minute,” O’Shea noted, reaching the same conclusion that he had.

“Yep.” Joe didn’t slow in his upward movement. There was no time to stop and think. The right side of the second level had dropped several feet, while the entire third floor canted to one side, threatening to give at any second. “Guess that means we’ll have to work fast,” he said to her with a dim smile. Shannon was good. One of his best. He’d never needed her more than right now.

“And pray,” she added, her own movements not slowing.

Dust from the settling debris filtered into his nostrils as he cautiously entered the second level and analyzed the situation. The sound of groaning metal echoed from somewhere. Damaged electrical system, he noted as he moved farther inside. The garage’s interior lights would have been helpful, since rubble pretty much blocked the sun. Flashlights clicked on as his team pushed forward, spreading out and cautiously beginning the search for victims trapped in automobiles and beneath fallen debris.

Structural engineers would arrive eventually. What he would give right now for a couple of theodolites to monitor any movement of the building. That very equipment was on order. His team already had the proper training. Without the equipment—he knew the rules—he should wait for approval to enter the structure. But if he waited, people would die. Like that pregnant lady’s mother. He couldn’t sleep at night with something like that on his conscience.

But what about his squad?

“Damn.” The muttered curse echoed across the wireless communications link that kept the squad connected and proved every bit as vital as an umbilical cord. It was the voice of Monte Meyers, known as Bull. “This garage isn’t that old. It should have held up better than this.”

Joe didn’t divert his focus long enough to respond to the remark but he already had his suspicions. California had long ago set into place stringent codes to prevent this very sort of disaster. Even old buildings and garages were supposed to be retrofitted to meet the new guidelines. It was the law. And still this kind of devastation could occur. Though it was only conjecture, he would bet his next paycheck that the garage had, in fact, been retrofitted. The problem would likely lie in the fact it had originally been built on a site requiring lots of fill.

He shook his head. The fill would create a base for construction, but that base would remain soft for many years, decades maybe. A part of his brain attempted the math but he couldn’t quite recall when the garage had gone up. The intense shaking caused by the quake as it spread out from its epicenter had shifted the foundation, sending concrete pillars and T-bars off center and bringing down tons of concrete atop aluminum and steel vehicles that couldn’t possibly support the weight.

“Got one over here!”

The shout came from the other side of the garage. While two crew members stayed to rescue the victim, the rest swarmed out like bees searching for a new place to form a hive. Car after car was visually searched. Inside, underneath. Any void created by fallen rubble could be protecting trapped victims. In a matter of minutes more than a dozen survivors were found and led from the unstable site. Others, less fortunate, would be extracted later.

Joe pointed upward to let those working with him know that he wanted to head up to level three. It wasn’t necessary to discuss the issue. Their somber expressions said all there was to say. Moving up would add another layer of peril to the search. Though every man and woman on his crew was physically fit, the combined weight of two or three people could trigger another collapse in such a precarious environment.

But it was a chance they’d have to take.

Judging by the number of victims trapped on level two, there could be that many or more on three. With luck, there would be less. But Joe wouldn’t stake anyone’s life but his own on luck.

With that in mind, he turned back to his squad. “Let me take it from here.” He looked at O’Shea. “You stand ready to bring down anyone I find.”

“No way, Cap’n,” she said. “I’m going with you.”

As much as he’d like to recite all the reasons he felt compelled to do this alone, there was no time. He, better than anyone, knew how stubborn O’Shea could be when it came to her job. Joe heaved a sigh and climbed the last few feet to the next level, O’Shea right on his heels.

Thankfully there weren’t as many cars up here as there had been on two. By the time they’d covered one side of the garage, Joe felt fairly confident that this level was clear. And that suddenly looked like the only good luck he would get this day.

He had only half a second’s warning.

The screech of strained steel and concrete pierced the air a split second before the far side of level three started to fall.

“Go back!”

Joe shouted the order and hoped everyone heard it over the collapsing tonnage. His frantic gestures to O’Shea left no question as to his command. She reluctantly retreated, as would the rest of his team on the level below, clambering and sliding down to the safety of the ground amid shattering concrete and flying debris.

By the time he reached the second level there was no place to go except over the side of the structure. He took a moment to ensure that every member of his squad had made it down to the sidewalk before lunging over the side railing himself.

He picked himself up from the ground and dusted off his backside, then winced at the ache in his right side and considered himself lucky that it wasn’t worse.

“You okay, Cap’n?” Spike—Sylvester Hilborn—hovered around him like a mother bear. The guy was plenty broad enough to play the part.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He surveyed the group of pedestrians. “Anyone else unaccounted for?”

The Bull shook his head. “Got about a dozen reunions going on over there but no other claims of missing friends or family.”

“Good.” Joe was thankful for that much, but he couldn’t walk away until he knew for certain. Every car that wasn’t flattened under rubble had to be inspected. Now. “We’ll have to go back in.”

Spike nodded. “Crew’s standing by. Structural engineers are here.” He grimaced. “They’re pretty pissed that you went in before they got here.”

“I guess they’ll just have to get over it.” Joe headed toward the two guys in question and didn’t bother trying to make nice. They wouldn’t be surprised. His reputation usually preceded him. Those who knew him didn’t call him the Iceman for nothing. When it came to his job, he always set emotion aside.

It took a full hour to survey the remaining levels. Not a single victim was found. The second level had been cleared before the last collapse, but the third level was questionable. Level four, thankfully, had been deserted. Joe’s concern at this point was ensuring that no one on that level had survived and was trapped beneath rubble in a void they hadn’t discovered. Sometimes equipment failed. What they needed were the dogs.

That there were no survivors on the first level was pretty much a given; anyone who’d had the misfortune of being in that area was likely dead. Still, they could bring in the dogs and search for remains. It wasn’t completely impossible that someone had survived.

“Let’s call in the canines and see what we can find.” So far, his unit hadn’t been asked to respond to any other scene.

“We’ll have to wait our turn,” Spike informed him. “Apparently there was significant damage on the other side of town. A couple of buildings fell and a church. I heard on the radio that every trained canine in the area has been called in to sniff through the rubble.”

Joe shook his head and huffed out a weary breath. Damn, he hated to hear that. He’d hoped, based on what he’d seen and heard en route, that the quake hadn’t done that much damage. He should have known better. He’d lived through his share of rumbles.

“Hell,” Spike went on, “they said it was so bad on Poppy Avenue that the church bells actually rang right before the church collapsed.”

Courage Bay was not a large city, and Joe’s thoughts immediately went to all the people he knew who lived and worked on that side of town.

“Tell ’em we need a dog over here as soon as one is freed up,” he said somberly. “Meanwhile, I’m going back in there to see what I can find.”

“Cap’n, I think maybe you’d better rethink that strategy,” O’Shea said as she walked over. “One of the engineers said the whole backside of level three is down. I doubt there’s anything you can do for anyone there now.”

“O’Shea, I think I know my job,” he said pointedly. She knew the drill. Once the interior of the garage was inspected as fully as possible, the surrounding area was to be rechecked and victims attended to. A command post had already been set up across the street. The EMTs on Joe’s crew were taking care of victims. “All I need from you—” he looked from O’Shea to Spike “—is a canine as soon as one comes available.”

“With all due respect, sir,” O’Shea retorted, not missing a beat, “I’d prefer to join you in the search. Spike here can take care of that call.”

She wouldn’t like his decision, but Joe wasn’t about to risk another life when chances were good that anyone left in the parking garage was already dead.

He would do this alone.

SHE WAS DREAMING of him again.

She knew better…but she dreamed anyway.

Dreamed of making slow, sweet love.

Dreamed of all the fantasies that he’d instilled deep within her heart during their short time together.

Dreamed of picket fences and the pitter-patter of little feet.

Lisa Malloy stirred…the hard facts of reality prodding her from the dreams she so wanted to believe could come true.

But Joe Ripani wasn’t a forever kind of guy. He wasn’t even a real relationship guy. He was more about instant gratification—grab all you could get before it was too late.

And he definitely wasn’t the marrying type…much less the fatherly type.

Lisa moaned softly and tried to surface from what had turned quickly into an unpleasant nightmare.

She wanted to cling to the hope that Joe would somehow morph into the kind of man she longed to spend forever with, but deep inside she knew the truth. Their short affair—and that’s the only thing she could call it, since their time together had been spent mainly in his bed—had been all they would ever have. End of subject.

Her head hurt.

Or maybe it was her heart…or both.

She had to wake up. There was a very good reason she shouldn’t be sleeping right now.

Something was very, very wrong.

Wake up.

Another groan seeped past her lips. Why couldn’t she wake up? Why did her head hurt so badly?

Wake up!

She had to take the first step…had to open her eyes.

“Mmm,” she murmured softly. God, what was that pounding in her skull?

Lisa’s eyes fluttered open, seemingly of their own accord, since she didn’t appear to possess the necessary strength to lift those incredibly heavy lids.

She never took afternoon naps.

What was wrong with her?

Surely this wasn’t another symptom of…

Her gaze focused on something in front of her, drawing her full attention in that direction.

Steering wheel.

Windshield.

Cracked glass.

What the…?

The memory of her SUV shuddering beneath her…the odd up-and-down motion that felt as if she’d been driving over a bumpy road when she hadn’t even started the engine…zoomed into her head with a sensory detonation that made her groan even louder. She’d gotten into the vehicle after her visit to her tax accountant’s office. She remembered closing the door. And then the sudden vibrations…

The distinct whine of metal made her breath catch.

Lisa’s gaze jerked upward.

It took a full five seconds for her brain to absorb and comprehend what her eyes saw.

The roof of her SUV was dented…jutting downward…only inches from her head.

How was that possible?

Her vision blurred and she squeezed her eyes shut to slow the spinning inside her head.

Pull it together, she ordered her mind, which instantly tried to go fuzzy on her again.

Had she been in an accident?

Earthquake. The word surfaced through her confusion, and she knew without further examination that one had occurred. That’s why she’d felt the vehicle moving even before she started the engine.

But she was safe…inside the parking garage.

Something that sounded like an explosion rent the air. The SUV creaked and groaned, the sounds nearly deafening.

“Think, Lisa,” she muttered. “Pull it together.” She sat up a little straighter, careful not to bump her head against the roof of the vehicle. Taking a deep breath for good measure, she focused on her surroundings.

Her heart rushed into her throat when she realized that the garage had collapsed around her. She could barely see between the piles of rubble. She couldn’t make out any other vehicles. But there had to be others. She remembered clearly noting several cars when she’d emerged from the stairwell onto the third level.

The response was automatic. A woman, whether it was daylight or dark, never entered a parking garage without taking stock of her surroundings. It was just common sense.

The pounding in her chest brought her attention back to the immediate problem. How to get out…

She tried the driver’s door. Grunting, she pushed with all her might. The door didn’t budge. She didn’t even bother with the passenger side. A huge concrete pillar had blocked that side of the vehicle. She shivered. A few more inches to the left and it would have completely crushed her car.

“Think!” She had to get out of here. Chunks of broken concrete had smashed the car’s hood inward. No doubt the engine was damaged beyond repair. The windshield had cracked. She surveyed the roof of the SUV again. It had caved inward, which meant there had to be more rubble on top. She felt certain that every second she remained in the vehicle put her in more danger.

The weary echo of the fatigued structure that had only hours ago been a four-story parking garage punctuated the thought. She had no doubt that whatever remained intact would soon collapse completely. She had to get out!

Ignoring the throb in her skull, she scrambled over the seat and tried the door behind the driver’s. It opened, but only a few inches. Not far enough for her to squeeze out.

“Damn it!”

The power windows wouldn’t work. No surprise there, considering the condition of the hood.

The rear hatch.

Clambering over the seat and into the cargo compartment, she shoved against the hatch door. No luck.

Panic slid through her, making it nearly impossible to think clearly. She had to concentrate!

She kicked at the window in the hatch. It opened separately from the door. That might be her only chance of escape. The latch was on the outside. From what she could tell in the dim lighting, there was enough space for the window part to lift up. All she had to do was get it open. She kicked at it again. It didn’t budge.