ΔΔMorgan’s Mercenaries: Ultimate Rescue

**Women of Glory

**Women of Glory

††Moments of Glory Trilogy

††Moments of Glory Trilogy

††Moments of Glory Trilogy

‡Morgan’s Mercenaries

‡Morgan’s Mercenaries

‡Morgan’s Mercenaries

**Women of Glory

°Men of Courage

*Kincaid trilogy

°Men of Courage

°Men of Courage

‡‡Morgan’s Mercenaries: Love and Danger

‡‡Morgan’s Mercenaries: Love and Danger

‡‡Morgan’s Mercenaries: Love and Danger

‡‡Morgan’s Mercenaries: Love and Danger

◊Cowboys of the Southwest

◊Cowboys of the Southwest

◊Cowboys of the Southwest

ΔMorgan’s Mercenaries: The Hunters

*Kincaid trilogy

ΔMorgan’s Mercenaries: The Hunters

ΔMorgan’s Mercenaries: The Hunters

§Morgan’s Mercenaries: Maverick Hearts

§Morgan’s Mercenaries: Maverick Hearts

§Morgan’s Mercenaries: Maverick Hearts

◊◊Morgan’s Mercenaries: Destiny’s Women

ΔΔMorgan’s Mercenaries: Ultimate Rescue

ΔMorgan’s Mercenaries: The Hunters

ΔΔMorgan’s Mercenaries: Ultimate Rescue

*Kincaid trilogy

†Love and Glory

†Love and Glory

†Love and Glory

†Love and Glory

**Women of Glory

Quinn was so close—so pulverizingly male.

It took everything Kerry had left not to turn and lay her head against his strong, broad shoulder. Somehow, she knew Quinn could handle big loads and responsibility. He was built for it not only physically, but emotionally, too.

As he stepped away, Kerry keenly felt the loss of his nearness, his care. Opening her eyes, she fell captive to the smoky blueness now banked in his gaze as he studied her in the silence strung between them. For the first time in years Kerry felt another stirring deep within her heart and lower body; it was the stirring of desire for a man. For Quinn Grayson. Even though he was a tough, no-nonsense marine, he had an incredibly surprising and wonderfully tender side, too. It was a beautiful discovery for Kerry.

Because right now she needed someone exactly like Quinn….

Dear Reader,

What makes readers love Silhouette Romance? Fans who have sent mail and participated on our www.eHarlequin.com community bulletin boards say they enjoy the heart-thumping emotion, the noble strength of the heroines, the truly heroic nature of the men—all in a quick yet satisfying read. I couldn’t have said it better!

This month we have some fantastic series for you. Bestselling author Lindsay McKenna visits use with The Will To Love (SR 1618), the latest in her thrilling cross-line adventure MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: ULTIMATE RESCUE. Jodi O’Donnell treats us with her BRIDGEWATER BACHELORS title, The Rancher’s Promise (SR 1619), about sworn family enemies who fight the dangerous attraction sizzling between them.

You must pick up For the Taking (SR 1620) by Lilian Darcy. In this A TALE OF THE SEA, the last of the lost royal siblings comes home. And if that isn’t dramatic enough, in Valerie Parv’s Crowns and a Cradle (SR 1621), part of THE CARRAMER LEGACY, a struggling single mom discovers she’s a princess!

Finishing off the month are Myrna Mackenzie’s The Billionaire’s Bargain (SR 1622)—the second book in the latest WEDDING AUCTION series—about a most tempting purchase. And The Sheriff’s 6-Year-Old Secret (SR 1623) is Donna Clayton’s tearjerker.

I hope you enjoy this month’s selection. Be sure to drop us a line or visit our Web site to let us know what we’re doing right—and any particular favorite topics you want to revisit. Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

The Will to Love
Lindsay McKenna

To the innocent and brave men, women and children

who lost their lives on 9-11-01.

You will be in our hearts and memory forever.

LINDSAY MCKENNA

A homeopathic educator, Lindsay teaches at the Desert Institute of Classical Homeopathy in Phoenix, Arizona. When she isn’t teaching alternative medicine, she is writing books about love. She feels love is the single greatest healer in the world and hopes that her books touch her readers’ hearts.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Chapter One

January 14: 0545

It was a bad day getting worse by the moment, Corporal Quinn Grayson decided as he eased out of the dark green Humvee once it stopped against the curb. Above him towered the massive, dark gray concrete headquarters building for U.S. Marine Corps Camp Reed. It was barely dawn, the sky lightening to a pale gold color on the eastern horizon as he took the concrete steps two at a time.

The only thing good about the day was that he was going to see someone in Logistics whom he truly admired and respected: Morgan Trayhern, who was a living hero to the Marine Corps. Feeling his mood lifting slightly, Quinn wove in and around the crowds of swiftly moving personnel, all dressed similarly to himself in desert-colored utilities. The helmet on his head always felt heavy, and he was glad to take it off as he stepped through the double doors and into the building itself.

The noise level inside was low, but the faces of the office pogues were filled with stress and anxiety as they hurried like bees in a stirred-up hive. The H.Q. was organized chaos, Quinn decided. And why wouldn’t it be? Two weeks ago the worst earthquake in American history had turned the Los Angeles basin upside down and inside out. Millions of helpless victims desperately needed food, water and medicine. Worse, there were no highways left into the basin; they had all been destroyed by the massive quake.

The only way in and out now was by helicopter. From the platoon he was assigned to assist in the emergency operations, Quinn saw only the tip of the iceberg as far as rescue efforts to the civilian populace went. Yesterday evening he’d been in the loading area with his platoon, piling food, water and medicine into the choppers, when his sergeant, Sean O’Hara, had ordered him to go see Morgan at 0600.

Turning now, Quinn headed up the stairs to the second floor, where Logistics, the heart and brains of Operation Sky Lift, was located, and where Morgan had an office. En route Quinn passed a number of office types descending rapidly, their hands filled with files and, more than likely, orders.

Pushing the stairwell door open and striding forward, Quinn located Morgan’s office halfway down the passageway, which was also crowded with busy personnel. Tension was high; he could feel it. Shrugging his broad shoulders, as if to rid himself of the accumulated stress he felt in the building, Quinn halted in front of the open door and rapped once with his knuckles. Morgan Trayhern was behind the green metal desk, head down, writing a set of orders for a woman officer in a flight uniform. Quinn saw the black wing insignia sewn into the fabric of her suit and knew instantly that she was probably a helo pilot.

Morgan lifted his head. His scowl faded. “Quinn! Great, you’re here. Come in.” He raised his hand and beckoned him into the office. “I’ll be just a moment.”

“Yes, sir,” Quinn said. He took a step inside and stood at attention. The woman pilot, a Marine Corps captain, nodded toward him.

“Ma’am. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Corporal. At ease, please,” she said.

Quinn nodded and relaxed into an at-ease stance behind her, near the wall. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You had coffee yet, Quinn?” Morgan rumbled as he signed the second and third sets of orders before him.

“No, sir.” Quinn kept his helmet, which was splotched with desert camouflage colors of yellow, brown and gray, beneath his left elbow and against his hip. He noticed Morgan was dressed in civilian attire—jeans and a red, long-sleeved cotton shirt with the cuffs rolled up to just below his elbows. He looked out of place in the marine-green office.

Gesturing to his right, Morgan said with a grin, “Grab a cup of java, then. I managed to scrounge up my very own coffeemaker. A rarity, you know. Help yourself, Son.”

Quinn smiled slightly and moved toward the machine. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Blowing out a breath of air, Morgan put the pen aside and gave the thick set of orders to the helicopter pilot. “There you go, Captain Jackson. Congratulations. You and your copilot are now responsible for Area Six. We’ve transferred the other team to Area Five.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. We’ll do a good job.”

Morgan smiled up at her. Captain Jackson was in her middle twenties, with short black hair, intense gray eyes and a sincere face that was currently filled with excitement. H.Q. had just gotten a whole new batch of helicopter pilots transferred in yesterday from other Marine Corps bases around the U.S. Having new pilots on board would give the hardworking helo crews stationed at Camp Reed a desperate and much-needed rest from the twelve-hour days they’d been putting in for the last two weeks. Pilots could fly only so long without sufficient rest and recoup time before they began making critical mistakes. Jackson was one of many personnel scheduled to come to Morgan’s office today for orders.

“Good luck out there, Captain.” Morgan rose. “And be careful, you hear? Things are unstable right now. We’ve already had a helicopter crew murdered by a survivalist group in Area Five.”

She came to attention. “Yes, sir, we’ll be careful. Thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed,” Morgan murmured. He stood and watched the woman, who was nearly six feet tall, big boned and athletic, turn on her heel and quickly march out the door. Swiveling his head, Morgan gave Quinn Grayson a warm look. The corporal had just poured a cup of coffee. Moving to the machine, Morgan poured himself one, too.

“Come with me, Quinn. Now is about the only time today I might get to see Laura. You remember my wife?”

“Yes, sir, I do.” He sipped the coffee tentatively. It was fresh and hot, and he savored it. “She’s here, too?” How could that be? Quinn knew Laura lived in Montana, near the headquarters Morgan kept for Perseus in Philipsburg. Quinn and his fire team had been selected to be part of two different Perseus rescue missions in Iraq, where pilots were that had been shot down in the No Fly Zone earlier in the year. He and his team had been flown back to the secret headquarters in Philipsburg, an out-of-the-way place only a few tourists and trout fishermen found in the summer. It was a perfect hiding spot, Quinn had thought. He’d met Morgan’s lovely blond-haired wife there by accident, when she’d brought over recently baked cookies for all of them. It was a thoughtful gesture that was as surprising as it was unexpectedly generous. Quinn had relished his share of the chocolate-chip cookies, and so had his grateful men. He had found Laura to be beautiful, elegant and sensitive. Quinn thought Morgan was the luckiest man in the world to have a wife like that. Cookies during a briefing. He’d never get that in the Marine Corps. No, he liked working with Morgan and Perseus. But he wondered how Morgan’s wife had wound up in the midst of this disaster.

“We were at a hotel in south Los Angeles, celebrating New Year, when the quake hit,” Morgan explained as they left the office and headed down the stairs. “Laura was trapped in wreckage.” At the bottom of the stairs, Morgan pushed open the door. Gesturing toward the end of the passageway, he took quick strides toward it. Quinn, who was six foot tall, and shorter than Morgan, had to lengthen his stride to keep up with him.

“Your wife was trapped?” he asked with a scowl as they moved out the doors and into the brightening day. The sun was going to rise soon and already the darkness of the night had fled.

“Yeah,” Morgan muttered. “Thank goodness a Marine Corps rescue officer and her dog located Laura.”

“Is she all right, sir?” They hurried down the stairs toward the hospital a block away. The world around them was already in high gear. The shrieking whine of jets at the nearby airport filled the air, along with the deeper chugging sounds of diesel truck convoys loaded with supplies lumbering across the base. A whole fleet of helicopters were taking off one by one, hotfooting it out of Camp Reed with the first supplies of the day for desperate people across the disaster area.

Quinn drew abreast of Morgan as he walked swiftly toward the hospital.

“Laura suffered a broken ankle. She had surgery here. Then, shortly after the surgery, she developed a blood clot. They had to string up her leg with a pulley, and she was tied down like a roping calf.” Morgan grinned wryly. “My wife is not one to lie in bed all day and do nothing. We had to wait until some blood-thinning drugs were flown in from Seattle for her.” He rubbed his hands together. “Today, she gets out of her contraption and into a wheelchair. The doctor says the clot is dissolved and her ankle is stable enough for her to be a little more active.”

“Almost two weeks in a bed would drive me nuts,” Quinn muttered. It would. He was restless by nature, and loved the outdoors and the strenuous activity demanded of marines.

“Yes, well…” Morgan chuckled “…if it hadn’t been for a tiny baby the team rescued from beneath the rubble, Laura would never have survived bed rest. She’s been taking care of Baby Jane Fielding for the nurses. And the hospital staff bring up other infants so Laura can hold them and bottle-feed them. They’ve been keeping her busy.”

Quinn smiled knowingly. There was no doubt about Laura’s maternal side. He liked that about women in general, although in his world, he saw mostly women marines, with tough, demanding jobs. Still, he saw that nurturing side in many of them, too. It was something he enjoyed about women, in or out of the service.

They hurried into the chaotic, busy hospital and up an elevator. Quinn was glad to escape the bustle once they arrived at the private room where Laura Trayhern sat in her wheelchair, an infant wrapped in a pink blanket in her arms.

“Hello, Quinn.” Laura greeted him warmly as he approached. “You look well.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, nodding to her and smiling. The infant was suckling strongly on a bottle of milk. “I’m glad to hear from Mr. Trayhern that you’re doing okay.”

“I’m fine.” Laura lifted her face toward Morgan as he bent and gave her a kiss on the brow. Then he gently stroked the baby’s dark, soft hair.

Quinn saw the man’s face change remarkably. For a moment, he glimpsed the love burning in Morgan’s eyes for his wife of many years. And when Morgan ran his fingertips caressingly across the baby’s hair, Quinn saw tenderness replace his normally stoic expression. But as Morgan’s fingers lifted away, Quinn saw the same hard mask fall back into place. Despite that, there was no doubt in his mind that Morgan loved his wife and the orphaned baby.

“Come over here, Son. Let’s sit down and go over this new plan that you’re going to initiate for the basin.”

Moving to the two metal chairs near the venetian-blind-covered window, Quinn excused himself from Laura. Morgan handed him one of two red folders and sat down. Opening his copy, Quinn saw a set of signed orders with his name at the top. The other members of his fire team were named, as well.

Scowling, Morgan studied the folder opened in his lap. “We’re initiating a basin-wide plan B today, and you’re a part of that effort—you and your fire team. It’s a trial balloon. A work in progress, so to speak. We don’t know if it will work or not, so you’re an experiment of sorts. We can’t afford to put a full squad of ten men into each area. Camp Reed doesn’t have the personnel to pull that off. But by splitting up a squad into two fire teams of five people each, plus their leader, we have a chance to do something rather than nothing.” He looked squarely at Quinn. “So you’re it. You’re our test case. You’re to play it by ear and see where the energy flows in this changing situation. You’re the only fire team we’re putting in there for now. If it works, we’ll insert others later.”

“Five marines in each given area?” Quinn asked.

“That’s right. We’ve divided the basin into twelve quadrants. These are huge blocks of real estate. We’re talking ten to twenty square miles, depending upon the location, the population of the area and so on.” Scratching his head, Morgan gave Quinn a rueful look. “Believe me, Logistics has been wrestling with this nightmare. The basin has no law enforcement. Without backup, the police in some areas can’t do what they’ve been trained to do. There are no highways to drive on to get to a problem area. They’re pretty much limited to handling problems within walking distance of their base of operation.”

Morgan pulled a sheet of fax paper from his file folder and handed it to Quinn. “This is Deputy Sheriff Kerry Chelton. She is the only surviving member of the law enforcement agency in Area Five. Kerry contacted us by radio a week ago, and I’ve had the pleasure of talking with this young woman a number of times. Damned intelligent and resourceful. She found a gasoline generator, some fuel, and managed to retrieve a radio from the sheriff’s building, which collapsed and killed everyone inside it. She calls us every night with reports. Beautiful woman, isn’t she?”

Taking the paper, Quinn saw the photo on it. For no explainable reason, his heart contracted instantly. The black-and-white picture showed a woman with dark hair, cut to just below her ears. With her heart-shaped face, full but compressed lips and wide eyes, she was a very attractive woman, Quinn decided. The head shot showed her in her law enforcement uniform. The resolve in her large eyes was obvious. She exuded confidence.

“Yes, sir, she’s a looker, no doubt,” he murmured.

“Kerry has been in regular contact with our radio group at H.Q. She’s been helping us formulate stage two of our rescue efforts.” Sighing, Morgan said in a low voice, “There’s a lot of people out there dying right now. We just can’t get to them soon enough. The water mains are broken, so there’s no fresh water supply, or at least, not enough for the millions that are trapped out there. And food, while less of a problem now because people can go to their homes and eat whatever canned goods they find, will be disappearing shortly, too. Kerry has been scouting as much of Area Five as she can every day and giving us nightly reports. She’s telling us what the needs are, and we’ve been trying to organize community groups in each area to help stabilize the situation. We’re trying to find local police, state troopers, sheriff’s deputies—anyone in law enforcement—to become the hub of this wheel we’re building. Without law and order, chaos continues.”

“Yes, sir, I’ve been hearing plenty about that gang in Area Five.”

“Humph. Those survivalists. They call themselves Diablo—or Devil. And you, Quinn, are going to be taking them on.” Morgan gave him a hard look.

“I’d like nothing better, sir. They killed two marine pilots in cold blood. That’s reason enough to go after them.” At the thought, anger tightened his chest. Yet when Quinn studied Kerry’s photo again, his heart sped up and thumped violently for a beat or two. Part of him was eager to meet this inventive woman. Another more prejudiced part of him didn’t believe a woman could be that resourceful. Yet Morgan obviously admired and respected her, so she had to have the right stuff. In Quinn’s experience, women were not especially handy or practical. Nurturing others was one thing, but there really wasn’t much place for that in the Marine Corps. And he really didn’t like the integration of females into male slots in the corps. Not at all.

“At 0800, Quinn, you are to go to LZ Echo with your fire team. The pilots of that Huey will take you and your team into Area Five. They’re going to drop you at a destroyed shopping mall parking lot. Deputy Chelton will meet you there. She has a makeshift H.Q. set up nearby with that generator. What she needs now is help.” Morgan eyed him with a slight, twisted smile. “Firepower, in other words.”

“And who’s in charge, sir?”

“Both of you will be.”

Quinn frowned. “But sir, to run an operation like this…going after Diablo…why should a civilian have any say over what we do?” He struggled with his choice of words and tone of voice. The term civilian had sounded disrespectful. Instantly, he was sorry for how he’d framed his objection.

Trayhern’s face darkened, and his blue eyes turned icy for a moment. “Listen to me, Quinn. That woman just lost everyone she ever cared about two weeks ago. Most people would be so stunned with such grief and loss they couldn’t think straight. Kerry has single-handedly set up a base of operations for Area Five. She has tracked Diablo. She’s been like Lara Croft, Princess Xena and Supergirl all wrapped into one. Without her constant input, her observations and suggestions from the field, we wouldn’t be launching this second phase so soon. She’s been able to help us define what is needed out there.

“Your fire team was chosen because you have emergency medical training. We’re desperate for medical intervention out there. Without Kerry’s guidance, we couldn’t have formulated this concept we’re starting to put together to help the folks. Your team is an experiment. If it works, we’ll do more of it.”

Stung by Morgan’s censure, Quinn lowered his gaze and looked at the file. Kerry’s photo stared back at him. She wasn’t smiling, but she had a softness about her face. Her nose was thin and fine. Her eyes were far apart, her gaze clear and direct. Swallowing hard, Quinn nodded. “Yes, sir, I hear you.”

“Don’t go in there with a chip on your shoulder about women,” Morgan warned him in a growl. “The last thing I need on this mission is a man who’s prejudiced about what women can or can’t do.” He reached out and tapped Kerry’s picture. “She’s the kind of woman I like to hire for Perseus. Kerry thinks on her feet. She’s creative. Trustworthy. And she doesn’t miss anything. Maybe it’s because of her training in law enforcement, but she has an eye for details. And without her input, Quinn, we would be up a creek right now. She’s just about the only one out there who has radio contact with Camp Reed. Ask yourself how she managed to jury-rig that. No, I think she’s one hell of a person. And I want you to go into this assignment with that same attitude.”

Chastened, Quinn felt his heart contract when Morgan called Kerry trustworthy. Maybe he was still feeling the pain of his breakup with Frannie Walton, a civilian secretary he’d met in Oceanside nearly two years ago. Since then, he’d had a lot of trouble trusting any woman. After the way Frannie had treated him, he’d crawled into a dark hole of hurt, his pride wounded. She’d been a social climber and on an emotional level, Frannie had been anything but reliable or trustworthy. Quinn had been raised in the backwoods country of Kentucky, where women were still women. They didn’t try and take a man’s job away from him. Nope, they were good wives, raised kids and stayed home to cook, clean and be mothers.

Rubbing his chest above his heart, Quinn tried to pay attention as Morgan explained what was expected of him and his fire team.

“You’re to set up an H.Q. with Kerry. She’s your civilian liaison or counterpart. Without her, you’d be a duck out of water. She knows the turf, the people and the area. Twenty-seven years old and a graduate of law enforcement, she was on the fast track in the sheriff’s department.

“Right now, Kerry needs help in continuing to organize the people, to keep peace and to stop the slide into chaos that’s happening more and more. People are desperate. They need water, and are willing to steal from others to get it. Kerry is trying her best to locate a well in her area, but so far, no luck. Even if they do find one, there’s no guarantee it will have clean water, given the lack of sewage facilities.”

“Our mission, then,” Quinn murmured, “is threefold, right? We’re to try and hunt down Diablo and corral them. We’re to help Kerry Chelton set up an H.Q. And lastly, we’re to help organize the area so it doesn’t disintegrate into turf wars over water and food?”

“You got it,” Morgan said, satisfaction vibrating in his voice. “Now, you may find that one of those three takes priority. We don’t know which one that might be yet, so be flexible and let this thing evolve as the situation develops. Kerry has been working hard for two weeks to set up some kind of organized response. She’s been instrumental in bringing civilians together and getting them to work with one another. What she needs is muscle. And that’s where you and your team come in. You’re military, and people will respect that more than anything. With Diablo ranging across Kerry’s area, people are going ballistic. Your presence alone should help calm a lot of fears.” Morgan turned to another page in his file.

“The Diablo have an MO—modus operandi—of going into a house they think might have a stash of food or water. They move in small groups, maybe one to four men. The men talk with the house owners, pretending to be part of the rescue effort, and ask if they have children.” Morgan’s voice deepened with fury. “If the answer is yes, one member will find and hold the child hostage, at gunpoint. Then the rest of the pack come out of hiding and ransack the house for food, water, money, jewelry. The home owners are helpless. They can’t stop them. They don’t want their children hurt. To date, Diablo have already killed five people, not including the two Marine Corps pilots. They don’t tolerate any rebellion by anyone.”

“They shoot first and ask questions later,” Quinn muttered, anger stirring in him again. It was one thing to prey on adults, quite another to involve innocent children. His mouth flattened. Right now, he’d like nothing better than to get his hands on the leader of that gang.

“Exactly.”

“Do you know who’s heading up Diablo?”

“No, but Kerry thinks she knows and is trying to piece it together for us. She’s been trying to shadow their movements.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Sure it is,” Moran agreed, “but she’s fearless, that woman. She’s been tailing them without their knowledge whenever she gets a chance. She calls in their last position, and that helps us keep tabs on them, and to protect helicopter crews flying into that area. Right now, it’s a cat-and-mouse game. We keep changing our landing area to outwit Diablo and get basic goods to the civilians. And on days when she can’t detect them in Area Five, the helo goes back to the original LZ, which is her H.Q. set up at the destroyed shopping center. That’s where you’ll be flown into today.” Morgan’s mouth quirked. “But that’ll go only so far. What we need is the gang captured and extricated. We’ve got a brig cell waiting for those bastards.”

“Then you’ve come to the right team, sir. We’ll find them and be Thor’s hammer to ’em.”

Grinning sourly, Morgan studied the marine, whose face was dark with anger and set with determination. “Thor’s hammer” was an old saying in the corps. Morgan could recall many times when, as young officers during the Vietnam War, he and his friends at an officers’ club would toast to Odin, Norse king of the gods. The Norse god of thunder, Thor, hurled thunderbolts at his enemies. Yes, Quinn was no doubt going to be Thor’s “hammer”—his lightning bolt—in this situation. Morgan had full confidence in him.

“We’re counting heavily on you, Quinn. You’ve worked twice with me on important missions and I know you’re a warrior at heart. You have the medical background. If anyone can track down Diablo, you can. You come from Kentucky hill people, and they’re the best hunters and trackers in the business. That’s one of the reasons I chose you—you’re one hell of a bird dog on a scent.”

Laughing shortly, Quinn nodded. “Yes, sir, I am.”

Morgan straightened and placed his hands over the file. “Just try to get along with Deputy Chelton, okay? That’s the one fly in this ointment. I know you’d rather work with men. That’s your background and I understand that. But Kerry is exceptional, Quinn, and I feel you two will make a hell a team. Dodge is infested with bad guys, so to speak, and she needs some muscle to help get them out of there.”

“Then you’ve come to the right person, sir.” Quinn felt a lethal resolve flow through him as he met and held Morgan’s deep blue gaze. “We won’t let you down. My team and I have been together nearly two years. We know each other’s thoughts, and we’ve been battle tested. I want Diablo more than most, sir. I don’t believe in using children as shields. That’s unforgivable.”

“It is,” Morgan agreed unhappily. “Everyone’s traumatized by the quake. Having these survivalists roving around and adding to the chaos, endangering and scaring children and killing adults, isn’t acceptable. We all need to pull together, work together in order to survive this nightmare.”

“I’ll try my best to work with Deputy Chelton,” he promised Morgan. More than anything, Quinn wanted Morgan’s respect.

“Do your best, Corporal Grayson. She’s an exceptional woman, not to mention a savvy police officer. We’re lucky to have her.” Morgan held out his hand. “Good luck, Quinn, to you and your men. Get your gear together, take this set of orders and hotfoot it out to LZ Echo for an 0800 takeoff. Kerry’s expecting you.”

As Morgan shook his hand, Quinn tried to ignore the photo of Kerry Chelton resting in his lap on the opened file. A woman. What bad luck. Somehow, though, Quinn would try to make the best of it. Was she another Frannie? A social climber? Could he trust this Kerry Chelton?

His emotions smarted at those unanswered questions. Where he’d grown up, women didn’t become police officers. They were wives and mothers and that was it.

And he was going to jump from the frying pan into the fire today. Figuring out how much or little he could trust Chelton would be his first order of business. Until he knew that, they were technically all at risk, and Quinn wasn’t about to get his head shot off because some woman was involved in the plan.

No, he’d go in distrusting her completely.

Chapter Two

January 14: 0830

For the first time since the earthquake, Kerry Chelton felt hope. It wasn’t much more than a thin, fragile thread, but it began to take root in her traumatized heart and lifted her flagging spirits. Dressed in the dark green slacks and tan, long-sleeved blouse that was her sheriff’s deputy uniform, a silver badge over her left pocket, she stood at the ready on the massive asphalt parking lot of the destroyed shopping center as she watched two U.S. Marine Corps helicopters landing.

A sudden, unexpected sense of joy enveloped her. She was getting help. Help! Oh, how badly she needed some.

Putting her hands up to protect her eyes from flying debris kicked up by the rotors, she surveyed the group of twenty people standing around her. Patient and respectful, as they were waiting eagerly for the first Huey, which was carrying a crucial supply of bottled water, to land. The water would be distributed at the other end of the shopping complex, where Kerry had had her people build a makeshift depot out of bricks and other material taken from destroyed buildings. On other days, when Diablo was “active” in her area, Kerry would redirect the helo to a safer LZ. The supplies would be distributed from that location instead. This morning there had been no activity with Diablo, so the original LZ was put into use.

Her gaze moved to the second Huey, which she knew was bearing the five marines Morgan Trayhern had sent. Morgan had been her lifeline since she’d cobbled the generator and radio together. His deep, soothing voice over the radio day after day had given her hope and kept her sanity intact. Now he had sent her reinforcements to help keep Area Five stable. Morgan had spoken enthusiastically of the leader of this fire team, Corporal Quinn Grayson, who was a marine as well as an EMT. God knew, Area Five needed medical intervention! She could hardly wait to meet him.

Deep within her, Kerry knew she was still pulverized by shock because of the recent traumatic events. She had felt nothing, emotionally, for two weeks. Now a trickle of hope wound through her pounding heart as the Huey with the marines landed within two hundred feet of her. Kerry spread her feet apart in order to remain standing against the buffeting wind. As the Huey powered down, she saw the door slide open.

The first marine to jump down had to be Quinn Grayson, Kerry decided. She could tell by the authority in his stance that he was the leader. Tall and broad-shouldered, he clutched an M-16 in his hands as he warily looked around. When he turned and snapped an order, four more marines disembarked, on guard and alert.

Instantly, as she watched him walk away from the helicopter and eye the knot of people around her, Kerry liked Grayson. He was looking for her, she knew. She was his contact. Stepping forward, she saw him halt and stare at her assessingly. Was she friend or enemy? Pain in the butt or help? Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest for a moment. That was an odd reaction, Kerry thought, as she walked quickly toward him.

She hadn’t smiled in two weeks, but she did now—a smile of welcome, but also of relief. Although she could carry a heavy load on her broad-shouldered five-foot-eleven frame, this disaster had stressed her out completely. And Grayson looked strong, capable and powerful as he stood there looking at her through narrowed, dark blue eyes. Kerry felt his gaze move over her as she closed the distance between them. Behind her, she heard the footsteps of her volunteers as they moved toward the other Huey. As usual, they would carry the boxes of precious water to the “store” at the other end of the shopping center for distribution.

As Kerry drew within ten feet of Quinn, her heart soared unexpectedly, with such a rush of happiness that it shook her completely. The marine had an oval face with a firm-looking chin. Though his lips were thinned, she could see he had a wide mouth, with laugh lines deeply indented at each corner. His nose was long and straight, the nostrils flaring as she approached, as if to pick up her scent. He seemed as much wild animal as human to her, and yet the quality of danger surrounding Grayson made Kerry feel secure for the first time since the quake. This marine knew how to protect; she could feel it in her bones. His black brows made dark slashes above his glittering blue gaze. The color of his eyes reminded Kerry of the glacial ice up in Alaska, where she’d taken a cruise with her now deceased husband, Lee Chelton. The color was most unusual—almost unearthly—and Kerry thought it looked like the color of heaven, such was its ethereal beauty. Quinn’s pupils were large and black, and she saw intelligence gleaming there, as well as surprise. Why the surprise? she wondered, as she lifted her hand to wave, her mouth pulling into a relieved smile.

“Corporal Grayson? I’m Kerry Chelton. Welcome to our little corner of the world.”

During the helo flight in Area Five, Quinn had decided to keep things on a business level and not be very friendly. Now, as the tall, willowy woman in the sheriff’s deputy uniform held out her cut, dirty hand, he felt his resolve falter. The black-and-white photo he’d seen of Kerry Chelton had done nothing to prepare him for the woman before him now, her short, tousled brown hair rife with gold highlights as it framed her heart-shaped face. Maybe it was the look of relief in her huge gray eyes that touched his hardened heart. Or, maybe it was the way the corners of her mouth softened and her lower lip trembled as she welcomed him.

Quinn didn’t know what magic was at work, but suddenly he transferred his weapon to his left hand and thrust out his right hand to enclose hers. Kerry Chelton looked utterly worn-out. He saw the dark smudges beneath her incredibly beautiful eyes, which now sparkled with unshed tears. Something inside him made him want to open his arms, pull her into them and hold her. The relief in her gaze, the sudden emotion revealed in her dirt-smudged face, got to him. She was melting his armor with her unsure smile and sparkling tears, Quinn thought as he saw her swallow convulsively, struggling to hold back her emotions. Because he’d been so hurt by a woman, Quinn struggled to remain wary. Somehow this woman was opening him up and he had no control over it. The last thing Quinn wanted was to allow himself to get emotionally close to her.

Her hand was warm and firm in his, though he was careful of how much pressure he exerted on her long, slender fingers. Shocked by how dirty she was, he reminded himself that none of these people had water to wash or bathe. Her hair was mussed, in dire need of a comb, shampoo and water.

“I’m Corporal Grayson,” he told her, speaking loudly in order to be heard over the shriek of the helicopters.

“Pleased to meet you. Come on, let’s go to my ‘office.’” She grinned and pointed toward the shopping center. Wild, fleeting tingles ran up her fingers and arm and cascaded into her heart, which was thumping without pause. Grayson’s stony persona, combined with the fact that he was a marine, gave her such hope. If the truth was known, Kerry wanted to simply fall into his arms to be held. She knew that wasn’t possible—that it was only her knee-jerk reaction in the midst of the shock and trauma—but there was something wonderfully secure about this marine. She’d seen his icy blue eyes turn warm as their hands met in welcome. And the way he’d wrapped his long, strong fingers around hers had made Kerry feel protected and…something else. She couldn’t identify the emotion right now, with all the activity going on around her.

Quinn raised his hand in a silent order for his team to follow him as Kerry took the lead. On his left shoulder, a radio was attached to the epaulet of the camouflage jacket he wore over his flak vest. Pressing the button and turning his head to speak into it, he told the helicopter pilots of both birds to lift off, that contact had been made.

The Huey helicopters, flown by Lieutenants Galway and McGregor, had off-loaded the water. The helo’s engine changed pitch and, within a minute, lifted off to head back to Camp Reed. Quinn walked with his men spread out behind him like a V of geese following their leader. They each remained on guard, their rifles locked and loaded. Quinn wasn’t taking any chances. They were in enemy territory as far as he was concerned. Ahead of them, Kerry walked quickly toward a makeshift structure with a roof that was nothing more than a piece of corrugated tin laid awkwardly on top. The “house” had been painstakingly put together with wire, broken blocks and other material obviously retrieved from the destroyed shopping center. The entire three-story mall, which was at least a quarter mile long, had collapsed. Quinn had not seen this level of destruction yet, and he felt stunned by what the powerful quake had done. It was unimaginable to him. Unthinkable. Horrifying.

Kerry halted in front of the small shack in the midst of the rubble. “This is it, Corporal Grayson.” She gestured toward the hovel. “My home.” It hurt to say those words. Her real home, a block away from the sheriff’s facility, was now nothing but broken brick, shattered glass and a twisted roof.

Quinn halted near Kerry and looked at the structure. There were several yellow wool blankets strung across the front, one serving as a door. Looking around, he saw the team of volunteers trundling the boxes of bottled water toward the other end of the shopping center.

Kerry followed his gaze. “They’re taking the water to our distribution center,” she told him.

“There’s no fighting about who gets what?”

Shaking her head, Kerry said, “Not yet…but people are real desperate, Corporal. Real desperate.”

At that moment, a little black-haired girl around seven years old stumbled sleepily from behind the blanketed door. She was dressed in a grungy pink flannel nightgown that showed off her toothpick legs and the red socks on her feet. As the little girl rubbed her sleepy eyes, Kerry instantly moved forward and scooped her up in her arms.

Turning, she said to Grayson, “This is Petula. Her parents are…well, in heaven….” She sent Quinn a pleading look, obviously asking him to play along with her. “I found her trapped in her home and we dug her out ten days ago. Petula stays with me now….”

Mouth turning downward, Quinn watched as Petula, who had shining brown eyes and long black hair, wrapped her thin arms around Kerry’s neck and rested her head on her shoulder.

“I’m hungry, Kerry,” she whimpered.

“I know, Pet, I know,” Kerry soothed, moving her hand gently across the child’s tiny shoulders. “I’ll see what I can find, okay?”

Quinn’s scowl deepened. Like each of his men, he had on an eighty-pound pack filled with food. “I’ve got an MRE—meal ready to eat—with eggs, bacon and hash browns. How about if I get that warmed up for her?”

Heart expanding, Kerry bit back her tears. “Oh…that would be wonderful!” Relief washed over her as she stood there holding Petula in her arms. Since Kerry had found her, the little girl had cried often, wanting her parents, and Kerry had told her they’d gone to heaven and would watch over her from there. There was no way she would tell Petula that her parents were trapped inside their house, dead. Each day Kerry tried to keep the child busy with small activities, and she slept with her each night after she finished her patrol of the area, keeping her arms wrapped around the little girl to give her a sense of safety in a world gone mad.

Turning, Grayson gave his men orders to spread out, reconnoiter the entire shopping center area. His fire team consisted of three privates and a lance corporal. He assigned Private Orvil Perkins, a Virginia hill boy, to guard the center against fighting or stealing, and make sure the distribution of water went quickly and quietly. Then he gave LCPL Beau Parish orders to check out the rest of the shopping center with Privates Cliff Ludlow and Lewis Worth. Parish was a North Carolina Eastern Cherokee Indian, and a damn fine tracker and hunter. Right now, Quinn was grateful that his men had been with him nearly two years and could be trusted. They each carried a radio on their left shoulder, so could stay in touch no matter where they were. At the first sign of trouble, Quinn would be notified.

He turned to Kerry. “Do members of the Diablo gang wear any kind of special clothing or symbols so my men might see them coming?”

She nodded. “Yes, they wear white headbands.” Grimacing, she whispered, “But they aren’t always so obvious. When one or two infiltrate a neighborhood, they look like us.” She glanced down at herself and gave a wry grimace. “Unclean and smelly. They only put the headband on after they’ve taken a hostage.”

“I hear you,” Quinn muttered with a scowl. “Okay, men, spread out. Be eyes and ears at this stage. Anything odd, call me immediately. I’ll be here with Deputy Chelton trying to come up to speed on what we’re up against. When you’re done with your reconnoiter, come back here. Understand?”

The four marines nodded.

“All except you, Perkins,” Grayson ordered. “You stay at the distribution center. Look like you mean business.”

Once his men headed off to follow his orders, Quinn glanced over at Kerry, who was gently kissing Petula’s smudged forehead. A sudden, unexpected ache built in him as he watched her full, soft lips caress the child’s wrinkled brow. What would it be like to be caressed like that? To capture her mouth beneath his?

His thoughts were so startling, coming as they did during the present situation, that they rocked Quinn completely. On the way here, he’d been mentally trying to shut out Sheriff Deputy Chelton. Well, that was going to be impossible. She was more attractive in real life, even if she was dirty and unkempt. And her natural, womanly warmth reached out and touched him on this cold, windy January morning.

His scowl deepened as he watched her gently rock Petula. The child had her arms around Kerry’s neck, her eyes closed as she snuggled tightly beneath her chin. Kerry seemed so very maternal to Quinn in that moment. And when she lifted her dark, thick lashes to look at him, he growled, “Come on. Let’s get this girl and you something decent to eat in there.”

He pointed toward the hovel Kerry called home. The idea that this pile of bricks, broken boards and drywall could be called a shelter left a bad taste in Quinn’s mouth. But such were the living conditions for many Americans on this fourteenth day after the killer quake. Thinning his lips, Quinn pulled back the blanket to allow Kerry and the child to enter.

Inside, Grayson locked his rifle and set it down. Under no circumstances did he want Petula fingering the trigger mechanism and firing it off by accident. That would be unthinkable, so he made certain the safety mechanism was secure.

“Have a seat,” Kerry invited softly, kneeling down on the floor, which she’d covered with some Oriental rugs she’d found at the shopping center. At least they didn’t have to sleep on dirt like a lot of other people had to do.

Quinn grunted and went to a corner where he saw a hole dug in the ground, charred bits of wood and ash around it. Shrugging out of his pack, he set it on the floor, careful not to lean it against the rickety wall, which probably wouldn’t take its full weight.

“Helluva place you live in,” he muttered, opening the pack with quick, sure movements.

Kerry raised one eyebrow. “Corporal? Could you watch your language? This little girl here doesn’t need to hear cursing.”

Biting back a reply, he nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry,” he replied, glancing uneasily at Kerry, who was sitting cross-legged on the rug, the child in her arms, the girl’s head resting against her breast as she sucked her thumb. Kerry was smiling down at Petula and gently threading her fingers through the child’s tangled black hair.

“Is this your first time in the basin?” she asked Quinn.

“First time,” he answered. He pulled out some food packets. In all, he had twenty. Lining them up in order of breakfast, lunch and dinner, he opened the first one and put a heating tab beneath it to warm it up.

Kerry’s mouth watered as the odor of bacon and eggs filled the space. Her stomach clenched in hunger as she watched the marine handle the MRE with deft, sure movements. There was nothing soft or vulnerable about Corporal Grayson. No, he was all-business. The dark look on his face told Kerry a lot. Shock was written in his eyes, even though he tried to hide it from her as he worked quietly.

Taking utensils from his pack, he readied the plate of eggs and bacon. The look on Kerry’s face as he handed it to her made him flinch inwardly.

“How long since you ate last?”

Shrugging, Kerry said, “I don’t know. I’m so busy, so tired most of the time, that I forget about things like that.”

Quinn watched with fascination as she sat Petula in front of her, gave her the warmed tray and placed the fork in her hand. Immediately, the child began stuffing the eggs into her mouth, hot or not.

“Take it easy….” Kerry whispered to Petula. “If you eat too fast, you’ll throw it up, honey. And you want to keep down what you’re eating. Okay?”

Petula didn’t understand how sensitive her hungry, fatigued body could be, so Kerry monitored the amount of food the child took in. Halfway through the unexpected feast, Petula yawned, rubbed her eyes and murmured, “I feel sleepy….”

Setting the plate aside, Kerry smiled gently and eased the girl onto a blanket, beside a stuffed purple dinosaur near her pillow. Getting up on her hands and knees, Kerry drew a second blanket around her and tucked it in.

“Go to sleep, honey. Your stomach is full for the first time in a long time, and all your energy is going there to digest it.” She ran her hand soothingly across Petula’s thin back, and very soon the child fell asleep, her arms around Barney.

Quinn motioned to the MRE. “Why don’t you eat the rest?”

Kerry frowned. “There are so many people out there starving. If I ate it, I’d feel guilty.”

“Eat,” he ordered, studying the way her blouse hung on her frame. She’d probably dropped a good ten pounds or more in the last two weeks. Seeing the hungry glint in her eyes, Quinn added, “Look, I need you strong, awake and healthy. So dig in, will you?”

Casting him a glance, she picked up the plate and sat down opposite him. “You’re a pragmatic person, Corporal Grayson.”

“When you’re in a war, reality is the name of the game. You’re a cop. You must understand that,” he said gruffly, then regretted his harsh tone. He watched as she carefully spooned up a mouthful of eggs and started chewing. The look on her face was one of pure pleasure. She closed her eyes.

“Mmm…I never thought eggs could taste so good….”

If someone felt guilty right now, it was Quinn. The hollowness in Kerry’s cheeks told him more than he wanted to know.

“How long, really, since you ate last?”

Sighing, Kerry opened her eyes. “Probably twenty-four hours or more.”

Quinn reached down and pulled out a canteen filled with water.

“Here. You’re probably thirsty, too.”

As she took the dark green canteen, her fingers met his briefly. Kerry absorbed his touch. The look in his eyes was predatory and assessing. “You don’t miss much, do you?” There was a wry note in her voice as she set the MRE aside, unscrewed the lid of the canteen and drank deeply of the proffered gift of water.

After a moment, Kerry forced herself to stop drinking. She had to think of others, too. Reluctantly, she put down the canteen, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and then started to replace the cap.

“You’re not finished.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not. Drink up.” Quinn hooked a thumb toward his pack. “I’ve got a gallon of water in there. More than enough for the three of us.”

Kerry hesitated. She remembered once more those who were thirsty outside her hovel. She had heard too many squalls of infants dying of thirst. Seen too many desperate parents looking for water for their children. Her fingers tightened around the canteen, which rested on her knee.

When Kerry hung her head, her knuckles white as she gripped the canteen, understanding hit Quinn like a steamroller. Frowning, he lowered his voice.

“Listen to me, Kerry. I was in the Gulf War. I was over there in the worst of it. I saw a lot of people die of thirst—men, women and children. It wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t right. But the first thing you have to do is take care of yourself. You’re the only one here who has the information we need. You can’t short yourself just because people out there need water, too. Without you, this whole operation in Area Five would fall apart. I need you strong. Thinking. Not weak and unable to put two thoughts together.”

His voice was gentle with understanding. Kerry lifted her head and drowned in his lambent blue gaze, which was fraught with emotion. Slowly, she picked up the canteen again. Taking off the top, she lifted it to her lips and drank deeply. For the first time in two weeks, she was able to drink all the water she really wanted. What a luxury!

Wiping her mouth, she gave him a sad look. “I still feel guilty.”

“That’s okay,” Quinn rumbled. “Life isn’t fair. It isn’t ever gonna be. You’ve earned the right to the water, and—” he gestured toward the half-eaten MRE “—the rest of this food.”

Grimacing, Kerry handed the canteen back to him. “Thanks,” she whispered.

“Eat.”

“I can’t….”

“Why not?”

Rubbing her stomach, she gave him a helpless look. “I’ve been so long without good food that if I ate that, I’d throw up, Corporal. I’d be better off eating a crust of bread, or some crackers….”

Wincing internally, Quinn said nothing. He pulled one of the lunch MREs toward him, tore it open and took out a handful of crackers. “Here, start with these. We’ll slowly build you up in the next day or two so you can eat regular food.”

Kerry took the crackers and peeled off the plastic with shaky fingers. Her stomach growled, embarrassingly loud.

“I guess my belly knows it’s going to get fed.”

Moodily, Quinn watched as she daintily ate each cracker as if it were a priceless gift. A look of pleasure suffused her face once again as she tasted the morsels. It hurt to watch her. This was America, the richest nation on earth, and people were starving to death. The terrible reality of that slammed into him. Kerry Chelton was gaunt looking. So was Petula. And so were the men who had taken the bottled water off the Huey earlier. Everyone had obviously dropped weight. Alarmingly so. As Quinn sat there listening to Petula breathing softly in her sleep, cuddling her purple dinosaur, and watching Kerry eat each cracker as if it were a feast, rage rose in him.

It was a rage of frustration. Flying in, he’d seen how every road in the basin, large and small, had been ripped up and torn apart by the massive earthquake. No vehicle, no convoy could possibly get through to give the people a consistent supply line of food. Now, as he sat here with Kerry and the little girl, the human side of the disaster was brought home to him in a way he’d never thought he’d see in the United States.

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